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When the governing metaphor of civic life is a stage play scripted by reason (through honestas and decorum) or the Christian God, it is possible to believe that assuming an appropriate persona is the way in which most fully to realise one’s humanity. In Nicholas Grimald’s sixteenth-­century translation of the De officiis: Let everie man therfore know his owne disposition: and let him make himself a sharpe judge bothe of his vices, and of his vertues: leste players maye seeme to have more discretion than we. When Fortinbras enters at the end of Hamlet and finds his spurious claims to “rights of memory” acknowledged by the rump of the Danish court, he reveals something relatedly stark about life in Shakespeare’s Denmark. . He checks himself accordingly: “Now to my word. Writing half a century after Hamlet, Thomas Hobbes had some mischievously literal-­minded fun with Cicero’s civic ardency. Hamlet’s “all pressures past” confirms what his “forms” only implies: he has journeyed far beyond the normal bounds of the ars oblivionalis. Perhaps on account of the generosity of the odds (Laertes needs not only to beat Hamlet, but to do so by three clear hits), Horatio also implies that the contest might have been rigged. In the standard Platonic formulation, amplified in the Puritan anti-­theatrical literature, their adulterations are concerned with winning applause and fame, not with understanding things as they are. He slips not only into prose, but into various forms of stylistic redundancy. For one thing, the anxieties of the English 1590s and early 1600s were themselves heir to developments in sixteenth-­century culture—learned, vernacular, and popular—that cast thoroughgoing doubt on received notions of moral, religious, and political order. J.G.A. The anonymous history play Edmond Ironside (occasionally, and erroneously, attributed to Shakespeare) makes much of the “persicution of theis bloody Daines”, but the most deliberate English articulation of such anti-­Danish animus belongs to a passage of Nashe’s prose satire, Pierce Pennilesse, that is likely to have been in Shakespeare’s mind when having Hamlet remark that Denmark was “traduc’d and tax’d of other nations” for being populated by “drunkards” (1.4.18–19): The most grosse and sencelesse proud dolts . . In employing this metaphor, Claudius channels something Augustinian about the fatal viscosity of sin; of the soul’s struggle to escape from the concupiscence and compromises of the body. Or, better, to the alexandrine sonnet that Berowne sends to Rosaline in Love’s Labour’s Lost (subsequently reproduced in the Passionate Pilgrim). If the Ghost had been paying more attention in the course of its initial exchange with Hamlet, it would perhaps realise that Hamlet has not forgotten or lapsed in anything. Were Old Hamlet to have done the same, Claudius would be in no position to indulge his apparent generosity of spirit. For Shakespeare, fortune and fate are different manifestations of the same phenomenon: the human need to believe that the apparent randomness of things and events is shaped by some kind of pattern or meaning, and, concomitantly, the tendency to diminish or deny the function of human agency in making things the way they are. The cunning man, as discussed, might exploit the qualities of his ingenium in becoming a military commander. As a coda to the main body of this chapter, we should note that Shakespeare’s audacity in using Hamlet comprehensively to upend the humanist order of poetics did not go unnoticed. When he strikes through the arras of his mother’s closet, he kills the wrong “rat”. There is more than a hint of ironized snobbery here. . Come bird, come” (1.5.117–18). Claudius’s smoke and mirrors with divine right theory is neither sincere nor serious in its engagement with Christian doctrine, and thereby replicates Hamlet’s self-­appointment as the scourge and minister of God. Hamlet is a victim, a symptom, and an agent of this decay. Misapprehension, whether of experiences mediated immediately through the external senses or whether of images stored in the memory, could take place in circumstances other than those of being in love. This exercise in glib expedience prefigures the artful way in which Claudius will face down Laertes’s rebellion: “There’s such divinity doth hedge a king” that Laertes should tread carefully (4.5.123). Folio “sixteene” as a corruption of Q2 “sexten” cannot be ruled out, but nor can the possibility that just as Q2 stumbles over the nonsensical se offendendo, so it sees that sixteen (howsoever spelled) is contradicted by the reported death of Yorick, and emends it to “sexten”. Whatever else has been said about Hamlet’s performances as a historian, a poet, a revenger, a friend, or a son, his status as a thinker has been affirmed as all but an article of faith. Unfortunately, to convey the impression of nonsense is precisely Shakespeare’s point: Hamlet and the Gravedigger only feign to know what they