A Macbeth Halloween

      'Tis Halloween this night. We beyond the violet mist feel the magic magnified a hundredfold as the violet mist pervades the lands on both sides. It might be noted that not only is this a Halloween, but still more it is in the year 2013, a particularly good year for the mysterious and fantastical, as well as for rhyming (Halloween, twenty-thirteen), and a nice-looking date: October 31, 2013, or 10-31-13 (because, you know, 31 is 13 in reverse. Nifty, isn’t it?). In this, our literature class, Macbeth’s discussions have fallen in line rather well with this season of enchantment. We have been particularly discussing Lady Macbeth and her soliloquies and conversations with Macbeth and the many different interpretations of the Lady. We saw various videos of several actresses portraying her, each from different angles. One actress, from a stage production in an American replica of Shakespeare’s Globe, emphasized how happily married the Macbeths are and how there was a feeling that if they encouraged one another and didn’t let one another quit, between them they could accomplish anything, even if that thing happened to be something like, say, assassinating the king. In the other video we watched individually, though, Lady Macbeth was portrayed as almost a witch herself, dark and ominous and evil to the core, quite Halloween-ish and even slightly horror-film-esque.
      Even their physical appearances were largely different; the Lady in the stage production had golden blonde, gently waved hair and was slightly older, and had sort of a softer, kinder face, while the Lady in the movie clip had raven black, shortly-cropped hair and ghostly white skin, and though she looked in the same ballpark of the age of the other actress, she had a more haunted, less gentle face. Not to say that the former Lady Macbeth was some sort of cuddly grandmother-woman; indeed, she was far from it, slamming Macbeth forcefully against a door and speaking sharply to him. Still, she was somehow centering all her actions on the idea that her character was only acting and speaking out of her love for Macbeth and her belief that he deserved better, and that he could get it if only he would do what he had to do. The latter Lady Macbeth seems cold and filled with darkness; it almost seems she hardly needs to call on the spirits of darkness, for they may well already be in her.
      I found some of the effects in the movie-type version interesting as well. Before the second Lady says “the raven himself is hoarse,” a raven crows in a silent pause, and the single sound echoes powerfully through the chambers of the castle. After she finishes reading the letter from Macbeth, she opens a metal door that is almost cage-like, making an eerie, loud clattering sound. She says most of her lines as though she is speaking incantations. Her ghostly white gown flutters in a preternatural breeze as the forcefulness of her voice builds towards the end of the soliloquy. The gentler Lady Macbeth seems to have less opportunity for sound effects, but still her performance feels balanced and well done. It is much warmer where the other is colder. Light does filter strangely through a door at the side of the stage (the one against which she throws her husband) but there is less done with sounds and props. She speaks to her beloved husband with passion, almost as though giving him a rough sort of pep talk, energizing him and encouraging him to claim what she believes he deserves. Her gown is a lovely purple, bright and warm like her, and equally passionate and even volatile like her. In the commentary on the video of the stage production, I found it interesting where one person noted that the play is named Macbeth, not “Lady Macbeth and some guy she lives with”, which is what some performances of Macbeth may become when the Lady dominates the play. It is hard to say from the other video whether the Lady will overshadow her husband or not, as the clip was only her soliloquy and the only person with whom she interacted was a messenger, and that briefly.
      I think both interpretations of the play were strong. I perhaps preferred the lighter version, if only because I like to think of the Lady Macbeth as a somewhat good-hearted character, even if she is inciting her husband to murder, as perhaps it might be due to her love and hopes for him rather than greed for herself. The darker Lady Macbeth was a good interpretation as well, though, and certainly more Halloween-y and witch-like or ghostly, or even vampire-ish in coloration. She was most definitely a powerful woman, and clearly taken with evil and forces of the night. The people of the violet mist feel slightly odd that their typical sort of mysterious wrap-up sentence came at the start of the writing, and so feel the need to write some sort of “beyond the violet mist” wrap-up statement here. We beyond the violet mist wish you a Halloween filled to the brim with shimmering magic and must now post this while it remains Halloween.

