(1827)

In this book Shakespeare’s devoted admirers receive a valuable present. The first unbiased reading has given me a wonderful impression. It was the old familiar masterpiece again, its action and movement in no way altered, but the most powerful and effective principal passages left untouched, just as they came from the original hand of the genius. The play was exceedingly easy and delightful to read. One thought one’s self in a wholly familiar world, and yet felt something peculiar which could not be expressed, and this induced one to give the play a closer consideration, and indeed a stricter comparison with the old. Hence these few random remarks.

First of all, it was noticeable that there was no locality given, nor was there information about the stage-setting, and just as little about the division of the acts and scenes. All this was represented by “Enter” and “Exit.” The imagination was allowed free play. One saw again in his mind’s eye the old primitive English stage. The action took its impetuous course of life and passion, and one did not take the time to think of such things as places.

In the more recent familiar revision we find the division into acts and scenes, and locality and stage-setting are given. Whether these are by him or by later stage-managers, we leave undecided here.

The Polonius of the second revision is called Corambis in the first, and the rôle appears through this little circumstance to take on another character.

The unimportant supernumerary rôles were first designated merely by numbers, but here we find them endowed with honor and significance through being given names. We are thus reminded of Schiller, who in Wilhelm Tell gave names to his peasant women and some words to speak, so that they became more acceptable rôles. The poet does the same here with guards and courtiers.

If in the first edition we find a loosely written syllabication, in the later one we find it better controlled, though always without pedantry. Rhythmic passages are divided into five-foot iambics, though half and quarter verses are not avoided.

So much for the external expression. A comparison of the inner connections and relations will be of profit to any admirer who gives the work an individual study. Here are only a few suggestions.

Passages, which in the first version are only lightly sketched by the hand of genius, we find more deliberately executed, and in a way that we have to approve and admire as necessary. We come, too, upon pleasing amplifications, which may not be absolutely necessary, but which are highly welcome. Here and there we find hardly perceptible yet vivid aspersions, connective passages, even important transpositions to make a highly effective speech,—everything done with a master-hand, with intelligence and feeling, everything thrilling our emotions and clarifying our insight.

Everywhere in the first version we admire that sureness of touch which, without lengthy reflection, seems rather as if it had been poured out spontaneously, a vivifying and illuminating discovery. And whatever excellences the poet may have given to his later work, whatever deviations he employed, at least we find nowhere any important omission or alteration. Only here and there some rather coarse and naïve expressions are expunged.

In closing we shall mention, however, a noticeable difference which concerns the costume of the Ghost. His first appearance, as we know, is in armor; he is armed from head to foot; his face is pale and sad, his glance wan and yet austere. In this guise he appears on the terrace, where the castle guard is marching up and down, and where he himself may often have drawn up his warriors.

In the closet of the Queen, on the other hand, we find mother and son in the familiar dialogue, and finally these words:—

But then follows: “Enter the Ghost in his night-gowne.”

Who, on first hearing this, does not find it for a moment incongruous? And yet if we grasp it, if we think it over, we shall find it right and proper. He should—indeed he must—appear first in armor, when he is entering the place where he has rallied his warriors, where he has encouraged them to noble deeds. And now we begin to be less confident of our conviction that it was suitable to see him enter the private closet of the queen in armor, too. How much more private, homelike, terrible, is his entrance here in the form in which he used to appear—in his house apparel, his night robe, harmless and unarmed—a guise which in itself stigmatizes in the most piteous way the treachery which befell him. Let the intelligent reader, as he may, picture this to himself. Let the stage-manager, convinced of this effect, produce it in this way, if Shakespeare is to be staged in his integrity.

It is worth noting that the commentator Steevens has already criticized this scene. When Hamlet says:—

this discerning critic adds this note:—“If the poet means by this expression that the father is appearing in his own house costume, he has either forgotten that at the beginning he introduced him in armor, or else it must be his intention in this latter appearance to alter his attire. Hamlet’s father, just as a warrior prince might do, does not always remain in armor, or sleep, as they tell of King Haakon, of Norway, with his battle-ax in his hand.”

If we had been clever enough, we should have already thought of Hamlet’s first utterance in this scene, when he sees the Ghost:—“What would your gracious figure?” For we have not words enough to express all that the English mean by the word “gracious,”—everything that is kind and gentle, friendly and benign, tender, and attractive, is fused in that word. Certainly it is no term for a hero in armor.

These doubts are happily now dispelled by the reprinting of the first edition. We are convinced anew that Shakespeare, like the Universe, is always offering us new aspects, and still remains, at the end of it all, lofty and inaccessible. For all our powers are not competent to do justice to his words, much less his genius.