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WHEN SO great a writer as Johnson declares himself unable to perceive any satisfactory cause for Hamlet's counterfeiting madness, I fear I shall be accused of presumption, if I attempt to offer any solution of the problem; yet I really think that the difficulty is not as great as he supposes it to be. He says that Hamlet does nothing in the character of a lunatic, which he might not have done in his proper senses; but in this observation he appears to have overlooked what Hamlet intended to do, which ought to have been taken into consideration as well as what he actually did.
The state of the question I take to be as follows:
Hamlet being informed by the Ghost of the murder of his father, and being at the same time required to revenge it, forms the resolution of killing his uncle; but, being sensible that he has no proof of the murder, except what was said by the Ghost to himself alone, which could have no weight with any other person, he feels conscious that his killing the king would be considered as the act of a traitor and an assassin: he therefore determines to assume the appearance of madness, in order that the intended blow might be ascribed to distraction rather than to treason. Having formed this resolution, he requires the most solemn oaths from Horatio and Marcellus, that they will not, if he
"Perchance hereafter shall think meet,
To put an antick disposition on,"
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He therefore has recourse to the play. stratagem succeeds; and, being now convinced of the truth of what was said by the Ghost, he determines to kill the king.
"Now could I drink hot blood." &c.
This resolution he would immediately afterwards have carried into effect, if a very extraordinary circumstance (the finding the king engaged in prayer) had not induced him to postpone it. I am happy that it is by no means necessary for me to say any thing respecting his horrid reflections on that occasion; they do not affect the course of argument which I am pursuing, and in this, as in other instances, I attempt nothing more than to point out the motives of Hamlet's conduct, without entering into the propriety or impropriety of those motives, or of the actions to which they gave birth.
Hamlet now goes to his mother, and while he is with her, he does (as he supposes) what he had before resolved to do. He thinks he is killing the
allow any expression to escape them, which would king, when he kills Polonius. That he supposed
the person behind the arras to be the king, is evi- | being considered as a traitor and a murderer. Ho dent from his words to his mother: "Is it the thought he was killing him when he killed Polonius, king?" and to the dead Polonius, "I took thee for and if the person behind the arras had been the thy better." After this, he entreats the queen by king, Hamlet would have excused his death, as he no means to disclose the secret of his madness being excused the death of Polonius, by saying, counterfeit, and not real distraction.
Here, then, with all due submission to Dr. Johnson, is an act done by Hamlet while supposed to be mad, which would have been thought an unpardonable murder if he had been in his proper senses; and this is the use which Hamlet afterwards makes of his counterfeit madness. He excuses himself to Laertes on this very ground:
"This presence knows, and you must needs have heard, How I am punish'd with a sore distraction. What I have done,
That might your nature, honour, and exception, Roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness," &c. It appears, then, that Hamlet resolved to counterfeit madness, that he might kill the king without
"What I have done,
I here proclaim was madness."
I shall add one word in answer to a question which I have heard frequently asked: Why did Hamlet act the madman in a manner so distressing to the amiable Ophelia? The reason I take to be this: Ophelia was known to be the object of his affection. The queen hoped
"She would have been her Hamlet's wife."
If, then, it appeared that he acted as a madman in the presence of the object of his tenderest regard, he considered it as a certain consequence, that no doubt could be entertained of the reality of his distraction,
Ber. I have seen nothing.
Mar. Horatio says, 'tis but our fantasy, And will not let belief take hold of him, FRANCISCO on his Post. Enter to him BERNARDO. Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us;
Therefore I have entreated him, along
Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold With us to watch the minutes of this night;
That, if again this apparition come,
He may approve 2 our eyes, and speak to it.
Hor. Tush! tush! 'twill not appear.
Ber.
And let us once again assail your ears,
That are so fortified against our story,
What we two nights have seen.
Hor.
Well, sit we down,
And let us hear Bernardo speak of this.
Ber. Last night of all,
When yon same star, that's westward from the pole,
Had made his course to illume that part of heaven
Where now it burns, Marcellus, and myself,
The bell then beating one,
Mar. Peace, break thee off; look, where it comes again!
Ber. In the same figure, like the king that's dead. Mar. Thou art a scholar, speak to it, Horatio. Ber. Looks it not like the king? mark it, Horatio.
