LADY The Thane of Fife had a wife; where is she now? What, will these hands ne’er be clean? No more o’ that, my lord, no more o’ that. You mar all with this starting.
DOCTOR Go to, go to; you have known what you should not.
GENTLEWOMAN She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that. Heaven knows what she has known.
LADY Here’s the smell of the blood still. All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. O, O, O!
DOCTOR What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charged.
GENTLEWOMAN I would not have such a heart in my bosom for the dignity of the whole body.
DOCTOR Well, well, well.
GENTLEWOMAN Pray God it be, sir. (5.1.36-48)
The Thane of Fife had a wife: the rhyme has a nursery-rhyme quality, but also sounds a bit like the witches, bitter and sing-song; what matters more, though, is that Lady Macbeth knows about Macduff’s family, she knows how far her husband is prepared to go in his paranoid savagery, and that no one is safe, not even women and children. (Perhaps even she isn’t safe.) Guilt and fear and grief for the slaughtered, especially if (as is the case in some productions) Lady Macbeth and Lady Macduff have interacted, have even been shown to be friends. (This was the case in the 2021 Almeida production.) My husband has ordered the death of my friend, or, at the very least, a woman just like me, army wife, tough, bright, gutsy. Where is she now? But Lady Macbeth feels the guilt as hers too, clearly, all of it, and implicitly not just that over Duncan’s death: what, will these hands ne’er be clean? A switch into berating Macbeth, egging him on (hence the guilt), as if re-experiencing the night of the first murder, and more besides: no more o’ that, my lord, no more o’ that. Just get on with it, just do it, do it, do it. You mar all with this starting: your jumpiness and nerves will wreck everything.
The Doctor is realising the full import of what they’re hearing, and is anxious about the Gentlewoman’s loyalties, or perhaps her inability to keep a secret; he tries to dismiss her with go to, go to; you have known what you should not. (He could, perhaps, be addressing Lady Macbeth herself, telling her to hold her tongue, stop incriminating herself and, even more, Macbeth. It’s ambiguous, I think. His anxiety about the Gentlewoman would, however, be consistent with his previous reluctance to take her seriously.) Her response is spirited, a retort, even: well, if I’ve known what I should not, hearing this, then she has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that. She’s the guilty one here, and she’s the one incriminating herself. Heaven knows what she has known; there may be more, more than even we can infer or suspect.
More chilling than the indelible imagined spot, the smell. Here’s the smell of the blood still, and the audience must catch a sickening, utterly distinctive ferrous whiff—in their imaginations—of the blood, unable to be scrubbed out or ever forgotten. A desperate wail, recollecting a past of sensual pleasure, and perhaps of a loving compliment: now all the perfumes of Arabia, heady and exotic, will be unable to sweeten this little hand, so soft, so white, to take away the stench of death. The hand her husband kissed and caressed. O, O, O—a sigh, a groan, desolate and despairing. What a sigh is there! as the Doctor states the obvious. The heart is sorely charged, overburdened, weighed down with grief, guilt, sin—the sigh a futile attempt to relieve some of that burden, lighten its crushing weight, as if letting off steam. And another spirited, yet sympathetic retort from the Gentlewoman: I would not have such a heart in my bosom for the dignity of the whole body. I wouldn’t change places with her, not for anything. She may be a queen, but she’s in a terrible way; nothing would induce me to take on that guilty conscience. Well, well, well, the Doctor concludes, somewhat lamely—embarrassed, afraid at what they’ve heard? And he knows that there’s nothing to be done. So the Gentlewoman can be earnest—pray God it be, sir, may all be well—but also, perhaps, a little pert. The big medical man can’t do anything. And now he too knows what’s at stake, and has some idea of just how bad this is.
