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Does Hamlet Love Ophelia?

Summary: Although Hamlet denies his love for Ophelia in Shakespeare's play "Hamlet," it is possible to realize that he never stopped loving her. In his ploy to make those around him believe that he was mad, Hamlet sacrificed his love for Ophelia, hurting her when he did not want to hurt her. Hamlet's true feelings are revealed through his letters and his argument with Laertes after Ophelia's death.

The word love is a powerful one, both in real life, and in Shakespeare's play Hamlet. It is often a confusing concept, made even harder to grasp when one of the lovers repeatedly changes his/her mind. In Hamlet's case, his feelings towards Ophelia veer from love, to never loved, to always love. This cycle of emotions is due to Hamlet feigning madness. The time period in which Hamlet claimed to Ophelia that he never loved her, was that in which his rage at his uncle was constantly increasing. Although Hamlet denies his love for Ophelia, it is possible to realize that he never stopped loving her. Hamlet's love for Ophelia is first introduced to the reader by Ophelia herself: "He hath, my lord, of late made many tenders of his affection to me."(pg. 43 line 100) Hamlet has corresponded with Ophelia and demonstrated the love he feels for her. Even at this point in the play, Hamlet, without even having been seen around Ophelia, seems to be a bit distant. This distance he forces between himself and Ophelia is in part due to the fact that her brother and father are so overly protective of her. Ophelia claims that Hamlet has confirmed his love for her "with almost all the holy vows of heaven." (pg.45 line 115) Ophelia's words that he does love her in this first act, are extremely important when looking atthe play as a whole because they allow the reader to understand Hamlet's relationship with Ophelia. Ophelia's statement shows thatHamlet has talked to her about love and they both feel they love each other. The reason for Hamlet's distance from Ophelia is revealed with the progression of the play. As Ophelia tells Polonius: He took me by the wrist and held me hard. Then goes he to the length of all his arm, and, with his other hand thus o'er his brow he falls to such perusal of my face as 'a would draw it. Long stayed he so. At last, a little shaking of mine arm and thrice his head thus waving up and down, he raised a sigh so piteous and profound as it did seem to shatter all his bulk and end his being. That done, he lets me go, and with his head over hisshoulder turned he seemed to find his way without his eyes, for out o' doors he went without their helps, and to the last bended their light on me. (pg 75 line 90ish) Ophelia's description of what happened when Hamlet came to see her, half shows Hamlet's madness, and half his love for her. Hamlet's silence towards her and his weird behavior in that scene shows his confusion as to what is going on, or as is more likely, it proves his madness with the passing of time. After Hamlet's peculiar display of affection for Ophelia, she doesn't allow him to "access" her and doesn't accept his letters. Ophelia's rejection to Hamlet's proposal of love was the definite catalyst for Hamlet'sdenial of his love for her later on in the play. Her refusal of him, adds to Hamlet's stress and results in him using Ophelia as the person he lets out his frustration on. Proof of his infatuation with Ophelia is given when Polonius brings one of Hamlet's letters to the queen and king. On the letter, Hamlet has written: "To the celestial and my soul's idol, the most beautified Ophelia ... Doubt thou the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love." (pg. 85 line 109) This far in the play, this is the most direct proof of his love that the reader sees. In this letter, Hamlet was sure that Ophelia would be the only recipient and he was able to express his

true and honest feelings. But as the play progresses, Hamlet wavers in his display of love because he sees that others are "studying" his every move. Ophelia: My lord, I have remembrances of yours, that I have longed long to redeliver. I pray you, now receive them. Hamlet: No, not I, I never gave you aught. (pg 123 line 94) This conversation between Hamlet and Ophelia is the first time that the reader is able to observe how Ophelia and Hamlet are towards each other. Of course, since they are being closely watched by Claudius and Polonius, it can't possibly be how the two really are around each other. If not Hamlet, Ophelia at least is in some way different. Hamlet also seems to know that he is being watched or he wouldn't abruptly change or try to hide his affections for Ophelia. This scene is when the reader starts questioning whether or not Hamlet really is crazy and whether he means what he says to Ophelia. It is most like that Hamlet is acting crazy, given that a bit earlier in the play he announced he was going to do so. To conclude that he went mad right after stating that he would "act" so is hard. In this part of the play, although he denies that he ever loved Ophelia, Hamlet's craziness (or even his crazy act) makes the reader believe that he still loves her. His words of denial are self-deteriorating to him, and they also hurt Ophelia. Knowing this, Hamlet says them anyway, because of his paranoia that everyone is working against him (which he is partly right about). By far, the most important passage that proves Hamlet's love for Ophelia is in act 5. At Ophelia's burial, Laertes and Hamlet argue about who loved Ophelia more, and who is more hurt by her death. "I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers could not with all their quantity of love make up my sum", Hamlet says. Upon reading this, the reader is struck again with the fact that Hamlet loves her. Hamlet must've never stopped loving her, but only feigned that he didn't for the purpose of tricking those around him. Hamlet grieves for Ophelia the way he grieved for his father, whom he loved dearly. The same method of grieving suggests that he loved Ophelia with all his might, and that his denial of love for her had an underlying reason. In his ploy to make those around him believe that he was mad, Hamlet sacrificed his love for Ophelia, and hurt her when he didn't want to. His true feelings shone through his letters and after her death. The times when they both encountered each other, he knew that the eyes of the king were watching him, so in an effort to cover his true intentions (ie. proving that the king was guilty for his father's death), Hamlet disguised his feelings for Ophelia. Hamlet never stopped loving Ophelia, but the circumstances surrounding their relationship caused it to be ended in an unfavorable manner.


