strives, from an inward impulse, to become his own ideal of man, of whom he says (ii, 2): What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculty! in form and moving, how express and admirable! in action, how like an angel! in apprehension, how like a god!' But just because it is, therefore, repugnant to his nature to strive merely according to circumstances and opportunities, merely on account of external necessity, there arises a contradiction between the inward bias of his mind and the pressure of external circumstances. He cannot make up his mind to perform the task assigned to him, not because it is too great or too difficult for him, but because he does not know how to turn a mere external action into one that is internal free, and truly moral. Hence his restless vacillation, his hesitation and procrastination, his wavering thoughts, his coming forward and retiring, the vehement self-reproach with which he would goad himself on to prompt action, without, however, being able to control time and its flight; hence the uncertainty and the contradictions in his mode of action, and apparently also in his character.

And in fact, the task imposed upon Hamlet gives him much, very much to reflect upon, both with regard to the actual crime which it is to punish, and also with regard to its moral side, i.e., to the question of right and wrong. The ghost of his father appears. Hamlet's very address to it is in perfect accordance with his character:

"What may this mean

That thou. dead corse, again, in complete steel,
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,
Making night hideous; and we fools of nature
So horridly to shake our disposition

With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?"

When the horrible crime is revealed to him, he does not at once abandon himself to feelings of revenge, or to his impulse to act; he is, it is true, in a state of passionate excitement and deeply moved, but the occurrence has rather yet to become an inward experience to him; surprised and astonished that that has happened which he had considered impossible, he resolves to set it down that one may smile and smile, and be a villain.' After having

thereby endeavoured to control his violent excitementfor, although it has been found strange, the setting it down' does help him in this-he at once determines not to act without further proofs, but, in some way to assure himself of the truth of the matter, and clearly to think over his own mode of action. This is why he entreats his friends to be silent, even though his conduct should hereafter appear strange or odd. The conduct he does assume, the half-madness, the unreality of which, however, it is not difficult to perceive, would be very inappropriate if he had contemplated the rash act from the beginning. But he assumes it only with the view of awakening in the King's mind a suspicion as if he guessed, suspected or knew something of the truth, and then drew a conclusion as to the King's guilt or innocence from his behaviour. Hamlet finds it easy to carry out his plan; for although it is assuredly only a part which he involuntarily undertakes to play,* without having any clear notion as to how he intends to act (being driven on by the dark instinct of his excited, anxious mind, which is struggling for certainty and clearness), still his mind is so affected, so confused and disturbed by the appearance of the ghost, by the fearful subject of the secret disclosed to him, by the necessity of having to bear the whole weight alone, by the melancholy loneliness which thus suddenly surrounds him and which must be the more detrimental to his mind the more it is only internal and mental, especially, however, by the fruitless endeavour (which continues to force itself upon him) to make himself complete master of the new position in life into which he has suddenly been placed, i.e., to become assimilated with it and to transform his view of life in accordance with it-in short, to create for himself a

*The opposite view, held by some Englishmen, that Hamlet is actually insane, must of necessity be an error, apart from the clear proofs contained in several passages, because this would in fact unhinge the whole tragedy, and entirely destroy the impression of the tragic pathos; in short, the view is thoroughly unpoetical. It would be no artistic work, but a senseless contradiction, to let a mind, already disturbed to the very brink of madness, in addition pass through all the sufferings of a deeply tragic situation. Such a sight is neither beautiful nor sublime, not even attractive or interesting, but simply intolerable.

new existence out of the desolate ruins of the former world of his thoughts, plans, wishes and hopes (which a single flash has suddenly dashed to pieces), all this has so upset his mind, that he is not exactly deranged, but yet stands, so to say, on the borders between disease and health. His undertaking to play this part is certainly based upon a half belief, or, if it be preferred, a disbelief in the words of the ghost, and this disbelief might be regarded as scepticism (Bedenklichkeitskrämerei) were it not that the whole drama is expressly founded on the higher moral doctrines of Christianity, as is expressly shown in the very first scene. According to the ideas of true, pure morality, it cannot be an entirely innocent and heavenly spirit that would wander on earth to demand a son to avenge his death, and, in fact, the ghost himself says, that he is

"Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night;

And for the day, confined to fast in fires,

Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature,
Are burn'd and purg'd away."

