MACBETH.
“There is some soul of goodness in things evil.”—King Henry V.
Macbeth is a historical character. He is one of those who stand on the page of history as personifications of vice, rather than as men who possess any thing in common with ourselves. They distinguished themselves by a career of crime—in general that crime arose from ambition,—their names have become a proverb, and are associated in our minds with a particular form of vice as the entire and bare sum of their character. Yet when thus viewed, what are called examples affect us little more than a lifeless homily. They raise in us no sympathy, and of course no interest. They may indeed excite a hatred of that abstract form of vice, but against that we feel secure, and we make no attempt to derive from them any further benefit. Our abhorrence forbids; for we look upon them not as human beings with their varying hues, but as monsters, almost as monsters born. This horror, thus excited at personified vice, seems to speak well for our hearts, yet it will be found to prevent us from taking discriminating views of such characters, and from deriving any practical wisdom from them. We do not reflect that they were men like ourselves, that though deeply sunk in vice, they were once as innocent as we may suppose ourselves to be; that it was by objects working upon what is within every one of us, that they became what they were; that the deeper they were involved in the coil of wickedness, the more narrowly does it become us, would we derive true wisdom or true knowledge from them, to search out those places in the heart where its cords were first fastened on them; to find what was first effectually touched to make them what they were. Nor do we reflect that to obtain any practical knowledge of men, it is no way to separate whatever of good there may be in such characters, from the bad, however great it may be; since it is only to be obtained by observing the struggle between the two as they actually stand connected. Nor need we fear to admire too much, that, in the most vicious mind, which is worthy of our admiration; as if we should detest vice the less, for seeing the ruin it makes, or for detecting its insidiousness in undermining the fair qualities which may call forth our praise.
An excellent means of thus presenting to us the characters of history, as they are in their original cast, and as they progress or change in the course of events, may be found in the drama. The living beings in all their “intensity of life,” are before us; with the circumstances of life about them—whether actual circumstances or not is of little importance, if they are such as might have been expected. The scenes of a whole life pass rapidly, yet distinctly and freshly before us, as imagination loves, and as we should review the eventful life of one whom we had well known.
The tragedy before us moves towards its conclusion with a fearful rapidity, which we vainly wish to detain; and is invested with a stern and awful solemnity, disturbed only by thrilling scenes of horror.
Macbeth, the kinsman of king Duncan, and general of his army, returning from a victorious battle, is met by three witches, two of whom hail him with titles of nobility, which are almost instantly confirmed, and the third with that of future king. Led by this and his own ambition, he, at the suggestion of his wife, murders at midnight the king whom he had entertained, and charges the deed upon his guards. He is crowned, and to maintain his crown, is led into a series of butcheries, which ends in his own death by the hand of Macduff, aided by the English, who had been invited over by the sons of the murdered Duncan.
It might seem, at first view, that Macbeth is only one among the slaves of a vulgar ambition, which implies a mind already hardened, and which, attracted by some splendid object, sets itself, from purely selfish ends, to the attainment of it, and after some visitings of remorse, becomes thoroughly obdurate. The elements of such a character are gross and palpable; the representations obvious; and it is, we think, under this impression that this play has been pronounced to contain “no nice discriminations of character.”[[1]] But if we consider that Macbeth is in a great degree the subject of influence, acted upon rather than acting, and in some respects more sinned against than sinning; and how, at last, it is the sarcasm of his wife, and the fear of disappointing her whom he loves, full as much as his own ambition, which prevails on him to do the murder, the character becomes more complicated, and we are constrained to find the good and bad in it more evenly balanced, than we at first thought they could be. The truth about Macbeth seems to be, that with the peculiar openness of a hero, and with all his grandeur of intellect, together with nice discrimination of all that may become a man, he is wanting in that energy of reflection, which imparts integrity or moral entireness to the mind. In this respect, his conduct is well contrasted with that of Banquo, upon the reception of the infernal prediction. The want of this trait accounts also for the fact, that he is never self-possessed in his wickedness, and never acts properly upon a selfish plan. For this reason, when we mark the many pure and bright qualities, which might form the elements of a most noble character, and of whose value the ingenuous owner seems hardly conscious, we are tempted to exclaim in another sense,
“O Fortunatus! sua si bona noverit!”
And when we see these tarnished and obscured by means of deceit which he does not comprehend, or if he does, has not sufficient energy to dispel, though we cannot greatly respect, we can still admire and pity him. We cannot view him with the same feelings as we do Richard III, wholly remorseless, and self-possessed in wickedness absolutely unredeemed; nor as we do that cool, contriving villain, Iago. On account of his openness of mind also, his character will be best understood, not by formal analysis, but by following him through the various circumstances in which he is placed, and observing their effects on a mind too genial not to receive them, and withal too transparent to hide them.
Let us take him then as he is first presented to us. He is a hero. This character also remains with him throughout. It is heroism which urges him to deeds of high daring, which prompts his mind to its lofty conceptions of greatness, which struggles long and hard with his conscience, but at last plunges him in guilt, propelling him deeper and deeper into it, and called out in its utmost grandeur and intensity in braving the cowardice of remorse. But with the hero’s bravery and lion strength, there is united also the “milk of human kindness,” and the tenderest pity; for who, other than he who copied from his own breast, would have conceived of it thus, even when it opposed directly his designs.