Page 55 - Macbeth Modern Translation
P. 55

‘She always does that. As though washing them. I’ve known her do that for a
               quarter of an hour.’

               ‘There’s still a spot here,’ said Lady Macbeth.

               ‘Listen!’ The doctor took a notebook and a piece of chalk out of his pocket.

               She’s speaking. I’ll write it down.’

               ‘Come out, damned spot,’ said Lady Macbeth fiercely, rubbing violently. She
               stopped, as though listening to something. ‘One – two. Two o’clock: it’s time
               to do it. hell is dark. What my Lord? Shame! A soldier and frightened? What
               do we care who knows when no-one can question us? But who would have
               thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?’


               ‘Do you hear that?’ said the doctor.

               ‘The Thane of Fife had a wife,’ continued Lady Macbeth. ‘Where is she now?’
               She returned to washing her hands. ‘Will these hands never be clean? No
               more of that, my Lord – no more of that: you’re ruining it all with your

               nervousness.’

               ‘Dear, dear,’ sighed the doctor. ‘You’ve done some things you shouldn’t
               have.’

               ‘She’s said things she shouldn’t have,’ said the gentlewoman. ‘God knows

               what she’s done.’

               Lady Macbeth lifted her hands to her face. ‘They still smell of blood,’ she said.
               ‘All the perfumes of Arabia couldn’t make this little hand smell sweet.’


               ‘What a sigh that was,’ said the doctor. ‘Her heart is heavily burdened.’

               ‘I wouldn’t have her heart in my bosom for anything,’ said the gentlewoman.

               The doctor shook his head. ‘Well, well, well.’


               ‘I wish it were well, Sir.’

               ‘This goes beyond the practice of medicine. Still, I’ve known some who’ve
               walked in their sleep and have lived good lives.’

               ‘Wash your hands!’ shouted Lady Macbeth. ‘Put on your night-gown. Don’t

               look so pale. I’ll tell you once more: Banquo’s buried: he can’t come out of
               his grave.’

               ‘That too?’ said the doctor.


               ‘To bed, to bed, there’s someone knocking at the gate,’ said Lady Macbeth.
               ‘Come, come, come, come, give me your hand. What’s done can’t be




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