In the introduction to Hamlet in William Shakespeare: A Textual Companion, Gary Taylor writes that “of all the two-text plays, Hamlet comes closest to Lear in scale and in the complexity of the text the textual variation apparently resulting from the authorial revision” (401). Indeed, Hamlet's three first texts each offer distinct glimpses into the story; although they have been more or less combined throughout the twentieth century (and even before), separately, each of them has a different story to tell. As Philip Edwards observes in The Shakespeare Wars, "All who want to understand Hamlet as reader, actor or director, must understand the nature of the play's textual questions and have their own view of the questions to deal with the ambiguities in meaning" (qtd . Rosenbaum 30).This will naturally lead individuals to come to their own conclusions about how the work can be best illustrated through its text. ?Get an original essay.My intention in this essay is not necessarily to crown one edition or textual theory over another.Gary Taylor, Stanley Wells, John Dover Wilson, and numerous other scholars have devoted countless pages to discussing of how the texts might have changed from one edition to the next; I'm only interested in the "how" if it helps illuminate the effect of these changes. Furthermore, I have no particular interest in Shakespeare's "intention" towards them of Hamlet, as I feel this doesn't have much effect on how we interpret the play today. Rather, I am interested in exploring Janette Dillon's belief that "theatre perhaps looks to scholars to provide a theoretical authentication for its practices, while scholars look to the theater to provide an authenticating material dimension in an elusive intertextual world" ( 75). In his book The Shakespeare Wars, Ron Rosenbaum notes that most people who read Hamlet have no idea that they are actually reading a version of the play that Shakespeare never wrote and that his company never performed: "This that most of us have read is, rather, an artificial 'confusion' or superimposition of contrasting printed texts of its time and immediately following... the uncertainties with which Hamlet's editors are grappling create crucial differences in how Hamlet is printed, read and interpreted” (30), the responsibility of “translating” what is probably the most influential work in the history of Western literature is a heavy burden to bear an editorial direction of Hamlet became something of a curse: "the demands of this vocation pushed the editors towards their own tragedies: alcohol, desperation, obsession, an early death for at least one" (30). .There are three generally recognized substantive texts of Hamlet: the 1603 First Quarto (Q1, or “Bad Quarto,” thought to be an early draft or “memorial reconstruction” of the play); the Second Quarter (Q2) of 1604/05; and the First Folio (F) of 1623.1 Overall, the three texts are generally the same in the presentation of plot and characters: the main differences lie in the details. Modern editions of Hamlet consist of a combination of the Q2 and F texts (or sometimes a fusion of both, as occurs with the Norton edition, among others). This is mainly due to the work of J. Dover Wilson, who in In 1934 published his monumental two-volume study, The Texts of Shakespeare's Hamlet. In this work, Wilson argued that Q2 was printed from a handwritten manuscript by himselfShakespeare. This seemed to satisfy most scholars of the time and opened the door for numerous publishers to create their own edited versions of the work. In 1991, Bernice W. Kliman and Paul Bertram produced The Three-Text Hamlet: Parallel Texts of the First and Second Quartos and First Folio, which was the first version to place all three major texts side by side for easy comparison. This edition spoke to renewed scholarly interest in all three versions of the work, rather than the myriad of merged and edited texts that had been published throughout the twentieth century. Textual scholars had supported this change, observing that "the individual texts constitute different versions of the work and that merging them produces a text without authority" (Kliman & Bertram xxi)2. Kliman followed this text with 1996's Enfolded Hamlet, which "solved a problem that had defeated previous editors of multiple-text Hamlets for generations: how to visually represent variant texts and variant words in a way that allows for comparison?" (Rosenbaum 87) Many of these small variations consist of a line or less of text each, which were added in F. (For example, in 1.2, F replaces "Fie on't, ah fie, 'tis an unweeded garden " of Q2 with "Oh boy, boy, it's a weedless garden.") Scholar Harold Jenkins, who has devoted much of his research to understanding and explaining these additions, lists