Eugène Delacroix (1834) – Act I, scene 2. The queen attempts to console Hamlet.
Act I, Scene 2 (Claudius, with Hamlet and Gertrude).
The first act's rather long second scene has a peculiar choreography in that, after Claudius's announcement of his and Gertrude's marriage the King first addresses two other orders of court business: Voltemand and Cornelius's mission to Norway, and Laertes's request for leave to return to France. Only after those are taken care of, he turns his attention to Hamlet. Thus, we are made to wait out not only the first act's entire first scene but even way into the second scene until we even meet our hero for the first time. But I think Shakespeare has the sequencing exactly right; and his contemporaries probably appreciated his sense of realism: The wedding announcement, after all, is much more than a private affair; it's a matter of state directly linked to Claudius's position as a sovereign. Thus, it has to come first. Following that, a ruler would likely have wanted to address matters of (foreign) politics and state security – here, the mission to Norway to avert Fortinbras's invasion. Next, I think, he has a choice, because he can probably anticipate that Laertes's request will not be a matter of high diplomacy but rather, of a private nature; so he could conceivably make him wait until he has talked to Hamlet (and he knows that there's some unfinished business with the Prince, even if Hamlet can't (yet) know what he – Claudius – has done). But for one thing, Laertes is Polonius's son, and Claudius would rather have the Counsellor on his side than against him, so his intent clearly is to make extra sure that Polonius and his family receive all the honours they can expect; and that means not making Laertes wait a second longer than necessary to hear his request. And in addition, Claudius can probably also foresee that his little chat with his new stepson will go anything but smoothly, whereas Laertes's request will quickly be disposed of. Thus, it makes perfect sense to get this out of the way before turning all his remaining attention to Hamlet (and I just love the way Grigori Kosintzev uses the long time we have to wait until Claudius turns his attention to Hamlet, by making the Prince disappear – out of disgust with what he is witnessing – halfway through the audience, so that Claudius and Gertrude finally have to go looking for him in the hallway when they want to speak to him).
But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son –
Ah yes, the father trap, and he addresses it head-on, even foregoing the royal "we" for a moment. Because that's the problem when you marry a woman who's already been married once – more likely than not, you find yourself bargaining for more than just her own favours ...
A little more than kin, and less than kind!
... and also more often than not, the kid in question turns out to be a rather spoiled brat. I mean, just look at him. He doesn't even deign Claudius – the new King! Hello?! – worthy of a direct answer. He just tells us, the audience, what he thinks of the man. (Note: although there is no stage direction to that effect in the 1623 "First Folio", nor in the 1604 Second Quarto text of the play, many later editions have Hamlet saying these words "aside," and to me that interpretation makes perfect sense.) And a rather nice play on words, too ... "little" – "less," "kin" – "kind," and "kind" both as in "same, equal" and as in "nice, friendly." No wonder the line made history (and I wonder what made Sir Laurence Olivier decide to cut it in his movie.) Oh, by the way: Greetings, my Prince. It's nice to finally meet you ...
How is it that the clouds still hang on you?
Not so, my lord. I am too much i' th' sun.
Nature, the playwright's and poet's all-purpose provider of analogies and allegories – Shakespeare alone probably accounts for at least half the natural imagery ever invented, rehashed, used and abused in literary history:
"Clouds" – Hamlet's serious/stern/sorrowful/sullen/scornful/[insert any other term indicating the opposite of "happy"] face. Hamlet's grief over his father's loss. Hamlet's displeasure with Gertrude's and Claudius's wedding. Hamlet's disdain over having been sidelined in his royal succession rights. In short, Hamlet's "melancholy," which in Shakespeare's time was a generic term indicating everything from various sane forms of ill temper to downright madness. (Hmm. Madness? Well, well, well. We're a mere three lines into our first encounter with the Prince, and already the idea has been introduced ...)
