MASARYK UNIVERSITY IN BRNO FACULTY OF ARTS

DEPARTMENT OF ENGLISH AND AMERICAN STUDIES

Seeing and Interpreting the Ghosts in Elizabethan Revenge Tragedy

Major Bachelor’s Thesis

Jana Gajdošíková

Supervisor: Mgr. Pavel Drábek, Ph.D. Brno 2006

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I declare that I have worked on this bachelor thesis independently, using only primary and secondary sources listed in the bibliography.

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I would like to thank my supervisor Mgr. Pavel Drábek, Ph.D., and Ass. Prof. Dr. Joanne Rochester for their kind and valuable advice and help.

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TABLE OF CONTENT

Introduction.............................................................................................................. 5 Revenge.................................................................................................................... 6 Religion, Death, and Ghost Lore.............................................................................. 7 The Spanish Tragedy...............................................................................................11 Hamlet.....................................................................................................................21 The Atheist’s Tragedy.............................................................................................37 Other Plays..............................................................................................................43 The Revenger’s Tragedy...................................................................43 The Duchess of Malfi........................................................................44 Conclusion..............................................................................................................46 Czech Resume........................................................................................................49 Bibliography...........................................................................................................50

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INTRODUCTION This thesis deals with the interpretation of ghosts in Elizabethan revenge tragedy in England. It focuses on the different purposes of their presence in the plays, and it discusses the perception and interpretation of ghosts by the audience influenced by Elizabethan religion, superstitions, and culture. The first two chapters provide an insight into the background of Elizabethan England discussing the question of revenge, focusing on the period attitude towards the ghost lore and the issue of Death, and how it was influenced by religion.

The three following chapters, which are the core of my work, deal with the plays by Thomas Kyd: The Spanish Tragedy, William Shakespeare: The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, and Cyril Tourneur: The Atheist’s Tragedy. They focus on the roles of the ghosts in these plays, their significance, and on the perception and understanding of their presence. They also show the different use of the ghost figures in the individual plays.

In the chapter called “Other Plays”, the focus shifts on two other plays from the period, John Webster’s Duchess of Malfi, and The Revenger’s Tragedy, whose author is not definite. These two plays serve as an example of different treatments of ghosts, where the function of the actual ghost is taken over by a skull and an echo.

This thesis analyzes the doubts and anxieties about the conception of Death in Elizabethan England. It relies on the works done by Eleanor Prosser, Stephen Greenblatt and John Erskine Hankins about the possible nature of ghosts, and follows Robert N. Watson and his analysis of the perception of Death in Elizabethan England. It rethinks the ghost plays in this perspective and traces the connection of these anxieties and their reflection in ghost figures in revenge tragedy.

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REVENGE When focusing on Elizabethan revenge tragedy, one should know what revenge is, and what it represented in Elizabethan England. Revenge is an action taken in return for an injury or offence. Historically, it “was the first manifestation of consciousness of justice, the only way the wrong done could be righted” (Bowers 3). It was assumed to be a duty of an injured man to avenge himself upon the one who wronged him or any member of his family. By the time Elizabeth I came to the throne the concept of justice had changed. Fredson Bowers, in his book Elizabethan Revenge Tragedy (1940), describes the evolution in detail. Starting with the system of wergeld, which was the earliest English law, Bowers leads us through the history of the concept of justice. According to the system of wergeld the “injured family had the responsibility of collecting payment” (4) from those who wronged them. Modern “justice” arrives with Henry VII, who introduced “indictment”, by which the accused person is “to be tried at once merely on the presentation of information to the authorities” (8). By Elizabethan time, justice was a privilege of the state and private blood revenge had no legal place in England. All kinds of murder, including that of revenge killing, fell into the same category in law, and punishment for the revenger was as heavy as for the original murder (11). Revenge murder in Elizabethan times was considered to be the worst of all crimes, because as the Bible says: “‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay,’ says the Lord” (Romans 12:19).1 On the other hand, there was a deeply rooted tradition and sacred duty to “take revenge for [one’s] murdered ancestor” (Bowers 39), which was still very much alive in the minds of many Elizabethans. The dilemma is reflected in revenge tragedies that “depict revenge as neither unquestionably desirable nor easy to accomplish, and, once achieved, it brings destruction upon the revengers as well as their victims” (Griswold 91). 1 http:// bibleresources.bible.com/passagesearchresults.php?passage1=Romans+12:19&version=49#cen-NASB-28265B

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RELIGION, DEATH, AND GHOST LORE The analysis of Renaissance society and its attitudes towards any of the current questions of the time should, most importantly, take into account the issue of religion. “The Elizabethan period was a time of profound and far-reaching religious change” (Atchley 5). This is not surprising when we realize what had happened within thirty years, with four different monarchs on the throne starting with Henry VIII who in 1532 declared himself Supreme Head of the Church and Clergy and “paved the way for Protestantism in England” (Atchley 7). The statement of William Allen, “an English cardinal and unapologetic Catholic” (Atchley 6), can gives a true picture of the religious situation so much influential in shaping the beliefs of ordinary people:

In one man’s memory… we have had to our prince, a man, who abolished the pope’s authority by his laws and yet in other points kept the faith of his fathers; we have had a child, who by his like laws abolished together with the papacy the whole ancient religion; we have had a woman who restored both again and sharply punished protestants; and lastly her majesty that now is, who by the like laws hath long since abolished both again and now severely punisheth catholics as the other did protestants; and all these strange differences within the compass of about thirty years. (qtd. in Atchley 6)

Allen is talking about Henry VIII, his son Edward VI, daughter Mary I, and her sister and current Queen Elizabeth I. As Clinton Atchley puts it, “[o]ne can sympathize with the average church-goer caught, as it were, in a political and religious tennis match, bouncing from one side to the other” (6). It is difficult to imagine that people’s faith and beliefs could be eradicated and exchanged for new ones whenever the new monarch decided so. Their views of the world were still influenced by deeply rooted beliefs and superstitions intermixed with the remaining religious rites and rituals.

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One of the things that this religious dilemma touched upon was the issue of Death and with it the related existence of ghosts. “All animals die, but only human beings suffer death – and their sense of what they suffer is, to a very large degree, imposed by the culture to which they belong” (Neill 2). To understand why Renaissance England was so much haunted by the image of Death, we have to take into consideration the religious background of the time. To Elizabethans “the next world was an intense and everpresent reality” (Wilson 58). Neither Catholics nor Protestants did cast doubt on the existence of afterlife, which “was an unquestioned premise of English Renaissance culture” (Watson 1994: 9), because there was nothing worse than a thought that Death is the ultimate end of everything. “[D]eath is shameful because it is an extreme form of defacement, a stripping away of the constituent forms of social identity that amounts to nothing less than an absolute undoing of the self” (Neill 67). Nevertheless, there was a dispute about the nature of the afterlife. “The Catholic Church believed in a tripartite afterlife consisting of heaven, hell, and purgatory. Purgatory is a temporary abode where the faithful who are saved remain until they have worked off their sins and are allowed to proceed to heaven” (Atchley 8). That is precisely the sticking point. For Catholics Purgatory meant a connection beyond the grave, it “forged a different kind of link between the living and the dead, or, rather, it enabled the dead to be not completely dead – not as utterly gone, finished, complete as those whose souls resided forever in Hell or Heaven” (Greenblatt 17). It helped Elizabethans to confirm their hopes in immortality. The prayers for the dead were a means of communication related to a sense of family and solidarity. Unlike Catholics, “[r]eformers denied the existence of purgatory; at death, one went immediately to heaven or hell, and there was no return from either” (Atchley 9).

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With such strong Christian beliefs in afterlife, whatever its shape, it makes one wonder why this culture was so awfully dismayed by the thought of Death. The explanation suggests itself; as Michael Neill explains, with the Reformation, placing a ban on masses for the dead and any kind of “liturgy of remembrance… it was no longer possible for the living to assist the dead… [and] death became a more absolute annihilation than ever” (38). Without the contact with the deceased, the link with the afterlife, with the other world, suddenly disappeared. There was no connection left; a dark blank gap remained. “[T]he dead were officially ‘beyond the grave’” (Rist 2003). For Elizabethans, ready to believe in their immortality, there was nothing worse than the image of the inevitable passage towards one’s grave, knowing that once you cross the border, there is no way back, just a hollow nothingness.

Nevertheless, despite the Reformation “the border between this world and the afterlife was not firmly and irrevocably closed. For a large number of mortals – perhaps the majority of them – time did not come to an end at the moment of death” (Greenblatt 18). As Catholics believed, Purgatory was a place for restless spirits, who “might be permitted by the normal operation of divine law to return to earth for any purpose, and […] obedience to any command was considered a religious obligation” (Prosser 106). Although reformers denied the existence of Purgatory, they conceded that ghostly apparitions might exist, but “any ghost that was not the hallucination of a sick mind was a demon masquerading as the spirit of a dead man in order to tempt the living” (Prosser 104). The popular belief of Elizabethan England is clearly illustrated in Religio Medici, written by Thomas Browne in 1643:

I believe… that those apparitions and ghosts of departed persons are not the wandering souls of men, but the unquiet walks of devils, prompting and suggesting us unto mischief, blood, and villany; instilling and stealing into

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our hearts that the blessed spirits are not at rest in their graves, but wander, solicitous of the affairs of the world… [and] that those phantasms appear often. (Sect.37)2

Nevertheless, ghosts, present or absent, were omnipresent whenever the issue of Death appeared. “Instead of doing away with ghosts, the abolition [of Purgatory] caused them to flourish” (Low 455), because the blank spot that remained after the prayers for the dead stopped asked to be filled in order to ease people’s anxiety about Death. Portraying Death helps to “repress the suspicion that death consists of a banal extinction” (Watson 1994: 41). It can be given as many faces as people’s imagination allows such as an act of revenge or a ghost. “The problems death implies are the central problems of life, and hence they are the central subject matter of art, of all that tries to comprehend and express those problems” (Spencer vii).

