When Ross and Angus, entering, announce to Macbeth that he has been made Thane of Cawdor, Banquo exclaims, aside, to himself or Macbeth, "What!
can the devil speak true?" He now believes that the Witches were real beings and the "instruments of darkness." When Macbeth, turning to him, whispers,
Do you not hope your children shall be kings, When those that gave the Thane of Cawdor to me Promised no less to them?
he draws with the boldness of innocence the inference which is really occupying Macbeth, and answers,
That, trusted home, Might yet enkindle you unto the crown Besides the thane of Cawdor.
Here he still speaks, I think, in a free, off-hand, even jesting,[234]
manner ("enkindle" meaning merely "excite you to _hope_ for"). But then, possibly from noticing something in Macbeth"s face, he becomes graver, and goes on, with a significant "but,"
But "tis strange: And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths, Win us with honest trifles, to betray"s In deepest consequence.
He afterwards observes for the second time that his partner is "rapt"; but he explains his abstraction naturally and sincerely by referring to the surprise of his new honours; and at the close of the scene, when Macbeth proposes that they shall discuss the predictions together at some later time, he answers in the cheerful, rather bluff manner, which he has used almost throughout, "Very gladly." Nor was there any reason why Macbeth"s rejoinder, "Till then, enough," should excite misgivings in him, though it implied a request for silence, and though the whole behaviour of his partner during the scene must have looked very suspicious to him when the prediction of the crown was made good through the murder of Duncan.
In the next scene Macbeth and Banquo join the King, who welcomes them both with the kindest expressions of grat.i.tude and with promises of favours to come. Macbeth has indeed already received a n.o.ble reward.
Banquo, who is said by the King to have "no less deserved," receives as yet mere thanks. His brief and frank acknowledgment is contrasted with Macbeth"s laboured rhetoric; and, as Macbeth goes out, Banquo turns with hearty praises of him to the King.
And when next we see him, approaching Macbeth"s castle in company with Duncan, there is still no sign of change. Indeed he gains on us. It is he who speaks the beautiful lines,
This guest of summer, The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, By his loved mansionry, that the heaven"s breath Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze, b.u.t.tress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle: Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed, The air is delicate;
--lines which tell of that freedom of heart, and that sympathetic sense of peace and beauty, which the Macbeth of the tragedy could never feel.
But now Banquo"s sky begins to darken. At the opening of the Second Act we see him with Fleance crossing the court of the castle on his way to bed. The blackness of the moonless, starless night seems to oppress him.
And he is oppressed by something else.
A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, And yet I would not sleep: merciful powers, Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature Gives way to in repose!
On Macbeth"s entrance we know what Banquo means: he says to Macbeth--and it is the first time he refers to the subject unprovoked,
I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters.
His will is still untouched: he would repel the "cursed thoughts"; and they are mere thoughts, not intentions. But still they are "thoughts,"
something more, probably, than mere recollections; and they bring with them an undefined sense of guilt. The poison has begun to work.
The pa.s.sage that follows Banquo"s words to Macbeth is difficult to interpret:
I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters: To you they have show"d some truth.
_Macb._ I think not of them: Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve, We would spend it in some words upon that business, If you would grant the time.
_Ban._ At your kind"st leisure.
_Macb._ If you shall cleave to my consent, when "tis, It shall make honour for you.
_Ban._ So I lose none In seeking to augment it, but still keep My bosom franchised and allegiance clear, I shall be counsell"d.
_Macb._ Good repose the while!
_Ban._ Thanks, sir: the like to you!
Macbeth"s first idea is, apparently, simply to free himself from any suspicion which the discovery of the murder might suggest, by showing himself, just before it, quite indifferent to the predictions, and merely looking forward to a conversation about them at some future time.
But why does he go on, "If you shall cleave," etc.? Perhaps he foresees that, on the discovery, Banquo cannot fail to suspect him, and thinks it safest to prepare the way at once for an understanding with him (in the original story he makes Banquo his accomplice _before_ the murder).
Banquo"s answer shows three things,--that he fears a treasonable proposal, that he has no idea of accepting it, and that he has no fear of Macbeth to restrain him from showing what is in his mind.
Duncan is murdered. In the scene of discovery Banquo of course appears, and his behaviour is significant. When he enters, and Macduff cries out to him,
O Banquo, Banquo, Our royal master"s murdered,
and Lady Macbeth, who has entered a moment before, exclaims,
Woe, alas!
