Eugène Delacroix (undated) – Act III, scene 1. Hamlet reproaches Ophelia.
Act III, Scene 1 (Hamlet and Ophelia).
Poor Ophelia. Can you say, "ultimate victim"? First Hamlet breaks into her bedchamber, scaring her witless and possibly coming close to raping, or at least harming her physically. Then, only a day later, her own father and Claudius use her as a guinea pig for Polonius's latest theory on Hamlet's apparent madness, and set her up to meet the Prince all alone. Being thus (ab)used, she unwittingly finds herself in Hamlet's presence while he is holding discourse with his own conscience over some very profound issues indeed. And ultimately working up her courage to approach him, as her father and the King have told her she must, she is severely abused yet again, and again by none other than the Prince himself.
For the truth is that by her presence during "To be, or not to be," Ophelia has committed just about as grave a breach of privacy as Hamlet did the day before; even if nothing further could have been from her mind, and even if as a result she – the apparent offender in this scenario – is the one being trodden on again, not our supremely offended Prince. For this reason, I think it is not only critical that "To be, or not to be" and the confrontation between Hamlet and Ophelia remain in direct sequence (and obviously, in this order), but that the "get thee to a nunnery" theme itself not be extracted from this confrontation, either. And also for this reason, I find myself unable to read the confrontation in any other way than pure, unrestrained spite and malice on Hamlet's part.
(Yes, yes, yes. I know. Branagh seems to see this one differently. But remember: Not only is his movie set in a different time period, where a more assertive Ophelia makes decidedly more sense than in the context of my interpretation; he also doesn't show the bedchamber scene – at least the one Shakespeare actually wrote, that is – and thus, he has to use the beginning of this particular scene to work up to the couple's confrontation. And he does so quickly and efficiently; and quite crucially, regardless how he, Olivier, Kosintzev, Jacobi or Zeffirelli handle the rest of the scene, I think towards its end we're all pretty much on the same page again. Err, with one or two exceptions, anyway, which I'll be addressing below.)
Now, we do get a fair taste of what is to come right from the start of this scene: for no sooner has Hamlet become aware of Ophelia's presence, what are the first words out of our Prince's mouth? "Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins rememb'red!" Thus, he instantly (and without any further provocation on her part whatsoever) equates her with one of those fallen daughters of Eve long since branded seductresses with nothing but man's (i.e.: the male part of society's) perdition in mind. – This, of course, doesn't bode well at all for the success of Ophelia's mission. Still, she tries to summon her courage and do her best regardless. Her first approach – and I think this is actually something Ophelia herself may at this point have decided to do, although Polonius probably has encouraged her in it – is to try and return Hamlet's "remembrances" to the Prince. He, however, flat-out denies ever having given her any, and when she insists, he just piles on more of the "duplicitous female" language and accuses her (not vice versa!) of dishonesty, not without also scornfully reminding her that "if you be honest and fair, your honesty should admit no discourse to your beauty." "Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with honesty? " responds a once more instantly terrified Ophelia; only to provoke an even harsher jibe from Hamlet, who tells her that beauty (which after all he does not deny she possesses) will rather transform honesty into vulgarity than honesty will transform beauty into sincerity – two seemingly paradoxical ways of yet again equating beauty and dishonesty. And not enough with that: "I did love you once," the Prince concludes his sniding remarks. "Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so." Ophelia must be on the verge of tears now – this is clearly her last stand. But Hamlet is just getting going. Because first, he instantly retracts his avowal of (even past) love ("You should not have believed me. ... I loved you not.") ... and after a last, desperate "I was the more deceived" from the maid, he finally sends her packing for good.
Get thee to a nunnery!
His reproaches' recurrent theme: Ophelia is to leave the world behind; and posthaste, too. And this is not Peter Abelard sending his beloved Héloïse to a convent for her own protection; oh no, our Prince has a whole number of very different reasons, none of which are charitable in the least. (Note, by the way, that although we are on the level of the play's primary – and aristocratic – characters, no part of this dialogue is presented in pentameters but it's all in plain prose; thus sharply contrasting not only with the preceding soliloquy and the phrasing of both Hamlet's and Ophelia's usual manner of speaking but also with the conventions of love poetry).
Why wouldst thou be a breeder of sinners?
Right to the heart of the matter: forget tender romantic feelings, soul mate-ship, and all the other sentimental claptrap associated with the word "love" in feebler minds: Hamlet has been in her bedchamber, and while he did probably shy away from the ultimate breach (albeit maybe just so – of course we will never find out for sure), the physical connotations of their relationship are indelible from his mind forever. And that, of course, also means that Ophelia, even if she in fact still is untouched, has moved from pure to polluted, from white virgin to fallen daughter of Eve; never mind that our Prince himself is the one who catapulted her into that state in the first place – and never mind also that, I strongly suspect, he is in complete denial as to what he has done to her psychologically. – So given her now sullied state, what good can we possibly expect from her offspring? And more generally speaking: in this inverted state of the world, can any child being born possibly turn out anything other than instantly tainted by sin, both the Original Sin brought into the world by Mother Eve and the sins added on to that by Claudius's reign?
I am myself indifferent honest,
Oh, you just gotta love the language here. "Indifferent honest"? Good grief. (And Hamlet, "indifferent" to anything?) I think what he means, though, is that he is used to telling things like they are ... straightforward, without any flattery, embellishment, exaggeration or, for that matter, understatement. Err. Yes. Indeed. We've heard a few examples of that already ...
but yet I could accuse
me of such things that it were better my mother had not borne me.
Hmm. Like screwing with the mind of an innocent, impressionable young girl, for example, my Prince? No, somehow I didn't really believe that's what you were thinking of ...
