"Nought's had, all's spent,Where our desire is got without content:'Tis safer to be that which we destroy,Than, by destruction, dwell in doubtful joy."
"Nought's had, all's spent,Where our desire is got without content:'Tis safer to be that which we destroy,Than, by destruction, dwell in doubtful joy."
They are her onlywakingacknowledgments of havingmistaken life! So—they forebode the Sleep-Walking, and the Death—as an owl, or a raven, or vulture, or any fowl of obscene wing, might flit between the sun and a crowned but doomed head—the shadow but of a moment, yet ominous, for the augur, of an entire fatal catastrophe.
SEWARD.
They do. But to say the truth, I had either forgot them, or never discovered their significancy. O that William Shakspeare!
TALBOYS.
O that Christopher North!
NORTH.
Speak so, friends—'tis absurd, but I like it.
TALBOYS.
It is sincere.
NORTH.
At last they call him "black Macbeth," and "this dead Butcher." Andwith good reason. They also call her "his fiend-like Queen," which last expression I regard as highly offensive.
BULLER.
And they call her so not without strong reason.
NORTH.
A bold, bad woman—not a Fiend. I ask—Did she, or did she not, "with violent hand foredo her life?" They mention it as a rumour. The Doctor desires that all means of self-harm may be kept out of her way. Yet the impression on us, as the thing proceeds, is, that she dies of pure remorse—which I believe. She isvisibly dying. The cry of women, announcing her death, is rather as of those who stood around the bed watching, and when the heart at the touch of the invisible finger stops, shriek—than of one after the other coming in and finding the self-slain—a confused, informal, perplexing, and perplexed proceeding—but the Cry of Women is formal, regular for the stated occasion. You may say, indeed, that she poisoned herself—and so died in bed—watched. Under the precautions, that is unlikely—too refined. The manner of Seyton, "The Queen, my Lord, is dead," shows to me that it was hourly expected. How these few words wouldseekinto you, did you first read the Play in mature age! She died a natural death—of remorse. Take my word for it—the rumour to the contrary was natural to the lip and ear of Hate.
TALBOYS.
A question of primary import is—What is the relation of feeling between him and her? The natural impression, I think, is, that the confiding affection—the intimate confidence—is "there"—of a husband and wife who love one another—to whom all interests are in common, and are consulted in common. Without this belief, the Magic of the Tragedy perishes—vanishes to me. "My dearest love, Duncan comes here to-night." "Be innocent of the knowledge,dearest Chuck"—a marvellous phrase for Melpomene. It is the full union—for ill purposes—that we know habitually for good purposes—that to me tempers the Murder Tragedy.
NORTH.
Yet believe me, my dear Talboys—that of all the murders Macbeth may have committed, she knew beforehand but ofONE—Duncan's. The haunted somnambulist speaks the truth—the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
TALBOYS.
"The Thane of Fife had a Wife." Does not that imply that she was privy tothatMurder?
NORTH.
No. Except that she takes upon herselfallthe murders that are the offspring, legitimate or illegitimate, of that First Murder. But weknowthat Macbeth, in a sudden fit of fury, ordered the Macduffs to be massacred when on leaving the Cave Lenox told him of the Thane's flight.
TALBOYS.
That is decisive.
NORTH.
A woman, she feels for a murdered woman. That is all—a touch of nature—from Shakspeare's profound and pitiful heart.
TALBOYS.
"The Queen, my lord, is dead." "She should have died hereafter; There would have been a time for such a word"—Often have I meditated on the meaning of these words—yet even now I do not fully feel or understand them.
NORTH.
Nor I. This seems to look from them—"so pressed by outward besiegings, I have not capacity to entertain the blow as it requires to be entertained. With a free soul I could have measured it. Now I cannot."
TALBOYS.
Give us, sir, a commentary on the Revelations of the Sleeping Spectre.
NORTH.