Romantic love takes many forms in Wuthering Heights: the grand passion of Heathcliff and Catherine, the insipid sentimental languishing of Lockwood, the coupleism of Hindley and Frances, the tame indulgence of Edgar, the romantic infatuation of Isabella,

the puppy love of Cathy and Linton, and the flirtatious sexual attraction of Cathy and Hareton. These lovers, with the possible exception of Hareton and Cathy, are ultimately self-centered and ignore the needs, feelings, and claims of others; what matters is the lovers' own feelings and needs. Nevertheless, it is the passion of Heathcliff and Catherine that most readers respond to and remember and that has made this novel one of the great love stories not merely of English literature but of European literature as well. Simone de Beauvois cites Catherine's cry, "I am Heathcliff," in her discussion of romantic love, and movie adaptations of the novel include a Mexican and a French version. In addition, their love has passed into popular culture; Kate Bush and Pat Benetar both recorded "Wuthering Heights," a song which Bush wrote, and MTV showcased the lovers in a musical version. The love-relationship of Heathcliff and Catherine, but not that of the other lovers, has become an archetype; it expresses the passionate longing to be whole, to give oneself unreservedly to another and gain a whole self or sense of identity back, to be all-in-all for each other, so that nothing else in the world matters, and to be loved in this way forever. This type of passion-love can be summed up in the phrase more--and still more , for it is insatiable, unfulfillable, and unrelenting in its demands upon both lovers.

HEATHCLIFF AND CATHERINE: TRUE LOVERS? Despite the generally accepted view that Heathcliff and Catherine are deeply in love with each other, the question of whether they really love each other has to be addressed. This question raises another; what kind of love--or feeling--is Emily Bront depicting? Her sister Charlotte, for example, called Heathcliff's feelings "perverted passion and passionate perversity." I list below a number of interpretations of their love/ostensible love. Soulmates. Their love exists on a higher or spiritual plane; they are soul mates, two people who have an affinity for each other which draws them togehter irresistibly. Heathcliff repeatedly calls Catherine his soul. Such a love is not necessarily fortunate or happy. For C. Day Lewis, Heathcliff and Catherine "represent the essential isolation of the soul, the agony of two soulsor rather, shall we say? two halves of a single soul forever sundered and struggling to unite." A life-force relationship. Clifford Collins calls their love a life-force relationship, a principle that is not conditioned by anything but itself. It is a principle because the relationship is of an ideal nature; it does not exist in life, though as in many statements of an ideal this principle has implications of a profound living significance. Catherine's conventional feelings for Edgar Linton and his superficial appeal contrast with her profound love for Heathcliff, which is "an acceptance of identity below the level of consciousness." Their relationship expresses "the impersonal essence of personal

existence," an essence which Collins calls the life-force. This fact explains why Catherine and Heathcliff several times describe their love in impersonal terms. Because such feelings cannot be fulfilled in an actual relationship, Bront provides the relationship of Hareton and Cathy to integrate the principle into everyday life. Creating meaning. Are Catherine and Heathcliff rejecting the emptiness of the universe, social institutions, and their relationships with others by finding meaning in their relationship with each other, by a desperate assertion of identity based on the other? Catherine explains to Nelly: ...surely you and everybody have a notion that there is, or should be, an existence of yours beyond you. What were the use of my creation if I were entirely contained here? My great miseries in this world have been Heathcliff's miseries, and I watched and felt each from the beginning; my great thought in living is himself. If all else perished, and heremained, I should still continue to be; and, if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the Universe would turn to a mighty stranger. I should not seem part of it" (Ch. ix, p. 64). Dying, Catherine again confides to Nelly her feelings about the emptiness and torment of living in this world and her belief in a fulfilling alternative: "I'm tired, tired of being enclosed here. I'm wearying to escape into that glorious world, and to be always there; not seeing it dimly through tears, and yearning for it through the walls of an aching heart; but really with it, and in it" (Ch. xv, p. 125). Transcending isolation. Their love is an attempt to break the boundaries of self and to fuse with another to transcend the inherent separateness of the human condition; fusion with another will by uniting two incomplete individuals create a whole and achieve new sense of identity, a complete and unified identity. This need for fusion motivates Heathcliff's determination to "absorb" Catherine's corpse into his and for them to "dissolve" into each other so thoroughly that Edgar will not be able to distinguish Catherine from him. Freud explained this urge as an inherent part of love: "At the height of being in love the boundary between ego and object threatens to melt away. Against all the evidence of his senses, a man who is in love declares I' and 'you' are one, and is prepared to behave as if it were a fact." Love as religion. Love has become a religion in Wuthering Heights, providing a shield against the fear of death and the annihilation of personal identity or consciousness. This use of love would explain the inexorable connection between love and death in the characters' speeches and actions. Robert M. Polhemus sees Bront's religion of love as individualistic and capitalistic: Wuthering Heights is filled with a religious urgencyunprecedented in British novelsto imagine a faith that might replace the old. Cathy's "secret" is blasphemous, and Emily Bront's secret, in the novel, is the raging heresy that has become common in modern

