Prague, Czech Republic: Old Jewish Cemetery – gravestones (photo (c) Ulrike Boehm; all rights reserved)
Act V, Scene 1 (First Clown and Second Clown).
The Clowns – we've had to wait long in this play for them to appear. In part this is because of the tragedy's overall dramatic structure, which is centered around the cataclysmic "play within the play" in Act III, Scene 2; although depending on how you choreograph Hamlet's interactions with the Players in the build-up to that scene, there actually is room for a few moments somewhat reminiscent of a Clowns scene before the "play within the play" as well ... and no, I don't just mean the "mobled queen" sequence involving Polonius that is such a delight to watch in the Jacobi and Branagh versions. In part, however, the Clowns also appear so late in this play because Shakespeare wants to remind us that we are now reaching the tragedy's all-important final moments, which will resolve all its major questions – and it is up to the Clowns to bring those questions into focus for us one last time: sin and self-determination in life and death, equality before God and man (including, in particular: equality before the law and equality in death), and earthly versus Divine justice. And again, the God we find here is the God of the medieval Catholic church: the God of vengeance, retribution, Purgatory, and the Last Judgement.
An unequivocal stage direction: from the first, we are told that we're looking at archetypes – no personalisation necessary or desired. These are the Clowns. Even the fact that these particular Clowns come to us in the guise of Gravediggers – in itself, highly symbolic as well of course – is something which, unlike the role of the Porter in "Macbeth," for example, we have to infer purely from their dialogue; neither the 1623 "First Folio" nor the 1604 Second Quarto contains so much as the hint of a stage direction to that effect.
Is she to be buried in Christian burial when she wilfully seeks her own salvation?
I tell thee she is; therefore make her grave straight.
The crowner hath sate on her, and finds it Christian burial.
Suicide is sin and carries the certainty of eternal damnation, not salvation – according to the era's prevalent church doctrine, there is no such thing as a right to take your own life; or self-determination in death. Therefore, the body of a suicide must not be buried in hallowed ground; must not receive "Christan burial." Ophelia's death was questionable: there had to be a hearing before the coroner, whose determination was thus not only a secular one (regarding the maid's cause of death) but also had religious connotations (regarding the propriety of a burial with Christian rites).
How can that be, unless she drown'd herself in her own
defence?
Why, 'tis found so.
The First Clown's question opens up two issues: whether in matters such as these, a secular official's (the coroner's) determinations are truly final; and whether there can ever be a justification to suicide, which would then excempt that person's soul from the penalty of damnation. The Second Clown's answer expressly concerns only the first, underlying issue (yes, the coroner's decision is final), but as a consequence it also implies that the second question no longer matters: the finality of the decision itself supersedes any remaining substantive doubts.
It must be se offendendo; it cannot be else. For here lies
the point: if I drown myself wittingly, it argues an act; and an
act hath three branches – it is to act, to do, and to perform;
argal, she drown'd herself wittingly.
As fine an example of circular reasoning as you'll ever find ... with a nice little play on synonyms in the middle. But the First Clown can do a little better after all:
Nay, but hear you, Goodman Delver!
Give me leave. Here lies the water; good. Here stands the
man; good. If the man go to this water and drown himself, it is,
will he nill he, he goes – mark you that. But if the water come to
him and drown him, he drowns not himself. Argal, he that is not
guilty of his own death shortens not his own life.
In other words, according to the First Clown, all human action is implicitly deliberate, whereas nature – and being subject to nature's vagaries – implicitly is not. Thus, if Ophelia jumped (or let herself fall) into that brook, she committed suicide and her soul is damned; even if this was the act of a mind deranged by madness. If, on the other hand, she was drawn under by the water after a fatal entanglement of her garland with the branches of the willow tree, she is not guilty of suicide and her soul has the promise of salvation.
But is this law?
Ay, marry, is't – crowner's quest law.
And yet, although the First Clown's previous answer clearly was based on church doctrine, when asked for the legal basis of his theory, he merely refers to secular law. Then again ...
Will you ha' the truth an't? If this had not been a
gentlewoman, she should have been buried out o' Christian burial.
Why, there thou say'st! And the more pity that great folk
should have count'nance in this world to drown or hang themselves
more than their even-Christian.
Vox populi in action: Forget substantive justice and equality when issues of class are concerned. The rich can even buy themselves into the salvation of their souls ...
Come, my spade! There is no
ancient gentlemen but gard'ners, ditchers, and grave-makers. They
hold up Adam's profession.
Was he a gentleman?
'A was the first that ever bore arms.
Why, he had none.
What, art a heathen? How dost thou understand the Scripture?
The Scripture says Adam digg'd. Could he dig without arms?
Adam: the first man; mankind personified. In him the classes are unified; those that bears arms as weapons (nobility) and those that merely have the bare arms of their own bodies (the commoners), who are also the true heirs of the biblical Adam – who in turn had to start working the earth (digging) to feed himself after having been cast out of the Garden of Eden (Genesis 3:19).
I'll
put another question to thee. If thou answerest me not to the
purpose, confess thyself –
Go to!
What is he that builds stronger than either the mason, the
shipwright, or the carpenter?
Three builders: one builds houses, one ships (houses at sea – both England and Denmark were/are seafaring nations), and one the house of God – the church: Joseph was a carpenter by trade, and thus, so was Jesus Christ. What is more lasting than a house, a ship, or the church?
The gallows-maker; for that frame outlives a thousand
tenants.
I like thy wit well, in good faith. The gallows does well.
Could it be justice? It's certainly lasting. But the gallows only stands for earthly justice ...
But how does it well? It does well to those that do ill. Now,
thou dost ill to say the gallows is built stronger than the
church. Argal, the gallows may do well to thee. To't again, come!
... so it can't be the right answer. Isn't there something else?
Who builds stronger than a mason, a shipwright, or a
carpenter?
Ay, tell me that, and unyoke.
Marry, now I can tell!
Victor Vasnetsov: A Knight at the Crossroads – detail (1882, Russian Museum, St. Petersburg, Russia)
To't.
Mass, I cannot tell.
A bit of dallying, during which our principals announce their presence (which also signals the end of this part of the Clowns scene) – and shame on the Second Clown for not immediately clueing in to the correlation to earthly justice ...
Cudgel thy brains no more about it, for your dull ass will
not mend his pace with beating; and when you are ask'd this
question next, say 'a grave-maker.' The houses he makes lasts
till doomsday. Go, get thee to Yaughan; fetch me a stoup of
liquor.
... which is, of course, Divine justice: Heaven for the just and upright; hell, damnation, and vengeance everlasting for sinners. And on that note:
Exit Second Clown, and on the approach now are Hamlet and Horatio, who will soon get an in-your-face reminder of the reasons why a cemetary is also called a boneyard.
Copyright 2002 – 2009: Ulrike Böhm, all rights reserved.
