MACBETH      Hark! Who lies i’th’ second chamber?

LADY              Donalbain.

MACBETH      This is a sorry sight.

LADY              A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight.

MACBETH      There’s one did laugh in’s sleep, and one cried ‘Murder!’,

That they did wake each other—I stood and heard them—

But they did say their prayers, and addressed them

Again to sleep.

LADY              There are two lodged together.       (2.2.17-23)

The jittery action continues, talking past each other, jumping from question to question; in fact they’re both talking to themselves as much as to the other. Hark! Listen! (again, Macbeth thinks he’s heard something, a noise within—someone awake?) Who lies in the second chamber? We imagine yet another room, one adjacent to Duncan’s; the castle grows more complicated again. Lady Macbeth knows everything, all the details of who’s where. It’s Donalbain, the second son of the king, who indeed might be expected to be keeping an eye on his aging father, sleeping close by. But Macbeth’s not listening: this is a sorry sight. Stage direction or not (and some editions supply one)—he’s looking at his hands, which will be pretty much the only thing that the audience have been looking at since he entered. Covered with blood, a sorry sight, distressing, lamentable—appalling. She’s dismissive: a foolish thought, to say a sorry sight; well, what did you expect? Of course there was blood, of course it’s on your hands. Get over it, no big deal. But he’s not listening again; rather, he’s reliving the flashbulb memories of the trauma he’s just seen, just enacted, the strange incongruities, the details that seemed inconsequential. He’s seeing them, reliving them. There’s one did laugh in’s sleep, and the other, horribly, cried ‘Murder!’ They even woke each other up, momentarily, from that deep drunken slumber—I stood and heard them. A flashing glimpse of Macbeth cringing in a shadow, standing stock still, not daring to breathe, heart in his mouth, his eye on the daggers lying ready, willing the servants back to sleep while at the same time, perhaps, hoping that they won’t, that he won’t have to go through with it after all. All the while the old king sleeping peacefully. But the servants said their prayers, calming and reassuring themselves and each other with ritual and familiar words, and addressed them again to sleep. Off again, snuggled down, oblivious. (Drunk and drugged.) There are two lodged together; this seems to be Lady Macbeth confirming that yes, two servants, probably sharing a bed or lying on pallets in an antechamber to Duncan’s room, as she left them. She’s not interested in the servants, or the prayers. She just wants Macbeth to say, in his own words, that he’s done it.