Enter Lady, with a taper
GENTLEWOMAN Lo you, here she comes. This is her very guise, and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her. Stand close.
DOCTOR How came she by that light?
GENTLEWOMAN Why, it stood by her. She has light by her continually; ’tis her command.
DOCTOR You see her eyes are open.
GENTLEWOMAN Ay, but their sense are shut.
DOCTOR What is it she does now? Look how she rubs her hands.
GENTLEWOMAN It is an accustomed action with her to seem thus washing her hands. I have known her continue in this a quarter of an hour. (5.1.16-26)
So here she is, Lady Macbeth, in her nightgown (however that’s being interpreted by a production: drapery, nightie, pyjamas, negligee, naked). And with a taper, a candle in her hand: an early modern audience might make a visual connection to those doing formal penance at Paul’s Cross, wrapped in a sheet or smock, carrying a lighted taper. What she’s wearing and carrying already signify guilt, and the desire to atone. This is her very guise, says the Gentlewoman, this is what I’ve been telling you, trying to make you understand—and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her. Stand close; let’s conceal ourselves, so that we can watch and listen. The Doctor is thinking about the practicalities: how came she by that light? surely not safe, for a sleepwalking woman to be carrying a lighted candle, to have ready access to a naked flame. It’s familiar and obvious to the Gentlewoman, and she hasn’t questioned it: it stood by her, presumably next to her bed. She has light by her continually; ’tis her command. Lady Macbeth insists on having a candle with her all the time. Lady Macbeth, it seems, is afraid of the dark.
The Doctor’s still making his mansplainy observations: you see her eyes are open. (This is not news to the Gentlewoman; she told him that this was the case.) The point is, their sense are shut. Her eyes are open but she can’t see; she is, in effect, blind, unseeing, uncomprehending, not aware of her surroundings. Then another action, that the Doctor can’t at first interpret: what is it she does now? look how she rubs her hands. Implicit stage direction for the actor playing Lady Macbeth, and she will, perhaps, need to set down the light in order to do so, suggesting that it’s in a candlestick. She rubs her hands together intently and purposefully, and this too is familiar to the Gentlewoman: it is an accustomed action with her to seem thus washing her hands. It’s the Gentlewoman who is able to interpret this as washing; the Doctor simply sees rubbing, but the Gentlewoman knows what’s going on, it’s washing, because she’s heard the words that are going to accompany this action already, the words which she has thus far been too afraid to repeat to the Doctor. I have known her continue in this a quarter of an hour. A good length of time to imagine, far too long to be reasonable, short enough still to be imaginable, which it wouldn’t be if it were an hour, say. A length of time that allows the audience to imagine the discomfort, even pain of that repeated action, rubbing, washing, staring, agonising.