Then "the sun" – not only the opposite of everything that "clouds" stands for; for present purposes, just possibly a hint to Hamlet's potential identifiability with Phoebus Apollo, one of the three sun gods of Greek mythology, as well as most definitely a jibe on Claudius's newly-acquired royal status. (Although the play was written a few decades before the beginning of the reign of Le Roi Soleil across the channel in France, the concept as such wasn't a new one – Emperor Charles V of Germany (Charles I of Spain), for example, the father of the Virgin Queen's nemesis Philip II, famously claimed that he ruled an empire where "the sun never set;" which was generally held to refer not only to his empire's size and importance as such but also to the man himself.) And by using the image ironically, Hamlet of course lets Claudius have another piece of his mind just as surely as by not directly answering him at all at first.
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
Seek for thy noble father in the dust.
Thou know'st 'tis common. All that lives must die,
Passing through nature to eternity.
Eeeewwww. Ouch! Remember, we haven't heard Gertrude speak a single word at all until now. And what is the first thing out of her mouth – nicely picking up on the natural imagery, incidentally, and giving it yet another twist? A plea with her son to treat his father's, her own former husband's death as a matter of course and, goddamnit, finally get a move on and let that sun of happiness enter his life again. (All together now: "Always look on the bright side of life ...") And that, only a little month after the man's death – and if you watch her in Grigori Kosintzev's movie, even with an upbeat smile and while at the same time fixing her beautiful long blonde hair. Now, if you ask me, that attitude has "Claudius" written all over it ...
Ay, madam, it is common.
If it be,
Why seems it so particular with thee?
Seems, madam, Nay, it is. I know not 'seems.'
'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 havior of the visage,
Together with all forms, moods, shapes 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.
Well, alright, she's probably been asking for this; still ... is this how a respectful son treats his mother? But of course the Prince's lecture goes directly to what's on his mind – and more than just chiding Gertrude for what he sees as her own insincere professions of grief, it also tells us how much he abhors falsehood and insincerity in general. In addition, note how he first confirms that on the one hand it is common that "all that lives must die," and then, a mere two lines later, nevertheless declares it "particular" [in this specific instance, I would add]. No wonder that Claudius immediately butts in again; and now, there's no stopping him any longer.
'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet,
To give these mourning duties to your father;
But you must know, your father lost a father;
That father lost, lost his, and the survivor bound
In filial obligation for some term
To do obsequious sorrow. But
"With all due respect, but ..." If you hear that kind of phrase, you can bet your dear life (or, well, with Claudius around, you probably had better not) that any- and everything coming before the "but" is the exact opposite of what the speaker really thinks; it's nothing but milk and honey words to make the criticism following hard on its heels go down more smoothly, and to couch that criticism in such a way that it is impossible to argue with. And Claudius does this not once but twice in a row, in effect telling Hamlet to get off his high horse and step back in line.
to persever
In obstinate condolement is a course
Of impious stubbornness. 'Tis unmanly grief;
It shows a will most incorrect to heaven,
A heart unfortified, a 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? Fie!
Just to make sure he is being understood – and this is, after all, coming with the weight of Hamlet's new stepfather and his new King attached – Claudius tags on a few reprimands, of the kind that would probably make everybody's but Hamlet's ears burn bright red. Which of course they shouldn't; as a matter of fact, by rights it's Claudius himself who should be ashamed to refer to the Prince's grief as "obstinacy," "stubbornness" and "peevish opposition" (!) such a short time after his own brother's death. It's really bad enough to quite obviously not feel any sorrow about that death yourself (as we now clearly see – thus also revealing all the business about "an auspicious, and a dropping eye" and "mirth in funeral" and "dirge in marriage" he had uttered only minutes earlier when announcing his and Gertrude's marriage to his court for the fake act it was). However, to even chastise Hamlet for his alleged weakness and unsteadiness because of his own grief – yet worse, to call him a simpleton with "a will most incorrect to heaven" – and speak of his (Claudius's) own brother's death as of "the most vulgar thing to sense," that takes gall indeed.