English Renaissance tragedy was “concerned with death… because it catered for a culture that was in the throes of a peculiar crisis in the accommodation of death” (Neill 30). Thus, it is not surprising to find out that “[i]n the extant drama produced between 1560 and 1610, twenty-six plays include fifty-one ghosts” (Prosser 259), and they are as different and varied as Death itself. For “‘Death’ is not something that can be imagined once and for all, but an idea that has to be constantly reimagined across cultures and through time” (Neill 2). It is not that difficult to see where the popularity of revenge tragedies in the Elizabethan period lies. Revenge tragedies are not only life stories of English society, they mirror the difficulties of life’s decision that people have to make every day. They are to be seen as “the spiritual biography of the age” (Ornstein 45).

2 Browne, Thomas. Religio Medici. Renascence Editions: An Online Repository of Works Printed in English Between the Years 1477 and 1799. <http://www.uoregon.edu/~rbear/browne/medici.html>

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Any approach to revenge tragedies has to take into account the time the individual plays were written in, and the culture and people they were written for. The fact that people believed in afterlife and ghosts, that the dead were an inseparable part of the world of the living, and the deep anxiety about one’s fate after death, is important for understanding of the perception of ghosts in Elizabethan revenge tragedy.

THE SPANISH TRAGEDY

Thomas Kyd’s The Spanish Tragedy, written sometime in the late 1580s, is the foundation stone of Elizabethan revenge tragedy. Drawing heavily on the Senecan drama that enjoyed considerable popularity at that time (Bowers 41), Kyd’s play establishes the revenge tragedy tradition and creates the patterns that form its core. The origin of the Ghost of Don Andrea lies in Senecan tragedy where “[g]hosts are the standard-equipment starters” (Watson 1990: 200).

Despite the fact that Bowers considers the presence of the Ghost in The Spanish Tragedy superfluous (68), the Ghost of Don Andrea is not only “effective for expounding the plot and for giving the desired atmosphere of tragedy” (Spencer 197); he is also an inseparable part of the plot. If he were removed, the meaning, and the whole structure of the play would fall apart. What is even more certain, without the Ghost the audience’s insight into the play, their attitude to it and understanding of it would be considerably different.

The role of Don Andrea’s Ghost as one of the characters in The Spanish Tragedy should be clarified before focusing on his identity. If this Ghost comes from the Senecan stock, his function should be merely “that of prologue … a serviceable piece of dramatic machinery, [which] enabled the playwright to place his audience in possession of the preliminary data – the most difficult of all a dramatist’s tasks” (Wilson 55-56).

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Such a ghost seems to be nothing more than a convenient means for a playwright, a nice picture used to decorate and liven up an otherwise vapid backdrop. As Dover Wilson fittingly says, the Senecan ghost is “a classical puppet… popping up from Tartarus at appropriate moments” (55). The Ghost of Don Andrea does not fit such a description, and his role diverges from that assigned to prologue ghosts by Seneca. In the very first scene Don Andrea gives an impressive and long speech presenting himself, and describing his way to Hades: “Through dreadful shades of ever-glooming night, / I saw more sights than thousands tongues can tell” (1.1.56-57). It is true that he serves as a prologue, but the picture he draws is one-sided. He is not aware of the real state of affairs. Don Andrea, accompanied by Revenge, appears at the end of every act in the play commenting on what has happened, again, from his point of view. A more appropriate prologue figure should be Revenge who obviously knows not only what has already happened but also what is yet to come. The two characters seem to complement each other, framing the whole play both from below and above. Don Andrea, as an unconscious spectator, is closely associated with the audience watching carefully what is happening on the stage. They both respond emotionally to the injustice they observe. Revenge, on the other hand, is omniscient, and serves as a representation of the supernatural, watching the world from above. It sees people in the same way as gods from Olympus, with the playwright in Zeus stand, as puppets whose destinies depend solely on its will. Although the two figures supposedly “serve for chorus in this tragedy” (1.1.91), the actual information usually provided by such figures is missing. Don Andrea talks but knows nothing: “I will sit to see the rest” (3.15). Revenge knows but does not tell, and only commands patience, because: “The end is crown of every work well done; / The sickle comes not till the corn be ripe” (2.6.) What it leaves the audience with is a sense of lack.

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With the role having been outlined, the question arises of the Ghost’s effect on the individual characters in the play. On the face of it, it seems to have no effect at all since there is no contact with any of the characters. Looked at from a different angle, however, Don Andrea is actually the driving power behind all the events. This power comes partly from his connection to Revenge. Don Andrea’s revenge is the reason for Revenge being present, and Revenge is why Don Andrea’s Ghost is here. It is not difficult to imagine only one character embodying the essence of those two, where the Ghost represents “the desire for vengeance, [and] the figure of Revenge seems to symbolize the destined course of events set in motion by that desire” (Hallet and Hallet 22).

A greater part of Don Andrea’s influence comes from memory. “Plato’s most influential metaphor for memory was that of wax in which an impression is left. The metaphor expresses beautifully the way in which mind can keep the image of something that is no longer present” (Greenblatt 214). When he died, Don Andrea left a strong impression behind, an intermixture of passion, memory, and revenge, where one leads to another as in a chemical reaction, all activated by a memory of passion. A closer look at some issues in the play should illuminate the influence of Don Andrea, who is only seemingly a passive character.

The Spanish Tragedy is a revenge tragedy, and as such has to have a revenger. At the beginning of the play we are presented with a Ghost who wants revenge. Don Andrea was killed in battle, which, while distressing, is honourable. Only later it is suggested that his death is not as honourable as Don Andrea himself initially thought. There is no real family of Don Andrea mentioned, only Horatio, his friend, and Bel-Imperia, his lover. Bel-Imperia does not comply with the requirements of an avenger, since she is a woman. But there is Horatio who, enchanted by her passions, can serve as

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a revenger. The problem is that Horatio lacks his own passion, so necessary to revenge. Here comes the Ghost in the shape of a bloody scarf that was originally given to Don Andrea by Bel-Imperia: “‘twas my favor at his last depart” (1.4.47), and ties them together: “But now wear thou it both for him and me” (1.4.48). Nevertheless, Horatio and Bel-Imperia, however close they were to Don Andrea, are not his family, where blood calls for blood. This situation is about to change. Horatio, taking Andrea’s place as Bel-Imperia’s lover, now becomes the object of Lorenzo and Balthazar’s malice, whose focus turns from Don Andrea to him. This is not the only substitution Horatio must make. His murder substitutes for Andrea’s since, as Robert Watson puts it, “[t]he murder of Horatio systematically re-enacts the death of Don Andrea, in order to reconceive it as a crime” (1994: 59).

With the murder of Horatio, the call for blood can be answered. Hieronimo is the perfect revenger, for the death of his son brought out the great passion that only a father can feel for a lost child.

Where shall I run to breathe abroad my woes – My woes, whose weight hath wearied the earth – Or mine exclaims, that have surcharged the air With ceaseless plaints for my deceased son? (3.7.1-4)

Here the tragedy becomes even more tragic. Not only is Hieronimo condemned for taking up the act of revenge, but he unconsciously does so unconsciously on behalf of Don Andrea. Since Hieronimo does not know who he should bring to justice, Bel-Imperia steps in again and “becomes a spokesman for Andrea and Revenge in the human world” (Hallet and Hallet 143). She informs Hieronimo about what has happened, and calls upon him to revenge: “Revenge thyself on Balthazar and him [Lorenzo], / For these were they what murdered thy son” (3.2.28-29). At first,

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Hieronimo doubts her in the same way as Hamlet initially does the Ghost of King Hamlet, “Hieronimo, beware, thou art betrayed, / And to entrap thy life this train is laid. / Advise thee, therefore, be not credulous” (3.2.37-39). Bel-Imperia is also here to remind Hieronimo of this loss and to urge him to revenge when she feels that he loses his passion, “Hieronimo, are these thy passions [?]” (4.1.4), and neglects his duty, “Thus to neglect the loss and life of him” (4.1.11). Hieronimo, however, is far from forgetting. He has his own mementos that serve him as ghosts. The bloody scarf changes its owner once again to serve to its original one: “It shall not from me till I take revenge” (2.7.52). In addition, there is yet another ghost, even more powerful and more dreadful, Horatio’s own body, and his father will not part with the remains just as he clings to the scarf: “I’ll not entomb them till I have revenged” (2.7.54). The action is in motion and cannot be stopped. All the characters are directly or otherwise taken into the whirl of passions elicited by Don Andrea. His passions are awoken in Bel-Imperia who uses Horatio as a tool for revenge. His death flares deep emotions in Hieronimo who, unaware, becomes the true revenger of the play, and his son’s body carries the message passed on by Andrea. Finally, the bloody handkerchief seems to encompass all the passions and emotions activated by Don Andrea, and “[a]s always in revenge tragedy, the innocent suffer along with the guilty” (Videbaek 37). Since Andrea comes from the world of the dead, his presence brings nothing less than Death.

