At the last push of fate Shakespeare
will pose and deceive himself.
It is curiously characteristic of Shakespeare that when Hamlet broods on
retaliation he does not brood like a brave man, who gloats on
challenging his enemy to a fair fight, and killing him by sheer force or
resolution; his passion, his revenge, is almost that of an Italian
bravo. Not once does Hamlet think of forcing the king (Herbert) to
a duel; he goes about with ideas of assassination, and not of combat.
"Now might I do it pat"
he cries as he sees the king praying; and he does not do it because he
would thus send the king's soul to Heaven--shrill wordy intensity to
excuse want of nerve. Whenever we get under the skin, it is
Shakespeare's femininity which startles us.
One cannot leave this great picture of Hamlet-Shakespeare without
noticing one curious fact, which throws a flood of light on the
relations of literary art to life. Shakespeare, as we have seen, is
boiling with jealous passion, brooding continually on murderous revenge,
and so becomes conscious of his own irresolution.
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