I dare not. Let's be cheerful. I ask this—when you see and hear Kemble-Macbeth—and Siddons-Macbeth—whom do you believe that you see and hear? I affirm that you at one and the same instant—(or at the most in two immediately successive instants—yet I believe in one and the same instant)—knowthat you see and hear Kemble—or if that accomplished gentleman and admirable actor—Macready be performing the part—then Macready;—and yetbelievethat you see and hear Lord Macbeth. I aver that you entertain a mixt—confused—self-contradictory state of mind—that two elements of thought which cannot co-subsist do co-subsist.
TALBOYS.
De jurethey cannot—DE FACTOthey do.
NORTH.
Just so.
TALBOYS.
They co-subsist fighting, and yet harmonising—there is half-belief—semi-illusion.
NORTH.
I claim the acknowledgment of such a state—which any one who chooses may better describe, but which shall come to that effect—for the lowest substratum of all science and criticism concerningPoesy. Will anybody grant me this, then I will reason with him about Poesy, for we begin with something in common. Will anybody deny me this, then I will not argue with him about Poesy, for we set out with nothing in common.
BULLER.
We grant you all you ask—we are all agreed—"our unanimity is wonderful."
NORTH.
Leave out the great Brother and Sister, and take the Personated alone. Iknowthat Othello and Desdemona never existed—that an Italian Novelist began, and an English Dramatist ended them—and there they are. But do I notbelievein their existence, "their loves and woes?" Yes I dobelievein their existence, in their loves and woes—and I hate Iago accordingly with a vicious, unchristian, personal, active, malignant hatred.
TALBOYS.
Dr Johnson's celebrated expression, "all the belief that Poetry claims"——
BULLER.
Celebrated! Where is it?
TALBOYS.
Preface to Shakspeare—is idle, and frivolous, and false?
NORTH.
It is. He belies his own experience. He cannot make up his mind to admit theirrational thoughtof belief which you at once reject and accept. But exactly the half acceptance, and the half rejection, separates poetry from—prose.
TALBOYS.
That is, sir, the poetical from the prosaic.
NORTH.
Just so. It is the life and soul of all poetry—the lusus—the make-believe—the glamour and the gramarye. I do not know—gentlemen—I wish to be told, whether I am now throwing away words upon the setting up of a pyramid which was built by Cheops, and is only here and there crumbling a little, or whether the world requires that the position shall be formally argued and acknowledged. Johnson, as you reminded me, Talboys, did not admit it.
TALBOYS.
That he tells us in so many words. Has any more versed and profound master in criticism, before or since, authentically and authoritatively, luminously, cogently, explicitly, psychologically, metaphysically, physiologically, psychologically, propounded, reasoned out, legislated, and enthroned the Dogma?
NORTH.
I know not, Talboys. Do you admit the Dogma?
TALBOYS.
I do.
NORTH.
Impersonation—Apostrophe—of the absent; every poetical motion of the Soul; the whole pathetic beholding of Nature—involve the secret existence and necessity of this irrational psychical state for grounding the Logic of Poesy.
BULLER.
Go on, sir.
NORTH.
I will—but in a new direction. Before everything else, I desire, for the settlement of this particular question, a foundation for, and some progress in the science ofMurder Tragedies.
SEWARD.
I knowproperlytwo.
BULLER.
Two only? Pray name.
SEWARD.
This of Macbeth and Richard III.
BULLER.
The Agamemnon—the Choephoræ—the Electra—the Medea—
SEWARD.
In the Agamemnon, your regard is drawn to Agamemnon himself and to Cassandra. However, it is after a measure a prototype. Clytemnestra has in it a principality. Medea stands eminent—but then she is in the right.
BULLER.
In the right?
SEWARD.
Jason at least is altogether in the wrong. But we must—for obvious reasons—discuss the Greek drama by itself; therefore not a word more about it now.
NORTH.
Richard III., and Macbeth and his wife, are in their Plays the principal people. You must go along with them to a certain guarded extent—else the Play is done for. To be kept abhorring and abhorring, for Five Acts together, you can't stand.