Even though, as Charles and Elaine Hallet point out, Don Andrea cannot be wholly blamed for the death of all those people, it is his passion, almost lust, which sets Revenge in motion, and makes it do its job (23). Once set free, there is nothing that could prevent Revenge from pursuing its aim. There is only one way with only one possible result, however contrary the events might seem, for “Though I [Revenge] sleep, / Yet is my mood soliciting their souls” and “Nor dies Revenge, although he sleep

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awhile” (3.15.19-20,23). Separately, Don Andrea’s Ghost and Revenge mean nothing “for they function essentially as a unit” (Hallet 46). The importance lies in their relationship, similar to that of Golem and its shem.

No less interesting and even more important is the insight into the understanding of the Ghost of Don Andrea by the Elizabethan audience. By no means is it possible to positively determine what exactly people felt at that time, how they interpreted what they saw, and what their attitudes were like. Nevertheless, there have been a number of writings focusing on the period background of these people, on their culture and society. It cannot be denied that understanding of any kind of issue, including art, depends essentially on people’s backgrounds. Art is influenced by its culture. The way they perceived the figure of the Ghost might have influenced their comprehension of both the play as a whole, and the individual characters as well.

One of the things that first pops up is Death, because for Elizabethans “[l]ife and the reminders of death were closely united” (Spencer 36-37). Death is everywhere in Kyd’s play; a ghost of someone who died; there is revenge because someone wants to avenge someone’s death; there is a corpse, a bloody scarf, violence, murders, wars and battles, despair and tears. What all these have in common is Death. It is hidden behind every word and behind every effort, and only Revenge knows where it all leads, and how everything ends; “Their love to mortal hate, their day to night, / Their hope into despair, their peace to war, / Their joy to pain, their bliss to mystery” (1.5.7-9). Life leads to Death, and Death leads to life. One cannot be without the other. The borders still mingle no matter what century it is. It certainly must have been a much greater issue for a time so obsessed with Death as Elizabethan period was.

Thus, when people came to the theatre and the first thing they saw was a ghost and Revenge, thoughts about Death presumably crossed their minds. Don Andrea, who,

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as all ghosts are, is neither alive nor dead either, is “himself a liminal creature compromising the boundary between life and death” (Hattaway 313). Revenge, as a character, belongs to the mythological Underworld and is sent to the human world by Proserpine, but its identity reaches further. Revenge is materialized, it has been given body, face, and voice. What a striking resemblance to man! In order to understand something, to grasp its essence, that something must be made more human. As Theodore Spencer aptly puts it, “[i]n desiring to get nearer to God, man made God more and more like himself” (16). This can be easily applied not only to revenge but to love, desire, and Death as well. Don Andrea’s Ghost personifies the memory left behind, Revenge is the personification of passions, and both are the embodiment of the path between life and Death.

Identification of the Ghost himself would not be in this case a great puzzle for the audience. Coming back from pagan Hades as a spirit of a warrior and lover, Don Andrea cannot find his place in the Underworld until his past human affairs are resolved. That is why he still stands with one foot in the human world and with the other on the other side of Acheron. Having all those ideas in mind, the audience could now turn to the play, and judge it accordingly.

Let us focus on several important issues of the play, where the existence of the Ghost might have influenced their interpretations in the eyes of the Elizabethan audience. In a literal sense, the connection between the Ghost and revenge has been presented. In a figurative sense, this relation gains even more significance. As has already been mentioned, the question of revenge had never had a clear answer among Elizabethans, whose irreconcilable feelings struggled between reason and passion. Reason should prevail, otherwise the universal order would be destroyed. Nevertheless, passion cannot be put aside, it cannot be forgotten. It is part of a man who “is by nature

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a passionate rather than a rational animal” (Ornstein 41), and even though it might be seen as “a dark and irresistibly destructive force, [or] a curse from the gods” (McAlindon 14), it is included in the equipment that people are given when entering this world. “[P]assion, appetite, and desire are as natural to man as reason and moral prohibition” (Ornstein 37). It might be hidden deep inside waiting for the right key that would set it free. Such is the case with Hieronimo who, his passion set seemingly aside, has faith in reason and justice, since he himself is one of its representatives. Justice is as a friend Hieronimo believes in and trusts, but when he turns to his good friend for help and support, he walks away. Hieronimo is left alone with his burden surrounded by all his ghosts. Reason cannot help Hieronimo to carry the burden. It is becoming heavier and heavier, and he is short of breath. Calling for revenge, he is not able to wait any longer. His passion is awake and thirsty, and “naught but blood will satisfy [its] woes” (3.7.68).

The audience watching Hieronimo’s immense struggle is aware of the two figures, the Ghost and Revenge, standing on his shoulders and pulling strings. They understand his desire to revenge, and they can imagine the reasons for his fight: anger, grief, and anxiety; anxiety about one’s own mortality. Hieronimo is trying to fight a losing battle with Death. Horatio, when still alive, served as lebenselixir to his father. Hieronimo’s “immortality is precariously located in his child” (Watson 1994: 56). No wonder that he seeks rectification in vain hope that “death can be corrected by eliminating its ‘author’” (Watson 1994: 57). Until the moment of his fatal decision there is still hope. Elizabethans could feel his inner fight, the conflict of passion and reason. If he only shook Revenge off his shoulder, Hieronimo would be able to breathe, and with the fresh air let reason come in again. They certainly knew as well that he would not do that, and that his path leads to damnation, because “[n]ot only is the revenger guilty of

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blasphemy and malice, he cuts himself off from the possibility of forgiveness and thus is damned forever” (Prosser 7). Hieronimo cannot free himself from Revenge, since Revenge is tied to the Ghost, and “the Ghost’s state of mind is reflected in Hieronimo’s; [and] Hieronimo’s desire for revenge mirrors that of Andrea” (Hallet 50).

Although the lost of his son and the strong influence of the Ghost on Hieronimo might have seemed to justify his actions in the eyes of Elizabethan audience, they were far from approving. Not only was revenge a delicate issue with a considerable religious pressure, but Hieronimo has also done something that must have at least given the audience a pause for thought if not shocked them completely. Hieronimo has decided not to pay the last honours to his only son: “See’st thou those wounds that yet are bleeding fresh? / I’ll not entomb them till I have revenged” (2.5.53-54). In the Renaissance people believed “that happiness beyond the grave was somehow contingent upon proper disposal and preservation of one’s mortal remains” (Neill 265). There is also Don Andrea’s Ghost to remind us that “churlish Charon, only boatman there, / Said that my rites of burial not performed, / I might not sit amongst his passengers” (1.1.20-22). Don Andrea was not allowed to cross the river of the Underworld until his worldly remains were properly buried. Hieronimo, a loving father, denies his son access to the afterlife “Under green myrtle trees and cypress shades” (1.1.44). The question is if he acts only as a puppet in the hands of the Ghost and Revenge, or if he “longs for revenge solely as a means for realizing his own misery” (Prosser 45), realizing and fighting his own mortality.

Hieronimo is determined to fight a losing battle. He is ready to rebel “against natural law on behalf of human immortality” (Watson 1994: 9), ready to fight reason and follow his passions. There is both reason and passion in a man. They cooperate if passion does not oppose reason, and reason rules insofar as man’s passion can tolerate.

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Hieronimo in his decision to follow the Ghost’s command chose to follow his passions and leave out the reason. To eliminate reason is foolish in the same way as completely eliminating one’s passions. There is an interconnection that, if violated, causes disruption of the mind. In the Renaissance it was assumed “that irrational emotions distract and craze the psyche” (Hallet and Hallet 9). Hieronimo’s road towards madness is paved. The last straw that pushes him over the edge seems to be the moment when he is becoming conscious of “the irreversibility of his son’s annihilation in death” (Hattaway 314).

The very end of the play offers a ghastly spectacle. The stage covered with dead bodies of Lorenzo, Balthazar, Bel-Imperia, the Duke of Castile, Hieronimo, and what is left of Horatio. Don Andrea and Revenge enter into the last conversation of the play. Don Andrea is, for the first time, satisfied: “now my hopes have end in their effects” (4.5.1). His passion grew over the course of the play. His desire for revenge is nothing else than a call for blood, and only “blood and sorrow finish [his] desires” (4.5.2). The pile of dead bodies seems to satisfy the thirst for blood. Their deaths deliver them to Andrea’s control where he can torture them for his own revenge. At that very moment Don Andrea has lost the audience’s support and understanding. There is no doubt left about how just this revenge actually was (4.5.16) after the Ghost, the authority where all this came from, cannot wait to show his hate (4.5.26). The disillusioned audience was left with the impression of absolute vanity. How foolish to die in the battle of immortality. However, the deep belief in afterlife, in something beyond the grave was confirmed after all. It depends on how people live whether they end up in heaven or “begin their endless tragedy” (4.5.48).

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HAMLET William Shakespeare’s Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, written probably in 1601, follows the tradition of revenge tragedy established over ten years earlier by The Spanish Tragedy. The Ghost of King Hamlet is the most famous and the most discussed apparition of all the ghosts in Elizabethan revenge tragedies. Since the turn of the seventeenth century his ambiguity and mysteriousness have been raising a number of questions that might never be fully and satisfactorily answered.

Seemingly one of the Senecan ghosts, “pale, colorless beings introduced merely to create an atmosphere of horror” (Hankins 131), and crying for revenge, the Ghost of King Hamlet, who “is, in a sense, a return to Kyd’s Ghost” (Hallet 59), significantly exceeds the role and impact of Don Andrea’s Ghost. To begin with, this Ghost “does not [just] frame the action… [he not only] dominates the initial stage of the play” (Maslen 3), but he is “the prime mover of the action in this play, from start to finish” (Austin 79). Although he only appears on the stage in the first act, and then in the closet scene, his presence is felt through the whole play. “He is there not in person, but in principle, so to speak; not visible all the time, but all the time perceptible – by the task he has laid on his son’s shoulders… He is the originator of the task – and what happens with the task, its ups and downs, the near miss, the near fulfillment, that is the play” (Flatter 6).

