Lady Macbeth: you, poker face; leave all the rest to me (1.5.58-69) #DaggerDrawn #SlowShakespeare

LADY   Your face, my thane, is as a book where men

May read strange matters. To beguile the time

Look like the time: bear welcome in your eye,

Your hand, your tongue. Look like th’innocent flower,

But be the serpent under’t. He that’s coming

Must be provided for; and you shall put

This night’s great business into my dispatch,

Which shall to all our nights and days to come

Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom.

MACBETH      We will speak further.

LADY                                      Only look up clear.

To alter favour ever is to fear.

Leave all the rest to me.

Exeunt (1.5.58-69)

 

It’s striking how little Macbeth says in this scene: of the eighteen lines they share, he speaks fewer than three in total. Yet by the end of the scene they’ve more than come to an understanding; they’ve made a decision. There’s a telepathic quality to their exchanges, in the shared lines—and in the way Lady Macbeth knows his weaknesses and tries to enable him to overcome them. His face, she says, is an open book, perhaps particularly at this moment; in it, men may read strange matters. They’ll know just by looking at him that something’s up, something weird’s going on. So therefore, to beguile the time, to distract people, put them at their ease, he needs to look like the time: he needs to play the host, the noble thane of Glamis, of Cawdor. He needs to bear welcome in his eye, his hand, his tongue, do and say all the right things, his hands open, his eyes direct, his tongue eloquent, humble, courtly, genial. The perfect host, welcoming his king. Macbeth must look like the innocent flower (a stretch, for the ruthless berserking warrior of whom we’ve heard so much?)—but be the serpent under it, a classic image of dissembling, of hidden evil. A snake in the grass, the serpent in Eden. He that’s coming must be provided for: Lady Macbeth’s statement is itself a hidden snake. She could well be referring to the practical preparations, the special dinner, the best china, the hot water bottle, but she’s also thinking about how Duncan is going to be—taken care of. And she doesn’t even name him, not by name or title. Put this night’s great business into my dispatch, she says; I can look after it all, making up the beds, whipping up a banquet, and the rest. But the great business, of course, is not the catering arrangements, or who’s sleeping where. Only in her last words, here, does she remotely suggest with any degree of explicitness that there’s more at stake than being the perfect hostess. Everything depends on what we do this night. It shall to all our nights and days to come give solely sovereign sway and masterdom. She’s not saying that this will make them or break them, interestingly—just that this will make them, bring them ultimate power, solely sovereign sway and masterdom. Hesitation from Macbeth, uncertainty? We will speak further, suggesting that it’s not quite as settled as she’s making out. But she’s having none of it, perhaps interrupting: only look up clear. To alter favour ever is to fear. She’s back to his open face, his inability to dissemble. All you have to do is stay calm, keep looking open, honest, untroubled. Poker face. Leave all the rest to me.

Stichomythic, telepathic. How to lay a plot, without laying a plot. (And it’s notable that she concludes in couplets, to make it just that bit more definite.)

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