SEWARD.
Oh! that the difference between Poetry and Life were once for all set down—and not only once for all, but every time that it comes in question.
BULLER.
My dear sir, do gratify Seward's very reasonable desire, and once for all set down the difference.
SEWARD.
You bear suicides on the stage, and tyrannicides and other cides—all simple homicide—much murder. Even Romeo's killing Tybalt in the street, in reparation for Mercutio's death, you would take rather differently, if happening to-day in Pall Mall, or Moray Place.
NORTH.
We have assuredly for the Stage a qualified scheme of sentiment—grounded no doubt on our modern or every-day morality—but specifically modified by Imagination—by Poetry—for the use of the dramatist. Till we have set down what wedobear, and why, we are not prepared for distinguishing what we won't bear, and why.
BULLER.
Oracular!
SEWARD.
Suggestive.
NORTH.
And if so, sufficient for the nonce. Hamlet's uncle, Claudius, seems to me to be the most that can be borne of one purely abhorrible. He is made disgusting besides—drunken and foul. Able he is—for he won the Queen by "witchcraft of his wit;" but he is made endurable by his diminished proportion in the Play—many others overpowering and hiding him.
BULLER.
Pardon me, sir, but I have occasionally felt, in course of this conversation, that you were seeking—in opposition to Payne Knight—to reduce Macbeth to a species of Claudius. I agree with you in thinking that Shakspeare would not give a Claudius so large a proportion of his drama. The pain would be predominant and insupportable.
NORTH.
I would fain hope you have misunderstood me, Buller.
BULLER.
Sometimes, sir, it is not easy for a plain man to know what you would be at.
NORTH.
I?
BULLER.
Yea—you.
NORTH.
Richard III.isa hypocrite—a hard, cold murderer from of old—and yet you bear him. I suppose, friends, chiefly from his pre-eminent Intellectual Faculties, and his perfectly courageous and self-possessed Will. You do support your conscience—or traffic with it—by saying all along—we are only conducting him to the retribution of Bosworth Field. But, friends, if these motions in Macbeth, which look like revealings and breathings of some better elements, are sheer and vile hypocrisy—if it is merely his manhood that quails, which his wife has to virilify—a dastard and a hypocrite, and no more—I cannot abide him—there is too much of a bad business, and then I must think Shakspeare has committed an egregious error in Poetry. Richard III. is a bold, heroic hypocrite. He knows he is one. He lies to Man—never to his own Conscience, or to Heaven.
TALBOYS.
What?
NORTH.
Never. There he is clear-sighted, and stands, like Satan, in open and impious rebellion.
BULLER.
But your Macbeth, sir, would be a shuffling Puritan—a mixture of Holy Willie and Greenacre. Forgive me——
SEWARD.
Order—order—order.
TALBOYS.
Chair—chair—chair.
BULLER.
Swing—Swing—Swing.
NORTH.
My dear Buller—you have misunderstood me—I assure you you have. Some of my expressions may have been too strong—not sufficiently qualified.
BULLER.
I accept the explanation. But be more guarded in future, my dear sir.
NORTH.
I will.
BULLER.
On that assurance I ask you, sir, how is the Tragedy of Macbeth morally saved? That is, how does the degree of complacency with which we consider the two murderers not morally taint ourselves—not leave us predisposed murderers?
NORTH.
That is a question of infinite compass and fathom—answered then only when the whole Theory of Poesy has been expounded.
BULLER.
Whew!
NORTH.
The difference established between our contemplation of the Stage and of Life.
BULLER.
I hardly expect that to be done this Summer in this Tent.
NORTH.
Friends! Utilitarians and Religionists shudder and shun. They consider the Stage and Life as of one and the same kind—look on both through one glass.
BULLER.
Eh?
NORTH.