life: redemption, if it is possible, lies in personal desire, imaginative power, and love. Nobody else's heaven is good enough. Echoing Cathy, Heathdiff says late in the book, "I have nearly attained my heaven; and that of others is altogether unvalued and uncoveted by me!" ...The hope for salvation becomes a matter of eroticized private enterprise.... Love as addiction. Is what Catherine and Heathcliff call love and generations of readers have accepted as Ideal Love really an addiction? Stanton Peele argues that romantic or passion love is in itself an addiction. What exactly does he mean by addiction? An addiction exists when a person's attachment to a sensation, an object, or another person is such as to lessen his appreciation of and ability to deal with other things in his environment, or in himself, so that he has become increasingly dependent on that experience as his only source of gratification. Individuals who lack direction and commitment, who are emotionally unstable, or who are isolated and have few interests are especially vulnerable to addictions. An addictive love wants to break down the boundaries of identity and merge with the lover into one identity. Lacking inner resources, love addicts look outside themselves for meaning and purpose, usually in people similar to themselves. Even if the initial pleasure and sense of fulfillment or satisfaction does not last, the love-addict is driven by need and clings desperately to the relationship and the lover. Catherine, for example, calls her relationship "a source of little visible delight, but necessary." The loss of the lover, whether through rejection or death, causes the addict withdrawal symptoms, often extreme ones like illness, not eating, and faintness. The addict wants possession of the lover regardless of the consequences to the loved one; a healthy love, on the other hand, is capable of putting the needs of the beloved first.

Miss Havisham Character Study

Summary: Miss Havisham in Charles Dickens' Great Expectations is the wealthy, eccentric old woman living in the manor called Satis House near Pip's village. She is manic and often seems insane, walking around her house in a faded wedding dress, keeping a decaying feast on her table, and surrounding herself with clocks stopped at twenty to nine. As a young woman, Miss Havisham was jilted by her fianc? minutes before her wedding, and now she wants revenge against all men. Miss Havisham is the wealthy, eccentric old woman living in the manor called Satis House near Pip's village. She is manic and often seems insane, walking around her house in a faded wedding dress, keeping a decaying feast on her table, and surrounding herself with clocks stopped at twenty to nine. As a young woman, Miss Havisham was jilted by her fianc minutes before her wedding, and now she wants revenge against all men. The person that rejected her was Compeyson. She deliberately raises Estella to be the tool of her revenge, training her to break men's hearts.

Miss Havisham is a woman living in her past. She was rejected by the groom on her wedding day and can't move on. All of the clocks in her house are paused on the time of when she was rejected and she still dresses in her wedding clothes, and only wears one shoe because when she had learned of his betrayal she had not yet put on the other shoe. This shows that the event had a very big impact on her life and has stopped her from moving forward but instead made her stop and be depressed for the rest of her life. "She was dressed in rich materials - satin, lace and silk of all white. Her shoes were white. And she had a long, white dependent from her hair, and she had long bridal flowers in her hair." This quote shows the way she still dwells on the past and also shows she was a rich woman because of how expensive the materials she had on her wedding day were. "She spoke so low, and with a dead lull upon her; altogether she had the appearance of having dropped, body and soul, within and without, under the weight of a crushing blow." This shows that she is extremely depressed and has given up on her life so she has become cold in the way she speaks and moves to give the appearance of having dropped, body and soul, within and without, under the weight of a crushing blow. Even though she is sad and lonely, she is very rich. She has a very large house and a maid called Estella. She invited Pip into her house to watch him play. While he is playing she asks Estella to break his heart. She does this because she is trying to get revenge on all men because of when one man broke her heart. Another reason for inviting Pip to play is to see him happy, this is because she is sodepressed she can't be happy herself so she needs to see someone else happy to try and recover memories of before she was married, before she got paused in time to when she was happy herself. Miss Havisham is a listless person who can't forgive men, and forget the past. Towards the end Estella, Pip, and Miss Havisham are hurt by her actions and suffer greatly but she is redeemed at the end of the novel when she realizes she has caused Pip's heart to be broken in the same way as her own heart was and instead of achieving revenge she has only caused more pain. Miss Havisham immediately begs Pip for forgiveness, enforcing the fact that bad behaviour can only be redeemed by repentance and sorrow for another's pain.

Alec dUrberville Character Study

An insouciant twenty-four-year-old man, heir to a fortune, and bearer of a name that his father purchased, Alec is the nemesis and downfall of Tesss life. His first name, Alexander, suggests the conqueroras in Alexander the Greatwho seizes what he wants regardless of moral propriety. Yet he is more slippery than a grand conqueror. His full last name, Stoke-dUrberville, symbolizes the split character of his family, whose origins are simpler than their pretensions to grandeur. After all, Stokes is a blunt and inelegant name. Indeed, the divided and duplicitous character of Alec is evident to the very end of the novel, when he quickly abandons his newfound Christian faith upon remeeting Tess. It is hard to believe Alec holds his religion, or anything else, sincerely. His supposed conversion may only be a new role he is playing. This duplicity of character is so intense in Alec, and its consequences for Tess so severe, that he becomes diabolical. The first part of his surname conjures associations with fiery energies, as in the stoking of a

furnace or the flames of hell. His devilish associations are evident when he wields a pitchfork while addressing Tess early in the novel, and when he seduces her as the serpent in Genesis seduced Eve. Additionally, like the famous depiction of Satan in Miltons Paradise Lost, Alec does not try to hide his bad qualities. In fact, like Satan, he revels in them. In Chapter XII, he bluntly tells Tess, I suppose I am a bad fellowa damn bad fellow. I was born bad, and I have lived bad, and I shall die bad, in all probability. There is frank acceptance in this admission and no shame. Some readers feel Alec is too wicked to be believable, but, like Tess herself, he represents a larger moral principle rather than a real individual man. Like Satan, Alec symbolizes the base forces of life that drive a person away from moral perfection and greatness.

