MACDUFF Ring the alarum bell! Murder and treason!
Banquo and Donalbain, Malcolm, awake!
Shake off this downy sleep, death’s counterfeit,
And look on death itself. Up, up, and see
The great doom’s image. Malcolm, Banquo,
As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprites
To countenance this horror.
Bell rings. Enter Lady
LADY What’s the business,
That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley
The sleepers of the house? Speak, speak. (2.3.67-76)
This will probably be the same bell that Lady Macbeth rang, in the dead of night, to summon Macbeth to the murder—but now it’s going to be rung frantically, not a single ominous note, but uneven, jarring; it’s the alarum bell, telling those in the castle not just that they must wake, but that something terrible has happened, perhaps that they are under attack. Depending on the size of the company, there may well be servants appearing, running, even the Porter returning. And Macduff is shouting too, Murder and treason! He needs everyone to know, as fast as possible, what’s happened; he needs everyone where they can be seen and accounted for, too. He calls Banquo, next in seniority to Macbeth, and then Duncan’s sons, Malcolm and Donalbain, urging them to wake up, shake off this downy sleep, death’s counterfeit, and look on death itself. Sleep, so taken for granted, so universal, once again becomes central: it’s downy, soft, comforting, like a feather pillow, or a baby’s head. (Sleep no more; will anyone present ever sleep untroubled again, especially not Duncan’s sons, one of whom, after all, has only just been named as heir?) Sleep is, again, death’s counterfeit; it looks like death, but isn’t. (Lady Macbeth, of course, has just been arguing the opposite, that the dead are not to be feared because they look as if they’re only sleeping.) Everyone needs to wake up, cast off what is, after all, only a fake death, and look on death itself, the real thing, in all its horror. Everyone is urged to rise, up, up, and see the great doom’s image, a sight that resembles nothing so much as the end of the world in all its bloody terror, a doom of the kind that had once been familiar, painted on the walls of English churches, heaven and hell, angels and devils, and the weighing of souls in the balance. (Right here, right now, chez Macbeths, it’s mostly hell.) And, as at the day of judgement, Macduff calls on Malcolm and Banquo to rise up from their beds as if from their graves, to walk like sprites to countenance this horror. He images awaking from sleep, only to look on such a ghastly, apocalyptic sight, almost as an out of body experience, as if they are souls, leaving their bodies behind to face their doom, and that of all creation. If they look like the dead at the end of the world—well, that will countenance that horror, be appropriate to the terrible sight that they must now look on.
And so the bell rings, and enter Lady. She hasn’t been asleep, of course, she’s been biding her time unseen (and in fact up all night), unable to enter with Macbeth, unable to let on that she has the slightest idea that anything is amiss before anyone else. Her entry is a judgement call, feigning sleepiness, nightgown, dressing gown, somewhat vulnerable in the midst of all these men, most of whom are fully dressed, and presumably armed. She may be imperious; this is, after all, her house, and Macduff seems to be giving the orders. What’s the justification for all this racket? What’s the business, that such a hideous trumpet calls to parley the sleepers of the house?It’s not a trumpet, of course, but her identification of bell with trumpet makes it the last trumpet, announcing the end of the world. She too is thinking in apocalyptic terms; that this is it, this is doomsday. But she might also feign annoyance: you’d better have a damn good reason for waking everyone, after such a late night. And she’s also playing for time; she can’t give anything away, betray any sign of a crisis, or of urgency; she has to take charge, too, because she’s perhaps not entirely sure that Macbeth can be trusted to stay in control of the situation or of himself. Would someone be so good as to tell me what’s going on? Speak, speak.