The Utilitarian will settle the whole question of Life upon half its data—the lowest half. He accepts Agriculture, which he understands logically—but rejects Imagination, which he does not understand at all—because, if you sow it in the track of his plough, no wheat springs. Assuredly not; a different plough must furrow a different soil for that seed and that harvest.
BULLER.
Now, my dear sir, you speak like yourself. You always do so—the rashness was all on my side.
SEWARD.
Nobody cares—hold your tongue.
NORTH.
The Religionist errs from the opposite quarter. He brings measures from Heaven to measure things of the Earth. He weighs Clay in the balance of Spirit. I call him a Religionist who overruns with religious rules and conceptions things that do not come under them—completely distinct from the native simplicity and sovereignty of Religion in a piously religious heart. Both of them are confounders of the sciences which investigate the Facts and the Laws of Nature, visible and invisible—subduing inquiry under preconception.
BULLER.
Was that the Gong—or but thunder?
NORTH.
The Gong.
TALBOYS.
I smell sea-trout.
Scene—Deeside.Time—after Dinner.
NORTH—BULLER—SEWARD—TALBOYS.
NORTH.
One hour more—and no more—to Shakspeare.
BULLER.
May we crack nuts?
NORTH.
By all means. And here they are for you to crack.
BULLER.
Now for some of yourastounding Discoveries.
NORTH.
If you gather the Movement, scene by scene, of the Action of this Drama, you see a few weeks, or it may be months. There must be time to hear thatMalcolm and his brother have reached England and Ireland—time for the King of England to interest himself in behalf of Malcolm, and muster his array. More than this seems unrequired. But the zenith of tyranny to which Macbeth has arrived, and particularly the manner of describing the desolation of Scotland by the speakers in England, conveys to you the notion of a long, long dismal reign. Of old it always used to do so with me; so that when I came to visit the question of the Time, I felt myself as if baffled and puzzled, not finding the time I had looked for, demonstrable. Samuel Johnson has had the same impression, but has not scrutinised the data. He goes probably by the old Chronicler for the actual time, and this, one would think, must have floated before Shakspeare's own mind.
TALBOYS.
Nobody can read the Scenes in England without seeing long-protracted time.
"Malcolm.Let us seek out some desolate shade, and thereWeep our sad bosoms empty.Macduff.Let us ratherHold fast the mortal sword, and, like good men,Bestride our down-fallen birthdom: Each new morn,New widows howl; new orphans cry; new sorrowsStrike heaven on the face, that it resoundsAs if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd outLike syllable of dolour."
"Malcolm.Let us seek out some desolate shade, and thereWeep our sad bosoms empty.
Macduff.Let us ratherHold fast the mortal sword, and, like good men,Bestride our down-fallen birthdom: Each new morn,New widows howl; new orphans cry; new sorrowsStrike heaven on the face, that it resoundsAs if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd outLike syllable of dolour."
NORTH.
Ay, Talboys, that is true Shakspeare. No Poet—before or since—has in so few words presented such a picture. No poet, before or since, has usedsuchwords. He writes like a man inspired.
TALBOYS.
And in the same dialogue Malcolm says—
"I think our country sinks beneath the yoke;It weeps, it bleeds; and each new day a gashIs added to her wounds."
"I think our country sinks beneath the yoke;It weeps, it bleeds; and each new day a gashIs added to her wounds."
NORTH.
Go on, my dear Talboys. Your memory is a treasury of all the highest Poetry of Shakspeare. Go on.
TALBOYS.
And hear Rosse, on his joining Malcolm and Macduff in this scene, the latest arrival from Scotland:—
"Macduff.Stands Scotland where it did?Rosse.Alas, poor country!Almost afraid to know itself! It cannotBe call'd our mother, but our grave: where nothing,But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile;Where sighs and groans, and shrieks that rent the air,Are made, not mark'd; where violent sorrow seemsA modern ecstasy; the dead man's knellIs there scarce ask'd, for who; and good men's livesExpire before the flowers in their caps,Dying, or ere they sicken."
