It was a stormy night, that of the banquet; it rained, it thundered, and the wind made dreadful noises in the forests, which events, we have noticed in the stories of the old writers, were apt to occur in early times when something was about to happen. We are also informed that the owls hooted, which seems probable, as owls were quite plenty in those days.
Duncan was conducted to a chamber, which had been prepared for him in great state, when the feast was done. Before retiring he sent to “his most kind hostess” a large diamond as a present; he then fell asleep “in measureless content.”
When all was still in the castle Lady Macbeth told her husband that the hour for the deed had come. He hesitated, and reminded her of the consequences if he should fail. She taunted him as being a coward, and told him to “screw his courage up to the sticking-place, and he would not fail.” Then he took his dagger, and, according to Shakspeare, made a long speech over it, a speech which, I am sorry to say, stage-struck boys and girls have been mouthing in a most unearthly manner ever since the days of Queen Bess.
Macbeth “screwed his courage up to the sticking-place” indeed, and then and there was the end of the life of Duncan. When the deed was done, he put his poniard into the hand of a sentinel, who was sleeping in the king’s room, under the influence of wine that Lady Macbeth had drugged.
WITCHES.
When the meal was prepared on the following morning, Macbeth and his lady pretended to be much surprised that the old king did not get up. Macduff, the thane of Fife, who was one of the royal party, decided at last to go to the king’s apartment to see if the king was well. He returned speedily in great [!-- illustration --] [!-- blank page --] excitement, as one may well suppose. As Shakspeare continues the interesting narrative:—