At the very beginning the Ghost enters the play in the lines of a minor character: “What, has this thing appeared again tonight?” (1.1.21) A few lines later “this thing”, “this dreaded sight” (25), “this apparition” (28) appears on the stage: “Look where it comes again” (1.1.40). The audience carefully watches the strange specter together with Horatio, and feels the same anxiety as he does: “it harrows me with fear and wonder” (1.1.44). It does not take more than fifty lines without a single word for the Ghost, the

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usurper of the night (1.1.46), to establish the tone of the play. The uneasiness of the characters caused by this “intervention from another world” (Hankins 132) reflects the anxiety of the audience about the perception of Death. The main role of the Ghost lies in intervening in the life of Hamlet; he is the driving power, the key necessary to start the car that, once in motion, cannot be stopped. The relationship of the Ghost and Hamlet resembles that of Revenge and Andrea’s Ghost. The interaction of the two in both cases is an essential prerequisite for the plots to happen. The Ghost’s role depends on his interpretation and understanding by the characters, in this instance by Hamlet. The Ghost is perceived in different ways, but, nevertheless, his main function remains the primary stimulus of the whole play.

The relation of the Ghost to the other characters seems to partly follow the pattern of The Spanish Tragedy. The influence of the Ghost is imposed via Hamlet, who is connected with the other characters. This is the case with Revenge, whose impact on Don Andrea is projected onto other characters via memory and substitution. The obvious departure from the rule are three witnesses whose commentaries on the apparition of the assumed King Hamlet help to set the mood of the play as well as to provide the audience with different points of views. The perception of the Ghost by Horatio, Marcellus and Barnardo as well as Hamlet gives the audience the necessary clues it needs for interpreting and understanding the specter. The problem is that we are given far more clues than we like, and a conflict of comprehension arises.

The essential fact is that “[e]veryone believes in ghosts” (Austin 80). What we are trying to understand here is not one of our neighbours or friends, it is not really a human at all, it is a ghost, and “[a] ghost is a problematic phenomenon, less substantial than a human of flesh and blood, but much more powerful. A ghost is a disturbance. Disturbed himself, this ghost creates a profound disturbance in all who see him” (Austin

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80). Above all the Ghost disturbs the audience. To know what the Ghost represents for the characters is crucial for understanding his role in the play, and what he represents for the characters mirrors the perception and attitudes of the audience. Despite Walter King’s statement that “the identity of the ghost is secondary to its effect upon Hamlet” (25), it is obvious that the knowledge of the Ghost’s identity is the condition upon which the subsequent effect depends. Hamlet needs to know if he can trust what the Ghost says and so to be sure of his identity: “I’ll have grounds / More relative than this” (2.2.615). Here begins the search for the Ghost’s as well as Hamlet’s identity, the search for hidden truth that goes on the whole play.

In determining the nature of the King Hamlet’s Ghost, I found useful the approach of John Erskine Hankins who divides the Elizabethan ghost lore into five different theories, and “hints of all these theories appear in Hamlet” (134). They represent the popular beliefs held by Elizabethan audience.

1. All supernatural apparitions, including ghosts, have no objective existence whatsoever. They are hallucinations of a diseased ‘fantasy’ or imagination and are usually perceived when the mind is affected by some abnormal condition of the body. (134)

2. The Ghost’s appearance is a physical phenomenon portending danger to the state. It is of the same nature as the appearance of the comet, the falling of bloody dew… all of which are ominous of great crisis in national affairs. (142)

3. The Ghost is the ‘spirit’ of the deceased, stirred from its sleep in the grave by a vague consciousness of some earthly mission, after the performance of which it can find rest. (151)

4. The Ghost is the actual soul of the elder Hamlet, returned from purgatory in full possession of all his faculties to bring a message to his son. (157)

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5. The Ghost is an evil demon who attempts to ensnare Hamlet’s soul by inducing him to commit a horrible crime. (166)

The first two possibilities, as will be illustrated, can be easily dismissed. We are left with three remaining alternatives that are never in the course of the play fully testified. We cannot decide, and we challenge every possibility. In the end, there is nothing else certain than the fact that none of these possibilities is defendable. The whole play is about uncertainty and doubts that are passed on to the audience.

Let us turn to the very start of the play where we encounter the Ghost for the first time, and where we are given the first clues to his identity. Barnardo and Marcellus report their experience of seeing a ghost to Horatio, who challenges them, stating that it must have been their imagination only, mere “fantasy” (1.1.23). Perhaps Horatio believes that Barnardo and Marcellus have their minds clouded from excessive celebration of the royal wedding and therefore “will not let belief take hold of him” (1.1.24). Together with Horatio we shall soon find out that the fantasy materializes itself into the “fair and warlike” (1.1.47) apparition that leaves a great question mark behind. The significance here does not lie in Barnardo and his friend, but in preventing any later doubts about Hamlet. He is the most vulnerable character, with a mind having been completely absorbed in grief, anxiety, and confusion. As John Wilks aptly puts it, Hamlet’s grief over his father’s death suppresses his reason, and he is ready to follow his passion against “the laws of heaven and nature” (105). His mind is susceptible to a belief in anything that would override his grief. He is eager to replace the fact of Death by whatever is offered him, and Horatio suspects so: “He waxes desperate with imagination” (1.4.87). We know that the Ghost is real, three other people saw him, “he has an objective reality” (Hallet 60). Still, the conversation between Hamlet and the Ghost is without witnesses. The question of the Ghost’s existence is answered, but his

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essence and purpose are not. Hamlet is called by a silent apparition (1.4.84), and the nature of the call remains hidden.

By the second approach the King Hamlet’s Ghost is an omen that foreshadows some disaster coming to the world of men. As Horatio observes, it is similar to the events “A little ere the mightiest Julius fell” (1.1.114), “when all the sway of earth / Shakes like a thing unfirm” (Julius Caesar 1.3.3-4), signifying that “the world, too saucy with the gods, / Incenses them to send destruction” (JC 1.3.12-13). The same way the appearance of the Ghost might be a messenger from “up there” to foretell some tragedy: “This bodes some strange eruption to our state” (1.1.69). We are here presented with the clue of “folk tradition of ghost lore; [Barnardo and Marcellus] fear the Ghost, they know that its appearance is important” (Atchley 10). We also know that it might be connected with their country: “Something is rotten in the state of Denmark” (1.4.90).

Horatio is acquainted with the third theory as well. Challenging the Ghost to speak, he proposes a possible explanation of his appearance. One of them, already mentioned, relates to the “country’s fate” (1.1.133). Another one that touches on religious issues shall be discussed later. The last left, “thou hast uphoarded in thy life / Extorted treasure in the womb of earth, / For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death” (1.1.136-138), suggests, as Atchley says, that the Ghost came back to take care of something he left behind (11), to “oversee [his] familial, financial, and political legacies” (Ornstein 78). Another possible explanation may be associated with the deceased person mourning for the life in a human shell, “nothing other than his own remains” (Watson 1994: 79). Such might be the case with the Ghost, who cries for “All [his] smooth body” (1.5.73).

There are a few clues presented that might lead to the conclusion that the Ghost, as the fourth possibility suggests, comes from Purgatory, and Anthony Low agrees with

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this eventuality (453). First, there is one of the explanations suggested by Horatio who addresses the Ghost “as if it were a troubled purgatorial spirit seeking rest for its soul” (Atchley 10): “If there be any good thing to be done / That may to thee do ease and grace to me” (1.1.130-131) If this hint is not sufficient, there is another indication provided by the Ghost himself: “I’m thy father’s spirit, / Doomed for a certain term to walk the night, / … Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature / Are burnt and purged away” (1.5.9-13). A few lines later he explains why he is caught inbetween Heaven and Hell: “Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin, / Unhouseled, disappointed, unaneled / … With all my imperfections on my head” (1.5.76-79). King Hamlet was murdered while asleep, and was thus not ready for the afterlife; he was “deprived of his chance to receive three of the Sacraments that would have prepared him to face death and individual judgment” (Low 454). Finally, Hamlet gives us the last clue concerning Purgatory, “by Saint Patrick… / It is an honest ghost” (1.5.136-138). As Stephen Greenblatt mentions in his work, Saint Patrick was closely associated with Purgatory, and the Elizabethan audience would have no problems in recognizing “the patron saint of Purgatory” (233-234). Hamlet then assumes that the Ghost must be an honest good spirit who came to ask his son for help on his way to Heaven. Despite all the evidence there are many other hints that refute them all, and invite the final possibility.