'tis a fault to heaven,
A fault against the dead, a fault to nature,
But Claudius can even top that. Now we've really gotten to the heart of his world view, and truthfully, can it be anything other than a complete inversion of everything that is right and proper – in religion, custom, duties owed to the ancestors, and the world's proper and natural order as such? Of course not. And well-prepared as we are at this point, by the play's entire first scene, by Hamlet's response to Claudius, as well as by virtually everything we've heard the man himself say so far, there really can no longer be any doubt about his true identity. We may yet have to hear that he murdered his brother, the rightful King. But even so, we have a very clear understanding that nobody but him is the cause of Denmark's dreadfully unnatural state, that he probably also has something to do with the former King's death, that his marriage to Gertrude is not a good thing at all, and that, in short, he is the one person most to beware of in this piece. (And again, I wonder why Sir Laurence Olivier and Grigori Kosintzev, of all people, chose to deprive us of these lines in their movies. For abbreviation's sake only?)
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,
'This must be so.'
He just can't let go of the "reason" bit: knowing that this is an argument most likely to convince Hamlet (who after all rightfully prides himself on his own brains and also has sought Horatio's friendship for the latter's intellectual powers and rationality); and it's obviously also of particular importance to Claudius to drive home the point which Gertrude – no doubt instigated by him – first tried to make, namely, that what has happened so far is all just par for the course. (But not so, my dear; and the more often you're repeating it, the less likely we are to believe you.)
We pray you throw to earth
This unprevailing woe, and think of us
As of a father;
The father trap, take two. But as already indicated by his changed tone, now the royal "we" is back in place; and although you gotta love the imagery (throw to earth?!), somehow I don't think "unprevailing woe" is going to cut it with our Prince ... particularly not coming from this pretender to the role of King and father.
for let the world take note
You are the most immediate to our throne,
I think this, at the very, very latest would be the point where I'd be ready to strangle Claudius with my bare hands in Hamlet's place; even if I didn't know that he is the one who has popped my old man in the first place. "Most immediate to our throne" – excuse me?! I should be sitting on that throne, you bastard, is something along the lines of what Hamlet must be thinking now, I imagine. But of course, in the presence of all those courtiers it's the last thing he can actually say (and even less so if the proceedings, as they are in Kosintzev's version, are transcribed by a court attendant). Oh, the torture. Oh, the mortification ...
And with no less nobility of love
Than that which dearest father bears his son
Do I impart toward you.
The father trap, take three, and coming straight on the heels of that comment on royal succession, it's just about as lethal a shot as Claudius could have come up with at this point; even if it is sweetened by yet another instance of dropping the royal "we." "Nobility of love" indeed ... NOT!!!
For your intent
In going back to school in Wittenberg,
It is most retrograde to our desire;
Sure it is, but to misquote Tina Turner, what's love got to do with it? Nothing – just a little matter of precaution, because you never know what that hotheaded Prince would be up to if ever let out of Claudius's sight now. No no no, he's gotta stay right here in Elsinore, so his King and stepdad can keep a bit of an eye on him.
And we beseech you, bend you to remain
Here in the cheer and comfort of our eye,
Like I said – keep an eye ... (plus royal "we," just to underscore that this is an order, not a request.)
Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son.
The father trap, take four – and note how quickly Claudius's last three referrals to the topic have been following each other, after he had only mentioned it once before, at the very beginning of his monologue. And in closing, he even connects it to a gradual succession of Hamlet's other positions of (err) honour – courtier and close family – topping the list like a dollop of whipped cream. Laced with poison and another royal "we," that is ...
Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet.
I pray thee stay with us, go not to Wittenberg.
I shall in all my best obey you, madam.
Oh, poor kid. I imagine there's a good deal of internal fighting that's gone on before that concession of defeat – and of course it's a concession to his mother alone. But what are you gonna do if mom sides with the bogeyman, right ... ? Now, for dramatic purposes he obviously has to stay – every watcher of TV soap operas could have told you so right from the start. I mean, what are we doing here, right – what would happen if Hamlet really did leave the court, and hence, the stage, then and there? Still, a rather informative exchange all in all, methinks. And after everything we've heard, with someone like Claudius as a new ruler and stepfather, can you really blame our Prince for feeling absolutely rotten and for beginning to doubt some foul play before he has ever even heard that his father's Ghost has risen from his grave?
Copyright 2002 – 2009: Ulrike Böhm, all rights reserved.