What, in our house?
his answer,
Too cruel anywhere,
shows, as I have pointed out, repulsion, and we may be pretty sure that he suspects the truth at once. After a few words to Macduff he remains absolutely silent while the scene is continued for nearly forty lines.
He is watching Macbeth and listening as he tells how he put the chamberlains to death in a frenzy of loyal rage. At last Banquo appears to have made up his mind. On Lady Macbeth"s fainting he proposes that they shall all retire, and that they shall afterwards meet,
And question this most b.l.o.o.d.y piece of work To know it further. Fears and scruples[235] shake us: In the great hand of G.o.d I stand, and thence Against the undivulged pretence[236] I fight Of treasonous malice.
His solemn language here reminds us of his grave words about "the instruments of darkness," and of his later prayer to the "merciful powers." He is profoundly shocked, full of indignation, and determined to play the part of a brave and honest man.
But he plays no such part. When next we see him, on the last day of his life, we find that he has yielded to evil. The Witches and his own ambition have conquered him. He alone of the lords knew of the prophecies, but he has said nothing of them. He has acquiesced in Macbeth"s accession, and in the official theory that Duncan"s sons had suborned the chamberlains to murder him. Doubtless, unlike Macduff, he was present at Scone to see the new king invested. He has, not formally but in effect, "cloven to" Macbeth"s "consent"; he is knit to him by "a most indissoluble tie"; his advice in council has been "most grave and prosperous"; he is to be the "chief guest" at that night"s supper. And his soliloquy tells us why:
Thou hast it now: king, Cawdor, Glamis, all, As the weird women promised, and, I fear, Thou play"dst most foully for"t: yet it was said It should not stand in thy posterity, But that myself should be the root and father Of many kings. If there come truth from them-- As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine-- Why, by the verities on thee made good, May they not be my oracles as well, And set me up in hope? But hush! no more.
This "hush! no more" is not the dismissal of "cursed thoughts": it only means that he hears the trumpets announcing the entrance of the King and Queen.
His punishment comes swiftly, much more swiftly than Macbeth"s, and saves him from any further fall. He is a very fearless man, and still so far honourable that he has no thought of acting to bring about the fulfilment of the prophecy which has beguiled him. And therefore he has no fear of Macbeth. But he little understands him. To Macbeth"s tormented mind Banquo"s conduct appears highly suspicious. _Why_ has this bold and circ.u.mspect[237] man kept his secret and become his chief adviser? In order to make good _his_ part of the predictions after Macbeth"s own precedent. Banquo, he is sure, will suddenly and secretly attack him. It is not the far-off accession of Banquo"s descendants that he fears; it is (so he tells himself) swift murder; not that the "barren sceptre" will some day droop from his dying hand, but that it will be "wrenched" away now (III. i. 62).[238] So he kills Banquo. But the Banquo he kills is not the innocent soldier who met the Witches and daffed their prophecies aside, nor the man who prayed to be delivered from the temptation of his dreams.
_Macbeth_ leaves on most readers a profound impression of the misery of a guilty conscience and the retribution of crime. And the strength of this impression is one of the reasons why the tragedy is admired by readers who shrink from _Oth.e.l.lo_ and are made unhappy by _Lear_. But what Shakespeare perhaps felt even more deeply, when he wrote this play, was the _incalculability_ of evil,--that in meddling with it human beings do they know not what. The soul, he seems to feel, is a thing of such inconceivable depth, complexity, and delicacy, that when you introduce into it, or suffer to develop in it, any change, and particularly the change called evil, you can form only the vaguest idea of the reaction you will provoke. All you can be sure of is that it will not be what you expected, and that you cannot possibly escape it.
Banquo"s story, if truly apprehended, produces this impression quite as strongly as the more terrific stories of the chief characters, and perhaps even more clearly, inasmuch as he is nearer to average human nature, has obviously at first a quiet conscience, and uses with evident sincerity the language of religion.
