The Germ Part 18

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[Ill.u.s.tration: GONERIL: REGAN: LEAR: FOOL: CORDELIA: FRANCE:]

Cordelia

"The jewels of our father, with washed eyes Cordelia leaves you. I know you what you are And, like a sister, am most loth to tell Your faults, as they are named. Use well our father: To your professed bosoms I commit him.

But yet, alas!--stood I within his grace, I would prefer him to a better place.

So farewell to you both."

Cordelia, unabashed and strong, Her voice's quite scarcely less Than yester-eve, enduring wrong And curses of her father's tongue, Departs, a righteous-souled princess; Bidding her sisters cherish him.

They turn on her and fix their eyes, But cease not pa.s.sing inward;--one Sneering with lips still curled to lies, Sinuous of body, serpent-wise; Her footfall creeps, and her looks shun The very thing on which they dwell.

The other, proud, with heavy cheeks And ma.s.sive forehead, where remains A mark of frowning. If she seeks With smiles to tame her eyes, or speaks, Her mouth grows wanton: she disdains The ground with haughty, measured steps.

The silent years had grown between Father and daughter. Always she Had waited on his will, and been Foremost in doing it,--unseen Often: she wished him not to see, But served him for his sake alone.

He saw her constant love; and, tho'

Occasion surely was not scant, Perhaps had never sought to know How she could give it wording. So His love, not stumbling at a want, Among the three preferred her first.

Her's is the soul not stubborn, yet a.s.serting self. The heart was rich; But, questioned, she had rather let Men judge her conscious of a debt Than freely giving: thus, her speech Is love according to her bond.

In France the queen Cordelia had Her hours well satisfied with love: She loved her king, too, and was glad: And yet, at times, a something sad, May be, was with her, thinking of The manner of his life at home.

But this does not usurp her mind.

It is but sorrow guessed from far Thro' twilight dimly. She must find Her duty elsewhere: not resigned-- Because she knows them what they are, Yet scarcely ruffled from her peace.

Cordelia--a name well revered; Synonymous with truth and tried Affection; which but needs be heard To raise one selfsame thought endeared To men and women far and wide; A name our mothers taught to us.

Like placid faces which you knew Years since, but not again shall meet; On a sick bed like wind that blew; An excellent thing, best likened to Her own voice, gentle, soft, and sweet; Shakpere's Cordelia;--better thus.

Macbeth {9}

{9} It is proper to state that this article was written, and seen, exactly as it at present stands, by several literary friends of the writer, a considerable time before the appearance, in the "Westminster Review," of a Paper advocating a view of "Macbeth,"

similar to that which is here taken. But although the publication of the particular view was thus antic.i.p.ated, nearly all the most forcible arguments for maintaining it were omitted; and the subject, mixed up, as it was, with lengthy disquisitions upon very minor topics of Shaksperian acting, &c. made no very general impression at the time.

The purpose of the following Essay is to demonstrate the existence of a very important error in the hitherto universally adopted interpretation of the character of Macbeth. We shall prove that _a design of illegitimately obtaining the crown of Scotland had been conceived by Macbeth, and that it had been communicated by him to his wife, prior to his first meeting with the witches, who are commonly supposed to have suggested that design_.

Most persons when they commence the study of the great Shaksperian dramas, already entertain concerning them a set of traditional notions, generally originated by the representations, or misrepresentations, of the theatre, afterwards to become strengthened or confirmed by desultory reading and corroborative criticism. With this cla.s.s of persons it was our misfortune to rank, when we first entered upon the _study_ of "Macbeth," fully believing that, in the character of the hero, Shakspere intended to represent a man whose general rect.i.tude of soul is drawn on to ruin by the temptations of supernatural agents; temptations which have the effect of eliciting his latent ambition, and of misdirecting that ambition when it has been thus elicited.

As long as we continued under this idea, the impression produced upon us by "Macbeth" came far short of that sense of complete satisfaction which we were accustomed to receive from every other of the higher works of Shakspere. But, upon deeper study, the view now proposed suggested itself, and seemed to render every thing as it should be.

We say that this view suggested _itself_, because it did not arise directly from any one of the numerous pa.s.sages which can be quoted in its support; it originated in a general feeling of what seemed to be wanting to the completion of the entire effect; a circ.u.mstance which has been stated at length from the persuasion that it is of itself no mean presumption in favour of the opinion which it is the aim of this paper to establish.

Let us proceed to examine the validity of a position, which, if it deserves any attention at all, may certainly claim an investigation more than usually minute. We shall commence by giving an a.n.a.lysis of the first Act, wherein will be considered, successively, every pa.s.sage which may appear to bear either way upon the point in question.