Following the last of the theories, let us trace the allusions that might suggest a demonic nature of the Ghost. When Horatio sees the thing that looks “like the king” (1.1.43), he dares to address it and call upon it: “By heaven I charge thee, speak” (1.1.49). He hopes that it might be perhaps a good spirit that “cannot speak until he has been charged to do so in the name of God” (Prosser 114). There are two possibilities. Either the Ghost is too proud to talk to Horatio, who is not of royal blood, or the mention of Heaven prompts an evil spirit to leave. Nevertheless, the Ghost returns and

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Horatio decides to cross its path again. After a vain attempt to make it speak, the silent apparition suddenly vanishes again: “’Tis gone” (1.1.142). An explanation is offered immediately stating that “it” left “when the cock crew” (1.1.147) behaving “like a guilty thing” (1.1.148). As Eleanor Prosser states, the audience is here presented with a popular belief that “only hellish spirits were banished by the light of the sun” (109), and what else can the crowing of the cock mean than the outset of a new day. When Hamlet eventually comes on stage to meet the strange specter, the thought of possibly evil nature of the apparition crosses his mind: “Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damned” (1.4.40). However, he is eager to accept the identity of the Ghost as his father: “I’ll call thee Hamlet, / King, father, royal Dane” (1.4.44-45). Still, the heavy burden that was set by the Ghost of King Hamlet upon his only son compels Hamlet to reassure himself of the true nature of the apparition. “The spirit that I have seen / May be a devil, and the devil hath power / T’assume a pleasing shape… / [in order to] to damn me” (2.2.611-614). By presenting the mousetrap for Claudius, he wants to find out if what the Ghost says is true, and if it is indeed an honest spirit. Hamlet is both wise and foolish, because his interpretation of the commonly known truth about demons lacks a second half. He sees just one face of a two-faced fact. As Wilson points out, devils can use the form of the deceased person “in order to work bodily or spiritual harm upon those to whom they appeared” (62), which is one of the faces that Hamlet clearly observes. There is, still, another face left. Not only can an evil spirit take on someone’s likeness to harm, but it will do whatever to lead one’s soul to damnation, since “the instruments of darkness tell us truths only to betray us in deepest consequence” (Wilks 104).

The last clue that I would like to present can easily override the preceding evidence. It lies in the Ghost’s speech. Although he is trying to present himself as a good spirit of Hamlet’s father, possibly from Purgatory, there is no doubt left about the

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speculation of whether he is or is not a purgatorial spirit after we hear the command directed to his son: “Revenge his [thy father’s] foul and most unnatural murder” (1.5.25). Whatever he says, the Ghost has now closed the door to Purgatory as the eventual place of his residence: “‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay,’ says the Lord” (Romans 12:19).3 Consequently, “[i]f a ghost urges something against the teaching of the Church, it is surely demonic” (Prosser 111), and what is more, Purgatory “is utterly incompatible with a Senecan call for vengeance” (Greenblatt 237). I agree with Norman Austin that “[t]he Ghost in this play is not in purgatory, whatever definition of purgatory we choose” (86)4. There are at least two other instances insinuating that the disturbing specter might come from Hell. One occurs in act 1.5 where Hamlet urges Horatio and his two companions to swear that they will not reveal what they have seen and heard. The Ghost intervenes by crying from under the stage: “Swear” (1.5.149). In the Elizabethan time the stage of the theatre was divided in three parts: Heaven, Earth, and Hell. Since the Ghost makes himself heard from the space under the stage, that signifies Hell, he is apparently “acting like a devil” (Prosser 140). Even though, on one hand, all this evidence does suggest that the Ghost is not a good spirit coming from neither Heaven nor Purgatory, it is not, on the other hand, quite certain that he must necessarily be of an evil nature. Even Walter King argues that “the very humanness of the ghost’s emotional outpouring suggests the contrary” (30).

Before coming to conclusion about the Ghost’s origin, identity, and nature, it is important to have an insight into the audience’s attitude to what they see, and to what degree their comprehension is influenced by the clues provided. For if we want to fully

3 http:// bibleresources.bible.com/passagesearchresults.php?passage1=Romans+12:19&version=49#cen-NASB-28265B 4 For further discussion of whether the Ghost is or is not of purgatorial nature see: Stephen Greenblatt’s Hamlet in Purgatory.

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understand the Ghost and his meaning, we have to look at him through the eyes of the Elizabethan spectators and consider their beliefs and the time they lived in. As was mentioned in the introduction, England, at the time when Hamlet was written, was a country of conflicting religious beliefs. Still, regardless of their religious persuasions, Elizabethans shared a common view of revenge. Not only does it touch on the question of justice, but it also deals with one of the burning subjects of that time, Death. As far as justice is concerned, the Ghost might be viewed as a reminder for Hamlet as a duty to avenge his ancestor. Although the time, in general, was against any kind of private revenge, the medieval belief in individual justice was not completely eradicated. As Prosser puts it, “[t]he Elizabethan audience may have entered the theatre doubting that revenge was justified, but it was probably ready to be convinced” (35). There lies the conflict and tragedy that drew the audience to the theatre to watch a revenge tragedy. They knew that “[t]o do what the Ghost asks is to risk damnation, to avoid it seems like cowardice [“Am I a coward?” (2.2.582)], and to escape the whole problem through suicide is only to arrive back at square one – doing damnation” (Hallet and Hallet 189). It is much of an interest to watch and judge some current issue if one is not directly involved.

Unlike The Spanish Tragedy where the identity of the Ghost is not a riddle, and where the audience can focus primarily on the question of revenge, Hamlet urges its spectators to wonder, doubt, and search the identity of the Ghost; and they do so, principally for the reason, as Charles Hallet states, that “Hamlet himself seeks the source of the Ghost’s authority” (60). Hamlet invites both the Protestants and Catholics to examine the apparition according to their beliefs and superstitions. Prosser presents her readers with a Catholic and Protestant approach to the nature of the Ghost. They correspond in three of the four possible explanations. Either the Ghost is a hallucination,

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an angel’s spirit, or a devil. The additional Catholic interpretation is, of course, that the specter is a spirit of the dead, and before the Reformation, obeying such commands would be seen as a sacred duty (106-109). Even using all the clues given, it still might be hard for the audience to determine the Ghost’s nature. Presented with three witnesses to the Ghost’s reality, they can reject the delusion theory. Still, the role of illusion is not yet completely put aside. Although we are convinced of the existence of the apparition, its nature is open to interpretation: Hamlet “[o]ut of [his] weakness and [his] melancholy” (2.2.613) can be misled by his grief, “deluded by his senses” (Prosser 110). There is only a small possibility that King Hamlet could reside in Elizabethans’ minds as a good spirit, because we do not meet the Ghost in any other time but at night, and as Marcellus points out, “no [evil] spirit… / …. nor witch hath power to charm” (1.1.163) in the time of daylight. Though the idea of a purgatorial spirit would be denied by Protestants, Catholics might have secretly believed in its existence. Nevertheless, the evidence presented above objects to such a presumption. What we are left with is the option of an evil spirit.

However convincing the proofs leading to such a conclusion, there is one important presumption that can disprove them. To condemn the Ghost as demonic disrupts the concept of a revenge tragedy. If we concede that he is a devil, the richness and fascination we have experienced so far will diminish, and “thus [we together with the audience] reject the devil theory” (West 67). What William Shakespeare does here is simultaneously offer his audience all plausible interpretations of King Hamlet’s origin, and at the same time undermining all the adduced evidence. It does not only make the play more appealing, it also makes the audience search the different meanings behind the figure of the Ghost, and question its own beliefs.

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Revenge itself does not seem to be the primary concern here; rather, it covers a more important matter, how to deal with Death, and the associated questions of remembrance and identity. After the Reformation, there was, all of sudden, a gap between the world of the dead and the living. Purgatory had provided the path between the two worlds, and secured the link. With the bridge pulled down, the black emptiness raises questions. On one hand, what is going to happen to those close to us after they die, and on the other hand, how can the deceased stay in touch with those alive. If they lose touch, how can one prevent the utter oblivion of those who crossed the path? Not only did “death bec[o]me a more absolute annihilation” (Neill 38), but “the blankness of being forgotten was of all thoughts the most tormenting” (Spencer 135). Finishing his long speech directed at Hamlet the Ghost utters two words: “Remember me” (1.5.91). What is it that Hamlet should remember? From a Catholic point of view, Hamlet might have been asked to remember his father through prayers. The problem is that Hamlet, as one of the students “at Wittenberg, political base of Martin Luther and hotbed of radical Reformation thought” (Atchley 11), never “openly reveals that he has heard of such a place as Purgatory” (Low 459). However, it is more likely that he does know about such a place as something forbidden and unreal, and as such it takes away the plausible explanation of the happening after one’s death. To remember might then be a call from blank nothingness echoing the fear of not being which equals being forgotten, the anxiety of one’s identity. Above all, it might be a reminder that all human beings who “are notoriously ready to disbelieve in their own mortality” (Watson 1994: 29) are, nevertheless, mortal. The nature of the Ghost seems to reflect it all.

It is not, then, important what or who the apparition is; the significance lies in what it embodies. The Ghost of King Hamlet bitterly complains that he was robbed “[o]f life [his immortality], of crown [his identity], of queen [his remembrance]”

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(1.5.75). King Hamlet was deprived of his life before he was ready to accept mortality. His identity was taken away together with the crown, and he is now “Doomed for a certain term to walk the night” (1.5.10) until he finds his identity again. Finally, his wife is ensnared by his brother, and the time of his remembrance and mourning is replaced by the wedding celebration of the new royal couple. Death has placed him on the same level with many others who died, and he is terrified by “its indifference, which steals away the difference by which we live” (Watson 1994: 98). Hamlet is not ready to experience the unmerciful law of mortality either. The death of his father has taken away his identity as a son. The basis of his life was shaken to its foundation. He has lost his father, and also his mother, who has stepped away from him and has become his “aunt”.

The Ghost not only functions “as an emblem for Hamlet’s own deeply conflicted vision of death” (Zimmerman 81) projecting the anxiety of his identity, and reflects “[o]ur guilt about the dead we have forgotten” (Watson 1994: 60), but he, at the same time, proposes a remedy: “Revenge” (1.5.25). Hamlet believes that this is the right solution and eagerly agrees: “I have sworn’t” (1.5.112). He can put his mourning and confusion into action. Even before he meets the Ghost, Hamlet is desperate and overridden by grief, and wants to compensate death by death, only by his own: “Or that the Everlasting had not fixed / His canon ’gainst self-slaughter” (1.2.132-133). Now, he has got something to focus on, a target into which he can project all his feelings. Thus “[t]he visitation [of his father’s spirit] renews the young man’s hope… of the lasting significance of mortal life, inspiring him to defend his father’s memory against the ravages of time, and to attack the proximate cause of his father’s death” (Watson 1990: 200). Hamlet’s concealed insecurity is shifted onto the Ghost and his demand. By mending his father’s death, he wants to restore both his father’s and his own life, and

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the significance that the life carries. He is determined to free his mind, “from the table of my memory / I’ll wipe away all trivial fond records” (1.5.98-99), and concentrate on his task.

