Pay attention to the ironies of lying and honesty and integrity that arise in this chapter.
The modern reader might find some of the descriptions in this chapter to be racist—“the tragic eyes and short upper lips of southeastern Europe” and “three modish negroes.” Bear two things in mind:
This was, unfortunately, the terminology of the day. Science at that time posited that different ethnicities were physiologically-distinct races of humans. Faulkner, via narrator Nick, uses descriptors of the time.
Wolfsheim’s characterization is laden with Jewish stereotype. In your reading, do you get a sense that Nick is anti-Semitic? (How does your judgement change as the plot develops?)
As enlightened readers in the 21st century, we understand the limitations of that time. Bear in mind that on page one, Nick tells us that he is “inclined to reserve all judgments.”
”…he began to eat with ferocious delicacy.” What manners of speaking suggest that Wolfsheim is a gangster?
The end of luncheon segues into Jordan becoming the narrator of a tale from 1917, five years in the past. “He came alive to me, delivered suddenly from the womb of his purposeless splendor.” Compare this to “an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness” as used to describe Gatsby on page two.
My name is Kingsley Andersen and I’m going to share with you my credo.
For those of you who don’t know what a credo is, the word comes from the Latin for “I believe,” and is a commitment to a listing the rules that guides one’s life, usually in written form. The first three points of my credo are as follows:
Be strong enough to survive the storm; be strong enough then to help another through the storm; and, after the storm, be of use. This credo is based upon physical presence in the moment, especially in any emergency that might happen within that present moment—say, an earthquake. This would be “the storm.” (When you examine the credo, however, you see the possible application in any calmer moment.)
The first point, “be strong enough to survive the storm,” refers to the paradox of being alone, yet never alone. If an earthquake were to strike right now, you would be alone in the surviving those first thirty seconds. This would depend on what shape you are in both physically and spiritually: on your wits, it would depend on how quickly you move, it would depend on your remembering the lessons, it would depend on luck. The very same applies to me and every other person who together shares this room.
The second credo point, “be strong enough then to carry another through the storm”: you have a partner, you have the instructions to look out for your partner, to know if your partner is here through the day. If you aid your partner, and your partner aids you, that is one less person that I may need to care for as I attempt to evacuate everyone to safety.
The third credo point, “afterwards be of use,” applies to easing everyone through the aftermath. Have some use: be able to stop bleeding, be able to recognize shock and to help your partner avoid it, be able to hold a patient’s hand through pain, be capable of running a message physically from one end of the campus to another. Some “real world” use. Then you are welcome member of the team—perhaps a crucial member.
These are the first three credo points of Camp Andersen. May you never understand what they mean, but, in the event of a storm, may they carry you through to your loved ones.
NOTES and COMMENTARY:
I train my students in the AVID program’s “Think On Your Feet” method of standing up and delivering and often impromptu oration of two minutes with minimal verbal statics or pauses.
I used Apple’s voice-to-text feature to speak the presentation, unscripted, from memory.
This “leadership by example” of statement of credo is a slightly polished version of what I deliver in front of English classes. A brisk reading can be done in two minutes and ten seconds.
Claudius explains to Laertes that he was powerless to act against Hamlet because the queen loves Hamlet her son, as do the public which is very forgiving of any wrong that Hamlet does. Claudius plumbs weather Laertes is given to revenge, and to what degree—”I’d cut his throat i’ t’ church”—before suggesting the plan of a fencing match between the two in which one of the blunt practice blades would actually be sharp.
Laertes agrees, saying that he has a poison that he will add to the blade to make sure. To which Claudius says he will make double sure by poisoning a drink that he will offer as a toast to him.
The queen enters and informs Laertes that Ophelia has drowned, by accident, but in which she did nothing to try to save herself.
Horatio is approached by sailors who give him a letter from Hamlet.
I have a wild conjecture: Hamlet arranged this. (You AP students need to be clear: this is my own musing. I would not include it on a test essay, as it is not supported by clear and copious text evidence.)