The inferences which we believe to be deducible from the first scene can be profitably employed only in conjunction with those to be discovered in the third. Our a.n.a.lysis must, therefore, be entered upon by an attempt to ascertain the true character of the impressions which it was the desire of Shakspere to convey by the second.

This scene is almost exclusively occupied with the narrations of the "bleeding Soldier," and of _Rosse_. These narrations are constructed with the express purpose of vividly setting forth the personal valour of Duncan's generals, "Macbeth and Banquo." Let us consider what is the _maximum_ worth which the words of Shakspere will, at this period of the play, allow us to attribute to the moral character of the hero:--a point, let it be observed, of first-rate importance to the present argument. We find Macbeth, in this scene, designated by various epithets, _all_ of which, either directly or indirectly, arise from feelings of admiration created by his courageous conduct in the war in which he is supposed to have been engaged. "Brave" and "n.o.ble Macbeth," "Bellona's Bridegroom," "Valiant Cousin," and "Worthy Gentleman," are the general t.i.tles by which he is here spoken of; but none of them afford any positive clue whatever to his _moral_ character. Nor is any such clue supplied by the scenes in which he is presently received by the messengers of Duncan, and afterwards received and lauded by Duncan himself. Macbeth's moral character, up to the development of his criminal hopes, remains strictly _negative_. Hence it is difficult to fathom the meaning of those critics, (A. Schlegel at their head), who have over and over again made the ruin of Macbeth's "so many n.o.ble qualities"{10} the subject of their comment.

{10} A. Schlegel's "Lectures on Dramatic Literature." Vol. II. p.

208.

In the third scene we have the meeting of the witches, the announcement of whose intention to re-a.s.semble upon the heath, _there to meet with Macbeth_, forms the certainly most obvious, though not perhaps, altogether the most important, aim of the short scene by which the tragedy is opened. An enquiry of much interest here suggests itself. Did Shakspere intend that in his tragedy of "Macbeth" the witches should figure as originators of gratuitous destruction, in direct opposition to the traditional, and even proverbial, character of the _genus?_ By that character such personages have been denied the possession of any influence whatever over the untainted soul. Has Shakspere in this instance re tained, or has he abolished, the chief of those characteristics which have been universally attributed to the beings in question?

We think that he has retained it, and for the following reasons: Whenever Shakspere has elsewhere embodied superst.i.tions, he has treated them as direct and unalterable _facts_ of human nature; and this he has done because he was too profound a philosopher to be capable of regarding genuine superst.i.tion as the product of random spectra of the fancy, having absolute darkness for the prime condition of their being, instead of eeing in it rather the zodiacal light of truth, the concomitant of the uprising, and of the setting of the truth, and a partaker in its essence. Again, Shakspere has in this very play devoted a considerable s.p.a.ce to the purpose of suggesting the self-same trait of character now under discussion, and this he appears to have done with the express intent of guarding against a mistake, the probability of the occurrence of which he foresaw, but which, for reasons connected with the construction of the play, he could not hope otherwise to obviate.

We allude to the introductory portion of the present scene. One sister, we learn, has just returned from killing _swine;_ another breathes forth vengeance against a sailor, on account of the uncharitable act of his wife; but "his bark _cannot be lost,_" though it may be "tempest tossed." The last words are scarcely uttered before the confabulation is interrupted by the approach of Macbeth, to whom they have as yet made no direct allusion whatever, throughout the whole of this opening pa.s.sage, consisting in all of some five and twenty lines. Now this were a digression which would be a complete anomaly, having place, as it is supposed to have, at this early stage of one of the most consummate of the tragedies of Shakspere. We may be sure, therefore, that it is the chief object of these lines to impress the reader beforehand with an idea that, in the mind of Macbeth, there already exist sure foundations for that great superstructure of evil, to the erection of which, the "metaphysical _aid_" of the weird sisters is now to be offered. An opinion which is further supported by the reproaches of Hecate, who, afterwards, referring to what occurs in this scene, exclaims,

"All you have done Hath been but for a wayward son, Spiteful, and wrathful, who, as others do, Loves for his own end, not for you."

Words which seem to relate to ends loved of Macbeth before the witches had spurred him on to their acquirement.

The fact that in the old chronicle, from which the plot of the play is taken, the machinations of the witches are not a.s.sumed to be _un_-gratuitous, cannot be employed as an argument against our position. In history the sisters figure in the capacity of prophets _merely_. There we have no previous announcement of their intention "to meet with Macbeth." But in Shakspere they are invested with all other of their superst.i.tional attributes, in order that they may become the evil instruments of holy vengeance upon evil; of that most terrible of vengeance which punishes sin, after it has exceeded certain bounds, by deepening it.