Macbeth: Will He Really Usurp?

        How can one tell whether a person is good and of sound character shortly after meeting them? It can be difficult to truly know a person's heart even if you have known them for a while. There may be some things that can serve to indicate a person's character, though, that one may perhaps use on which to base a guess after only meeting someone for a short while. After reading only the first few scenes in Macbeth, we have been asked to say whether we think he is a good person or not. Oddly enough, I have been so busy and reading so many things at once that I have not actually read ahead. I know. It's strange. I feel weird not reading ahead, which I suppose to most people is normal, but it almost makes me feel as though I am behind. So, abnormally, I still know very little about Macbeth though the book has been in my possession a while now. But anyways, is Macbeth a good man?
         Another thing which we are to discuss is, upon reading his soliloquy in Act 1, Scene 3, Lines 140-155, is Macbeth honestly considering murdering King Duncan so he can be king as the witches have told him he will be, or is he just saying this? When we talked about this we mentioned how one might, after one’s sibling has done something quite annoying, say, “I’m going to kill [said sibling]!”, but how this is quite different from saying to oneself, “well, if I lured them down to the river, and I snuck up behind them with a log, and I lifted it high above my head and I...” and so on. The first is clearly an empty threat, an expression of annoyance, while the second is clearly more than this--a plot. So, is Macbeth just getting annoyed that he’s not king, or is he honestly plotting to usurp?
         I can’t say for certain, but I think that if I were King Duncan, I would want to be watching my back. Macbeth seems to have no problem with violently murdering his enemies, as even the very first mention of him in the play is when the captain tells us that he “unseamed [an enemy] from the nave to th’ chops, and fixed his head upon our battlements.” If he was able to gut a man and chop off his head and wave it around like a prize without flinching, is it that much of a stretch that he may begin to consider his own king his enemy for standing in his path to the throne, and so to treat him similarly to the aforementioned enemy? Sure, in his soliloquy, he states that the thought of killing the king “doth unfix my hair and make my seated heart knock at my ribs against the use of nature,” but if the idea was an empty threat to him, it wouldn’t be affecting him so profoundly. His heart is pounding as if he already has the blade raised over King Duncan’s head, which is where he is in his mind, as best as I can tell. From the little I know of Macbeth so far, I don’t think he has good character. I think he’s in things for himself, really, and that he’s power-hungry and arrogant. He begins he soliloquy with a delighted thrill that he has just been named Thane of Cawdor and with a greedy thirst for the throne. Today, Thane of Glamis and Cawdor, tomorrow, King of Scotland (and the day after that, ruler of all earth), he seems to be thinking to himself. He says that the first part of the witches’ prophecy coming true is “[a] happy prologue... to the swelling act of the imperial theme,” and one can hear his chest swelling with pride. I think he is blind enough in his pride and thirst for power that he will slay the king, though he might regret it later, through guilt or consequence.
         Of course, I know very little about Macbeth thus far. He does seem to value honor in battle, and maybe his sense of honor and even duty to his kingdom will stay his hand and keep him from usurping. I have been wrong in predicting the character of characters in plays before; when we studied Medea earlier this year, I at first judged the title character to be of good character. I thought she was a good person who was simply wronged by Jason and who would not allow hate to consume her life. But she proved she was far more hateful than I had thought, and she committed even more wrongs than Jason. My fault with Medea, though, was trusting her too much, and seeing more good in her than there truly was; with Macbeth, if I am already distrusting him, is it not all the more likely that he is even more evil than I have already anticipated? I do think he has a conscience, but whether he truly does remains to be proven. I do not believe his conscience will stop him from usurpery, though. I do not think Macbeth is a good man and if I were King Duncan, I’d watch my back. We of the land beyond the violet mist see from afar a betrayal brewing in ancient Scotland.