Othello - Anger In The Play

Uploaded by MJ23 (479) on Jul 5, 2004

In the play Othello, the most powerful emotion is anger. This emotion helps to establish the plot, as it plays a vital role. Three characters that it affects in the play are Othello, Iago and Roderigo. All the characters vent their anger through violence and confrontations. Othello vents most of his anger by smothering Desdemona to death when she is on her deathbed. His anger slowly built up during the play, due to Iago falsely convincing him that Cassio and Desdemona are having an affair. It all starts when Othello sees Cassio and Desdemona together and Iago starts hinting at the possibility of an affair without actually coming out and saying it. "O beware, my lord, of jealousy! / It is the green-eyes monster, which doth mock / The meat it feeds on. That cuckold lives in bliss / Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger" (3.3.163-166). In this quote, Iago is telling Othello not be jealous of Desdemona, however in reality, he does want him to be jealous. The idea of jealousy probably wouldn't have entered his mind if it were not for Iago saying that. Iago also brings up the idea of Desdemona cheating on him here. He mentions cuckold, which means a man cheated sexually by his wife. Later on, Iago continues to torment Othello about Desdemona and Cassio. "Lie with her? Lie on her? We say lie on her when they / belie her. Lie with her? Zounds, that's fulsome! It is not words that shakes me thus! Pish! / Noses, ears, and lips! Is't possible? - Confess? / Handkerchief! O devil" (4.1.3536,41-43)! This shows that Othello is becoming completely overwhelmed by his passion and is getting very angry with Cassio and Desdemona. In the end, Othello becomes totally outraged and murders Desdemona by smothering her with a pillow. He also goes on to kill himself. Thus, his anger is vented through violence. Iago's anger leads to jealousy which leads to him corrupting Othello's mind for his own personal gain. Iago loved Desdemona, but Othello and her were already married, which created a problem for him, that he thought he could overcome. He believed that Othello and Desdemona should not be married and that he should be the one married to Desdemona. This also leads him to hate Othello (1.3.376-397). This hatred and anger towards Othello causes him to falsely convince Othello that Cassio and Desdemona are having an affair. His anger is so strong that he draws in Roderigo to play around with as a pawn. He had him draw Cassio into a fight to get Cassio fired. "If I can fasten but one cup upon him, / With that which he hath drunk tonight already, / He'll be as full of quarrel and offence / As my young mistress' dog. Now my sick fool Roderigo" (2.3.44-47). This shows how he doesn't care what the consequences are to anybody else are, it is just the matter of how he achieves his own way. It also shows how he does not hesitate to bring anyone into his plan, even if it means that person's life is at stake. Thus, his anger is vented though non-physical violence. Roderigo's anger seems to lean more towards Iago than anyone else. In the beginning, Roderigo is upset with Iago because he believes that Iago has cheated him. Later, at the end of act two, he threatens to "with no money / at all, and a little more wit, return again to Venice" (2.3.357-358). Here, Roderigo is angry about the way he has been beaten, and he threatens to return Venice. A little bit earlier, Iago had made Roderigo draw Cassio into a fight, so Cassio would get demoted. Roderigo was unaware of the consequences is quite upset about Iago not informing him of everything. In act four, Roderigo states that he "will no longer endure it. / Nor [is he] yet persuaded to put in peace what already / [he] has foolishly

suffered" (4.3.177-179). Roderigo just keeps getting more angry with Iago. At the beginning of act five, Roderigo is overwhelmed with anger and rage that he and Cassio engage in a scuffle and Roderigo ends up wounding Cassio. Thus, his anger is vented through violence. It is therefore obvious that anger plays a vital role in the play Othello. Without it, there would theoretically be no violence and no story line. This play revolves around anger and the result of it being violence.

Paul's Relationship with Clara in Sons and Lovers

Paul's relationship with Clara is based on passion. Her womanliness impresses him from the first time that they meet and throughout their relationship. Since Paul has never had any sexual experiences Clara amazes him thoroughly because she is so sensual, unlike Miriam who is afraid of any physical contact and his mother who is not in a position to offer him such things. During their relationship, Paul matures from a boy into a man not only physically but also mentally. Sadly, due to their age difference and their different perceptions of life, their relationship falls apart. Another great reason for the failure of their relationship is the fact that Clara is married.

When Paul had to go to Willey farm to meet Clara he was very excited even though at that stage of his life he was seeing Miriam; "Evidently his eagerness to be early today had been the newcomer" (p.269). Not only was he eager to meet her but "There was something he hankered after", whenever he heard Miriam speak about Clara he "rouse" and would get "slightly angry" (p.268). When he entered the parlour the first thing he noticed was "the nape of her white neck, and the fine hair lifted from it" (p.269). Unlike him, Clara was quite indifferent towards Paul in the beginning: "She rose, looking at him indifferently" (p.269). It is rather curious how in the beginning Paul is obsessed with Clara's body: "He noticed how her breasts swelled inside her blouse, and how her shoulder curved handsomely under the thin muslin at the top of her arm", while she in a way was annoyed by him: "She did not mind if he observed her hands. She intended to scorn him" (p.270). He was self-conscious in her presence while she most of the time acted as if he was not there: "Paul was rather self-conscious because he knew Clara could see if she looked out the window. She didn't look" (p.272). Paul is not only attracted by Clara, but he is also curious to find out about her since he has never met a woman like her before: "A hot wave went over Paul. He was curious about her" (p. 277). He is not sure about what he wants in the beginning for

he believes that unlike Miriam Clara is not deep and thus does not want to absorb him, but due to the fact that Clara did not seem to take much interest in him, he stayed with Miriam. His major concern though at that time was that he wanted and needed physical relationship as well: "Often, as he talked to Clara Dawes, came that thickening and quickening of his blood, that peculiar concentration in the breast, as if something were alive there, a new self or a new centre of consciousness, warning him that sooner or later he would have to ask one woman or another"