"Macduff.Stands Scotland where it did?
Rosse.Alas, poor country!Almost afraid to know itself! It cannotBe call'd our mother, but our grave: where nothing,But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile;Where sighs and groans, and shrieks that rent the air,Are made, not mark'd; where violent sorrow seemsA modern ecstasy; the dead man's knellIs there scarce ask'd, for who; and good men's livesExpire before the flowers in their caps,Dying, or ere they sicken."
NORTH.
Words known to all the world, yet coming on the ear of each individual listener with force unweaken'd by familiarity, power increased by repetition, as it will be over all Scottish breastsin secula seculorum.
TALBOYS.
By Heavens! he smiles! There is a sarcastic smile on that incomprehensible face of yours, sir—of which no man in this Tent, I am sure, may divine the reason.
NORTH.
I was not aware of it. Now, my dear Talboys, let us here endeavour toascertain Shakspeare's Time. Here we have long time with a vengeance—and here we have short time;for this is the Picture of the State of Poor Scotland before the Murder of Macduff's Wife and Children.
BULLER.
What?
SEWARD.
Eh?
NORTH.
Macduff, moved by Rosse's words, asks him, you know, Talboys, "how does my wife?" And then ensues the affecting account of her murder, which you need not recite. Now, I ask, when was the murder of Lady Macduff perpetrated? Two days—certainly not more—after the murder of Banquo. Macbeth, incensed by the flight of Fleance, goes, the morning after the murder of Banquo, to the Weirds, to know by "the worst means, the worst." You know what they showed him—and that, as they vanished, he exclaimed—
"Where are they? Gone?—Let this pernicious hourStand aye accursed in the calendar!—Come in, without there!EnterLenox.Len.What's your grace's will?Macb.Saw you the weird sisters?Len.No, my lord.Macb.Came they not by you?Len.No, indeed, my lord.Macb.Infected be the air whereon they ride;And damn'd all those that trust them!—I did hearThe galloping of horse: Who was't came by?Len.'Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you word,Macduff is fled to England.Macb.Fled to England?Len.Ay, my good lord.Macb.Time, thou anticipat'st my dread exploits:The flighty purpose never is o'ertook,Unless the deed go with it: from this moment,The very firstlings of my heart shall beThe firstlings of my hand. And even nowTo crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done:The castle of Macduff I will surprise;Seize upon Fife; give to the edge o' the swordHis wife, his babes, and all unfortunate soulsThat trace his line. No boasting like a fool:This deed I'll do, before this purpose cool."
"Where are they? Gone?—Let this pernicious hourStand aye accursed in the calendar!—Come in, without there!
EnterLenox.
Len.What's your grace's will?
Macb.Saw you the weird sisters?
Len.No, my lord.
Macb.Came they not by you?
Len.No, indeed, my lord.
Macb.Infected be the air whereon they ride;And damn'd all those that trust them!—I did hearThe galloping of horse: Who was't came by?
Len.'Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you word,Macduff is fled to England.
Macb.Fled to England?
Len.Ay, my good lord.
Macb.Time, thou anticipat'st my dread exploits:The flighty purpose never is o'ertook,Unless the deed go with it: from this moment,The very firstlings of my heart shall beThe firstlings of my hand. And even nowTo crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done:The castle of Macduff I will surprise;Seize upon Fife; give to the edge o' the swordHis wife, his babes, and all unfortunate soulsThat trace his line. No boasting like a fool:This deed I'll do, before this purpose cool."