Hor. Most like: :- -it harrows me with fear, and wonder.
Ber. It would be spoke to.
Mar.
Speak to it, Horatio.
Hor. What art thou, that usurp'st this time of
night,
Together with that fair and warlike form
In which the majesty of buried Denmark
Did sometimes march? By heaven I charge thee
speak.
Mar. It is offended.
Ber.
* Make good or establish.
Hor. Stay, speak: speak I charge thee, speak.
[Erit Ghost.
Mar. 'Tis gone, and will not answer.
Ber. How now, Horatio? you tremble, and look
pale:
Is not this something more than fantasy?
What think you of it?
Hor. Before my God, I might not this believe,
Without the sensible and true avouch
Is it not like the king?
Hor. As thou art to thyself:
Such was the very armour he had on,
When he the ambitious Norway combated;
So frown'd he once, when, in an angry parle 3,
He smote the sledded Polack 5 on the ice.
'Tis strange.
Mar. Thus, twice before, and jump at this dead
hour,
With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch.
Hor. In what particular thought to work, I know
not;
But in the gross and scope of mine opinion,
This bodes some strange eruption to our state.
Mar. Good now, sit down, and tell me, he that
knows,
Why this same strict and most observant watch
So nightly toils the subject of the land;
And why such daily cast of brazen cannon,
And foreign mart for implements of war:
Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task
Does not divide the Sunday from the week:
What might be toward, that this sweaty haste
Doth make the night joint-labourer with the day;
Who is't, that can inform me?
At least, the whisper goes so.
Our last king,
Whose image even but now appear'd to us,
Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway,
Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate pride,
Dar'd to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet
(For so this side of our known world esteem'd him,)
Did slay this Fortinbras; who, by a seal'd compact,
Well ratified by law and heraldry,
Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands,
Which he stood seis'd of, to the conqueror :
Against the which, a moiety competent
Was gaged by our king; which had return'd
To the inheritance of Fortinbras,
Comes armed through our watch; so like the king
That was, and is the question of these wars.
Hor. A mote it is, to trouble the mind's eye.
In the most high and palmy 5 state of Rome,
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,
The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead
Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets.
Stars shone with trains of fire; dews of blood
fell;
Disasters veil'd the sun; and the moist star 6,
Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands,
Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse.
And even the like precurse of fierce events,—
As harbingers preceding still the fates,
And prologue to the omen 7 coming on,-
Have heaven and earth together démonstrated
Unto our climatures and countrymen.
But, soft; behold! lo, where it comes again!
I'll cross it, though it blast me. — - Stay, illusion!
If thou hast any sound, or use of voice,
Speak to me:
If there be any good thing to be done,
That may to thee do ease, and grace to me,
Speak to me:
If thou art privy to thy country's fate,
Which, happily, foreknowing, may avoid,
O speak!
Or, if thou hast uphoarded in thy life
Extorted treasure in the womb of earth,
For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death,
[Cock crows
Speak of it:-stay, and speak.- Stop it, Marcellus,
Mar. Shall I strike at it with my partizan ? s
Hor. Do, if it will not stand.
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We do it wrong, being so majestical,
To offer it the show of violence;
For it is, as the air, invulnerable,
And our vain blows malicious mockery.
Ber. It was about to speak, when the cock crew
Hor. And then it started like a guilty thing
Upon a fearful summons. I have heard,
The cock, that is the trumpet of the morn,
Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat
Awake the god of day; and, at his warning,
Had he been vanquisher; as, by the same comart 7, Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,
And carriage of the article design'd 8,
His fell to Hamlet: Now, sir, young Fortinbras,
Of unimproved mettle hot and full 9,
Hath in the skirts of Norway, here and there,
Shark'd up a list of landless resolutes,
For food and diet, to some enterprize
That hath a stomach 2 in't: which is no other
(As it doth well appear unto our state,)
But to recover of us, by strong hand,
And terms compulsatory, those 'foresaid lands
So by his father lost: And this, I take it,
Is the main motive of our preparations;
The source of this our watch; and the chief head
Of this post-haste and romage 3 in the land.
Ber. I think, it be no other, but even so: Well may it sort 4, that this portentous figure 3 Dispute.