are talking about. They were instead seen to arise from individual acts of perception and imaginative projection. He has been away from Wittenberg for at least the duration of the summer vacation, and has been unable to follow the fortunes of those he had been “wont to take such delight in, the tragedians of the city” (2.2.325–26). And, furthermore, that discussing it need not involve the retrojection of Romantic, Freudian, or any other kinds of individuality onto a period in which they would scarcely have been comprehensible. It is another venatorial term of art, denoting the act of dislodging a fox from its burrow prior to either pursuing or trapping it. The Ghost seems content to swallow this version of events, and responds: “Do not forget. So, the logical tradition of the early modern universities teaches us that for Hamlet’s question to register as the quaestio it purports to be, it would need to be connected to a real-­world problem. No doubt the obscure grandiloquence of phrases like “mobbled queen” (2.2.498), commended by Hamlet and Polonius alike, has something to do with it. Taking his crudely Manichean dualism to its logical end point, he then concludes that anything spiritually and intellectually impure is simply material. The status of the fox as vermin is nicely confirmed by Jonson’s Volpone, where the eponymous protagonist is to be taken in a “fox-­trap”, rather than by more dignified means. Later, when explaining to Laertes that he could not directly pursue Hamlet without arousing popular outrage, Claudius suggests that were he to have done so, “my arrows, / Too slightly timber’d for so loud a wind, / Would have reverted to my bow again, / And not where I had aim’d them” (4.7.21–24). Janson’s chance images consist of the shapes or forms discovered in rock formations, trees, clouds, or blots of paint thrown at random onto a wall that have been a staple of writing on creativity and human perception since antiquity. We now learn that in thinking of a play that shows “something like the murder of my father”, Hamlet envisages nothing more elaborate than a single scene that will represent some of the circumstances of Old Hamlet’s death as narrated in the Ghost’s testimony. My contention is that there is no need for us to do anything of the sort, and that Hamlet can be read as a profound meditation on the nature of human individuality without relying on conceptual frameworks drawn from the eighteenth, nineteenth, twentieth, and twenty-­first centuries. In the attempt to elaborate these oddities and their function within the play, the rest of this chapter looks in much greater detail at Hamlet’s use of mnemonic language, and at the consequences of his meeting with the Ghost. Hamlet simply draws from the well of formulaic ideas in order to convey to Ophe­lia the celestial incorruptibility of his attachment to her. Like suicide, success is imitation. . Chapter 1 establishes the place of Hamlet in relation to the humanist moral philosophy of the long sixteenth century. When an honest man speaks, he says only what he believes to be true; and for the liar, it is correspondingly indispensable that he considers his statements to be false. Most crucially, however, Hamlet has betrayed himself and his intentions to Claudius, so that his chances of further corroborating the Ghost’s testimony, or of making its revelations compelling to others, all but vanish. So yes, Claudius’s soul is trapped. Renaissance champions of human dignity and of human dominion over the natural world imagined humankind as radically distinct from non-­human forms of animal life, but Hamlet finds the force of such distinctions inadequate to the work of ontological exceptionalism that they assert. Religions only did so because the existence of demons or angels or ghosts could so easily be turned to buttress their pre-­existent theological dogmas. The former is involuntary and accidental, whereas the latter is a deliberate act of mnemonic effacement, the conscious obliteration of what one has learned or experienced in the past. The point here is that although Hamlet’s succession might not have been guaranteed, his mother’s union with Claudius effectively rules it out. Then, as Brutus bids his fellow republicans steel themselves for the conspiratorial task ahead, he invokes the theory of the personae directly: “Let not our looks put on our purposes, / But bear it as our Roman actors do, / With untired spirits and formal constancy”. Those who prevail, such as Claudius and Fortinbras, do so because they consciously (Claudius) or unconsciously (Fortinbras) recognise and exploit the appetitive nature of the world and, in some measure, the reality of their place within it. Better to concentrate on what Hamlet’s providentialism tells us about his state of mind. Hamlet’s second soliloquy comprises his immediate response to this challenge. . Through it, Shakespeare illustrates that Fortinbras, like the noble Danes he is about to supplant, is delineated by his staginess. . In tragedy, all