Macbeth

Let’s seek out some shady place where we can sit down alone and cry our hearts out.

Instead of crying, let’s keep hold of our swords and defend our fallen homeland like honorable men. Each day new widows howl, new orphans cry, and new sorrows slap heaven in the face, until it sounds like heaven itself feels Scotland’s anguish and screams in pain.

I will avenge whatever I believe is wrong. And I’ll believe whatever I’m sure is true. And I’ll put right whatever I can when the time comes. What you just said may perhaps be true. This tyrant, whose mere name is so awful it hurts us to say it, was once considered an honest man. You were one of his favorites. He hasn’t done anything to harm you yet. I’m inexperienced, but maybe you’re planning to win Macbeth’s favor by betraying me to him. It would be smart to offer someone poor and innocent like me as a sacrificial lamb to satisfy an angry god like Macbeth.

I am not treacherous.

But Macbeth is. Even someone with a good and virtuous nature might give way to a royal command. But I beg your pardon. My fears can’t actually make you evil. Angels are still bright even though Lucifer, the brightest angel, fell from heaven. Even though everything evil wants to look good, good still has to look good too.

I have lost my hope of convincing you to fight against Macbeth.

Maybe you lost your hopes about me where I found my doubts about you. Why did you leave your wife and child vulnerable—the most precious things in your life, those strong bonds of love? How could you leave them behind? But I beg you, don’t interpret my suspicions as slander against you. You must understand that I want to protect myself. You may really be honest, no matter what I think.

Bleed, bleed, poor country! Great tyrant, go ahead and build yourself up, because good people are afraid to stand up to you. Enjoy everything you stole, because your title is safe! Farewell, lord. I wouldn’t be the villain you think I am even if I were offered all of Macbeth’s kingdom and the riches of the East too.

Don’t be offended. I don’t completely distrust you. I do think Scotland is sinking under Macbeth’s oppression. Our country weeps, it bleeds, and each day a fresh cut is added to her wounds. I also think there would be many people willing to fight for me. The English have promised me thousands of troops. But even so, when I have Macbeth’s head under my foot, or stuck on the end of my sword, then my poor country will be plagued by worse evil than it was before. It will suffer worse and in more ways than ever under the reign of the king who follows Macbeth.

Who are you talking about?

I’m talking about myself. I know I have so many vices that when people see all of them exposed, evil Macbeth will seem as pure as snow in comparison, and poor Scotland will call him a sweet lamb when they compare him to me and my infinite evils.

Even in hell you couldn’t find a devil worse than Macbeth.

I admit that he’s murderous, lecherous, greedy, lying, deceitful, violent, malicious, and guilty of every sin that has a name. But there is no end, absolutely none, to my sexual desires. Your wives, your daughters, your old women, and your young maids together could not satisfy my lust. My desire would overpower all restraints and anyone who stood in my way. It would be better for Macbeth to rule than someone like me.

Endless greed and lust in a man’s nature is a kind of tyranny. It has caused the downfall of many kings. But don’t be afraid to take the crown that belongs to you. You can find a way to satisfy your desires in secret, while still appearing virtuous. You can deceive everyone. There are more than enough willing women around. Your lust can’t possibly be so strong that you’d use up all the women willing to give themselves to the king once they find out he wants them.

Along with being full of lust, I’m also incredibly greedy. If I became king, I would steal the nobles’ lands, taking jewels from one guy and houses from another. The more I had, the greedier I would grow, until I’d invent false quarrels with my good and loyal subjects, destroying them so I could get my hands on their wealth.

The greed you’re talking about is worse than lust because you won’t outgrow it. Greed has been the downfall of many kings. But don’t be afraid. Scotland has enough treasures to satisfy you out of your own royal coffers. These bad qualities are bearable when balanced against your good sides.

But I don’t have any good sides. I don’t have a trace of the qualities a king needs, such as justice, truth, moderation, stability, generosity, perseverance, mercy, humility, devotion, patience, courage, and bravery. Instead, I overflow with every variation of all the different vices. No, if I had power I would take world peace and throw it down to hell.

Oh Scotland, Scotland!

If someone like me is fit to be king, let me know. I really am exactly as I have described myself to you.

(to MALCOLM) Fit to be king? You’re not fit to live!—Oh miserable nation, ruled by a usurping, murderous tyrant, when will you see peaceful days again? The man who has a legal right to the throne is, by his own admission, a cursed man and a disgrace to the royal family.—Your royal father Duncan was a virtuous king. Your mother spent more time on her knees in prayer than she did standing up, and she lived a life of absolute piety. Good-bye. The evils you have described inside yourself have driven me out of Scotland forever. Oh my heart, your hope is dead!