5 Polander, an inhabitant of Poland.
7 Joint bargain. 8 The covenant to
9 Full of spirit without experience.
2 Resolution.
3 Search.
4 Sledged.
6 Just.
confirm that bargain,
The extravagant and erring? spirit hies
To his confine: and of the truth herein
This present object made probation.
Mar. It faded on the crowing of the cock.
Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,
This bird of dawning singeth all night long:
And then they say no spirit dares stir abroad;
The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike.
No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,
So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.
Hor. So have I heard, and do in part believe it.
But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad,
Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill:
Break we our watch up; and, by my advice,
Let us impart what we have seen to-night
Unto young Hamlet: for, upon my life,
This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him:
Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it,
As needful in our loves, fitting our duty?
Mar. Let's do't, I pray; and I this morning know
Where we shall find him most convenient.
SCENE II. - A Room of State in the same. Enter the KING, QUEEN, HAMLET, POLONIUS, LAERTES, VOLTIMAND, CORNELIUS, Lords, and Attendants.
King. Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death
The memory be green; and that it us befitted
To bear our hearts in grief, and our whole kingdom
To be contracted in one brow of woe;
Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature,
That we with wisest sorrow think on him,
Together with remembrance of ourselves.
Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen,
The imperial jointress of this warlike state,
Have we, as 'twere, with a defeated joy,
With one auspicious, and one dropping eye;
With mirth in funeral, and with dirge in marriage,
In equal scale weighing delight and dole 2, -
Taken to wife: nor have we herein barr'd
Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone
With this affair along: - For all, our thanks.
Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras, Holding a weak supposal of our worth;
Or thinking, by our late dear brother's death,
Our state to be disjoint and out of frame,
Colleagued with this dream of his advantage,
He hath not fail'd to pester us with message,
Importing the surrender of those lands
Lost by his father, with all bands of law,
To our most valiant brother. So much for him.
Now for ourself, and for this time of meeting.
Thus much the business is: We have here writ
To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras,
Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears
Of this his nephew's purpose, to suppress
His further gait herein; in that the levies,
The lists, and full proportions, are all made
Out of his subject: — and we here despatch
You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand,
For bearers of this greeting to old Norway;
Giving to you no further personal power
To business with the king, more than the scope
Of these dilated articles allow.
Farewell; and let your haste commend your duty. Cor. Vol. In that, and all things, will we show our duty.
King. We doubt it nothing; heartily farewell. [Exeunt VOLTIMAND and CORnelius. And now, Laertes, what's the news with you? You told us of some suit: What is't, Laertes? You cannot speak of reason to the Dane,
My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France, And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon. King. Have you your father's leave? What says Polonius?
Pol. He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow leave, By laboursome petition; and, at last, Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent: I do beseech you, give him leave to go. King. Take thy fair hour, Laertes; time be thine, And thy best graces: spend it at thy will.. But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son, Ham. A little more than kin, and less than kind.
[Aside.
King. How is it that the clouds still hang on you?
Ham. Not so, my lord, I am too much i' the sun.
Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off,
And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.
Do not, for ever, with thy vailed lids 5
Seek for thy noble father in the dust:
Thou know'st 'tis common; all, that live, must die,
Passing through nature to eternity.
Ham. Ay, madam, it is common.
Queen.
If it be,
Why seems it so particular with thee?
Ham. Seems, madam! nay, it is; I know not
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,
Nor customary suits of solemn black,
Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath,
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
Nor the dejected haviour of the visage,
Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief,
That can denote me truly: These, indeed, seem,
For they are actions that a man might play :
But I have that within, which passeth show;
These, but the trappings and the suits of woe.
King. 'Tis sweet and commendable in your na-
ture, Hamlet,
To give these mourning duties to your father:
But, you must know, your father lost a father;
That father lost his; and the survivor bound
In filial obligation, for some term
To do obsequious sorrow: But to perséver
In obstinate condolement, is a course
Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief:
It shows a will most incorrect to heaven,
A heart unfortified, or mind impatient;
An understanding simple and unschool'd:
For what, we know, must be, and is as common
As any the most vulgar thing to sense,
Why should we, in our peevish opposition,
Take it to heart? Fye! 'tis a fault to heaven,
A fault against the dead, a fault to nature,
To reason most absurd; whose common theme
Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried,
From the first corse, till he that died to-day,
We pray you, throw to earth
This unprevailing woe; and think of us
As of a father: for let the world take note,
You are the most immediate to our throne;
And, with no less nobility of love,
Than that which dearest father bears his son,
Do I impart toward you. For your intent
In going back to school in Wittenberg,
It is most retrograde 6 to our desire:
And, we beseech you, bend you to remain
Here, in the cheer and comfort of our eye,
Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son.