is inverted: persons are mighty, fears are great, outcomes lethally destructive. The next task is carefully to imprint these loci with images (imagines). Such language was understandably appealing to dramatists working in the revenge tragedy tradition, in which the act of vengeance more often than not gives the revenger a share in the crime he sets out to put right. On this reading, Hamlet wants to do away with the trifles that his conventional humanist education had exposed him to, and to remember his father’s commandment alone. Pushing back against the bloodthirstier readers of Hamlet, who would have it that after Act 1 Scene 5, Hamlet’s task is to get on with the revenge to which he has committed himself, Kerrigan has drawn attention to the fact that Hamlet only vows to remember his father (or, rather, to preserve the Ghost’s commandment to remember him) and not explicitly to revenge him. When measured against either Hector’s words or the norms of 1590s revenge tragedy, Hamlet’s problem is that he does not hunger—and has never hungered—for vengeance. Second, the conviction that the true value of human life could best be understood by a return ad fontes—to the origins of things, be they historical, textual, moral, poetic, philosophical, or religious (Protestant and Roman Catholic alike). Although, following Baldwin, I am morally certain that Shakespeare worked from Cicero’s Latin rather than an English translation, I quote from John Dolman’s version of the text: Wherefore, yf my sense shall be extyncte, and my death resemble sleepe, whyche often wythout anye trouble of dreames, doth brynge a man most quiete reste, (O Lorde) what pleasure shal deathe be to me? Treason!” (5.2.328). Whatever works, works. The explanation for this, I submit, relates to the difficulties with which Hamlet has wrestled in his second soliloquy—and that he will shortly attempt to ameliorate through the passionate examples of Aeneas, Hecuba, and Pyrrhus. By having Hamlet desire to be “a king of infinite space” (emphasis mine) Shakespeare simply and brilliantly indexes why this cannot come to pass. Claudius is never so crudely explicit in his strategizing, but he and Lorenzo have learned from the same master. He fails, and lunges into a series of meta-­histrionic missteps. Jonson, Chapman, and Marston seized upon the same characteristics, including in their collaborative Eastward Ho! It follows that the erasure of mnemotechnic images does not involve the effacement or destruction of memories in themselves, but the removal of images that had been designed and positioned in the deliberate attempt to trigger, and thereby to regulate, the processes of recollection. It follows that “the fantastical part of man (if it be not disordered)” serves to represent “the best, most comely, and beautiful images or appearances of things to the soul and according to their very truth”. He summarises the first half of his Rule of Reason (the second is concerned with dialectical-­rhetorical invention) as an endeavour “to declare the nature of every woorde severallie, to set the same woordes in a perfeicte sentence, and to knitte them up in argument, so that hereby we might with ease espie, the right frame in matters how thei agree, being lapped up in ordre”. Laertes’s rebellion (still threatening, at this point) is described to the court as proceeding as if political life had begun anew, with “Antiquity forgot, custom not known” (4.5.104). He probes the relationship between these mnemonic representations and the individual memories they are supposed to express: the act of recounting one’s memories, or of attempting to reconstruct or revivify the past, becomes one of contingency and artifice. In the early modern universities, it followed that the teaching of moral philosophy generally proceeded from ethics to oeconomics, and arrived at politics only after the ethical and oeconomic groundwork had been laid. As Gascoigne repeatedly emphasises, one of the worst things a hound could do was to take a “tame beast” rather than a wild one. Immediately, he realizes his error and recovers himself: “ ’Tis not so. If one only acts under a persona, one need never acknowledge one’s actions as one’s own—much less examine the disposition and desires that underlie them. He is instead wounded by what looks to him like the frostily disingenuous confirmation of her earlier rejections, and a further denial of the bond they had shared. But if they claim to remember something, or to remember one aspect of a situation rather than another, it is extremely difficult to conclude that they don’t. “Distracted” suggests trouble, confusion, or disturbance, while Hamlet’s “globe” is simply his head (within which ventricular theory accords the memory, along with the other internal senses, a specific locality or “seat”): what he has heard from the Ghost has left him in a state of agitation, perhaps even of conflictedness. As such, they are unreliable and easily compromised. For one with appetites of his own—principally, his