LENNOX Goes the King hence today?
MACBETH He does; he did appoint so.
LENNOX The night has been unruly. Where we lay,
Our chimneys were blown down, and, as they say,
Lamentings heard i’th’ air, strange screams of death,
And prophesying with accents terrible
Of dire combustion and confused events
New-hatched to th’ woeful time. The òbscure bird
Clamoured the livelong night. Some say the earth
Was feverous and did shake.
MACBETH ’Twas a rough night.
LENNOX My young remembrance cannot parallel
A fellow to it. (2.3.44-55)
Small talk indeed, but revealing. Goes the King hence today, is he leaving? asks Lennox. A reasonable question, passing the time, simple request for information—but one that puts Macbeth on the spot in ways that he couldn’t imagine. He does;—or rather—he did appoint so. Macbeth’s being scrupulously honest in ways that Lennox, of course, can’t imagine: yes, that was the plan, just the one night, off again this morning. That confirmed, Lennox continues to make conversation: the night has been unruly. (Hmmm, nods Macbeth.) Where we lay, our chimneys were blown down: an early modern audience would assume that, as on royal progresses, other members of the royal entourage would have been billeted elsewhere, and that’s what’s happened here: Macduff and Lennox and presumably others, and never mind the troops, are staying nearby. And that was badly affected by a storm, the house damaged. Even more, there were—as they say, a good way of making it sound more sinister; people have already been talking about what a bad night it was, it’s a general topic of conversation—there were lamentings heard in the air, strange screams of death. Macbeth mentioned night shrieks in an earlier scene, and here’s testimony to it. There have been fell, horrifying voices on the air. And they seem to have spoken intelligibly, making prophecies with accents terrible (this means they just sounded appalling, not that the prophecies were spoken with a particular—Scottish—accent), prophecies of dire combustion and confused events new-hatched to th’woeful time. Prophecies of chaos and disorder, unrest, even (combustion might suggest) fire, apocalypse, not old prophecies, but new ones, with terrible tidings of woe. (The witches, we can’t help picturing the witches, flying, screaming, prophesying.) The obscure bird, that is the owl, obscure because nocturnal, and a bird of ill omen, clamoured the livelong night. It wouldn’t shut up. (The Macbeths also heard the owl when they were about their bloody business.) Some say—again, everyone’s talking about what an unsettled night it was—some say the earth was feverous and did shake. The earth is imagined as a sick body, racked with febrile convulsions, an earthquake. All of these signs are very bad news, suggesting cataclysmic disruptions to the natural order. And what can Macbeth say? ’Twas a rough night. Yep. (A line which almost always gets a laugh in performance.) Fortunately Lennox doesn’t seem to notice just how laconic, even by his standards, Macbeth is being; he’s carried a way, a bit, by his own vivid story-telling. My young remembrance cannot parallel a fellow to it. I can’t remember another night like it. Lennox, mate, the party’s only just getting started…