sixty-five examples of these "theatre interpolations" , so named because many appear to have been minor, improvised additions during a performance. Jenkins notes: [Theater interpolations] never add meaning or introduce any meaningful word that the surrounding context does not provide. Many of them will no doubt seem harmless: perhaps we need not be saddened if some continue to perform. A producer will do little harm to the work if he allows the gravedigger to make an extra reference to the skull or to Polonius shouting for help three times instead of once. (qtd. in Hibbard 113). As I said, I am more interested in an audience-centered study of these changes. While the causes of these “interpolations” are certainly worth studying, I prefer to use this essay to discuss the broader implications of the textual differences. The opening line of Hamlet's first soliloquy is perhaps the best-known point of debate in Shakespearean editing circles: “Or that this flesh too (solid/stained/salmed) would melt, / Melt, and resolve to dew” ( I.ii.129-130)3. Q2 uses "salied", while the F edition uses "solid". Modern editions, as might be expected, have been quite divided on the issue. The Arden edition chose to use "dirty", while the editors of The New Cambridge and Norton decided to use "solid". “Solid” logically corresponds to “would melt” and, at first glance, it seems that this is the best choice of word. Tennyson suggested this choice in a letter to F. J. Furnivall in 1883: "'Solid flesh' is only 'this tired burden of flesh, I would like to get rid of it!'" (qtd. in Ware 490) - indeed, "solid" gives the impression of a mortality stuck in an inevitable body, of a mind dying to free itself from the flesh that imprisons it. In The Absent Shakespeare, Mark Jay Mirsky agrees, arguing that here Shakespeare introduces the theme of the mutability of matter into different states - particularly water - to which he will return throughout the play: ... the Ghost, who it is really flesh thawed, melted, resolved into mist, “into dew” (i.e., more specifically, non-“object”). Hamlet will become a half-ghost to himself. Later Ophelia, by drowning, mixing with the water, will “melt” from her icy virginity into non-existence. To thaw is to die, a metaphor forsuicide, but suicide as an escape from the solid and threatening reality of the world. (71) “Salled” is also a possible choice, if it is read as a derivative of “sally”: rushing forward, as if launching an attack.4 Therefore, if Hamlet's flesh is “salled,” he may feel like if even his body is attacking him, not to mention “all the uses of this world” (I.ii.134). However, there are probably better arguments to support the claim that Shakespeare intended to describe Hamlet's flesh as "unclean". J. Dover Wilson famously changed "salled" to "sullied" based on a probable compositional error a:u. As both he and Harold Jenkins have argued, the use of “filth” adds to the “suggestion of defilement” (Jenkins 437), which Hamlet dwells on throughout the soliloquy and the play. This, of course, places the focus squarely on the incestuous marriage between Claudius and Gertrude and suggests that Hamlet's flesh is equally “sullied” by the hasty marriage. “'Solid meat,' Professor Wilson ventured to think, 'was a little ridiculous'” (qtd. in Weiss 219).5 It seems that the choice of use in a production depends on the concept. If a director wants to emphasize the family aspect of the work, “dirty” might be a better choice. If the play is to be staged as a psychodrama, complete with the “brooding prince” stereotype, then a director should choose “solid.” Some critics might argue that this is not a problem: the phonetic similarity of the two words might go over an audience member's head. However, I would say that the choice of words in this case serves to color the rest of the monologue and even the rest of the performance. Regarding an actor's character motivation, James Shapiro states that the use of “solid” replaces “Hamlet's initial feeling of being assailed or assaulted…[with] an anguished longing for nothingness that has less to what to do with his mother's motivation. behavior than with one's inaction” (342). This is a fundamental character choice that the actor playing Hamlet must face, and being the word in question among the first that the Prince utters in solitude, I don't think the issue is too secondary to be addressed. of Hamlet's most famous lines: “What a work is a man!” (II.ii.293-300) The speech is commonly cited as extolling man's unique abilities; however, it also reveals Hamlet's deep depression and his lack of confidence in his ability to act as a man "should." Q2 and F offer different choices for reading and interpretation. They are more or less similar in the choice and arrangement of words: the difference lies in the punctuation. Viewed one after the other, the differences and their implications are easily visible: Q2: How much work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, form and movement, how expressed and admirable in action, how much like an apprehensive Angell, how like a God: the beauty of the world; the Animal model; yet for me, what is this Quintessence of dust? I don't like men, nor women, even if your smile seems to say so. F: What a work a man is! How noble is he in reason? how infinite in faculty? in forms and mouing how expressed and admirable is it? in action, how about an angel? in apprehension, how similar to a God? the beauty of the world, the model of animals; yet for me what is this Quintessence of Dust? Man does not delight me; no, nor the Woman; even if from your smile it seems that you say so.J. Dover Wilson supported the Q2 reading, rejecting the Folio as “a rhetorical distortion on the part of the actors” (Battenhouse 1078). Theodore Spencer also supported Q2 punctuation: "[it] alone makes sense in termsof Elizabethan psychology..." ...admirable in action; like an angel in apprehension; like a god!'" (qtd. in Muir 51n1) This would have resonated with a Renaissance/early modern audience who were caught between joy for the progress of man and the anguish for the uncertainties that resulted from this newly acquired progress. On the other hand, the series of questions posed in F is of some interest to the interpreters. They express a much heavier doubt on the true ones man's capacity. Marvin Rosenberg refers to Nietzsche, who saw in this "growing skepticism towards the received truth... a desperate perception... that human action cannot affect the eternal nature of things, that the man can see 'everywhere only the terror and absurdity of existence' (415-416). This nihilistic reading was echoed in Yuri Lyubimov's performance, who used "an empty stage, an open grave, and a disembodied voice through loudspeakers" (Smith 17). It is possible, of course, that the question marks are not signs of insecurity, but rather Shakespeare's note to the actor to play Hamlet as a thinking hero. Looking at the speech in context, it seems that the F reading might be more dramatically feasible. This would be a touching moment when Hamlet “What a work is a man! How noble in reason, how infinite in faculties” is a description of what could have been if “this beautiful body” had not had murderous uncles, fragile women or ghosts bidding it take revenge. However, the choice once again brings us back to context and concept: if a production's Hamlet is a “doubting and brooding thinker,” reading F would be a stronger choice. If, however, we view Hamlet as a man biding his time until the perfect moment to strike arrives, then a Q2 interpretation would be fine. I noted earlier the perhaps drastic character choices that might be made by an editor's (or director's) choice between “solid” and “dirty.” In the third act we will once again see that one or two seemingly small changes have the power to influence our interpretation of the Prince. In the third scene, Hamlet meets Claudius praying and considers the consequences of killing his stepfather. Norton follows F: “Now I could do it, now a is praying” (III.iii.73 , italics mine).2, however, changes the wording and punctuation slightly: “Now I could do it, but now a is praying” (italics mine). . Q2's version implies a hesitant Hamlet who has every opportunity to take revenge at this moment, but for some reason he cannot imagine a long pause between one realization and the next: "Now I could do it... but now he's praying," the subtext is, "I could kill him now, but I'd rather not: how can I justify it?" won't I take revenge right now, when I have every reason to kill him now? - aha! He's praying! I am saved!” The position of the comma is also an indicator: it implies a pause in the meter where Hamlet immediately tries to conceive a way out of this situation. F's version of the text, however, seems to show a bloodthirsty Hamlet who is only too willing to take revenge, but will not do so because he prefers Claudius' soul to be "damned and black / To hell where it goes" (III .iii.94-95). The key here is “pat” (“neatly”). Again, punctuation is an indicator here: “do it, now he is praying”, shows a clear line of thought and determination towards action, until he is stopped by the realization that “he is going to Heaven”. The difference here is that Hamlet does not immediately try to think of a way out of the situation; rather, his “way out” gives himis imposed. This, in turn, makes for a less sympathetic view of Hamlet: if he kills Claudius now, he can have both revenge and the throne. However, he surpasses himself. Hamlet has clearly won the cat-and-mouse