desire for the Danish throne—this position is extremely difficult to sustain. Fashion it thus: Brutus expends a lot of energy trying to justify doing something about which he has already made up his mind; Hamlet pretends to weigh up an act that he has no desire, and therefore no ability, to accomplish. The arrival of an onstage audience in the form of those playing the recorders (most likely the players themselves, though quite possibly itinerant musicians working for them) is a neat meta-­theatrical joke. The summary of these lines offered in Jenkins’s footnote cannot be bettered: “To recover the wind is to get to windward. In this, he requests that the English king put Rosencrantz and Guildenstern “to sudden death” (5.2.46), a spectacle that he presumably intends to witness. speak with most miraculous organ” makes excellent sense. Polonius thus reinforces Laertes’s warning that the favour shown by Hamlet to Ophe­lia is only “a toy in blood” (1.3.6). We can, for example, turn to the concept of “mannerism” as a heuristic with which to narrow our field of enquiry. They ensure that even an apex predator like Hamlet, Claudius, or Old Hamlet is never more than a single oversight or miscalculation away from destruction. It is not sufficient for poets to be superficial humanists: but they must be exquisite artists, & curious universal schollers”. Though perhaps less apparent, the same is true of Hamlet. To them can now be added the character of Hamlet the haplessly humanistic man of the theatre, as played—if Scoloker and the authors of Eastward Ho! Hamlet’s attentions here are far removed from the minutiae of falconry, and although his sense is plain enough, his metaphor has defied explication. Kings, their challengers, and their impetuous heirs will come and go, but the nature of the masquerade will continue unchanged. Let me see one.—To withdraw with you, why do you go about to recover the wind of me, as if you would drive me into a toil? I wasn’t in my right mind when killing your father and fatally wounding your sister. Shakespeare gives us a young prince dwelling on the disposition of his thoughts and feelings after beholding, and after hearing out, his father’s ghost; to intrude a meta-­theatrical pun of the sort that makes good sense elsewhere in the play not only shatters the metaphorical economy of the lines, but undermines the intensity and the integrity of the dramatic moment. On the most basic level, “cunning” here denotes the art or craft necessary to write and to perform a work of drama; dramatic performance is a mechanical art whose successful realisation is in the gift of practical wisdom. . These words invert Richard II’s attempt to “compare / This prison where I live unto the world”. Bear with me. Horatio also remains onstage for the duration of the exchanges between Hamlet, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and Polonius (as he has been for almost the entirety of the scene). Hamlet proposes to treat this precondition of logical enquiry as if it were a question in its own right. One might reasonably debate whether Shakespeare’s Danes drink to forget or are prone to forgetfulness because they drink, but if Hamlet’s description of their drinking habits is justified, it is no wonder that they have such an uncertain relationship to their pasts. Avec Grimper.com, le magazine de l'escalade : suivez l'actualité de l'escalade : grimpeurs, compétitions, tests chaussons, salles d'escalade, spots de falaise, bloc (2.2.437–41). Furthermore, in one who plans to be a prince or sovereign, the stakes are proportionately higher: “he that is to govern a whole Nation, must read in himself, not this, or that particular man; but Man-­kind”. It is simply that we no longer hear him soliloquise. Where Shakespeare differs from his great humanist predecessor is that he does not therefore condemn hunting as a deviation from a gold standard of morality. The currents of the drama to which Brutus belongs reduce his wisdom to futility. Unlike Helena, however, Hamlet does not know himself well enough to recognise that he feels conflicted—much less to identify the competing impulses of which this conflict consists. Although the distinction is relatively unimportant to the eclectic psychology of the Aristotelian tradition (La Primaudaye—like, it must be said, Shakespeare—has no time for it and uses the two terms interchangeably), its presence in the literature speaks to the early modern belief that, depending on the kind of work it was being asked to do, the imagination took on very different aspects. James Mabbe's Translation of the 'Exemplarie Novells' (1640), "Hamlet" After Q1: An Uncanny History of the Shakespearean Text, Philology's Queer Children: Imitation, Authorship, and Shakespeare's "Natural" Language, Humanities West: Shakespeare and Cervantes, How Cervantes Made His Characters Seem Real, Queer Philologies: Sex, Language, and Affect in Shakespeare's Time, Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License. The critical