MACBETH Who’s there?
Enter Servant and two Murderers
[To Servant] Now go to the door, and stay there till we call.
Exit Servant
Was it not yesterday we spoke together?
MURDERERS It was, so please your highness.
MACBETH Well then, now
Have you considered of my speeches? Know
That it was he, in the times past, which held you
So under fortune, which you thought had been
Our innocent self. This I made good to you
In our last conference, passed in probation with you
How you were borne in hand, how crossed, the instruments,
Who wrought with them, and all things else that might
To half a soul and to a notion crazed
Say ‘Thus did Banquo’. (3.1.72-85)
Who’s there? Macbeth, interrupted, by the return of the servant with the men he was sent to fetch. These aren’t professional hitmen, it will quickly become apparent, but no matter, so far as the speech prefixes are concerned, they’re already Murderers. Macbeth’s jumpy; perhaps the servant isn’t entirely in his power or his confidence, and he might be being sent to the door both to keep watch and to prevent him from hearing the conversation that’s about to take place. A bit of a swerve, perhaps, in the revelation that Macbeth’s already put these events in train by speaking to the men yesterday; he’s been entertaining Banquo and his other friends and allies for at least a day, probably more, all the while plotting. His speech agonising about feeling unsafe, about selling his soul for Banquo’s heirs–that wasn’t a working out, or a thinking through, it was calculating self-justification, for a decision already made, a plot already worked out and set in motion. The murderers politely confirm: yes, it was yesterday, so please your highness (very polite, these murderers; anxious to please? well aware how vulnerable they are?) They all know that that’s the case, Macbeth too, they’re just going through the motions, dancing around the subject a bit. There was a conversation yesterday. Well then, now have you considered of my speeches? A lengthy conversation, full of import and information. What did Macbeth tell these men? So now he recaps. Know that it was he—no doubt, then, who he means, at least not for the murderers—it was him, who held you back, who stopped you getting on in life, getting the things that you deserved. He kept you downtrodden, poor, unlucky, held you under fortune. And you thought that was all my fault, our innocent self? No, it was him. When we spoke, I was able to set the record straight, put you right: I gave you evidence, showed you proof, passed in probation with you. I gave you chapter and verse, all the examples of how you were borne in hand, led on and deluded, only to be let down; how you were crossed, thwarted, denied your just desserts; I explained who did it, and how, the instruments and who wrought with them. It all adds up, everything, I told you everything. And it all points to Banquo: anyone with half a brain, and with their wits about them would see that. You’d have to be a fool, an idiot, a total loser not to know that everything bad that’s happened in your lives has been Banquo’s fault. In performance there might be the sense that Macbeth is going through the motions, and that the murderers know that he is. Do they actually believe him? Perhaps. But it doesn’t matter; he has the power, and the money, presumably, and they are poor. And, like his wife, he knows how to exploit men’s weaknesses, to find their vulnerabilities, their shame, their petty fears, and play on them with utter ruthlessness.