Paul and Clara's relationship developed into a `friendship' at the beginning and "owing to his acquaintance with Clara" he had "more or less got into connection with the socialist, sufferagette, unitarian people in Nottingham" (p.301). Thus their relationship helped make Paul more openminded and more social. Till this point in their `friendship' there were no signs of anything more than friendship. The first such sign is made by Clara when Paul goes to her house to deliver a message. When Clara opened the door and saw Paul "she flushed deeply" and was " much embarrassed" (p.301). This was attributed to her home's condition, which she considered miserable. Once they were comfortable enough with the home condition Mrs. Radford, Clara's mother, told Paul that Clara would like to go back and work at Jordan's and he "experienced a thrill of joy, thinking she might need his help" (p.304). Paul is excited by the idea that not only would he help her get the job but also by the fact that he would be able to see more of her. But when she did come to work at Jordan's he felt how he could not concentrate in her presence because "although she stood a yard away, he felt as if he were pressed against her, and was full of warmth" (p.306) and this he disliked. On the other hand "there was a sense of mystery about her" (p.306) and he found her provocative "because of the knowledge she seemed to possess, and gathered fruit of experience he could not attain" (p.307). She too hated him at times and was extremely jealous of his friendship with the other girls at Jordan's but "the blithe ignorance in which he trespassed through her private places disarmed her anger" (p.314). She would "smile at him, inwardly" but she would always keep in mind that he was such "a young boy" (p.314). But even though both of them considered each other only friends the volume of verse that Clara gave Paul for his birthday "brought them closer into intimacy" (p.317). When he opened the present "He was suddenly intensely moved. He was filled with warmth of her. In the glow, he could almost feel her as if she were present, her arms, her shoulders, her bosom, see them, feel them, almost contain them" (p.316-317). Although Paul feels like this about Clara he does not know what he wants and cannot interpret his feelings, "he believed in simple friendship. And he considered that he was perfectly honorable with regard to her. It was only friendship between man and woman, such as any civilised persons might have" (p.319). Also due to the fact that he does not know what he wants he denied the fact that he desired Clara: "He grew warm at the thought of Clara, he battled with her, he knew the curves of her breasts and shoulders as if they were moulded inside him. And yet he did not positively desire her. He would have denied it for ever. He believed himself really bound to Miriam" (p.319). Clara understood his confusion and told him to try and give his relationship with Miriam another try. "He pondered over this" (p.321) and in the end took her advice and went back to Miriam.

The relationship between him and Miriam did not work out once again, and "After leaving Miriam he went almost straight to Clara" (p.347). They very soon realised that "They had grown very intimate, unawares" and that there was "a sort of secret understanding between them" (p.347). Whenever he touched her "his whole body was quivering with sensation" (p.347) and when they were apart he could not wait to see her again: "He was in a delirium. He felt that he would go mad if Monday did not come at once. On Monday he would see her again" (p.348). The most important `walk' of their relationship is when they went to the Trent. On the way there Paul hardly constrained himself not to kiss her and he felt like "he was not himself, he was some attribute of hers, like the sunshine that fell on her" (p.351). Once at the Trent they could not stop touching and kissing each other:

"Her mouth was offered to him, and her throat, her eyes were half shut, her breast was tilted as if it asked for him. He flashed with a small laugh, shut his eyes, and met her with a long, whole kiss. Her mouth fused with his, their bodies were sealed and annealed. It was some minutes before they withdrew" (p.353).

Both of them could not get enough of each other, "She looked at him, leaving herself in his hands" (p.353). Paul led her to a quite place were "two beech trees side by side on the hill held a little level on the upper face, between their roots" (p.355) and as he led her there "His heart beat thick and fast" (p.354). Once they reached the place "He held her fast as he looked round. They were safe enough from all but the small, lonely cows over the river. He sunk his mouth on her throat, where he felt her heavy pulse beat under his lips. Everything was perfectly still. There was nothing in the afternoon but themselves" (p.355). After this sexual experience "He was madly in love with her: every movement she made, every crease in her garments sent a hot flash through him and seemed adorable" (p.356). And in a way Paul was very proud that she was his: "His pride went up as he walked with her. He felt the station people, who knew him, eyed her with awe and admiration" (p.363). Paul at last decided that it was time to introduce Clara to his family. She was warmly received when she went, and she "felt she completed the circle, and it was a pleasure to her. But she was rather afraid of the self-possession of the Morels, father and all" (p.367). Clara enjoyed herself but "there was a fear deep at the bottom of her" as she realised

how much of her Paul possessed and how obsessed with him she was: "it was torture not to be able to follow him down the garden" (p.367). When both of them were in the garden Miriam came, and the way Clara spoke about her after she had left made him furious. Clara seeing this tells him, "You'd better run after Miriam" (p.371). This enraged him even more and he aggressively and passionately started kissing her but she determined to catch the last train told him to stop. Once she got on the last train "He was gone. She felt the cruelty of it" (p.373). This is how their relationship continued from then on with a lot of passion and less understanding. Both of them could not allow themselves this relationship, Clara is a married woman and her obsession with Paul hurts her and he feels that he cannot possess all of her wants even more from her. The evening after they went to the theater showed the decline of their relationship, even being with one another was "intense almost to agony" (p.383). Even after this evening their relationship continued declining as they realised that they did not have the same definition of love and the same feelings for each other. During one night of passion Clara realised that there was something great between them but "it did not keep her" (p.398).