What he is about to undergo is not just the clearing of his mind, but a complete change of his personality; he thus gains a new identity that is more of “an imposed rather than a self-willed role” (Willson 80). It is easier for Hamlet to believe that this is not about him, that he is just undertaking a task given to him by the spirit of his father, rather than facing the bare reality of death. As a facile solution, he seeks to “avoid perceiving death as an ultimate defeat … declar[ing] something else more important” (Watson 1994: 94-95), and instead of pulling himself together, he willingly embraces his new other self, “I, with wings as swift / as meditation or the thoughts of love, / May sweep to my revenge” (1.5.29-31). From that moment on, the audience knows that Hamlet will not survive, because as a revenger he must pay the highest price of all, his life. As Watson says, Hamlet is trying “to sustain his father’s existence by identifying with him… [and so] joining him in death” (1994: 80). He is not sure any more who he is, and wants to take over the Ghost’s identity by becoming one. Claudius makes a very observant comment regarding his nephew’s condition, getting unknowingly to the true heart of the matter:

Of Hamlet’s transformation: so call it, Sith nor th’ exterior nor the inward man Resembles that it was. What it should be, More than his father’s death, that thus hath put him So much from th’ understanding of himself. (2.2.5-9)

From the outside and the inside, Hamlet has changed. The way he dresses, the way he behaves and talks, he looks as a ghost himself: “Pale as his shirt… / As if he had been

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loosed out of hell” (2.1.81-83). As Robert F. Willson aptly puts it, “[f]or much of the play he haunts the recesses of Elsinore as if he were a ghost, and other characters [such as Ophelia] often react to his appearance as if they were confronting a damned spirit” (80). Nevertheless, after his unexpected return from England, he not only appears as a real ghost to Claudius, who thought him already dead, but he becomes the embodiment of a real vengeance ghost. His only purpose is to answer the call of passion that nothing short of Death can satisfy. Hamlet is ready to die. His role having been taken over, the Ghost disappears, only to come back one more time. When Hamlet, in the closet scene, faces his mother, his old self, filled with painful memories, which he has successfully blocked out, comes up again. The Ghost regains for a while his own existence only to hand it again over to Hamlet a few lines later, and to seemingly disappear forever. However, “incorporated by his son” (Greenblatt 229) he remains on the stage and controls the whole plot.

We should not forget to mention Hamlet’s pretended madness, and consider its relevance in the play. One of the obvious reasons might lie in the fact that, as Charles and Elaine Hallet state, madness is one of the conventional elements of the revenge tragedy (8), and as such it should not be missing in Hamlet either. Hamlet makes sure that we know his madness is only feigned, urging Horatio, Marcellus and Barnardo to swear that they will not reveal that he has purposefully “put an antic disposition on” (1.5.172). Nonetheless, we cannot be really sure if this is so. Until now we were made to examine every evidence presented. There is no reason why we should trust the suggested explanation this time. This is not to say that Hamlet must be actually mad. I would only like to point out that he is not who he used to be. At the time of his decision to pretend madness, he might still have been sane. Nevertheless, the burden of his memories and his unrelenting effort to conceal himself from himself could not be

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without consequences. The difference lies in the staged madness produced by Hamlet on purpose, and the irrationality of his thinking.

Before coming to conclusion, the role of the skull should not be omitted. Yorick’s skull follows the purpose of the Ghost in reminding Hamlet of the nature of Death. Unlike the ghostly apparition, Yorick is “the emblem of natural mortality” (Maslen 2). What is more, as Elizabeth Maslen points out, Hamlet meets ‘him’ in the graveyard where he encounters “a world free from ghosts”, and Yorick serves Hamlet as “memento mori [that] he can interpret without ambivalence” (10). The striking difference from the Ghost is apparent. There is nothing certain about the Ghost whose mysterious nature fills up the whole play. On the contrary, there are no questions and doubts about Yorick. He is nothing more than a dead body, an image of human mortality. After “meeting” Yorick, Hamlet seems to come to his senses, and although he cannot shake off the existence of the Ghost, he “re-enters the world of men” (Maslen 12). “The graveyard… is the play’s most brutal sign of mortal ending” (Neill 87). It might be here where Hamlet, after talking to a gravedigger, finally accepts the fact of mortality, because where the Ghost “represent[s] the unrepresentable anonymity of death” (Zimmerman 96), “Yorick [by all means, embodies] death demystified” (Watson 1994: 76).5 There is nothing ambiguous and ghostly about the skull, and Hamlet does not ask where Yorick is. The skull unlike the Ghost is a tangible proof of human mortality.

What is, then, the ghostly apparition, the alarming specter? Is it “a true spirit or a destructive illusion, a cultural convention or a pathological projection” (Watson 1994: 74-75)? It might be a little bit of everything. Hamlet lost his father. Unlike others who, too readily for his taste, accepted that “all that lives must die, / Passing through nature 5 For a more detailed insight of Yorick’s importance in the play see: Elizabeth Maslen’s “Yorick’s Place in ‘Hamlet’.”

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to eternity” (1.2.72-73) Hamlet stubbornly keeps with “veiled lids / Seek[ing] for [his] noble father in the dust” (1.2.70-71). “The problem of action in Hamlet is posed immediately and ultimately by Death, the philosophical tutor who forces man to consider the value of existence” (Ornstein 237). Hamlet faces such a difficulty. The anxiety of what has happened to his father consumes his mind. He is tortured by guilt of being unable to prevent the oblivion of his father. Nevertheless, “his deepest concern is [certainly] not only for his lost father but for himself and for his innermost identity” (Low 463), which lies in his father’s grave. The Ghost is a projection of Hamlet’s anxiety of what has become of his father, but, mainly, of what is going to become of Hamlet. His consciousness is not ready to take it in, and Hamlet is unable to take any action. He needs someone to tell him what to do. Consequently, Hamlet “in a sense […] produces the Ghost; every son does so, reproducing the deceased parent at least in memory” (Flatter 157). King Hamlet was an authority to his son; who else could help him to deal with his life?

Although we do not doubt the existence of the Ghost in the play, because there are three other people who saw him, we definitely doubt his nature. Only through Hamlet are we able to trace his origin. In a way, then, “[w]hat they [all] are seeing is not physical reality… [but] a kind of embodied memory” (Greenblatt 212). Hamlet’s consciousness produces a substitute for his burden that incarnates in itself all those tormenting memories, thoughts about Death and annihilation, and that offers Hamlet a new identity. The Ghost “succeeds in giving a shape… to the horrors of Hamlet’s imaginings” (Zimmerman 81); he bridges the bottomless emptiness between Hamlet’s world and that of his father’s. After accepting an external authority, Hamlet is prepared to struggle with his fate with the Ghost “forcing him to define his own code, to determine for himself his own course” (Prosser 173). When the play comes to its end, it

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is not certain whether Hamlet won or lost. The only definite reality is that “[t]he final scene… systematically undoes the mythologies that represent death as curable, tolerable, or in any legitimate way consolable. All we are left with is the bare necessity of our denial” (Watson 1994: 45). What we come to realize is that it was impossible for Hamlet to win or lose; with Death, there can be no winners or defeated. It is necessary to accept what is inevitable. Denial is to find winners and defeated where they are none.

THE ATHEIST’S TRAGEDY

Following Wendy Griswold’s pattern, there are about seventeen revenge tragedies, whose traditions, as it has been already said, begin with Thomas Kyd’s The Spanish Tragedy in about 1587, and ends around 1632 when John Ford writes ’Tis Pity She’s a Whore, apparently the last revenge tragedy of the period (57). For obvious reasons, I have chosen Kyd’s play, which is the foundation stone of its genre. Hamlet is one of the greatest revenge tragedies, and not only for its author. As one of a few, it follows all of the elements of revenge tragedy established by Kyd. According to Griswold, these are: a court setting, revenge motivated action, blood and sex, trickery, ghosts, success, death, and restoration (58-64). Using one more source, I would also add two others: madness and delay (Hallet and Hallet 8). The figure of Revenge does not appear in any of the revenge tragedies but Kyd’s. This could be understood as a disapproval by other writers who found it redundant.; for example, in Hamlet the Ghost and Revenge are unified in one figure. However, the separate character of Revenge is not the only thing that was gradually changed. “After Hamlet only fragments of the original formula can be found in the great tragedies and they are either vestigial or are given completely new meaning” (Ornstein 22). Although the ghost element suffered the same fate, there are always to be found plenty of “natural and supernatural portents” (Griswold 64).

