MACDUFF Boundless intemperance
In nature is a tyranny; it hath been
Th’untimely emptying of the happy throne
And fall of many kings. But fear not yet
To take upon you what is yours. You may
Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty,
And yet seem cold. The time you may so hoodwink.
We have willing dames enough. There cannot be
That vulture in you to devour so many
As will to greatness dedicate themselves,
Finding it so inclined. (4.3.67-77)
This isn’t about Malcolm, or Macbeth, or even about the nature of kingship: it’s about Macduff and, by implication, the audience. How far are you prepared to go? What are you prepared to compromise? Where are your red lines, what makes someone unfit for high office? Does personal immorality, especially sexual immorality, matter? It seems that Macduff might be prepared to hold his nose, if it means getting rid of Macbeth. He concedes that yes, boundless intemperance in nature is a tyranny. Any kind of excess, a real inability to control oneself, rein in one’s passions: that’s a serious character flaw, yes. (Macduff’s being Aristotelian here: the virtues are means; all virtue is grounded in temperance, balance, although he’s particularly thinking about temperance as continence, the ability to control one’s baser instincts and urges.) And such incontinence has led before now to the untimely emptying of the happy throne and fall of many kings. It’s been the downfall of monarchs, and of dynasties. The personal is indeed political.
But—and it’s a big but, and Macduff could well pause meaningfully, as he weighs every word—fear not yet to take upon you what is yours. You’re still the rightful king. And even what you’ve just outlined—your apparently out of control sexual appetites—well it might not be a deal-breaker, in the circumstances. I mean—you’d be king. You’d get away with it, convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty, be able to do what you wanted, it’d be kept quiet, blind eyes would be turned, your—needs—could be serviced, discreetly, hush hush; you could even maintain an outward reputation for rectitude, virtue, yet seem cold. The time you may so hoodwink. We have willing dames enough: pragmatism shading into cynicism; I mean, you’d be king, they’d be queuing up. There cannot be that vulture in you to devour so many as will to greatness dedicate themselves, finding it so inclined. And you can’t be that insatiable, a vulture; there really are limits (and again, if Malcolm’s very young, there might even be a bit of a patronising tone here: steady on, lad, I know it’s all you can think of right now, but still). Groupies: they’ll do anything you ask, star-struck, falling over themselves to fulfil your every need and cater to all your basest desires. It’s a fine line for Macduff here: does he really think this about kings? and does he really think this about women? Or is he too playing the machiavel, testing Malcolm?