"In the morning it was not the same. They had known but she could not keep the moment, she wanted it again, she wanted something permanent, she had not realised fully. She thought it was he whom she wanted. He was not safe to her. This that had been between them might never be again. He might leave her. She had not got him. She was not satisfied. She had been there, but she had not gripped the - the something, she knew not what, which she was mad to have" (p.398).

Paul as well realised this: "It seemed as if he had known the baptism of fire in passion, and it left him at rest. But it was not Clara. It was something that happened because of her, but it was not her" (p.399). Here is where the informal end of their relationship is. Clara realises that she wants something permanent, a relationship that she can be sure of; she achieves this later when she

returns to her husband. Paul here too realises that he does not love Clara and that she is not the one for him, she proves this by telling him that she will not divorce Baxter and that he belongs to her. "But she never believed that her life belonged to Paul Morel, nor his to her. They would separate in the end, and the rest of her life would be an ache after him" (p.405). In the end both of them realised that a future between them was impossible: "Each wanted a mate to go side by side with" (p.405).

Angel Clare
A freethinking son born into the family of a provincial parson and determined to set himself up as a farmer instead of going to Cambridge like his conformist brothers, Angel represents a rebellious striving toward a personal vision of goodness. He is a secularist who yearns to work for the honor and glory of man, as he tells his father in Chapter XVIII, rather than for the honor and glory of God in a more distant world. A typical young nineteenth-century progressive, Angel sees human society as a thing to be remolded and improved, and he fervently believes in the nobility of man. He rejects the values handed to him, and sets off in search of his own. His love for Tess, a mere milkmaid and his social inferior, is one expression of his disdain for tradition. This independent spirit contributes to his aura of charisma and general attractiveness that makes him the love object of all the milkmaids with whom he works at Talbothays.

As his namein French, close to Bright Angelsuggests, Angel is not quite of this world, but floats above it in a transcendent sphere of his own. The narrator says that Angel shines rather than burns and that he is closer to the intellectually aloof poet Shelley than to the fleshly and passionate poet Byron. His love for Tess may be abstract, as we guess when he calls her Daughter of Nature or Demeter. Tess may be more an archetype or ideal to him than a flesh and blood woman with a complicated life. Angels ideals of human purity are too elevated to be applied to actual people: Mrs. Durbeyfields easygoing moral beliefs are much more easily accommodated to real lives such as Tesss. Angel awakens to the actual complexities of realworld morality after his failure in Brazil, and only then he realizes he has been unfair to Tess. His moral system is readjusted as he is brought down to Earth. Ironically, it is not the angel who guides the human in this novel, but the human who instructs the angel, although at the cost of her own life.

Hamlets madness

The mooted question of the Prince's sanity has divided the readers of Shakespeare into two opposing schools; the one defending a feigned, and the other an unfeigned madness. The problem arises from the Poet's unrivalled genius in the creation of characters. So vivid were his conceptions of his ideal

creations that, actually living and acting in them, he gives them an objective existence in which they seem living realities, or persons walking among us, endowed with our human emotions and passions, and subject to the vicissitudes of our common mortality. The confounding of this ideal with the real has given rise to two divergent schools. The critics of the one, unmindful of the fact that Hamlet is wholly an ideal existence, are accustomed to look upon him as real and actual as the men they daily meet in social intercourse, and accordingly judge him as they would a man in ordinary life. The other school, ignoring the different impersonations of Hamlet upon the public stage, considers him only as an ideal existence, and places the solution of the problem in the discovery of the dramatist's intention in the creation of the character. The Poet with consummate art has so portrayed the abnormal actions of a demented mind, and so truly pictured all the traits of genuine madness, even in its minutest symptoms, that a real madman could not enact the character more perfectly. Conscious of his skill in this portrayal so true to life, he has in consequence depicted the court of Claudius divided in opinion on Hamlet's feigned or unfeigned madness, just as the Shakespearean world is divided today. To say that the Queen, and Polonius, and others thought him mad, is no proof of his real madness; but only that by his perfect impersonation he succeeded in creating this belief; and that such was his purpose is clear from the play. If the court firmly believed in the dementia of the Prince, Claudius, who was of a deeper and more penetrating mind and an adept in crafty cunning, stood firm in his doubt from the first. The consciousness of his guilt made him alert and, like a criminal ever fearing detection, he suspected the concealment of some evil design under Hamlet's mimic madness. If today we find eminent physicians standing with Polonius and the Queen in the belief of Hamlet's real madness, we see on the opposite side others with the astute king and an overwhelming majority of Shakespeare's readers. That many physicians should deem the Prince's madness a reality is nothing surprising. Well known are the celebrated legal cases in which medical specialists of the highest rank were divided in judgment on the sanity or insanity of the man on trial. Let a man mimic madness as perfectly as Hamlet, and be summoned to court on trial of his sanity. If it be shown by judicial evidence, that before beginning to enact the role of madman, he had never throughout his life exhibited the least symptom of dementia, but, on the contrary, was known as a man of a sound and strong mind; if it be shown that before assuming the antics of a madman, he had actually summoned his trusted friends, informed them of his purpose, cautioned them against betrayal, and even sworn them to secrecy; if it be proved that on every occasion, when moving among his intimate friends, he is