And his purpose does not cool—for the whole Family are murdered. When, then, took place the murder of Banquo? Why, a week or two after the Murder of Duncan. A very short time indeed, then, intervened between the first and the last of these Murders. And yet from those pictures of Scotland, painted in England for our information and horror, we have before us a long, long time, all filled up with butchery over all the land! But I say there had been no such butchery—or anything resembling it. There was, as yet, little amiss with Scotland. Look at thelinkingof Acts II. and III. End of Act II., Macbeth is gone to Scone—to be invested. Beginning of Act III., Banquo says, in soliloquy, in Palace of Fores, "Thou hast itnow." I ask, when isthisNOW? Assuredly just after the Coronation. The Court was moved from Scone to Fores, which, we may gather from finding Duncan there formerly, to be the usual Royal Residence. "Enter Macbeth as King." "Our great Feast"—our "solemn Supper"—"this day's Council"—all have the aspect of new taking on the style of Royalty. "Thou hast itNOW," is formal—weighed—and in a position that gives it authority—at the very beginning of an Act—therefore intended to mark time—a very pointing of the finger on the dial.
BULLER.
Good image—short and apt.
TALBOYS.
Let me perpend.
BULLER.
Do, sir, let him perpend.
NORTH.
Banquofears"Thou play'dst most foully for it;" he goes no farther—not a word of any tyranny done. All the style of an incipient,dangerousRule—clouds, but no red rain yet. And I need not point out to you, Talboys, who carry Shakspeare unnecessarily in a secret pocket of that strange Sporting Jacket, which the more I look at it the greater is my wonder—that Macbeth's behaviour at the Banquet, on seeing Banquo nodding at him from his own stool, proves him to have beenthenyoung in blood.
"My strange and self-abuseIs the initiate fear that wants hard use.We are yet but young in deed."
"My strange and self-abuseIs the initiate fear that wants hard use.We are yet but young in deed."
He had a week or two before committed a first-rate murder, Duncan's—that night he had, by hired hands, got a second-rate job done, Banquo's—and the day following he gave orders for a bloody business on a more extended scale, the Macduffs. But nothing here the least like Rosse's, or Macduff's, or Malcolm's Picture of Scotland—during those few weeks. For Shakspeare forgot what the true time was—his own time—the short time; and introducedlong time at the same time—why, he himself no doubt knew—and you no doubt, Talboys, know also—and will you have the goodness to tell the "why" to the Tent?
TALBOYS.
In ten minutes. Are you done?
NORTH.
Not quite. Meanwhile—Two Clocks are going at once—which of the two gives the true time of Day?
BULLER.
Short and apt. Go on, Sir.
NORTH.
I call that anAstounding Discovery. Macduff speaks as if he knew that Scotland had been for ever so long desolated by the Tyrant—and yet till Rosse told him, never had he heard of the Murder of his own Wife! Here Shakspeare either forgot himself wholly, and the short time he had himself assigned—or, with his eyes open, forced in thelong timeupon theshort—in wilful violation of possibility! All silent?
TALBOYS.
After supper—you shall be answered.
NORTH.
Not by any man now sitting here—or elsewhere.
TALBOYS.
That remains to be heard.
NORTH.
Pray, Talboys, explain to methis. The Banquet scene breaks up in most admired disorder—"stand not upon the order of your going—but go at once,"—quoth the Queen. The King, in a state of great excitement, says to her—
"I will to-morrow,(Betimes I will,) unto the weird sisters:More shall they speak; for now I am bent to know,By the worst means, the worst: for mine own good,All causes shall give way; I am in bloodStept in so far, that, should I wade no more,Returning were as tedious as go o'er."
"I will to-morrow,(Betimes I will,) unto the weird sisters:More shall they speak; for now I am bent to know,By the worst means, the worst: for mine own good,All causes shall give way; I am in bloodStept in so far, that, should I wade no more,Returning were as tedious as go o'er."
One might have thought not quite so tedious; as yet he had murdered only Duncan and his grooms, and to-night Banquo. Well, he does go "to-morrow and by times" to the Cave.
"Witch.—By the pricking of my thumbs,Something wicked this way comes:Open, locks, whoever knocks.Macbeth.—How now, you secret, Black, and midnight Hags?"
"Witch.—By the pricking of my thumbs,Something wicked this way comes:Open, locks, whoever knocks.