5 Lowering eyes.
6 Contrary
And lose your voice: What wouldst thou beg, This must be so.
Queen. Let not thy mother lose her prayers, | But what is your affair in Elsinore ?
I pray thee stay with us, go not to Wittenberg.
Ham. I shall in all my best obey you, madam.
King. Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply;
Be as ourself in Denmark. Madam, come;
This gentle and unforc'd accord of Hamlet
Sits smiling to my heart: in grace whereof,
No jocund health, that Denmark drinks to-day,
But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell;
And the king's rouse 7 the heaven shall bruit 8 again,
Re-speaking earthly thunder.
Come away.
[Exeunt KING, QUEEN, Lords, &c. POLONIUS,
and LAERTES.
Ham. O, that this too too solid flesh would melt, Thaw, and resolve 9 itself into a dew!
Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd
His canon'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God!
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of this world!
Fye on't! O fye! 'tis an unweeded garden,
That grows to seed; things rank, and gross in nature,
Possess it merely. That it should come to this!
But two months dead!
nay, not so much, not
So excellent a king; that was, to this,
Hyperion to a satyr: so loving to my mother,
That he might not beteem 9 the winds of heaven
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!
Must I remember? why, she would hang on him
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on: And yet, within a month,
We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart.
Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral.
Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow
student;
I think, it was to see my mother's wedding.
Hor. Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon.
Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral bak'd
Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
'Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven
Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio!
My father, Methinks, I see my father.
Hor.
My lord?
Ham.
In my mind's eye, Horatio.
Hor. I saw him once, he was a goodly king.
Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all,
I shall not look upon his like again.
Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight.
Ham. Saw! who?
Hor. My lord, the king your father.
Ham.
The king my father!
Hor. Season your admiration for a while
With an attent ear; till I may deliver,
Upon the witness of these gentlemen,
This marvel to you.
Ham.
For Heaven's love, let me hear.
Hor. Two nights together had these gentlemen,
Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch,
In the dead waist and middle of the night,
Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father,
Let me not think on't;- Frailty, thy name is Armed at point, exactly cap-à-pé,
A little month; or ere those shoes were old,
With which she follow'd my poor father's body,
Like Niobe, all tears; - why she, even she, -
O heaven! a beast, that wants discourse of reason,
Would have mourn'd longer, married with my
uncle,
My father's brother; but no more like my father,
Than I to Hercules: Within a month;
Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
Had left the flushing in her galled eyes,
She married: - O most wicked speed, to post
With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!
It is not, nor it cannot come to, good;
But break, my heart: for I must hold my tongue!
Enter HORATIO, BERNARDO, and MARCELLUS.
Hor. Hail to your lordship!
Ham.
I am glad to see you well:
Horatio, - or I do forget myself.
Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor servant
Appears before them, and, with solemn march,
Goes slow and stately by them: thrice he walk'd,
By their oppress'd and fear-surprized eyes,
Within his truncheon's length; whilst they, distill'd
Almost to jelly with the act of fear,
Stand dumb, and speak not to him.
In dreadful secrecy impart they did;
And I with them, the third night kept the watch:
Where, as they had deliver'd, both in time,
Form of the thing, each word made true and good,
The apparition comes: I knew your father:
These hands are not more like.
But where was this?
Mar. My lord, upon the platform where we
watch'd.
Ham. Did you not speak to it?
Hor.
My lord, I did;
But answer made it none: yet once, methought,
It lifted up its head, and did address
Itself to motion, like as it would speak:
But, even then, the morning cock crew loud;
And at the sound it shrunk in haste away,
And vanish'd from our sight.
Ham.
'Tis very strange.
Hor. As I do live, my honour'd lord, 'tis true;
And we did think it writ down in our duty,
To let you know of it.
Ham. Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me.
Hold you the watch to-night?
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