consistently sane, and feigns madness only in the presence of those who, he fears, will thwart his secret design; and if it be shown on reputable testimony that he entered upon his course of dementia to guard an incommunicable secret, and to shield himself in the pursuit of a specified end, difficult and dangerous of attainment; such a man on such evidence would in open court be declared beyond all doubt sane and sound of mind by the unanimous verdict of any specially impanelled jury. The mad role that Hamlet plays to perfection, is certainly a proof of Shakespeare's genius, but by no means a surety of the insanity of the Prince, unless we be prepared to maintain that no one save a madman can simulate dimentia. If, as Lowell has well remarked, Shakespeare himself without being mad, could so observe and remember all the abnormal symptoms of insanity as to reproduce them, why should it be beyond the power of an ideal Hamlet, born into dramatic life, to reproduce them in himself any more than the many tragedians, who, since Shakespeare's day, have so successfully mimicked the madness of the Prince upon the public stage? The perfect portrayal of Hamlet's mad role has been ascribed to the unaided genius of Shakespeare. The character, it is thought, is nothing more than the outward expression of the Poet's subjective and purely mental creation. Such a notion, while highly magnifying the powers of the artist, is, however, contrary to psychological facts. Our ideas are mental images of things perceived by the senses. They depend upon their objective realities no less than does an image upon the thing which it images. The dictum of Aristotle: "There are no ideas in our intellect which we have not derived from sense perception," has become an axiom of rational philosophy. If then all natural knowledge originates in sense perception, Shakespeare's perfect knowledge of the symptoms of insanity was not the product of his imagination alone, but was due to his observation of these symptoms existing in real human beings. His portrayal is admittedly true to nature, and it is true to nature because a reflex or reproduction of what he himself had witnessed in demented unfortunates. This fact has been placed beyond reasonable doubt by a legal document which was recently discovered in the Roll's Office, London. [The document is a record of a lawsuit of a Huguenot family with whom Shakespeare boarded, and in whose interest he appeared several times as a sworn witness in court.] From it we learn that Shakespeare lived on Muggleton Street, directly opposite a medical college near which was an insane asylum. Here, by studying the antics of the inmates, he had every opportunity to draw from nature, when engaged in the creation of his mad characters. It is therefore more reasonable to infer that his accurate knowledge of traits which are common to the demented was not solely the

product of his imagination, but rather the result of his studied observations of individual cases. Since Hamlet then on the testimony of medical experts exhibits accurately all the symptoms of dementia, the question of his real or pretended madness can be solved only by ascertaining the intention of the Poet. We may safely assume that a dramatist so renowned in his art has not left us in darkness concerning a factor most important in this drama. In our doubt we may turn for light to other dramas wherein he portrays demented characters with equal skill. Nowhere can we find more striking elements of contrast and resemblance than in Lear and Ophelia. The grandeur of Lear in his sublime outbursts of a mighty passion, differs surprisingly from the pathetic inanities of the gentle Ophelia; yet Shakespeare leaves no doubt of the genuine madness of the one and the other. In Lear, supreme ingratitude, blighting the affections of a fond and overconfiding parent, has wrecked his noble mind; in Ophelia, the loss of a father by the hand of a lover, whose "noble and most sovereign reason" she has seemingly blasted by rejecting his importunate suit, has over-powered her feelings, and left her "divided from herself and her fair judgment, without the which we're pictures, or mere beasts." Both Lear and Ophelia are portrayed as genuinely mad, and nevertheless, unlike Hamlet, they disclose no purpose nor design in their madness, nor seek to conceal the cause of their distress. On the contrary they always have on their lips utterances which directly or indirectly reveal the reason of their mental malady. Far otherwise is it with Edgar and with Hamlet. Hence, a comparison of the nature of their madness may be a flash of light in darkness. Both are pictured as feigning madness. If Edgar, the victim of a brother's treachery, enacts in his banishment the role of a fool with a perfection which eludes discovery; so does Hamlet, the victim of his uncle's treachery, deceive by his mimic madness all but the crafty King. Both, unlike Lear and Ophelia, enter upon their feigned madness for an expressed specific purpose, and both, far from revealing the real cause of their grief, are ever on the alert to conceal it; because its discovery would frustrate the object of their pursuit. As in the drama of Lear, the Poet has left no possible doubt of the real madness of the king, and of the feigned insanity of Edgar, so also we may reasonably expect to find in hisTragedy of Hamlet, not only clear proofs of Ophelia's madness, but also, sufficient indications of the Prince's feigned dementia. The first of these indications is the fact that the assumed madness of Hamlet is in conformity with the original story, as told in the old runic rhymes of the Norsemen. Considering moreover the exigencies of the plot and counterplots,

the role of madman seems evidently forced upon him. As soon as he had recovered from the terrible and overpowering agitation of mind and feelings with which the ghostly revelation had afflicted him, he realized that the world had changed about him; that he himself had changed, and that he could no longer comport himself as before at the court of Claudius. This change, he feels he cannot fully conceal, and, therefore, welcomes the thought of hiding his real self behind the mask of a madman. But he must play his role, not indifferently, but with such perfection of truthful reality as to deceive the whole court, and above all, if possible, his arch-enemy, the astute and cunning King. With this in view, the dramatist had of necessity to portray the hero's madness with all the traits of a real affliction; for, if the court could discover Hamlet's madness to be unreal, his design and purpose would be thereby defeated. It seems evident that the Poet in the very concept of the plot and its development, intended, in the portrayal of Hamlet's antic disposition, to produce the impression of insanity, and, nevertheless, by a flashlight here and there, to expose to us the truth as known alone to himself and to Hamlet's initiated friends. Throughout the first Act, wherein the Prince is pictured in acute mental grief at the loss of his loved father and the shameful conduct of his mother, there is nothing even to suggest the notion of dementia. It is only after the appalling revelations of the ghost, which exposed the secret criminals and his own horrid situation that he resolved to wear the mask of a madman in the furtherance of his suddenly formed plan of "revenge." Hence, at once confiding his purpose to his two trusted friends and swearing them to secrecy, he begins to play the part and to impress upon the court the notion of his lunacy. Had Shakespeare failed to shed this strong light upon Hamlet's purpose, he would certainly have left room for doubt; but not satisfied with this, he scatters through the drama other luminous marks, to guide our dubious path. A strong mark is found in the many soliloquies in which the Prince, giving way to the intensity of his feelings, expresses the inmost thoughts of his heart; in them were surely offered ample opportunities to expose, here and there, some trace of his supposed affliction. But it is remarkably strange that never, like the insane, does he lapse in his frequent monologues into irrelevant and incoherent speech, nor use incongruous and inane words. Another luminous index is Hamlet's intercourse with his school-fellow and sole bosom friend, the scholarly Horatio. The Prince throughout takes him into his confidence, and Horatio, therefore, surely knew his mental condition; yet in mutual converse, whether in public or in private, he always supposes his friend to be rational, and never, by any sign or word, does he manifest friendly sentiments of sorrow or