Besides this, it is above all things essential to a free, independent action, that the agent should be perfectly certain of its origin and reason. When, therefore, Hamlet finds that he has, and must do the deed so repulsive to him, he intends, at all events, to be perfectly sure that he does not himself commit a crime; this certainty, and, moreover, a certainty in the full extent, is a necessity not merely to him, but to every person with a delicate sense of moral feeling. But when he and Horatio have-by the device of the play-come to a perfect conviction of the King's guilt, and when the King, by his conduct, has aroused the suspicions of the whole assembled court, why

it has been asked why does not Hamlet seize the opportunity to unmask the trembling and consciencestricken criminal, and call him to account? In the first place, probably, because it was only in Hamlet's eyes, not in those of the others, that the King stood convicted; further, because the King withdraws so hurriedly and suddenly, that Hamlet could not at the moment take him to task; lastly, however, because Hamlet himself has fallen into such passionate excitement at the discovery of the true state of things, that at the moment, he does not in

any way think of taking active steps, and would not have been able to do so, even though he had previously formed a definite plan of action. This, however, he has evidently not done, and for this very reason has been censured and accused of weakness of will, indecision and incapacity of action. But before making a plan for action, one has to be certain of the action itself, and this Hamlet is not. Moreover, even after he has come to the firm conviction of the King's guilt, he still hesitates and cannot come to a decision, he still has doubts and scruples, especially moral doubts, moral scruples! And very rightly. For even though the King were a triple fratricide, it wouldaccording to the idea of pure, strict morality-still remain a morally equivocal act, half a crime to put him to death on the spot without a fair trial; to a tender conscience the murder of an uncle and stepfather is a deed from which the strongest mind would justly revolt, even though divine justice itself required the punishment (and in the present case this could be done only by Hamlet). The higher moral feeling in Hamlet, accordingly, is still in conflict with the natural man and his demand for revenge, which is supported by the ancient national custom of the Germanic people. The natural man spurs him to the deed and accuses him of irresolution and cowardice; his tender conscience-more sentiment than clear consciousness-involuntarily restrains him; his mind wavers and hesitates, and torments itself in vain to reconcile these conflicting elements, but is urged on by them to preserve for itself the creative freedom of action. The regard for the eternal salvation of his soul (to which he significantly refers even at the appearance of the ghost) forces him to halt and to consider; the remembrance of the duty of revenge imposed upon him by his father urges him onwards; therefore the passage which Schlegel quotes (but mutilates to support his view) correctly characterises the real state of Hamlet's soul (iii. 1):

"To die ;-to sleep;—

To sleep! perchance to dream; ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

Must give us pause.

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, etc.” *

His, therefore, is no sceptical, idly speculative consideration which wishes to fathom all the possible consequences of the deed; it is his conscience and the desire for free action in accordance with his own thoughts, that paralyses his energy. And his exclamation:

"The time is out of joint; O cursed spite!

That ever I was born to set it right!”

is not made in the feeling of want of heroism and power of energy (as Goethe thinks), but in his consciousness of the scrupulousness and the tendency of his nature.†

But it is not merely the moral question as to whether he should do the deed, it is also the how that vexes his soul, as is distinctly expressed in the above monologue (iii. 1). If the deed is to be done, it must be accomplished in an appropriate form, expressive of its meaning, and be in accordance with the demands of justice and morality. In the present case also, things prove themselves both obstinate and hard to deal with; here also the whole position of affairs is hostile to him. In the given circumstances there remains nothing for him to do, but to commit a cunning and treacherous murder, or to rouse the people to rebellion against the externally lawful power of the king -a mode of action utterly abhorrent to his inmost soul. For it is a mere vague supposition that Hamlet-by openly coming forward as the king's accuser and judge, and by being wholly absorbed with his (legally un

*Hamlet calls the future state an 'undiscovered country, from whose bourne no traveller returns.' This is said to be a contradiction, as he has just experienced the reverse, and seen and spoken to the spirit of his father. Hamlet, however, means to say that no one is at' liberty to return here from the 'undiscovered country' if the life there does not please him, and therefore that suicide determines all futurity.

That Hamlet's 'fine moral feeling,' his 'scrupulousness and virtue,' are the fundamental reasons of his hesitation and irresolution, is expressly recognised by Gervinus. But if so, Hamlet has a right to hesitate, to reflect and to consider, and it is, therefore, a contradiction to praise his scrupulousness and in the same breath to accuse him of irresolution, scepticism, and cowardice.