observer added that he would know that the other really was a philosopher if he could withstand attacks upon himself with calmness and patience. Like the languages of hunting and moral philosophy, Shakespeare thoroughly assimilated the techniques of theatrical, poetic, and rhetorical convention. This instantly collapses the hierarchical relationship that Hamlet, and with him Stallybrass and his collaborators, would establish between the two. Providence proposes; fate disposes; fortune and chance obey; philosophy helps humankind to understand. It is an expression of hubristic nonsensicality—an attempt to diminish personal agency so as to evade responsibility for what one has done. In this instance, Jenkins’s commonsensicality leads him astray. After satisfying himself that the Ghost is not purely a figment of Marcellus’s and Barnardo’s imaginations, Horatio decrees that they should impart what they “have seen tonight / Unto young Hamlet” (1.1.174–75). As we see in his initial response to the Ghost (where he tries to compensate for the lack of the mnemonic image that should, he believes, naturally prompt him to revenge), in the third soliloquy (where he plays at stirring himself into condign intensity through the examples of Hecuba, Pyrrhus, and Aeneas), and even in the Ghost’s appearance in the closet scene (which he instantly disregards), Hamlet simply cannot force his thoughts or feelings into the requisite bloodthirstiness. On the one hand, Shakespeare’s dramaturgy indicts early modern models of philosophy; on the other, it reveals Hamlet’s inability to make meaningful the part of the philosopher in either its humanistic or non-­humanistic forms. Therefore is this colour rightly called the colour of vertue. In Hamlet, however, Shakespeare shows that such accommodations often slip over into fabrication, misrepresentation, elision, and deceit—sometimes as an act of volition, more generally without a character being conscious of the fact. Envisioning them as a cast of hawks to his heron, Hamlet reassures Rosencrantz and Guildenstern that he will not take away the status they enjoy in virtue of continuing to be flown against him. Suivez l'évolution de l'épidémie de CoronaVirus / Covid19 en France département. In due course, they became a topos for renaissance and early modern writers and painters. A final manifestation of Hamlet’s hunt for Claudius is found in the First Folio text, at the end of Act 4 Scene 2. Neither of them know or have any way of knowing the truth of the matter, and neither gives the impression of caring much either way. The affection felt by the speaker for his friend, and the concomitant intensity with which he remembers him, prevents the speaker’s powers of memory and of apprehension from working as they should: “Incapable of more, replete with you, / My most true mind thus maketh mine untrue”. Decent invective, but an expression of idiomatic anger rather than doctrinal dissent. As politics was the province of such males, and as political instruction was the crowning portion of an education in moral philosophy, so mastery of moral philosophy belonged only to the masculine few. We might sympathise, but his attitude—and fastidious preference for the anonymity of the cassock—is anything but harmless: it leaves the stage clear for the corrosive hypocrisy of Angelo’s rule. As, on A.’s account, the dead have ceased to be, M. insists that they cannot be wretched or anything else. décès, hospitalisations, réanimations, guérisons par département The journey from here to a parody of the notion that human affairs comprise a theatrum mundi is short: [M]en come foorthe disguised one in one arraie, an other in an other, eche plaiyng his parte, till at last the maker of the plaie, or bokebearer causeth theim to avoyde the skaffolde [i.e., leave the stage], and yet sometyme maketh one man come in, two or three tymes, with sundrie partes and . But if Hamlet pays his friend’s noncommittal responses any heed, they do nothing to dampen his sense of pseudo-­forensic euphoria. Not in his most sustained account of enargeia in book 8 of the Institutio, but in the discussion of the orator’s need to feel the emotions that he would arouse in his audience that appears in book 6. This conflicted approach to providence also colours Hamlet’s response to Horatio’s concern about the fencing match. Don’t forget to pray for him. Unresolved: Release in which this issue/RFE will be addressed. Not so. Hamlet’s concern to see that the dozen or sixteen lines of his devising are done theatrical justice may seem reasonable enough given the high stakes for which he proposes to play. Alone and readying himself for combat at Bosworth, he addresses God directly: “O Thou, whose captain I account myself, / . Now, it is true that logic was in the sixteenth century a university-­level subject, and that Shakespeare never attended university. He will relay Hamlet’s dying wish that Fortinbras be elected king, and will thereby generate the broader consensus required for the