Macbeth.—How now, you secret, Black, and midnight Hags?"
It is a "dark Cave"—dark at all times—and now "by times" of the morning! Now—observe—Lenox goes along with Macbeth—on such occasions 'tis natural to wish "one of ourselves" to be at hand. And Lenox had been at the Banquet. Had he gone to bed after that strange Supper? No doubt, for an hour or two—like the rest of "the Family." But whether he went to bed or not,then and therehe and another Lord had a confidential and miraculous conversation.
TALBOYS.
Miraculous! What's miraculous about it?
NORTH.
Lenox says to the other Lord—
"My former speecheshave but hit your thoughts,Which can interpret further; only, I say,Things have been strangely borne: the gracious DuncanWas pitied of Macbeth—marry he was dead.And the right valiant Banquo walked too late;Whom, you may say, if it please you, Fleance killed,For Fleance fled."
"My former speecheshave but hit your thoughts,Which can interpret further; only, I say,Things have been strangely borne: the gracious DuncanWas pitied of Macbeth—marry he was dead.And the right valiant Banquo walked too late;Whom, you may say, if it please you, Fleance killed,For Fleance fled."
Who told him all this about Banquo and Fleance? He speaks of it quite familiarly to the "other lord," as a thing well known in all its bearings. But not a soul but Macbeth, and the Three Murderers themselves, could possibly have known anything about it! As for Banquo, "Safe in a ditch he bides,"—and Fleance had fled. The body may, perhaps in a few days, be found, and, though "with twenty trenched gashes on its head," identified as Banquo's, and, in a few weeks, Fleance may turn up in Wales. Nay, the Three Murderers may confess. But now all is hush; and Lenox, unless endowed with second sight, or clairvoyance, could know nothing of the murder. Yet, from his way of speaking of it, one might imagine crowner's 'quest had sitten on the body—and the report been in theTimesbetween supper and that after-supper confab! I am overthrown—everted—subverted—the contradiction is flagrant—the impossibility monstrous—I swoon.
BULLER.
Water—water.
NORTH.
Thank you, Buller. That's revivifying—I see now all objects distinctly. Where was I? O, ay. The "other Lord" seems as warlock-wise as Lenox—for he looks forward to times when
"We may againGive to our tables meat, sleep to our nights;Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives."
"We may againGive to our tables meat, sleep to our nights;Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives."
An allusion, beyond doubt, to the murder of Banquo! A sudden thought strikes me. Why, not only must the real, actual, spiritual, corporeal Ghost of Banquosate on the stool, but "Lenox and the other Lord," as well as Macbeth,saw him.
BULLER.
Are you serious, sir?
NORTH.
So serious that I can scarcely hope to recover my usual spirits to-day. Have you, gentlemen, among you any more plausible solution to offer? All mum. One word more with you. Lenox tells the "other Lord"
"From broad words, and 'cause he fail'dHis presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear,Macduff lives in disgrace; Sir, can you tellWhere he bestows himself?"
"From broad words, and 'cause he fail'dHis presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear,Macduff lives in disgrace; Sir, can you tellWhere he bestows himself?"
And the "other Lord," who is wonderfully well informed for a person "strictly anonymous," replies that Macduff—
"Is gone to pray the holy king, (Edward) on his aidTo wake Northumberland, and warlike Siward."
"Is gone to pray the holy king, (Edward) on his aidTo wake Northumberland, and warlike Siward."
Nay, he minutely describes Macduff's surly reception of the King's messenger, sent to invite him to the Banquet, and the happy style of that official on getting the Thane of Fife's "absolute, Sir, not I," and D. I. O.! And the same nameless "Lord in waiting" says to Lenox, that
"this reportHath so exasperate the king, that hePrepares for some attempt of war."
"this reportHath so exasperate the king, that hePrepares for some attempt of war."