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The Atheist’s Tragedy, written in 1611 by Cyril Tourneur is, in a way, one of the altered tragedies. Even though there are many others that might serve as a better example of the changes which the revenge tragedy underwent, Tourneur’s play is most remarkable for its treatment of the ghost. There are also other alterations that seem to undermine the revenge tragedy tradition. The focus has shifted from the conventional revenge-hero to revenge-villain in many other later plays. “Tourneur alone unequivocally ‘rejects’ revenge so as to clear the stage for the central dramatic conflict of his play, which is between the atheist and God” (Ornstein 23). The question of revenge and its justification is mentioned only marginally. The hero makes a vain attempt to take the law into his own hands before submitting to divine justice. The struggle that in the earlier plays takes so much time and space yields here to a completely different subject matter. One has to ask if the play did not reflect the anxiety about atheism in that time. It might be hard to answer, “because fear of the stake prevented the publication of atheistic doctrine, and because the term ‘atheism’ was so widely and loosely applied, it is difficult to assess the actual scope of Jacobean disbelief” (Ornstein 45). At that time to be called an atheist did not mean that the person “refused to believe in any form of deity”, it rather “applied to anyone who deviated from the […] preferred form of Christianity” (Watson 1994: 25). Nonetheless, “Tourneur derived all his ideas about atheism from contemporary prose confutations, in which the atheist is described as an arrogant, villainous blasphemer who recognizes no power above nature, who thirsts for pleasure and power, and who is tormented by a cowardly fear of death” (Ornstein 121). The fear of death, in association with atheism, is an important fact that should be taken into consideration when approaching this play.

The role of the Ghost in The Atheist’s Tragedy is not of a great significance. When we meet the Ghost of Montferrers at the end of act 2, the purpose of his

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appearance is both to inform Charlemont about his father’s murder, and in the same breath to forbid a potential act of revenge: “But leave revenge unto the king of kings” (2.6.22). The second time he appears on the stage is to remind Charlemont, who is about to kill Sebastian, to leave the retribution of their wrongs “To whom the justice of revenge belongs” (3.2.37). When the play is coming to an end, and the Ghost comes to call D’Amville a “miserable fool” (5.1.29), it is the last time we have the opportunity to meet him. Three appearances and twelve lines; that is all we get. As a character, he seems almost redundant. He is more of a supernatural omen. In a certain way, he even seems to be the impersonated conscience of the two characters. To the virtuous Charlemont, whose “struggle between his natural desires and his conscience reflects exactly the dilemma […] of the period” (Prosser 68-69), the Ghost is the inner voice that helps to remember the power of Heaven. To the evil D’Amville he is the same voice saying how foolish his beliefs are, because he is inclined “to see the self as the measure of all things” (Hallet and Hallet 273). However, the problem is that the Ghost of Montferrers is seen by one more person, a soldier who served with Charlemont at war: “for sure it is a spirit” (3.1.66).

The relevance of the Ghost does not, then, lie in its role in the play, but in the way the characters see and interpret what they see, or what they think they see. “Characters encounter many different versions of a ghost and offer as many interpretations” (Diehl 49). Charlemont is very disturbed on his first encounter with the spirit: “O my affrighted soul, what fearful dream / Was this that waked me?” (2.6.23-24). He tries to come up with an explanation. At first, he thinks that it could have been a reflection of some “serious apprehension” (2.6.26) rooted in his mind, or an illusion caused by “The dispositions of our bodies” (2.6.29). However, he subsequently rejects this idea because there is nothing wrong with either his body or his mind, and dismisses

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“the ghost […] as the product of ‘idle dreams’” (Diehl 48). The Ghost enters again, this time seen by the soldier as well, and Charlemont timorously gets out of his way but nonetheless ‘credits’ his existence. Upon his father’s advice, Charlemont, who was pronounced dead, returns to France, where he becomes a ghost in the same way as Hamlet after his return from England does. He meets Castabella, who assuming she has just seen a ghost calls “heaven [to] defend [her]” (3.1.73), and faints. D’Amville only pretends that he takes Charlemont for a ghost since he is the one who proclaimed him dead under false pretence. The second time the Ghost appears to Charlemont, he has no doubts about the apparition’s nature and authority, which allows it to suppress the “passion of / [his] blood” (3.2.38-39). In the graveyard scene, which seems in its contemplating about death and life reminiscent of Hamlet, D’Amville runs away frightened by what he presumes is the ghost of Charlemont, whom he believed to be already in the arms of death. A few lines later, he thinks that he sees another ghost: “yonder’s the ghost of old Montferrers” (4.3.213), but he realizes that “’tis nothing but a fair white cloud” (4.3.216). However when he hears someone crying: “Murder, murder, murder!” (4.3.225), his fear returns: “the ghost of old Montferrers haunts me” (4.3.226-227). When he, finally, encounters the real Ghost, he dismisses it as a mere “foolish dream” (5.1.32). Last of all, a representative of a religious world denies the existence of ghosts as “mere / imaginary fables” concluding that “There’s no such thing” (4.3.255-256). In a short space, then, “an actual ghost is both disbelieved and believed; a fake ghost is believed; a real person is mistakenly believed to be a ghost; a cloud is interpreted as a ghost; and the existence of all ghosts is categorically denied” (Diehl 50).

The audience, then, is presented with many obvious and subtle signs how to read and understand the Ghost. In reality, there is not much to discover. We are not told about his origin. Not a single character really wonders about the actual apparition; they

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are all occupied by their own conditions related to the interpretation of what they see. All that is certain is that the Ghost is not just a figment of Charlemont’s imagination. “He [can] appear[] to be a returned soul, yet there is no suggestion that he is from the other world, much less from Purgatory. He appears to be a voice of divine counsel, yet he visits a sinner, a function relegated by religious theorists to devils” (Prosser 262). He functions as a divine messenger, insisting on heavenly justice as the only possible form of revenge, and thus avoiding conflict, and losing our interest. Since he also represents the traditional ghost of revenge tragedy, he is an inseparable part of Charlemont, the likely revenger. Consequently, the interest of the audience in Charlemont diminishes as well. The focus is shifted on D’Amville, the character who is undergoing a struggle with the world, and whose tragedy lies in not trusting the world he lives in. The Ghost of King Hamlet incorporates both good and evil, and it is the evil that stirs our interest. In The Atheist’s Tragedy the good is related to Charlemont, and D’Amville represents evil. It is their different attitudes to life that make the audience think about Death.

D’Amville is an atheist who believes in the power of nature, and in his own will, which enables him to get whatever he likes. With all his seeming cleverness, he foolishly believes his immortality is secured in his two sons. “As branches to the tree whereon they grow, / And may as numerously be multiplied” (1.1.54-55), they will extend his own life: “As they increase, so should my providence” (1.1.56). In the last act, when he discovers the death of both his sons, he is distressed: “On / these two pillars stood the stately frame… / … my lofty house” (5.1.81-82), and now his metaphoric house is pulled down. The only power he believes in has failed him: “Can nature be so simple or malicious to destroy the / reputation of her proper memory?” (5.1.105-106). His unwavering belief in the power of Nature has serious flaws. As we see, he does believe in ghosts, to name one. The encounter with so many ghosts,

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reminders of spiritual power over Nature, and with skulls and bones, reminders of human mortality, shakes his philosophy at its foundation, and drives him slowly insane. Thus, we are presented with a certain kind of madness, typical of revenge tragedy. The worst of his fears is the fear of not being, which, as Watson describes in detail, is far worse than fear of hellfire (1994: 27), “the thought of death is a / most fearful torment is’t not?”(5.2.160-170). It is the Ghost who tells D’Amville that his seeming wisdom is going to lead him to despair (5.1.27-31), and that is exactly how he ends, dying by his own hand without understanding a higher power. For him “death is a happening which makes a nonsense of all” (McAlindon 18) he did. Charlemont and Castabella, on the other hand, welcome death as victory and reward, because “to be a lower than a worm is / to be higher than a king” (4.3.19-20). For them “it is a happening which one must strive heroically to shape and control so far as is possible. They turn it from a meaningless or unchosen event into a significant, chosen action” (McAlindon 18-19).

The Atheist’s Tragedy seems to follow Hamlet in approaching the question of ghosts; for example, in the graveyard scene and in the interpretation of the ghostly apparition. The significant difference, however, is in the nature of both the ghosts (fathers) and their sons. Hamlet, who is urged by the Ghost to revenge, hesitates. Charlemont, who wants to avenge, is held back by the Ghost. Still, the focus of the play is on D’Amville and his atheism. One possible explanation might be that, as it was already mentioned, atheism could be mentioned only as something bad and evil. To openly deal with atheism on the stage was impossible; the best way is to cover it under the issue of divine justice, where the whole ghost question serves as a cloak. The end of D’Amville is then inevitable. Nevertheless, we are still left with two possible eventualities. Is D’Amville’s death to be seen as the vengeance of God, or a mere accident?

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OTHER PLAYS As it was already mentioned, many of the later revenge tragedies turned away from the Kyd’s traditional elements. As far as the ghosts are concerned, there is always some kind of a ghost substitution that in a way embodies the purpose of a real ghost. There are far too many plays to be discussed, but I would like to present a couple of examples of different treatment of conceivable “ghosts”.

The Revenger’s Tragedy The Revenger’s Tragedy (1606), which is sometimes attributed to Cyril Tourneur and sometimes to Thomas Middleton (McAlindon 135), is the best example of a case where the role of the ghost is taken over by a skull. “Ghosts and skeletons are not so far apart, after all, one being the spiritual and one the material remains of the deceased” (Hallet and Hallet 228). It has already been noticed that the skull plays a significant role in Hamlet and in The Atheist’s Tragedy as well. Once Hamlet encountered both Death’s spiritual form, the Ghost, and its material form, the skull, he was able to realize and accept the full meaning of Death. In The Revenger’s Tragedy the ghost itself is redundant. There is no need to inform the revenger, who is well acquainted with the murderous deed done to his betrothed. The skull of his fiancé “can serve as much the same purpose as did the earliest ghost… Besides keeping the offense fresh in Vindice’s mind, the skull gives him authority to revenge that offense” (Hallet and Hallet 229). It can be argued that the authority that people might have seen as coming from behind the grave, from the world of the deceased, only mirrors Vindice’s inner feelings and wishes coming “from interaction with [the skull]… In the ultimate sense, Vindice’s authority for the deed comes only from his own will” (Hallet and Hallet 230). This alteration from ghosts to skulls and the doubts on authority might have been caused by the shift

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towards the Protestant point of view, where there is no real connection with the world of the dead, except an imagined one.