Macbeth, Banquo, and the Witches' Prophecies

Macbeth, Banquo, and the Witches' Prophecies

           We have now begun our study of Shakespeare's Macbeth in our college preparatory literature class. In scene three, Macbeth, a commander in the Scottish King's army, and Banquo, his fellow commander, are traveling back from a battle when they come across three witches who have been waiting for them. The witches tell Macbeth and Banquo strange prophecies--they tell Macbeth that he shall not only be Thane of Glamis, as he already is, but also that he shall be named Thane of Cawdor shortly, and that he shall someday be king. They tell Banquo that he shall not be king, but that his children will, and that he shall be "lesser than Macbeth and greater, not so happy, and yet much happier".

They react in different ways. Macbeth, immediately after hearing the witches' prophesy for himself, falls into sort of a daydream, either considering the potential truth of the prediction or revelling in the idea of being king, or thinking other untold thoughts. It is during this pause in conversation that Banquo speaks up and asks to hear what the witches would say to him, and it is then that the witches tell him his prophesy. After they tell him this, they begin to vanish, and Macbeth chases after them, stirred from his thoughts, and so we do not hear Banquo's immediate reaction. After the witches vanish, Banquo seems befuddled and mystified, wondering aloud, “the earth hath bubbles, as the water has, and these are of them. Whither are they vanished?”. Banquo seems to doubt what they have just seen, asking “have we eaten on the insane root that takes the reason prisoner?”, or, basically, ‘did we eat something funky? Was that a hallucination?’. Macbeth, on the other hand, seems somewhat excited about what they have heard, hardly questioning what has taken place. He even says, “would they had stayed!”, as he wishes to hear more of what may be his future from these unearthly beings. Immediately after Banquo questions whether the happenings were a hallucination, Macbeth notes to him “your children shall be kings”, and while the play lacks subtext or stage directions for this quote, I imagine that Macbeth is saying this in an incredulous tone, and that Banquo’s response, “you shall be king”, is in an equally incredulous tone. I feel like this is the moment when Banquo begins to entertain the idea that what the witches said could possibly be true. I think Banquo is still doubtful, though, but he is wondering, and he thinks there is a possibility the witches might be speaking truthfully. Later, he gathers his thoughts more, and after Macbeth is indeed named Thane of Cawdor, he no longer thinks that the witches were just a hallucination, but he distrusts them, and he warns Macbeth not to trust them. Banquo tells Macbeth, “oftentimes, to win us harm, the instruments of darkness tell us truths, win us with honest trifles, to betray’s in deepest consequence.” Banquo knows that witches are evil and deceitful, and that they likely had an ulterior motive in telling Macbeth this truth. Macbeth, however, is unheedful of this. He refers to the witches as “those that gave the Thane of Cawdor to me”, as though he is thanking them, and giving them the credit for the title he received. He even says to Banquo, “do you not hope your children shall be kings?”, as though saying, ‘what’s wrong with you? This is great news! If the prophecy came true for me, it will for you too! Why aren’t you more excited?’.

While it is understandable for Macbeth to be excited, Banquo really has the more levelheaded, and more normal, reaction. It makes sense to be wary of witches popping up on the heath and telling you your future amidst cryptic riddles and then vanishing into thin air, after all. Macbeth is unperturbed to a somewhat unreasonable degree. Perhaps his mind is still scrambled from the gory battle he has just left, but it is rather strange to hear your future from a ragtag trio of witches who you have never met yet who already know much about you. Macbeth doesn’t really seem to process the strangeness of this. He seems almost mentally lacking, as if his brain does not fully connect. Banquo seems more sane in the face of these events.

Strange things have begun to brew today beyond the violet mist.

To Be A Queen: 
Would You  Like to be a British Monarch in the Renaissance?