I should like to know first where and when these two gifted individuals picked up all this information? The king himself had told the Queen, that same night, that he hadnot sentto Macduff—but that he had heard "by the way" that he was not coming to the Banquet—and he onlylearnsthe flight of Macduff after the Cauldron Scene—that is at end of it:—
"Macbeth.Come in, without there!Enter Lenox.Lenox.What's your Grace's will?Macbeth.Saw you the Weird Sisters?Lenox.No, indeed, my Lord.Macbeth.Infected be the air whereon they ride;And damn'd all those that trust them!—I did hearThe galloping of horse: Who was't came by?Lenox.'Tis two or three, my Lord, that bring you word,Macduff is fled to England.Macbeth.Fled to England?"
"Macbeth.Come in, without there!
Enter Lenox.
Lenox.What's your Grace's will?
Macbeth.Saw you the Weird Sisters?
Lenox.No, indeed, my Lord.
Macbeth.Infected be the air whereon they ride;And damn'd all those that trust them!—I did hearThe galloping of horse: Who was't came by?
Lenox.'Tis two or three, my Lord, that bring you word,Macduff is fled to England.
Macbeth.Fled to England?"
For an Usurper and Tyrant, his Majesty is singularly ill-informed about the movements of his most dangerous Thanes! But Lenox, I think, must have been not a little surprised at that moment to find that, so far from theexasperatedTyrant having "prepared for some attempt of war" with England—he had not till then positively known that Macduff had fled! I pause, as a man pauses who has no more to say—not for a reply. But to be sure, Talboys will reply to anything—and were I to say that the Moon is made of green cheese, he would say—yellow—
TALBOYS.
If of weeping Parmesan, then I—of the "cheese without a tear"—Double Gloster.
NORTH.
The whole Dialogue between Lenox and the Lord ismiraculous. It abounds with knowledge of events that had not happened—andcould nothave happened—on the showing of Shakspeare himself; but I do not believe that there is another man now alive who knows that Lenox and the "other Lord" are caught up and strangled in thatnoose of Time. Did the Poet? You would think, from the way they go on, that one ground of war, one motive of Macduff's going, is the murder of Banquo—perpetrated since he is gone off!
TALBOYS.
Eh?
NORTH.
Gentlemen, I have given you a specimen or two of Shakspeare's way of dealing with Time—and I can elicit no reply. You are one and all dumbfoundered. What will you be—where will you be—when I—
BULLER.
Have announced "all my astounding discoveries!" and where, also, will be poor Shakspeare—where his Critics?
NORTH.
Friends, Countrymen, and Romans, lend me your ears! A dazzlingspell is upon us that veils from our apprehension all incompatibilities—all impossibilities—for he dips the Swan-quill in Power—and Power is that which you must accept from him, and so to the utter oblivion, while we read or behold, of them all. To go to work with such inquiries is to try to articulate thunder. What do I intend? That Shakspeare is only to bethuscriticised? Apollo forbid—forbid the Nine! I intend Prologomena to the Criticism of Shakspeare. I intend mowing and burning the brambles before ploughing the soil. I intend showing where we must not look for the Art and the Genius of Shakspeare, as a step to discovering where we must. I suspect—I know—that Criticism has oscillated from one extreme to another, in the mind of the country—from denying all art, to acknowledging consummated art, and no flaw. I would find the true Point. Stamped and staring upon the front of these Tragedies is a conflict. He, the Poet, beholds Life—he, the Poet, is on the Stage. The littleness of the Globe Theatre mixes with the greatness of human affairs. You think of the Green-room and the Scene-shifters. I think that when we have stripped away the disguises and incumbrances of the Power, we shall see, naked, and strong, and beautiful, the statue moulded by Jupiter.
Printed by William Blackwood and Sons, Edinburgh.
Transcriber's Notes:Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed.Simple typographical and spelling errors were corrected.Added anchor for unanchored footnote on p.567.
Transcriber's Notes:
Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed.
Simple typographical and spelling errors were corrected.
Added anchor for unanchored footnote on p.567.