I am very proud,
Now, that would never have occurred to me ...
revengeful,
On that, I think your Dad has a slightly different view at the moment. Although as far as women are concerned, I do appreciate the honesty, my lord Apollo. Now, if you could just mend your ways and suit your actions to those words ...
ambitious; with more offences at my
beck than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give
them shape,
"Offences" – against Claudius or your father's command? Or both? For I really don't think you're talking about Ophelia here ...
or time to act them in.
No, surely not if you keep deciding to delay even those things that, in your heart of hearts, you know you must do. Like getting rid of Claudius ...
What should such fellows as I
do, crawling between earth and heaven?
Hamlet, halfway on the way to the sweet hereafter? (And this, mere minutes after "the dread of something after death," and all that?) No wonder Ophelia is beginning to seriously doubt he still has all his wits about him. (Besides, forgive me for pointing this out, my Prince, but if anybody is between earth and anything at all, it's your father ... and he's more likely between earth and hell, if we are to believe his own words.)
We are arrant knaves all;
believe none of us. Go thy ways to a nunnery.
And "we" being ...? Men, as in "mankind"? Men, as in "males"? "Such fellows as Hamlet"? Ophelia sent to a nunnery to avoid the sinfulness and senselessness of the world, to save her soul after all? Mood swings, mood swings, mood swings, as only Hamlet is capable of. And we're immediately in for another one:
Where's your father?
At home, my lord.
What has obviously happened here is that Ophelia has given away Polonius's presence, which heretofore probably hasn't occurred to our Prince as a possibility (although if you watch Zeffirelli's and Sir Laurence Olivier's take on this scene, that's not necessarily true, either, and in their versions that even makes sense – but then, Zeffirelli proceeds to extract a substantial part of the lines directly associated with the "Get thee to a nunnery" theme and inserts them into the exchange preceding the "play within the play," which is an approach I disagree with for the reasons stated further above; and I also don't buy into the softened connotation he gives those transplanted lines). So I think Hamlet in fact does become aware very suddenly that not only Ophelia has overheard his contemplations in "To be, or not to be," but even worse, Polonius is present as well, and hiding somewhere. And Ophelia is such a bad liar ...
Let the doors be shut upon him, that he may play the fool
nowhere but in's own house. Farewell.
So as of now, what Hamlet is saying has the dual purpose of driving home a few more uncomfortable truths to the maid while at the same time hitting home with her father.
O, help him, you sweet heavens!
Ophelia, meanwhile, has concluded that our Prince really has gone mad – because of his behaviour as much as because of what he has so far said to her, I imagine. And leaving aside that Polonius should never have put his daughter into this position in the first place, you just have to wonder what's going through the man's mind not to step in right here and now, particularly given that Hamlet is now aware of his presence anyway. Someone send this guy to a school for fathers, quickly ...
If thou dost marry, I'll give thee this plague for thy dowry:
be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape
calumny. Get thee to a nunnery. Go, farewell.
No, indeed, she would not escape public shame, as a woman's reputation ruined is ruined forever, particularly in a claustrophobic society such as this one. And it seems to me there is also a good bit of scorched earth in Hamlet's words, and yet another powerful motive why he wants to ship the maid off to the cloister so quickly: if he can't have her, nobody else shall, either. Or if another man does, they shall both suffer for it: "the stamp of one defect" and all that ...
Or if thou wilt
needs marry, marry a fool; for wise men know well enough what
monsters you make of them. To a nunnery, go; and quickly too.
Farewell.
But is he simply telling her to pick a man who at least won't realise how badly he is being duped by her (as if Ophelia were capable of any falsehood at all!) – or is Hamlet coming within an inch of admitting that he would almost have raped her on the previous day? (And no, I still don't think he actually did ...)
O heavenly powers, restore him!
"... or failing that, Daddy, help me and get me out of here ..." (Don't you just want to step up to the girl and pull her away? And slap Polonius in the face?)
I have heard of your paintings too, well enough. God hath
given you one face, and you make yourselves another. You jig, you
amble, and you lisp; you nickname God's creatures and make your
wantonness your ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't!
Undeterred, Hamlet is meanwhile back on the "dishonesty" and two-facedness track, with "wantonness" thrown in for good measure: Eve, nymph, satyr, painted whore – fallen woman, whichever way you look at it.
it hath made me mad.
Oh please, Sir Derek ... et tu, Brutus?! And you, too, Sir Laurence? Throughout the entire scene up to this point you have both given us perfect representations of a man fatally incensed by what he sees as his beloved's duplicity, sparing her no amount of abuse whatsoever. And now you're suddenly making a 180-degree turn and try to rescue our Prince's reputation? "It hath made me mad," spoken more softly by Sir Derek, with a surprised undertone, and even giving the maid a hug? A kiss on Ophelia's hand and a farewell sweet and tender as you please by Sir Laurence on the very last line ("to a nunnery, go")? No way. These are Hamlet's concluding remarks, spat out, with emphasis on "mad" and "go!," respectively ... and "it hath made me mad" immediately seguing into his parting shot:
I say, we will have no more marriages. Those that are
married already – all but one – shall live; the rest shall keep as
they are. To a nunnery, go.
For indeed, if our Prince can't have the woman he loved ... let there be scorched earth all around. And of course, with a very specific reference to Claudius thrown in, too; never mind all the apparent paralysis of "To be, or not to be." So is Hamlet now aware that the King may be present as well? Unlike Sir Laurence Olivier, I doubt it; I think he would hardly have wanted to warn Claudius about his intentions. And yet, that's exactly what he has done, for the King's conclusions on what he has overheard are decidedly different from those of Polonius ...
Copyright 2002 – 2009: Ulrike Böhm, all rights reserved.