Proceeding now with our a.n.a.lysis, upon the entrance of Macbeth and Banquo, the witches wind up their hurried charm. They are first perceived by Banquo. To his questions the sisters refuse to reply; but, at the command of Macbeth, they immediately speak, and forthwith utter the prophecy which seals the fate of Duncan.

Now, a.s.suming the truth of our view, what would be the natural behaviour of Macbeth upon coming into sudden contact with beings who appear to hold intelligence of his most secret thoughts; and upon hearing those thoughts, as it were, spoken aloud in the presence of a third party? His behaviour would be precisely that which is implied by the question of Banquo.

"Good sir, why do you _start and seem to fear_ Things which do sound so fair?"

If, on the other hand, our view is _not_ true, why, seeing that their characters are in the abstract so much alike, why does the present conduct of Macbeth differ from that of Banquo, when the witches direct their prophecies to him? Why has Shakspere altered the narrative of Holinshed, without the prospect of gaining any advantage commensurate to the licence taken in making that alteration? These are the words of the old chronicle: "This (the recontre with the witches) was reputed at the first but some vain fantastical illusion by Macbeth and Banquo, insomuch that Banquo would call Macbeth in jest king of Scotland; and Macbeth again would call him in jest likewise the father of many kings." Now it was the invariable practice of Shakspere to give facts or traditions just as he found them, whenever the introduction of those facts or traditions was not totally irreconcileable with the tone of his conception. How then (should we still receive the notion which we are now combating) are we to account for his anomalous practice in this particular case?

When the witches are about to vanish, Macbeth attempts to delay their departure, exclaiming,

"Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more: By Sinol's death, I know I am thane of Glamis; But how of Cawdor? the thane of Cawdor lives, A prosperous gentleman; _and, to be king_ _Stands not within the prospect of belief,_ _No more than to be Cawdor_. Say, from whence You owe this strange _intelligence?_"

"To be king stands not within the prospect of belief, _no more than to be Cawdor_." No! it naturally stands much _less_ within the prospect of belief. Here the mind of Macbeth, having long been accustomed to the nurture of its "royal hope," conceives that it is uttering a very suitable hyperbole of comparison. Had that mind been hitherto an honest mind the word "Cawdor" would have occupied the place of "king," "king" that of "Cawdor." Observe too the general character of this speech: Although the coincidence of the princ.i.p.al prophecy with his own thoughts has so strong an effect upon Macbeth as to induce him to, at once, p.r.o.nounce the words of the sisters, "intelligence;" he nevertheless affects to treat that prophecy as completely secondary to the other in the strength of its claims upon his consideration. This is a piece of _over-cautious_ hypocrisy which is fully in keeping with the tenor of his conduct throughout the rest of the tragedy.

No sooner have the witches vanished than Banquo begins to doubt whether there had been "such things there as they did speak about."

This is the natural incredulity of a free mind so circ.u.mstanced. On the other hand, Macbeth, whose manner, since the first announcement of the sisters, has been that of a man in a _reverie_, makes no doubt whatever of the reality of their appearance, nor does he reply to the expressed scepticism of Banquo, but abruptly exclaims, "your children shall be kings." To this Banquo answers, "you shall be king." "And thane of Cawdor too: went it not so?" continues Macbeth. Now, what, in either case, is the condition of mind which can have given rise to this part of the dialogue? It is, we imagine, sufficiently evident that the playful words of Banquo were suggested to Shakspere by the narration of Holinshed; but how are we to account for those of Macbeth, otherwise than by supposing that the question of the crown is now settled in his mind by the coincidence of the princ.i.p.al prediction, with the shapings of his own thoughts, and that he is at this moment occupied with the _wholly unantic.i.p.ated_ revelations, touching the thaneship of Cawdor, and the future possession of the throne by the offspring of Banquo?

Now comes the fulfilment of the first prophecy. Mark the words of these men, upon receiving the announcement of Rosse:

"_Banquo_. What! can the devil speak truth?

_Macbeth_. The thane of Cawdor lives: why do you dress me In borrowed robes?"

Mark how that reception is in either case precisely the reverse of that given to the prophecy itself. Here _Banquo_ starts. But what is here done for Banquo, by the coincidence of the prophecy with the truth, has been already done for Macbeth, by the coincidence of his thought with the prophecy. Accordingly, Macbeth is calm enough to play the hypocrite, when he must otherwise have experienced surprise far greater than that of Banquo, because he is much more nearly concerned in the source of it. So far indeed from being overcome with astonishment, Macbeth still continues to dwell upon the prophecy, by which his peace of mind is afterwards constantly disturbed,

"Do you not hope your children shall be kings, When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me Promised no less to them?"

Banquo's reply to this question has been one of the chief sources of the interpretation, the error of which we are now endeavouring to expose. He says,