election to come to pass. The Ghost does not make it explicit that these acts of vengeance should involve the death of Claudius, and does not specify how he would like them to take place. Earlier in the play, Polonius prefaces the list of maxims he delivers to Laertes with the instruction that he should “character” them in his memory (1.3.59). Can’t we just move on? He can theorize with energy and even flair, especially when motivated by his dislike of Polonius. Less clear, but of far greater consequence for this chapter, is that “false fire” also refers to the blank shots fired by hunters and poachers to drive deer towards carefully positioned toils, nets, and bowmen. But he is also a critic of it, professing himself concerned with the way things are rather than the way they appear to be, and addressing questions of the utmost theoretical abstraction in an attempt to discern the truth about the composition of “heaven and earth”. To speak in such terms is to get an inkling of just how exhilaratingly difficult a play Hamlet can be: apprehending it in even an approximation of its full complexity demands stereoscopic vision, and comprehending it demands the patience to explore it in the formal, cultural, intellectual, and historical round. For instance, when he and Marcellus are debating what to do once Hamlet has followed the Ghost, Horatio responds to the famous “Something is rotten in the state of Denmark” by suggesting that as this decay is beyond human redemption, they had—after all—better leave Hamlet to fend for himself: “Heaven will direct it”. Hamlet chooses this moment to quibble on the sense of “ambition”, and to reduce Rosencrantz and Guildenstern’s stratagems to logic-­chopping absurdity: “Then are our beggars bodies, and our monarchs and outstretched heroes the beggars’ shadows” (2.2.263–64). As Harry Levin put it in the late 1950s, Polonius’s response to “Hamlet’s ink-­blot test—his agreement that the cloud resembles now a weasel, then a camel, now again a whale—succinctly foreshadows the process of interpreting the play” evinced by its modern students. “Quality” here stands for “profession, occupation, business, esp. Whether in terms of her internal or external senses, she concedes that she only has eyes for Bertram—a condition that passes both show and the comprehension of those around her. Katharine Eisaman Maus has written well about the cultural phenomenon of hostility to externality and superficial display that developed in the latter part of the sixteenth century, and links it to the work of those (such as Gosson, Stubbes, Rankins, and Rainolds) opposed to stage drama and anything else that detracted from the serious-­minded introspection demanded of the godly. Most immediately, it helps to offer a way out of the Greg versus Dover Wilson debate (resuscitated more recently by Stanley Cavell) that respects the dramatic integrity of the Ghost’s narration, of the action surrounding the Murder of Gonzago, and of Claudius’s chapel scene confession: no, the Ghost’s testimony is not wholly accurate; no, the Mousetrap does not yield certain knowledge of Claudius’s guilt; no, we never learn exactly how Old Hamlet dies; yes, Claudius kills him with poison in his orchard. He is no closer to exemplifying or resolving the “to be, or not to be” with which he began. The third is to affirm the idea around which this chapter is arranged; namely, that paying close attention to the language of hunting is essential to an understanding of the play’s action. Discarding his conscience and the knowledge of his inner virtue, he has allowed himself to be guided by rumour, popularity, and by “the rewards of other people’s everyday chatter”. (It’s an idea to which Claudius will return when characterising Ophe­lia’s madness at 4.5.84–86.) Above all, it is enargeia with which Hamlet must invest his adaptation of The Murder of Gonzago if it is to succeed in catching Claudius unawares. . oftentimes have a good conceite in a parte”, Burbage and Kemp nonetheless agree that their technical accomplishments are limited: university actors find it very hard to walk and talk at the same time, and thus “never speak but at a stile, a gate, or a ditch, where a man can go no further”. In the culminating sixteenth chapter of Leviathan’s first book, he maintains that, [t]he Word Person is latine: insteed whereof the Greeks have πρόσωπον [prosopon], which signifies the Face, as Persona in latine signifies the disguise, or outward appearance of a man, counterfeited on the Stage; and somtimes more particularly that part of it, which disguiseth the face, as a Mask or Visard: And from the Stage, hath been translated to any Representer of speech and action, as well in Tribunalls, as Theaters. The court can only interpret the staged spectacle of a nephew poisoning and killing his uncle the king with malice aforethought as a transgression: the disaffected Hamlet has commissioned an indefensibly extreme display of ­lèse-­majesté.

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