Macduff, this passionate outburst, which proves your integrity, has removed my doubts about you and made me realize that you really are trustworthy and honorable. That devil Macbeth has tried many times to trick me and lure me into his power, and prudence prevents me from believing people too quickly. But with God as my witness, I will let myself be guided by you, and I take back my confession. I take back all the bad things I said about myself, because none of those flaws are really part of my character. I’m still a virgin. I have never told a lie. I barely care about what I already own, let alone feel jealous of another’s possessions. I have never broken a promise. I wouldn’t betray the devil himself. I love truth as much as I love life. The lies I told about my character are actually the first false words I have ever spoken. The person who I really am is ready to serve you and our poor country. Indeed, before you arrived here, old Siward, with ten thousand soldiers already prepared for battle, was making his way here. Now we will fight Macbeth together, and may the chances of our success be as great as the justice of our cause! Why are you silent?

It’s hard to make sense of such different stories.

Well, we’ll speak more soon. (to the DOCTOR) Is King Edward coming out?

Yes, sir. A crowd of sick people is waiting for him to heal them. Their illness confounds the most advanced techniques of modern medicine, but when he touches them, they heal immediately because of the power granted to him by heaven.

Thank you, doctor.

What disease is he talking about?

It’s called the evil. Edward’s healing touch is a miracle that I have seen him perform many times during my stay in England. How he receives these gifts from heaven, only he can say. But he cures people with strange conditions—all swollen, plagued by ulcers, and pitiful to look at, patients who are beyond the help of surgery—by placing a gold coin around their necks and saying holy prayers over them. They say that he bequeaths this ability to heal to his royal descendants. Along with this strange power, he also has the gift of prophecy and various other abilities. All of these signs mark him as a man graced by God.

Who’s that coming over here?

By his dress I can tell he’s my countryman, but I don’t recognize him.

My noble kinsman, welcome.

I recognize him now. May God alter the circumstances that keep us apart!

Hello, sir.

Is Scotland the same as when I left it?

Alas, our poor country! It’s too frightened to look at itself. Scotland is no longer the land where we were born; it’s the land where we’ll die. Where no one ever smiles except for the fool who knows nothing. Where sighs, groans, and shrieks rip through the air but no one notices. Where violent sorrow is a common emotion. When the funeral bells ring, people no longer ask who died. Good men die before the flowers in their caps wilt. They die before they even fall sick.

Oh, your report is too poetic, but it sounds so true!

What is the most recent news?

Even news an hour old is old news. Every minute another awful thing happens.

How is my wife?

She’s well.

And all my children?

They’re well too.

Macbeth hasn’t attacked them?

They were at peace when I left them.

Don’t be stingy with your words. What’s the news?

While I was coming here to tell you my sad news, I heard rumors that many good men are arming themselves to rebel against Macbeth. When I saw Macbeth’s army on the move, I knew the rumors must be true. Now is the time when we need your help. Your presence in Scotland would inspire people to fight. Even the women would fight to rid themselves of Macbeth’s oppression.

Let them be comforted—I’m returning to Scotland. Gracious King Edward has sent us noble Siward and ten thousand soldiers. There is no soldier more experienced or successful than Siward in the entire Christian world.

I wish I could repay this happy news with good news of my own. But I have some news that should be howled in a barren desert where nobody can hear it.

What is this news about? Does it affect all of us? Or just one of us?

No decent man can keep from sharing in the sorrow, but my news affects you alone.

If it’s for me, don’t keep it from me. Let me have it now.

I hope you won’t hate me forever after I say these things, because I will soon fill your ears with the most dreadful news you have ever heard.

I think I can guess what you’re about to say.

Your castle was attacked. Your wife and children were savagely slaughtered. If I told you how they were killed, it would cause you so much pain that it would kill you too, and add your body to the pile of murdered corpses.

Merciful heaven! (to MACDUFF) Come on, man, don’t keep your grief hidden. Put your sorrow into words. The grief you keep inside you will whisper in your heart until it breaks.

They killed my children too?

They killed your wife, your children, your servants, anyone they could find.

And I had to be away! My wife was killed too?

I said she was.

Take comfort. Let’s cure this awful grief by taking revenge on Macbeth.

He doesn’t have children. All my pretty little children? Did you say all? Oh, that bird from hell! All of them? What, all my children and their mother dead in one fell swoop?

Fight it like a man.

I will. But I also have to feel it like a man. I can’t help remembering the things that were most precious to me. Did heaven watch the slaughter and not send down any help? Sinful Macduff, they were killed because of you! As wicked as I am, they were slaughtered because of me, not because of anything they did. May God give their souls rest.

Let this anger sharpen your sword. Transform your grief into anger. Don’t block the feelings in your heart; let them loose as rage.

I could go on weeping like a woman and bragging about how I will avenge them! But gentle heavens, don’t keep me waiting. Bring me face to face with Macbeth, that devil of Scotland. Put him within the reach of my sword, and if he escapes, may heaven forgive him as well!

Now you sound like a man. Come on, let’s go see King Edward. The army is ready. All we have to do now is say goodbye to the king. Macbeth is ripe for the picking. We’ll be acting as God’s agents. Cheer up as much as you can. A new day will come at last.