It is a glamorous idea, often romanticized and fantasized, and probably almost universally desired. But when one really thinks about it, considers all the tasks and difficulties, all the beheadings and political marriages, it becomes a far less pleasant ideal. So, for me, I would have to answer thus: no. Goodness no. For one thing, I think I would rather be in France during the renaissance. That aside, I would have no privacy whatsoever; all eyes would be on me, and the pressure to maintain an entire kingdom would be mine alone in the eyes of my subjects. I could never bring myself to behead someone, and while I would make quite a peaceful ruler, my cousins could usurp the throne from me in no time. I like to think I am rather clever, but in the world of political arrangements I could probably be quickly outwitted. I would likely end up being Queen for a grand total of two weeks before someone stole my throne and beheaded me. I do not greatly fancy being beheaded. I might not mind the charming, intelligent, and witty courtiers surrounding me, though, nor would I mind living in the elegant, ornate castles, which would truly be a living fantasy. Who has not imagined exploring the shadowy halls and secret passageways, the high tower rooms and low dungeon corridors, the resplendent libraries and sprawling gardens of a classic renaissance castle (or perhaps a chateau en France)? That part would be dreamlike. But one would not necessarily have to be Queen to do this.

One of the Queen's maids of honor could have extended access to the castle, as well as to most things the Queen did, and I myself would likely much rather be such a maid. One might look at the word "maid" and think, "why would you ever want to be that?", but think about it: the maids of honor were in very high standing in the kingdom but with much less pressure on them politically. Yes, they had duties to fulfill and standards to maintain, but they also got to live a life nearly as luxurious as that of the Queen but with far less trouble. If I were a maid of honor to the Queen, it would not be my fault if the Spanish Armada decimated our fleet, I would not have to behead my cousin for threatening to steal my job, and I would not bring the kingdom to ruin by marrying unstrategically (although I could probably would still have little chance at ever marrying for love, but in those days, no one had much chance.) I would still be lacking privacy, but the eyes of the kingdom would not be looking at me, but rather through me to my lady.

Or perhaps I would rather be a more anonymous noble lady, out of the direct service of the Queen but still one of the courtiers, able to explore the magnificent castles and even indulge in intriguing conversations with some of the charming men of the court, as perhaps I could not do the latter if I were one of the Queen’s maids of honor. Attention and pressure would still be on me but less, and my freedom would be restricted but perhaps still existent. I would simply have to work on my skills at walking backwards to exit the presence of the Queen without tripping over myself. I would also have to work on my ability to tolerate corsets and bustles and all the other ‘fashionable’ torture devices imposed upon upper-class women of that age.

You know, maybe I’m really not meant to be that court-type after all. Perhaps I’d simply be happier on a peasant farm out in the countryside where I could wander in our woods and dream and not wear all that excessive clothing and steel framework deemed necessary to beauty in those days. I could visit London at least once in my life, and I could probably find some excuse to enter the presence chamber, and I could likely manage sneaking off to wander the palace.

Or perhaps I’d do better as one of the spies, living a life of mystery. I could be the French spy in England. Or the Norwegian one, if the Norwegians found some reason to want their nose in such matters. Then I would have ample opportunity to creep about the castle, and to indulge other dreams, like eavesdropping on royal matters. But then we come back to my lack of cleverness in politics and me being beheaded yet again. I probably wouldn’t have to be politically conniving in order to be sneaky, though. I think I could possibly do it. It would be fun: it's like two fantasies put together, being a courtier and being a French spy. Maybe that would be best.

All in all, I’m not certain where I’d be happiest in the Elizabethan court; I only know it would most certainly not be as Queen. Beyond the violet mist, we have our own system of royalty, and so here I am proud to reign as Reine over my wise people, but were I to find myself out from behind the veil of the violet mist and long ago in Elizabethan England, I would be happier to fit into society some other way, perhaps serving my lady as maid of honor, perhaps living the life of a noble courtier, perhaps simply dreaming as a farm girl, or perhaps delving into matters of intrigue as a spy. Elizabethan England could be a splendid place to be. Although beyond the violet mist we generally favor the French.