game established in 1.2, but he asks for more than he needs or has the right to ask. He aspires to play God by attempting to control the state of another's soul (which is clearly God's will). business and not that of a young Danish prince.) Thus, a less sympathetic audience member might well say that Hamlet deserves what he gets by choosing to wait for "a more horrible suggestion" (III.iii.88). As Samuel Johnson said of the prince's decision: “This speech in which Hamlet, represented as a virtuous character, is not content to take blood for blood, but devises damnation for the man he would punish, is too horrible to be read or to be read. be pronounced” (qtd. in Hamletworks CN23506). (It might also be argued that stabbing a kneeling, unarmed man in the back would be an even more terrible act than waiting until he is sufficiently damned: but this may be just punishment against a man who has poisoned his sleeping brother.) The most significant in both content and style concerns Hamlet's final soliloquy in 4.4: "How all occasions inform against me / And stir my dull vengeance!" (IV.iv.9.22-9.23) This monologue appeared in Q2 but is absent from the F. In modern editions, it appears in the Norton, but was removed by the editors of the New Oxford, who argued that it is repetitive: "Hamlet going beyond the same old ground of self-reproach” (Rosenbaum 50). Oxford's GR Hibbard also objects to his inclusion, saying “The Prince has become unrealistic. A prisoner under guard and on his way to England, he clearly does not have the means he speaks of…[the soliloquy] is disappointing and disappointing” (109). Yet Hamlet's monologue at the end of the fourth act contains crucial insights into the character and reveals the progress of the cerebral journey he famously undertakes at the beginning of the third act. As Alex Newell argues, “The speech recalls the soliloquy 'To be or not to be' in its thinking about thinking, in its consideration of thought as a symptom of cowardice, and in the way the movement of thought during the speech is accentuated step by step step by step, reasoning makes one aware of Hamlet's mind at work” (134). True, it is somewhat repetitive, but Hamlet is nothing more than a thoughtful character who uses soliloquy to confront his intellect and reason. Alex Newell claims that the final speech is integral to Hamlet's structural design, in which Shakespeare, “with climatic emphasis…reestablish[es] the essential terms of Hamlet's concern with revenge” (134). It is, as actor Derek Jacobi says, "a punctuation mark in Hamlet's journey" (Maher 110), and producing a Hamlet without it raises major red flags when it comes to resolutely defining the performance of the actor and director of the opera. Interestingly, two of the most famous Hamlets of the modern age, Edwin Booth and John Barrymore, omitted the soliloquy from their performances (Shattuck 243, Morrison 327). However, some other notable performances of the role demonstrate the need for the inclusion of the final soliloquy. Mary Z. Maher writes of John Gielgud's performance in 1944:...his eyes and face shone with rededication, his voice quivered with determination...the closing couplet rang out: “From this moment on, / Let my thoughts be bloody, or worth nothing!"...Through a process of self-communion, the actor "builds a nobler home for his self-incrimination" andhe comes out more determined than he has been... Now he has seen an opportunity and he has embraced it.. Hamlet's state of mind [is] “clear, noble and resolute” before going to England, with a “clear understanding of his destiny and desire.” (14, emphasis mine) Ben Kingsley also describes his interpretation of the same speech, which "was created by depicting a very macho Fortinbras... [who] had gone beyond being human into something forbidding and despotic." Kingsley notes that “this glimpse of reality has propelled him into adulthood… Seeing fate march before him, Hamlet makes the final decision… Suddenly he sees distances, perspectives on his own dilemma… He sees others men... .and says, well, I must join in” (all quotes in Maher 87) It is here that Hamlet sees Fortinbras acting decisively where he himself has not, and this makes him understand himself in a whole new light. . He uses his reason and intellect and throws down a gauntlet to Claudius. From the audience's perspective, if we miss this monologue, we have not seen Hamlet assert a clear forward movement: “Oh, from this time forward / Let my thoughts be bloody, or worthless!” We have therefore lost the sense of purpose on his part along with a linear dramatic action that will push us to the final act. In other words, the game does not move. Therefore, a “To be or not to be” without a “Like all occasions inform against me” is a beginning without