MACDUFF O Scotland, Scotland!
MALCOLM If such a one be fit to govern, speak.
I am as I have spoken.
MACDUFF Fit to govern?
No, not to live. O nation miserable!
With an untitled tyrant, bloody-sceptred,
When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again,
Since that the truest issue of thy throne
By his own interdiction stands accursed,
And does blaspheme his breed? Thy royal father
Was a most sainted king. The queen that bore thee,
Oft’ner upon her knees than on her feet,
Died every day she lived. Fare thee well.
These evils thou repeat’st upon thyself
Hath banished me from Scotland. O my breast,
Thy hope ends here. (4.3.101-115)
Macduff finally cracks: so it’s hopeless, then. O Scotland, Scotland: you’re doomed. Malcolm pushes him further: well, how do you respond? If you still think that such a one as I’ve just described be fit to govern, now’s your chance to say so. I am as I have spoken. That’s me. Fit to govern? Of course not. Not even fit to live. O nation miserable! Things are just desperate for Scotland. Ruled by a despot, a usurping untitled tyrant, bloody-sceptred, governing with violence, the sceptre of legitimate rule stained with blood. (A dagger, not a rod of justice.) And it’s clearly hopeless. When shalt thou—Scotland—see thy wholesome days again, a time of peace and plenty, unity, harmony and order? Wholesome here is to do with wholeness, integrity, the opposite of this terrible invocation of a wounded, polluted, tormented body politic which Malcolm has evoked. Malcolm was the great hope, a prince in waiting, but now he—the truest issue of thy throne, the legitimate and rightful heir—he stands accursed out of his own mouth, by his own interdiction; in so doing he blasphemes his breed, dishonours his family, his parents, his lineage.Thy royal father was a most sainted king: this partly retrospective sanctification of Duncan is about to be reinforced by association, with a reverent description of the piety and saintliness of the English king; Duncan hasn’t been especially holy in the scenes in which he’s appeared, but that’s not really the point here. The point is Malcolm’s apparent deviance, his total depravity, encompassing both dishonouring his parents and betraying his country. A brief cameo for Malcolm’s unnamed mother, a woman apparently of great piety, who was oftener upon her knees, in prayer, than on her feet. She died every day she lived, a model of Christian rectitude and self-mortification, the absolute opposite of the amoral voluptuousness which Malcolm has so vividly attributed to himself.
So Macduff’s giving up, he’s out of there, no idea where he’s going or what he can possibly do now. All he knows is that he can never, now, return to Scotland; all hope is gone. Fare thee well, he says to Malcolm, turning to go; these evils thou repeat’st upon thyself, your terrible confession of your crimes, actual and anticipated, has banished me from Scotland. No going back. Scotland doesn’t exist anymore. O my breast, thy hope ends here. Utter despair, and heartbreak.