of sympathy, as he naturally would, if ignorant of the feigned madness of Hamlet. Horatio is well aware that everyone assumes his friend to be demented, and, nevertheless, because true to him and to his sworn promise of secrecy, he does nothing to dispel, but rather lends himself to sustain the common delusion. Another striking indication is the Prince's treatment of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. After worming out their secret mission from the King, Hamlet partly lifts the veil for us in the words:
HAMLET: But my uncle-father and aunt-mother are deceived. GUILDENSTERN: In what my dear lord? HAMLET: I am but mad north-northwest; when the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.

Again, Hamlet's instruction to the players, his cautious direction to Horatio, as well as his skillful intermittent play of madness when in the same scene he addresses Horatio, Ophelia, the King, and Polonius, display, not only a sane, but also a master mind, versatile in wit, and ready to meet cunning subterfuge with artifice at every point. If he were really mad, he could never have preserved such perfect consistency in word and action towards so many people under rapid change of circumstances; always sane in dealing with his friends, and always simulating madness in presence of those whom he mistrusted. Once he was obliged to raise his vizor in presence of his mother. It was in the formal interview, when she sought to shelter herself against his merciless moral onslaught by asserting his madness. But by unmasking himself he baffled her, and proceeded in a terrible but righteous wrath to lacerate her dormant conscience, till he awakened her to the shameful sense of her criminal state and to manifest contrition. An objection to Hamlet's sanity is sometimes seen in his own alleged confessions of madness. He seeks pardon, they say, from Laertes for his violence against him on the plea of madness. This objection is rather an argument to the contrary; for insane persons are never known to plead insanity in self-exculpation. The objection, moreover, is not valid, because it is based upon a misinterpretation of the word madness. The madness of which Hamlet speaks in the present instance and which he pleads in excuse, is not a fixed mental malady, but what in common parlance is a madness synonymous with a sudden outburst of anger, in which self-control is lost for the moment. Such was the madness of Hamlet, when in sudden anger he slew Polonius, and again, when at Ophelia's grave, his mighty grief was roused to wrathful expression by the unseemly and exaggerated show of Laertes.

All these indications scattered through the drama are intermittent flashes, which, amid the darkness of doubt, illumine the objective truth of Hamlet's feigned madness. But there is still another and independent truth which, though already alluded to by a few eminent critics, merits here a fuller consideration. This truth grows to supreme importance when viewed in relation to Shakespeare and his dramatic art. A little reflection on the nature and principles of art will engender a repugnance to any theory of Hamlet's real madness. Art is the expression of the beautiful, and dramatic poetry is a work of art, and like every other art it has its canons and its principles. If poetry be the language of passion of enlivened imagination; if its purpose be to afford intellectual pleasure by the excitement of agreeable and elevated, and pathetic emotions; this certainly is not accomplished by holding up to view the vagaries of a mind stricken with dementia. The prime object of tragic poetry is to expose some lofty and solemn theme so graphically that its very portrayal will awaken in our moral nature a love of virtue and a detestation of vice. This verily is not effected by delineating the mad antics of some unfortunate whose disordered mind leaves him helpless to the mercy of the shifting winds of circumstances, and irresponsible to the moral laws of human life. No spectator can discover in the portrayal of the irrational actions of a madman an expression of the beautiful. It gives no intellectual pleasure, stirs no pleasing emotion, and engenders no love of virtue and hatred of vice. Nothing, it is true, may be so abhorrent to our world of existences, but may, in some form or other, be brought under the domain of art. "Men's evil passions have given tragedy to art; crime is beautified by being linked to an avenging Nemesis; ugliness is clothed with a special form of art in the grotesque." Even pain and suffering become attractive in the light of heroism which endures them in the cause of truth and justice. In consequence, the dramatist enjoys the privilege of portraying characters of every hue, of mingling the ignoble with the noble, and of picturing life in all its varied forms, with the view that the contemplation of such characters will excite pleasure or displeasure, and moral admiration or aversion in every healthy mind. This is true only when these characters are not pitiable mental wrecks, but agents free, rational, and responsible. A healthy mind can find nothing but displeasure and revulsion of feeling at the sorry sight of a fellow-being whose reason is dethroned, and who as a mere automaton concentrates in his mental malady the chief elements of the tragedy and its development of plot. A drama so constructed is intellectually and morally repugnant to human nature. Rob the hero of intelligence and consciousness of moral responsibility, and you make the work devoid of human interest and leave it wholly meaningless. Such an unfortunate should not be paraded before the public gaze in defiance of the common

feelings of humanity; but in all kindness, be relegated to the charitable care of some home or refuge.