3
Apart from his story Banquo"s character is not very interesting, nor is it, I think, perfectly individual. And this holds good of the rest of the minor characters. They are sketched lightly, and are seldom developed further than the strict purposes of the action required. From this point of view they are inferior to several of the less important figures in each of the other three tragedies. The scene in which Lady Macduff and her child appear, and the pa.s.sage where their slaughter is reported to Macduff, have much dramatic value, but in neither case is the effect due to any great extent to the special characters of the persons concerned. Neither they, nor Duncan, nor Malcolm, nor even Banquo himself, have been imagined intensely, and therefore they do not produce that sense of unique personality which Shakespeare could convey in a much smaller number of lines than he gives to most of them.[239]
And this is of course even more the case with persons like Ross, Angus, and Lennox, though each of these has distinguishable features. I doubt if any other great play of Shakespeare"s contains so many speeches which a student of the play, if they were quoted to him, would be puzzled to a.s.sign to the speakers. Let the reader turn, for instance, to the second scene of the Fifth Act, and ask himself why the names of the persons should not be interchanged in all the ways mathematically possible. Can he find, again, any signs of character by which to distinguish the speeches of Ross and Angus in Act I. scenes ii. and iii., or to determine that Malcolm must have spoken I. iv. 2-11? Most of this writing, we may almost say, is simply Shakespeare"s writing, not that of Shakespeare become another person. And can anything like the same proportion of such writing be found in _Hamlet_, _Oth.e.l.lo_, or _King Lear_?
Is it possible to guess the reason of this characteristic of _Macbeth_?
I cannot believe it is due to the presence of a second hand. The writing, mangled by the printer and perhaps by "the players," seems to be sometimes obviously Shakespeare"s, sometimes sufficiently Shakespearean to repel any attack not based on external evidence. It may be, as the shortness of the play has suggested to some, that Shakespeare was hurried, and, throwing all his weight on the princ.i.p.al characters, did not exert himself in dealing with the rest. But there is another possibility which may be worth considering. _Macbeth_ is distinguished by its simplicity,--by grandeur in simplicity, no doubt, but still by simplicity. The two great figures indeed can hardly be called simple, except in comparison with such characters as Hamlet and Iago; but in almost every other respect the tragedy has this quality. Its plot is quite plain. It has very little intermixture of humour. It has little pathos except of the sternest kind. The style, for Shakespeare, has not much variety, being generally kept at a higher pitch than in the other three tragedies; and there is much less than usual of the interchange of verse and prose.[240] All this makes for simplicity of effect. And, this being so, is it not possible that Shakespeare instinctively felt, or consciously feared, that to give much individuality or attraction to the subordinate figures would diminish this effect, and so, like a good artist, sacrificed a part to the whole? And was he wrong? He has certainly avoided the overloading which distresses us in _King Lear_, and has produced a tragedy utterly unlike it, not much less great as a dramatic poem, and as a drama superior.
I would add, though without much confidence, another suggestion. The simplicity of _Macbeth_ is one of the reasons why many readers feel that, in spite of its being intensely "romantic," it is less unlike a cla.s.sical tragedy than _Hamlet_ or _Oth.e.l.lo_ or _King Lear_. And it is possible that this effect is, in a sense, the result of design. I do not mean that Shakespeare intended to imitate a cla.s.sical tragedy; I mean only that he may have seen in the b.l.o.o.d.y story of Macbeth a subject suitable for treatment in a manner somewhat nearer to that of Seneca, or of the English Senecan plays familiar to him in his youth, than was the manner of his own mature tragedies. The Witches doubtless are "romantic," but so is the witch-craft in Seneca"s _Medea_ and _Hercules Oetaeus_; indeed it is difficult to read the account of Medea"s preparations (670-739) without being reminded of the incantations in _Macbeth_. Banquo"s Ghost again is "romantic," but so are Seneca"s ghosts. For the swelling of the style in some of the great pa.s.sages--however immeasurably superior these may be to anything in Seneca--and certainly for the turgid bombast which occasionally appears in _Macbeth_, and which seems to have horrified Jonson, Shakespeare might easily have found a model in Seneca. Did he not think that this was the high Roman manner? Does not the Sergeant"s speech, as Coleridge observed, recall the style of the "pa.s.sionate speech" of the Player in _Hamlet_,--a speech, be it observed, on a Roman subject?[241] And is it entirely an accident that parallels between Seneca and Shakespeare seem to be more frequent in _Macbeth_ than in any other of his undoubtedly genuine works except perhaps _Richard III._, a tragedy unquestionably influenced either by Seneca or by English Senecan plays?[242] If there is anything in these suggestions, and if we suppose that Shakespeare meant to give to his play a certain cla.s.sical tinge, he might naturally carry out this idea in respect to the characters, as well as in other respects, by concentrating almost the whole interest on the important figures and leaving the others comparatively shadowy.