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?