This raises another question about meal etiquette. Is doing grace to the ambassadors continuing the theme of the great feast? Is there a saying of grace at a meal? Does it happen at the top of the meals as it does in a lot of American families? Or does it, perhaps, come along with the fruit? As in, “Thanks dear Lord for the great feast we’ve just enjoyed and before we finish up with this fruit, we wanted to give you a shout out.”
Author: erainbowd
My news shall be the fruit to that great feast.
Until just this moment, I’d thought that Polonius’ news being fruit meant that it was going to grow up out of the feast, like the fruit of labors or something becoming fruit but it just occurred to me that it’s much more logical for it to be the order of dishes served at a feast. At some formal dinners I’ve been to, the fruit course finishes the meal. In some cultures, it’s not just for formal meals, but a tradition for most dinners. Knife, fork and fruit signals the end of the meal. Polonius’ news is likely that pear, that knife, that plate. Which makes me wonder about the norms for meals in Shakespeare’s England or Hamlet’s Denmark. Did Shakespeare have fruit after his meals? Or did he just know some Danes who always pulled out the berries after a formal dinner?
That do I long to hear.
“I’ve got this place for you to live rent free. When do you want to move in?”
“We’re booking your show on an extensive world tour.”
“We want to publish your novel and we’re giving you an advance so that you can take the time to edit it to your satisfaction.”
“Your partner’s show is going to be produced on Broadway.”
“We’ve found a way for you to move to London and make your work there.”
“We’re giving your company and your play a fat Research and Development grant.”
“We want to pay you to write what you’re already writing over on your blog.”
“We did the numbers and there’s finally gender parity in the American Theatre.”
“The American Theatre is more diverse than it’s ever been and is enjoying a tremendous renaissance.”
“Here’s a recording contract to record your lullabies. Pick your producer. We’ll pay you all.”
“Here’s a large donation to your theatre company. Make whatever you’d like and make sure to pay yourself a salary.”
Give first admittance to th’ambassadors.
When you get on a plane, the complicated boarding system almost seems like an old school hierarchical admittance system. First the rich, then those who might need assistance moving, then those with children in strollers before these rows of these people, then those rows of those people and so on and so on until the plane is full.
This line makes me imagine a theatre with a similarly complex, ordered admittance system. The ushers welcome the ambassadors first, then the politicians, then those that bought their tickets through a third party, those who were given them for free by the company, rows K-M will be the people with friends in the show, rows N-P potential backers, Q-S: the people who don’t really want to be there, T-Z, those who just stumbled in off the street.
And you know – I’d sort of love to play with some organizing principle like this when admitting an audience. It would need to be the right show, of course- for the context to have any meaning – but it would be fun to bring an audience into a theatre like they were getting on a plane, unless of course it was just annoying, like getting on a plane.
O, speak of that!
When he talks about Wagner, I get a little weak in the knees. It’s not that I particularly care for Wagner’s music, nor does he, it turns out, but he does know an awful lot about it and much of it flies over my head and somehow I love that. It’s totally sexy to hear someone talk very knowledgeably about something they know a whole lot about – even more so if I know nothing about it. Somehow – Jargon turns me on.
But maybe just artistic jargon. I’m not sure a hedge fund manager’s jargon would really do it for me. But a sailor’s jargon might or a chef talking about herbs. I think the jargon has to have an element of nerdy passion in it. If you were obsessed with fruit bats, I might want to hear you hold forth on them.
And I do think – or else this brain of mine Hunts not the trail of policy so sure As it hath used to do – that I have found The very cause of Hamlet’s lunacy.
This line is so easily edited that I think it almost always is. I certainly would make that choice of excising the middle, qualifying clause if I were trying to cut some time off the Hamlet monster. And almost everyone is looking for ways to cut time off this baby. Very few people want to produce a four hour Hamlet and maybe even fewer want to see a four hour Hamlet. Qualifying clauses that only slightly disrupt the meter with their absence go first.
I like this clause, though. I picture Polonius’ brain, a mass of grey matter, capped with a hunting hat, a rifle strapped across its side and a safari mustache across the frontal lobes.
There it is, sniffing at a trail of policy – following it along through the wilderness, picking up paperwork and edicts as it goes. Behind it, his assistant carries Polonius’ many trophies of policy – important, sealed, official documents, certificates, medals of honor, balanced ledgers.
Assure you, my good liege, I hold my duty as I hold my soul, Both to my God and to my gracious king.
As a response to a compliment, this might be a sort of charmingly fumbling way of saying, “Thank you.”
Accepting praise is a kind of skill, I think. I am not particularly adept at it. I either over-defer (“It had nothing to do with me. I’m just working with great people.” Or over-accept (“Why, thank you! I’m so proud of it myself!”) I feel there is probably some clever middle way that people who accept a lot of compliments work out, some charming combination of slight self-deprecation, with a hint of pride and pleasure and a shadow of inevitability. I’ve seen people do it. I might need to consciously study them to work out how. Also I might need a lot more compliments.
Have I, my lord?
Polonius, pleased.
Pleasing the politician is part and parcel of his purpose and Claudius’ perception that Polonius fathers good news cannot help but please the proud papa in him. He may be prouder of his good news children than this actual children, who do not always provide good news.
Thou still hast been the father of good news.
He’s got this reputation for reporting the good stuff. Hurray!
The ambassadors come successfully back! Huzzah!
The Queen has agreed to your proposal of marriage. Hallelujah!
The people have granted you the kingship. Hip hip!
The king is dead. Long live the king! Is Polonius the bearer of good news in general or just for Claudius? And was he in this exalted position with the previous king or did he provide some service to this current one that elevated him to it? I would like to see Polonius’ CV.
The ambassadors from Norway, my good lord, Are joyfully returned.
Cornelius and Voltemand work fast, I guess!
Or else this gives us a clue as to how much time has passed since the Ghost turned up and shook Hamlet up. Has someone done this math?
How long would it take to travel from Denmark to Norway and back at the time this play is meant to take place? And, by the way, are there any clues as to when this play was meant to take place? Or should we ask how long it would take to travel from Denmark to Norway and back when Shakespeare wrote the play? Whatever those numbers may be or might have been, we’d need to add at least a day, probably two, to allow for ambassadorial activities – ceremonies, meeting with royalty – let’s say they weren’t rushed right in to see old Norway – we’re talking a couple days at least. Probably more like a week. Even by today’s speedy traveling standards, while it might be possible to travel it all in a day – it’s highly likely that the job would take 2 or 3. And when does this gap in time happen? It seems so far, we have:
Day 1 – Horatio sees the Ghost. Sun comes up.
Leading into
Day 2 – King’s big speech. Horatio reports ghost to Hamlet who watches for it into the night. We could call this one continuous day.
Day 2?Day 3? – Does Laertes leave immediately or does it take some time to pack his stuff and make arrangements? Does Hamlet put on his antic disposition right away? Is this little scene with Ophelia in her sewing closet right after the ghost or does he take some time to work up to high amp madness? He must take some time because Ophelia had to refuse his letters and lock him out already. . .not something right away, right? The King and Queen need a few days to take in the madness and send for Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, who in turn need some time to arrive. . .so I can see how a week could go by between sending Cornelius and Voltemand off to Norway and receiving them again.
There are some lost days here in the middle. What happened?
The Hamlet Project 