an end, an introduction without a resolution. This might be satisfactory for “Hamletists” like Ernest Jones and TS Eliot, who tends to assert that Hamlet is an inactive and indecisive weakling. if we want to see Hamlet as a play of revenge and the Prince as a man with a mission, his final act of revenge seems to come almost from nowhere except for this soliloquy Despite all the debate about its purpose and its placement, it seems to me that the dramatic power of this soliloquy is almost unmatched in the rest of the play Ron Rosenbaum argues that "the soliloquies define Hamlet", pointing out Harold Bloom's "grandiose statement" which further strengthens the argument for the soliloquy. inclusion: “…that it is in these soliloquies that Shakespeare “invented” a new type of consciousness in Western culture, a meditative and reflective self-consciousness.” Hamlet's reflections on questions of self-consciousness aroused the same ideas in the play's first Renaissance audience: "the soliloquy might be an example not of self-consciousness but of something more complex: self-conscious self-consciousness, meta self-consciousness" (all quotes in Rosenbaum 50, italics in the original). In this light, the soliloquy could have as much traction on its own as within the text; this argument alone should (in my opinion) be enough to keep him in the performance. The dramatic focus of the opera also changes with the removal of the Fortinbras sequence in act four. As Claris Glick argues, removing the international aspect of the play focuses the issue on Hamlet's personal turmoil, rather than his place in the world: he is now “confined to a decadent court” (22). Again, this is an acceptable choice if we want to see the work solely as an examination of the human psyche through the Prince, rather than a look at the machinations of the state and the politics of power. (I prefer to read the work as a combination of both, but with an emphasis on the latter.) The textual change also alters our view of Claudius' abilities as a king. The Act Four exchange demonstrates Claudius as a ruler who successfully negotiated peace with a nation that was intent on overpowering him. This power is a further indication of Claudius' ability to govern well; so, it becomes a lotharder to kill him outright (especially with the only "proof" of a crime being an encounter with a ghost). In the passage, Shakespeare seems to make known his disdain for senseless warfare for the sake of national glory. Thus, the contrast between the cold ruler Claudius and a Norwegian king who "go[es] to gain a little piece of land / Which has no profit in it but the name" is emphasized (IV.iv.9.8-9.9) . .The preservation of this scene also influences the portrayal of Hamlet's last words and thus how the audience views the end of the play and Fortinbras' seizure of the Danish throne. In the passage in question we read: “But I prophesy the electoral lights / On Fortebraccio. It has my dying voice” (V.ii.297-298). If we include Hamlet's earlier exchange with Norway, we are already aware of Hamlet's contempt for rulers like Fortinbras who sacrifice “two thousand souls and twenty thousand ducats” for the “straw” that is Poland (IV.iv.9.15-9.16). Therefore, the tragedy of the state is easily demonstrable. Hamlet can easily read these lines with a heavy air of resignation: better for someone to take control of Denmark, than to let the country dissolve into sectarian fights for lesser rulers over the tiny piece of land, though neither option is the 'ideal. of Hamlet's state tragedy, Fortinbras's final entrance also portends the loss of Danish national identity: Denmark is just another piece of land annexed for Norway's greater glory. (This would resonate especially in productions staged in postcolonial nations still grappling with a radically changed identity: Ireland and India especially come to mind.) If, however, we do not include the fourth act scene, our interpretation of the play The ending doesn't resonate as heavily with deeper, more lasting implications. For us Fortinbras simply becomes another ruler: he is neither better nor worse than Claudius. We have no convincing sense of his foreign policy or his desire to profit from war, save the mentions of him in 1.2 and 2.2. The whole aspect of Fortinbras therefore feels a bit disjointed: the problem appears to be resolved in the second act, only to have it almost inexplicably return three acts later to take control. Laertes storms the castle at the end of the fourth act, and he and Claudius receive word that Hamlet, Polonius' murderer, “am laid naked in thy kingdom” (IV.vii.42-43). Here we see another point of contention among the editors of Hamlet. I mentioned earlier that Wilson's change from “salled” to “sullied” was based on his belief