ing whenever it was
possible. But her _chef-d'oeuvre_, in my eyes, was the "wife of
Macbeth." The character seemed made for her, by something of that
instinct which in olden times combined the poet and the prophet in one.
It had the ardour and boldness mingled with the solemnity and mystery
that belonged to the character of her beauty.

Her entrance was hurried, as if she had but just glanced over the
letter, and had been eager to escape from the crowd of attendants to
reperuse it alone. She then read on, in a strong calm voice, until she
came to the passage which proved the preternatural character of the
prediction. "They have more in them than mortal knowledge. When I burnt
with desire to question them further, they made themselves into air
and--_vanished_." As she was about to pronounce the last word, she
paused, drew a short breath, her whole frame was disturbed, she threw
her fine eyes upwards, and exclaimed "_Vanished_!" with a wild force,
which showed that the whole spirit of the temptation had shrunk into her
soul. The "Hail, king that shall be!" was the winding-up of the spell.
It was pronounced with the grandeur of one already by anticipation a
Queen.

Her solitary summons to her distant lord followed, like an invocation--

"Hie thee hither,
That I may pour my spirits in thine ear;
And chastise with the valour of my tongue
All that impedes thee from the golden round."

The murder scene was the next triumph: her acting was that of a
triumphant fiend. I must follow these recollections no further; but the
most admirable piece of dumb show that perhaps ever was conceived, was
her "Banquet scene." That scene, from the terrible business on the
stage--the entrance of Banquo's ghost, the horrors of Macbeth, stricken
in the moment of his royal exultation, and the astonishment and alarm of
the courtiers--is one of the most thrilling and tumultuous. Yet Siddons,
sitting at the extremity of the royal hall, not having a syllable to
utter, and simply occupied with courtesies to her guests, made her
silence so expressive, that she more than divided the interest with the
powerful action going on in front. And when at last, indignant at
Macbeth's terrors, stung by conscience, and alarmed at the result of an
up-breaking of the banquet with such rumours in their lips, she rushed
towards her unhappy husband, and burst out with the words, still though
but whispered, yet intensely poured into his p