Inference: if “I see a cherub that sees [Claudius’ purpose]” (4.4.56) means that Hamlet has figured out that he’s being sent to his death— further supported by “There’s letters sealed; and my two schoolfellows, whom I trust as I will adders fanged,/…they must sweep my way/ and marshal me to knavery” (3.4.225-228)—and if Hamlet is resourceful enough to know a variety of rough characters, it would be quite convenient to arrange a pirate encounter that lasts only long enough for him to board the pirate ship and be “held hostage” and, thus, escape.
Total conjecture on my part.
Ophelia has actually gone mad with the news that Hamlet has killed her father. Her songs seem to suggest some meaning to what she’s feeling, but “God dild you. They say the owl was a baker’s daughter. Lord, we know what we are but know not what we may be. God be at your table” (lines 47-49) lack any clarity.
Claudius regrets burying Polonius quickly, without ceremony, for it has bred conspiracy theories that feed a secretly-returned Laertes, who, presently, storms Elsinore with a rebellious mob.
As the King and Queen explain to a bloodthirsty Laertes how Polonius was slain, Ophelia enters to give everyone flowers and herbs from a basket. Laertes is griefstricken, and his desire for revenge is deepened.
Claudius tells Laertes to gather his advisers as judges: he will explain everything, and if it is not clear and honest, Claudius will hand over the throne.
I’ll be with you straight. Go a little before.
[Exeunt all but Hamlet.]
How all occasions do inform against me
And spur my dull revenge! What is a man,
If his chief good and market of his time
Be but to sleep and feed? A beast, no more.
Sure he that made us with such large discourse,
Looking before and after, gave us not
That capability and godlike reason
To fust in us unus’d. Now, whether it be
Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple
Of thinking too precisely on th’ event,-
A thought which, quarter’d, hath but one part wisdom
And ever three parts coward,- I do not know
Why yet I live to say ‘This thing’s to do,’
Sith I have cause, and will, and strength, and means
To do’t. Examples gross as earth exhort me.
Witness this army of such mass and charge,
Led by a delicate and tender prince,
Whose spirit, with divine ambition puff’d,
Makes mouths at the invisible event,
Exposing what is mortal and unsure
To all that fortune, death, and danger dare,
Even for an eggshell. Rightly to be great
Is not to stir without great argument,
But greatly to find quarrel in a straw
When honour’s at the stake. How stand I then,
That have a father kill’d, a mother stain’d,
Excitements of my reason and my blood,
And let all sleep, while to my shame I see
The imminent death of twenty thousand men
That for a fantasy and trick of fame
Go to their graves like beds, fight for a plot
Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause,
Which is not tomb enough and continent
To hide the slain? O, from this time forth,
My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth! (Lines 33-69)
On the way to the ship to England, we meet the young Fortinbras who is stopping his army to give courtesy notice that he is passing through Denmark.
Hamlet meets a captain, and asks what’s afoot; The captain relates that they are going to take a piece of Polish land that is basically worthless. Hamlet points out that surely if it’s worthless the Polish won’t defend it, but the captain says there is a fort there.
Hamlet muses that if this Prince Fortinbras can compellingly convince men to arms for this trifle, that he can find his own motivation.
Where is Polonius? At supper! I suppose biologists have a name for the food-chain progress for a king going a’coursing from grave to worm to fish to beggar to dung to worm…
Claudius hints at his plan in line 55, and makes them clear in lines 67-77: the sealed letters that Hamlet will deliver are secretly his own death warrant. But Hamlet “sees a cherub that sees” Claudius’ purpose (line 56).
O heavy deed!
Claudius thinks aloud: that would’ve been me! Now I’ll take the blame for this for letting Hamlet run about freely in this mad condition.
Hamlet calls Rosencrantz a sponge:
ROSENCRANTZ Take you me for a sponge, my lord?
HAMLET Ay, sir; that soaks up the King’s countenance,/ his rewards, his authorities. But such officers do the/ King best service in the end. He keeps them, like an/ ape, in the corner of his jaw; first mouth’d,/ to be last swallowed. When he needs what you have/ glean’d, it is but squeezing you and, sponge, you/ shall be dry again.
Sounds crazy, huh? but:
“I’ll eat you last”: the King pays you for your spying on me, but when he’s done with you…