in an a:u composition error; this is another example of an edit based on an alleged compositional error. As Bernice Kliman notes, Shakespeare was in the habit of writing his lowercase e with the cycle reversed; this presumably underlies the numerous misinterpretations of e:d in the printed texts of his plays (xvii). Nowhere in Hamlet is this more evident than in this scene: But let him come. Warm the real sickness in my heart that I will live and tell him to his teeth: "So you did." (IV.vii.52-55, emphasis mine) As demonstrated above, the Norton edition chooses “diddest,” adding a footnote explaining: “What I now do to you, you have done to my father.”7 However, Wilson and Jenkins, among others, argue that “diddest” is a misreading, as Shakespeare intended to convey the more violent implications of “diest.” The study and debate about Shakespeare's "intentions" is a slippery slope, as I have already said, however, "diest" also seems to have a dramatic sense. “Diest” establishes a clear contrast between Laertes and Hamlet: in both versions we witness aLaertes' violent entry into the castle; however, "diest" implies a clear desire to take action and take revenge on the prince who wronged his family. "Diddest", on the other hand, is a weaker moment, showing all the feeling of Laertes' anger, but none of the action. This aligns him squarely with the much-accused “indecisive, hesitating” Hamlet, who resolved to “drink hot blood / And do business as bitter as the day / Would tremble at the sight” (III.ii.360-362), yet only stopped seventy lines later because Claudio was far too “fit and seasoned for his passage” (III.iv.86). This comparison takes away the immediacy of Laertes' entrance and therefore takes away the power of the scene. In 4.7, Laertes vows to "cut his throat in the church" (IV.vii.99), "to show himself [his] father's son in deed / More than in words" (IV.vii.97-98): exactly that which Hamlet did not do. Without “so you die” at the beginning of the scene, it seems like we don't quite believe it will go through with it. Finally, we must look at Hamlet's last breath. The Norton edition, in deference to F, marks Hamlet's last words as “The rest is silence. / Oh, oh, oh, oh!” (V.ii.300-301) These “O-gems” – a phrase coined by the scholar Maurice Charney – are curious additions, to say the least. At first glance, they appear to be the product of an overzealous actor, eager to squeeze every ounce of tragedy from his performance. (The O's are a great example of Jenkins's “theatrical interpolations,” which I mentioned earlier.) We have no record that Shakespeare himself wrote the phrase; nor do we have any thoughts from Richard Burbage, the first Hamlet, concerning Hamlet's last utterances. Ann Thompson does not rule out the possibility that Shakespeare added the O's to himself after seeing Burbage's Hamlet: 'Perhaps one may imagine Shakespeare... having seen [Hamlet's swan song] performed... and thinking ' Burbage made quite a dying moan, I'll write it to remember.'” (Rosenbaum 77) It may seem that we are making a mountain out of this pile of four single letters, even though they are the last words of the most influential character in Western literature. However, even if these O's read a little superfluously on the page, ultimately what we are interested in is the performance of Hamlet's last breath. There are several possibilities of interpretation here, and I believe this interpretation has the power to resonate with the audience long after the lights have come on and they have left the theater As Mirsky suggests, the O's “[emphasize] his agony, his attempt to cling to life, they make graphic sense. of its disappearance, not as clear-cut as the Second Quarto, nor as ritualized” (97). Is the dying prince reacting to his first vision of the “unknown country from whose borders / No traveler returns” (III.i.81-82)? Has he realized that he has always been wrong and that God will not judge him kindly for his act of revenge? This concept is particularly supported by Hamlet's abbreviation “Death / Is severe in its arrest – Oh, I could tell you –” [V.ii.278-279], which seems to refer to a quick vision of the afterlife. These O's also function on their own as a final soliloquy, if played correctly: "they can be transmuted from a blank-looking O on the page to a tragic air of sorrow, each O registering a deeper apprehension of death and terror" (Rosenbaum 38) . (Marvin Rosenberg adds: “Os can be very eloquent. [Try them.]) Furthermore, we can connect Ophelia's memory of Hamlet's strange behavior in 2.1 as a harbinger of his last breath: “He breathed a sigh so piteous and deep / that seemed to shatter his whole mass / and put an end to his being” (II.i.95-97). Alexander Leggatt argues that for Elizabethan audiences, i” 792).