The Fourth Scene is not found in the Folio, and some claim that, apart from its comparative feebleness, it is false and unnatural. But says Professor Werder:

"Surely not as a prisoner on the brink of exile, surrounded by royal guards, is there a motive for self-reproach. One thing is clear, unless Hamlet planned the subsequent piratical capture, the soliloquy is not only superfluous and contradictory, but even absurd."

The scene, exclusive of the soliloquy, serves, however, a good purpose. If, according to a law of the drama, no new character may be dragged in at the close of a play, it is nec essary that Fortinbras in some manner enter into the action of the tragedy. Hence, the young prince, to whom reference has been made in the First Act and again in the Second, is now personally introduced to us, as he leads his Norwegian troops in spectacular march through Elsinore on his way to the confines of Poland. The scene thus prepares us for the important role which, on his return from the war, he is destined to play at the close of the tragedy.

The reply of the captain that Fortinbras with an army of twenty thousand men, is marching against Poland to gain "a little patch of ground that in it has no profit but the name, and for which he would not give five ducats," surprises Hamlet greatly, and he philosophizes upon the fact that so many men, tricked by fantasy and fame, fight unto death "for a plot of ground which is not tomb enough to contain the slain;" and that Fortinbras, "puffed up with divine ambition," exposes himself to death "even for an egg-shell."

Rightly to be great, he concludes, is not to fight for trifles. Fame is but a phantom; "the paths of glory lead but to the grave." His thoughts are those of Joan of Arc:

"Glory is like a circle in the water,
Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself

Till by broad spreading, it desperse to nought."
(Henry VI. 1. 1. ii.)

The project of the Norwegian prince prompts Hamlet to reflect upon his own position. His enforced inactivity compared with Fortinbras' freedom, rouses him again, as in former soliloquies, to violent agitation. In indignation and desire of "revenge," he is rent by conflicting sentiments. If, as on previous occasions, impassioned emotions breathe instant revenge, and strong contending principles draw him in opposite directions, higher feelings of justice and necessity retard and smother their violence.

This mental conflict is chiefly apparent at moments of great depression like the present, when some circumstance causing the fluctuating fires of passion to flame wildly up in him, he berates himself unduly as a coward of craven scruples, lagging in "revenge;" but his deep moral feelings, keen sensibilities, and quick and powerful intellect enable him to put down the passionate rebellion of his lower animal nature. The man in an irrational impulse goads the superman to an instant stroke of revenge, and blindly urges him to throw consequences to the wind, to act as Laertes talks: "To Hell, allegiance! vows, to the blackest devil! conscience and grace to the profoundest pit!"

Hamlet, however, is not a feather-brained and unprincipled Laertes, and, precisely because he is not, a fierce, tugging, agonizing conflict rages between his higher and lower nature; and his feelings, terribly insurgent, clamor for the upper hand. To appease his dreadful heart-agony, the man

indulges in overwrought strains of self-reproach in the hope of speedy satisfaction, and, seemingly taking part with his riotous passion, goes to pleading its cause most vehemently against his higher self; but judgment, nevertheless, keeps the upper hand, and though he cannot silence his insurgent feelings, he can, and does overrule them by the power of his iron will. He differs again from Laertes; the latter, a youth of choleric temperament, is never troubled with scruples and a melancholy which induces apathy or indifference to action. Though Hamlet often does overcome his apathy by native energy of will, he is, nevertheless, confronted on each occasion, as in the present soliloquy, by an actual and greater impediment, which consists in the conscientious obligation of obtaining visible and material proofs of the King's guilt, before he strike the blow of "revenge."

In Hamlet, therefore, we here behold another of the many struggles of the man against the superman, which have been already pictured. It is a struggle of the natural against the supernatural man, of the lower animal nature against the higher in a clamorous demand for instant revenge. The natural man, knowing no law but that of blood, spurs him on to immediate action, and charges his reluctance and hesitation to cowardice and irresolution; for the lower or irrational nature, which is actuated solely by blind instincts and passions, can recognize in the superman's moral dictates of wise and prudent judgments, nothing but "craven scruples of thinking too precisely on the event." Hence, the Prince's torturing, mental conflict arises from his attempts to reconcile two conflicting impulses, and between them to preserve his own liberty of will and action in the pursuit of a just and adequate "revenge." In soliloquy he finds "examples gross as earth," which exhort him to action. There is the Norwegian prince whose martial spirit in a less noble cause

brands his own inaction as cowardice. But in the comparison Hamlet does injustice to himself; the parity fails in essential elements. Fortinbras may without scruples lead his troops to battle against an open foe in defense of a just and public cause according to the common laws of war; Hamlet on the contrary is urged in opposition to religious principles and his better judgment to strike down by an apparently illegal act the head of the State a secret criminal for a hidden crime which is known to himself alone, and for which he can offer in defense no tangible and material proof. Hence, their projects differ as much as night from day.

From Fortinbras' activity for a trifle, Hamlet turns to think of his own inactivity in a cause of greatest import. When honor is involved there is nothing trifling. Yet it is precisely this sense of honor that restrains his avenging arm. To strike the King before obtaining proofs, which will satisfy the public mind as to the justice of his act, is to forfeit his honor and gain the infamy of an assassin and ambitious regicide. Justice, however, is impossible through the ordinary courts of the realm: they are in complete control of the criminal who sways with absolute power. As a last resort, Hamlet must, therefore, seek it in the one only way possible. If, as the rightful king, he proceed in the cause of justice, and by reason of the supreme power vested in himself, he judge, and execute Claudius, the citizens of Denmark will, nevertheless, be the jurors, who will afterwards examine his proofs, and decide upon the justice of the execution. Aware, therefore, that he must pause in his "revenge," "when honor's at the stake," until he has the absolutely necessary proofs, Hamlet, in consequence, concludes the soliloquy with words: "O, from this time forth, my thoughts be bloody. If he cannot now strike the criminal, let bloody thoughts at least speed him on to the attainment of the needed proofs.

SCENE FIFTH

THE SWEET ROSE OF MAY

After Hamlet's departure for England, there is a lapse of some days, perhaps a whole week, before the opening of the fifth scene. Time is thus allowed for Laertes' return from Paris to attend his father's funeral. In the meanwhile Ophelia's mind has been wrecked by the loss of her father and her lover. In the words of Sir Joshua Reynolds,

"There is no part in this play in its representation on the stage more pathetic than this scene, which I suppose proceeds from the utter insensibility Ophelia has to her own misfortunes. A great insensibility, or none at all, seems to produce the same effect. In the latter case the audience supply what is wanting, and with the former they sympathize.'

In the Folios, the scene opens differently than in our modern received text. In the former, the Gentleman is supplanted by Horatio, who enters alone to plead with the Queen for an audience with the afflicted Ophelia. That such an arrangement is more appropriate, many critics think with Dr. Johnson, and of it Dr. Clarke affirms: "We think there is something exquisitely appropriate in making Hamlet's beloved friend, Horatio, the one who watches over and tenderly thinks for Ophelia, during the Prince's absence, and brings her to his mother alone."

Ophelia seems to have been more or less neglected in her misfortune by all save Horatio, a man of noble soul and unpretending worth. His esteem and love of Hamlet, as well as her sad state, roused a sympathy which impelled him to seek a private audience with the Queen at Elsinore, and