A typical feature of the tragic experience is the hero’s isolation. This is most true, indeed, when he is most surrounded by others. (Recall Romeo and Juliet meeting for the first time at the Capulet ball…the sense of isolation in the very midst of crowded festivity; or Richard’s very private ruminations in the embarrassed presence of his nobles.) More perhaps than any of Shakespeare’s characters, Hamlet is alone, solitary, outside.
Our perspective on his character during this play-within-the-play scene is informed by our experience of the soliloquies—especially the “To be or not to be” soliloquy in the scene just prior. How does this privileged perspective affect our understanding of Hamlet’s interactions with various characters in this scene? Point to specific passages and verbal exchanges to illustrate your answers.
Next, examine the Player Queen’s and King’s dialogue following the dumbshow (the latter a silent acting-out of the play, The Murder of Gonzago, in miniature). First, what think you of the Player Queen’s oath never to remarry once the Player King has died (3.2.164-67, “O, confound the rest . . .”)? What about Hamlet’s response, “That’s wormwood” (168)?
Now look at the Player King’s lengthy response, “I do believe you think . . .” (173ff.). Recall that at 2.2.461-63, Hamlet tells the Player that he will insert “some dozen or sixteen lines” into The Murder of Gonzago. Though we never know for certain, these, I would argue, are the lines Hamlet has composed. Do you see why? The PK tells the PQ that he has no doubt about the sincerity of her promise, but that in time her fidelity will weaken because “Purpose is but the slave to memory” (175). The PK knows that in time her memory will fade, that he will be forgotten, and that what now seems certain is in fact merely “passion” which, “ending, doth the purpose lose” (177). Where before have we heard this link between memory and purpose? “Revenge my foul and most unnatural murder” and “Remember me”—remember?
There is a tremendous sadness in this idea that the goals and purposes that give meaning to our lives may in time “lose the name of action” (as Hamlet says in the “To be or not to be” soliloquy) because we will no longer possess the passion that now informs them, or the circumstances of life will have prevented our realizing those purposes. The Player King (or Hamlet, if he wrote the lines) summarizes this condition: “Our wills and fates do so contrary run / That our devices still are overthrown; / Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own” (198-200).
This is precisely the tragic condition, Aristotle’s notion of “hamartia”: aiming high but missing the mark, having a noble purpose frustrated by one’s own poor judgment, by external circumstance, or some combination of the two.
Now, to return to the main purpose of The Mousetrap: to determine for certain whether Claudius has in fact murdered Old Hamlet. Does the ploy prove conclusively that Claudius is guilty? Hamlet thinks so (268-71). But does it? To what, exactly, is Claudius responding when he becomes agitated and “rises” (249)? Who is the poisoner in the play-within-the-play? Not the king’s brother, but rather, as Hamlet informs the audience, “Lucianus, nephew to the king” (229). It is quite plausible that Claudius is reacting to a threat, not an accusation—a threat, that is, from his nephew Hamlet with whom he has a very shaky relationship. My point is that even now, at the end of 3.2, we still do not know for certain that Claudius is guilty. The play Hamlet thus gestures toward a typical feature of revenge tragedy—the public revelation of the victim’s crimes—only to frustrate expectation by obscuring the truth and keeping the knowledge thereof solely in the mind of the protagonist.
Certainty does arrive, however, in the very next scene (3.3)—though still it is only Hamlet and we who receive it.
Examine Claudius’ confession at 3.3.36ff., “O, my offence is rank . . ..” His is a particularly religious state of mind. Can you describe it?
Hamlet does not kill Claudius here. Why?
Having heard Claudius’ confession, Hamlet now seeks his mother’s. Does he get one? Do we finally have evidence of Gertrude’s wrong-doing? Consider her response to Hamlet’s accusation, “As kill a king and marry with his brother.” Surprised, she gasps, “As kill a king?” (29-30). This suggests she knows nothing of the murder (unless she’s only pretending innocence—but on what basis would we assume this?). Note too that she says nothing in response to the second half of the accusation, “and marry with his brother.” Either she doesn’t hear this (because she is so taken aback by the first part), or she has no reason to feel guilty about having married Claudius (which again speaks to the ambiguity in the play about whether the marriage is in fact incestuous).
Now, she does become guilt-ridden later in the scene. But over what, exactly? Adultery? Well, this is not clear at all. Rather, her guilty reaction comes only after Hamlet has forced her to gaze on a portrait of the dead father and to recall her love for him. Is not her reaction perfectly understandable—to have guilt feelings for having remarried even though there was nothing wrong with doing so? Does not any widow who remarries retain always some sense of having betrayed the memory of the departed (like the Player Queen losing her purpose never to remarry)?
Hamlet would have his mother REMEMBER, just as Hamlet has been charged with remembering his father so as not to lose his purpose (”Passion is but the slave to memory,” says the PK back in 3.2). As if on cue, the Ghost reappears to “whet [Hamlet’s] almost blunted purpose” (112).
Hamlet has said that he will put on an “antic disposition” (1.5.179), i.e., will feign madness. But does his pretending to be mad preclude Hamlet from actually being mad? Gertrude does not see the Ghost (or at least claims not to). It is possible that the Ghost is real and that it reveals itself only to Hamlet. Or it is possible that Hamlet is crazy and there is no Ghost—that what we as audience witness is not the appearance of a ghost but the theatrical representation of an illusion deriving from Hamlet’s melancholy. The Ghost can be (and has been) staged in a number of ways: as an actor playing the role, a sheer fabric hung from a wire, or as a disembodied voice. The director’s choice will influence how we interpret the Ghost’s ontological status.
Comments, observations, objections?
Examine Hamlet’s exchange with the Norwegian Captain and the soliloquy that follows. This should remind us of a previous soliloquy and the exchange that precedes it. Which one, and why?