More than justification for revenge the skull of Gloriana makes Vindice come to terms with mortality. At the very end of the play, when Vindice and his brother are sentenced to death: “Lay hands upon those villains” (5.3.121), he is not as much afraid of dying as surprised by the reaction to his ‘good deeds’: “How? On us?” (5.3.121). Wherever he thinks his authority to revenge originates from, Vindice feels justified, and is ready as “those who reveal their own crimes [to] face the consequences” (McAlindon 147): “’Tis time to die when we are ourselves our foes” (5.3.109). Since the beginning he was dealing with Death, and death breeds death. The skull of his beloved, the “shell of death” (1.1.15) represents then “not just the dead lady, but Death itself” (Mercer 93). Skulls in general, and not only in Hamlet and The Revenger’s Tragedy, “[were] to remind man not of the futility of life but of the inevitability and the meaning of death” (Prosser 222).

Vindice as a revenger hides every hideous deed under the cloak of a supposedly justifiable act of revenge. His ‘beloved skull’ that is portrayed as his love memento is used as an instrument of Death. Not only does Vindice paint ‘her’, but he also makes her meet the Duke, who is responsible for her death. As if Vindice brought his beloved to life in order to let her die again. The Revenger’s Tragedy seems to be not as much an alteration as a parody of revenge tragedy.

The Duchess of Malfi John Webster’s The Duchess of Malfi (1613-1614) is another revenge tragedy that diverges in many ways from “the earlier ‘Kydian’ plays” (Griswold 55). Not only does the audience witness the transformation of Bosola, a villain figure, who we both admire

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and loathe at the same time, into a reformed revenger, but “the visibility of the ghost is reduced to an echo from the Duchess’ grave” (Rist 2003 ). The role of the Echo seems to be to inform Antonio about the fate of his wife who is now no more than “A [deathly] thing of sorrow” (5.3.26), and warn him of the forthcoming danger: “Be mindful of thy safety” (5.3.35). However, Antonio, faithful to the Protestant orthodoxy, is not willing to listen to the Echo because it is “a dead thing” (5.3.43), and nothing, after all, can return from the grave. Thus, he ends as a dead thing himself. We are left unsure whether “Webster conveys a parody of the dead speaking (and hence of the presence of the dead) while simultaneously making it clear that no dead person is present”, or by “[e]mphasising its apparently personal nature” (Rist 2003) suggesting that it is actually the Duchess’ voice coming from another world.

There are more instances which point to the issues dealing with Death. Although we cannot be really certain about the right interpretation of the nature of the Echo, it is without doubt that the Duchess is not afraid of dying because she believes she will meet her supposedly dead husband “In th’other world” (4.2.209). There is certainly one more thing that must have been caught by the audience. The Duchess is not afraid of death, but she wants to be sure that her remains will be taken care of, in order to be able to meet her Antonio in the other world: “Dispose my breath how please you, but my body / Bestow upon my women” (4.2.225-226). The Elizabethans would certainly understand her worries because, as it was already mentioned, “the Renaissance continued to preserve the ancient pagan superstition that happiness beyond the grave was somehow contingent upon proper disposal and preservation of one’s mortal remains” (Neill 265).

In a certain way, then, the Duchess represents a ghostly figure, since she is present and influential even after her death. Bosola undergoes a transformation from her murderer into her revenger. Her brother Ferdinand goes insane when the reality of her

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death reaches his mind. No one is left untouched by madness, so typical of a revenge tragedy.

CONCLUSION

Whether it is Hamlet, The Spanish Tragedy, or The Duchess of Malfi, we, together with the audience always end up looking behind the actual figures of ghosts or skulls, searching for their meaning beyond the obvious interpretation. The Elizabethans allowed all those ghostly apparitions to embody their inner thoughts, feelings, and anxieties. Interrelated with religious beliefs, with superstitions and personal desires, and influenced by the time, it was the issue of Death, its interpretation and mystery which has fascinated and terrified human beings over the centuries. Renaissance England is no exception to the rule. “There is no one fact in human experience that carries with it so many connotations or creates so many emotional vibrations as the fact of death” (Spencer vii).

It is easy to fear something we cannot see, feel or touch, but by materializing our fears we are able to fight them. This explains why “Elizabethans [perhaps] needed to contextualize and visualize death, in order to forestall the terrors of an infinite darkness” (Watson 1994: 40). There is no better way in portraying anything of great interest than art where people can let their imagination run riot. Revenge tragedy certainly offers such an opportunity, and “the motivations of revenge – and so Revenge Tragedy – have to do not just with death, but with the ways we commemorate death (“tombs, funerals, tears”) and, indeed, with the bizarre and wider phenomenon of ghosts appearing on the English Renaissance stage” (Rist 2003). Fear of Death as a mere blankness, fear of being forgotten, and fear of not being at all are mirrored in the revenge tragedy that “helps us regulate mortality – anxiety as well as mourning” (Watson 1994: 58). Thus,

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people came to the theatre to learn how to deal with Death. Consequently, revenge tragedy “serves […] as a displacement of prayers for the dead forbidden by the Reformation” (Watson 1994: 75).They came in hope to find their own immortality, in hope “to sustain two beliefs. First, that our rights, our desires, and our consciousness continue to matter beyond our deaths. And, second, that revenge can symbolically restore us to life” (Watson 1990: 200). It is, then, no wonder that the core of English Renaissance drama, as Neill states, lies in “the discovery of death and the mapping of its meanings” (1), and as he aptly puts it, “Death is not only imagined, it is given a face” (5). I would add that it is given not only one face but many. The many different ways Death is experienced can be represented in many different manners. None is the same since people are unique, and all are identical since Death makes no distinction.

Ghosts in revenge tragedies reflect one representation of Death. “The fact that ghosts are familiar figures in revenge tragedies is further evidence of the blurring of the boundary between mortality and eternity in the drama” (Simkin 8). What is a ghost then? Whether it is in the shape of a shadow of the deceased, of a liminal creature, or a skull, it is, in reality, “a memory trace. It is the sign of something missing, something omitted, something undone [felt when Death occurs]. It is itself at once a question, and the sign of putting things in question… a ghost is the concretization of a missing presence, the sign of what is there by not being there” (Garber 129). It is the filling of the gap between the dead and the living reflecting the never ending longing for immortality. The audience, then, by searching and determining the ghost’s nature and origin, by contemplating the skull, and listening to the echo, tries to find the way to see Death as a continuation of their lives and not as an irreversible and complete conclusion . “By making death the work of murderous brothers, [and not only he] Kyd spares us from recognizing it as the work of Mother Nature and Father Time, who together impose the

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consequences of Original Sin” (Watson 1994: 58). I would like to conclude using the most apt depiction that captures the true nature of a ghost: “The photographic negative is in fact very like a ghost; it reifies the concept of an absent presence, existing positively as a negative image. In a negative we see light as dark and dark as light; we see, in effect, what is not there” (Garber 17). In the same way Elizabethan audience could project their anxieties, fears, and hopes onto ghosts who give it shape, and send it back as a reflection in the mirror.

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CZECH RESUME Bakalářská práce nazvaná Interpretace postavy ducha v alžbětinské tragedii pomsty se pokouší objasnit přítomnost duchů a jejich význam v alžbětinské tragedii pomsty v Anglii. Rozbor je zaměřený na prvky alžbětinské kultury, které mohly ovlivnit tehdejší publikum při interpretaci postav duchů, například náboženství či pověry.

První dvě kapitoly podávají základní informace o přístupu alžbětinské Anglie k otázce pomsty, nastiňují postoj k existenci duchů, vztah doby k otázce smrti a vliv náboženství celkově.

Následující tři kapitoly se zaměřují na rozbor tří her, které tvoří jádro této práce. Jedná se o díla Thomase Kyda: The Spanish Tragedy, Williama Shakespeara: Hamlet, a Cyrila Tourneura: The Atheist’s Tragedy a snaží se objasnit význam duchů v těchto hrách a demonstrovat rozdílné úlohy, které v každé hře zaujímají.

Kapitola nazvaná „Ostatní hry“ se pokouší přiblížit The Duchess of Malfi od Johna Webstera a The Revenger’s Tragedy, u které je autorství sporné. Tyto hry slouží jako příklad rozdílné koncepce postavy ducha, kde jeho úlohu nahrazuje lebka či ozvěna.

Hlavním cílem této práce bylo objevit spojitost mezi pochybnostmi alžbětinské doby o pojetí smrti a postavami duchů v tragedii pomsty, kteří tyto nejistoty odrážely.

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BIBLIOGRAPHY Bowers, Fredson. Elizabethan Revenge Tragedy 1587-1642. Princeton: Princeton

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Maslen, Elizabeth. “Yorick’s Place in ‘Hamlet’.” Essays and Studies 36 (1983): 1-13. Rist, Thomas. “Religion, Politics, Revenge: The Dead in Renaissance Drama.” Early

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Watson, Robert N. “Giving up the Ghost in a World of Decay: Hamlet, Revenge, and Denial.” Renaissance Drama 21 (1990): 199-223.

Willson, F. Robert. “Hamlet’s Ghostly Presence.” Hamlet Studies 11 (1989): 80-86. Zimmerman, Susan. “Killing the Dead: The Ghost of Hamlet’s Desire.” Shakespeare

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