MACBETH.
LADY MACBETH.
We fail.[113]
But screw your courage to the sticking-place,
And we'll not fail.
Again, in the murdering scene, the obdurate inflexibility of purpose with which she drives on Macbeth to the execution of their project, and her masculine indifference to blood and death, would inspire unmitigated disgust and horror, but for the involuntary consciousness that it is produced rather by the exertion of a strong power over herself, than by absolute depravity of disposition and ferocity of temper. This impression of her character is brought home at once to our very hearts with the most profound knowledge of the springs of nature within us, the most subtle mastery over their various operations, and a feeling of dramatic effect not less wonderful. The very passages in which Lady Macbeth displays the most savage and relentless determination, are so worded as to fill the mind with the idea of sex, and place the woman before us in all her dearest attributes, at once softening and refining the horror, and rendering it more intense. Thus, when she reproaches her husband for his weakness—
From this time,
Such I account thy love!
Again,
Come to my woman's breasts,
And take my milk for gall, ye murdering ministers,
That no compunctions visitings of nature
Shake my fell purpose, &c.
I have given suck, and know how tender 'tis
To love the babe that milks me, &c.
And lastly, in the moment of extremest horror comes that unexpected touch of feeling, so startling, yet so wonderfully true to nature—