This is one of those moments wherein the literal meaning of the word does not jive with the circumstances. In order for someone to fare well, to do well, to eat well, to go along just fine, that person would have to be alive. And Ophelia is dead. Now – her spirit, I suppose, in their world view might well continue and one might hope for her to fare well at St. Peter’s Gate or something but she won’t ever eat well again. It is one of the principle bummers of dying.
Author: erainbowd
Sweets to the sweet.
This is a line my grandmother said when she gave me something sweet to eat – like candy or dessert. The first time I heard this line in context, I was pretty surprised that it wasn’t about chocolate for a nice person but flowers for a nice dead person.
I don’t think I was disturbed so much as impressed at how language travels from plays to people, permeating their lives.
What, the fair Ophelia!
I wonder who Hamlet thinks is going in that grave before he finally hears Laertes call her “my sister.” Like, sure, at first, it might be logical that it’s Polonius that has brought Laertes to the cemetery – but very quickly, there are many references to “her” and “she” and such – somehow Hamlet must be doing quite a lot of mental gymnastics to be surprised when Laertes says “my sister.”
I mean – if it were a line like, “Not, the fair Ophelia!” then it would be a truth that had perhaps been dawning on him slowly but he is somehow caught completely by surprise.
And it’s not as if he is uncurious about who the dead person is. He’s first asked the gravedigger who is to be buried there. Then he puzzles out that the dead person must be of some estate due to the accouterments and the company. But it takes Laertes saying “my sister” before he gets it. Does he think Laertes has an aunt or something?
I tell thee, churlish priest, A ministering angel shall my sister be, When thou liest howling.
Fuck yeah, Laertes! You tell him!
This is probably why Shakespeare made the priest such a dick so that we’d be on Laertes’ side to read the priest the riot act. And getting Laertes riled up by this churlish priest is useful because it means when Hamlet reveals himself in a minute, in a pretty churlish/dickish way himself, Laertes will be amped up and already furious.
Shakespeare doesn’t need the priest to be a dick for Laertes to mention his sister – he could just as easily say something like “Lay my sister in the earth” but he does need to get Laertes good and furious so he and Hamlet can have a dramatic grapple in a grave.
And from her fair and unpolluted flesh May violets spring!
This is (mostly) a very sweet blessing.
Violets springing from one’s body is lovely and poetic.
But I’m hung up on unpolluted.
It’s hard to imagine that this “unpolluted” quality is unrelated to the virginity, maiden thing. Like – if she’d done the dirty deed with Hamlet (which maybe she did – we don’t know) then the violets would be like – nah. We’re good. This lady had sex – so no springing forth here.
Theoretically, the sense of pollution could be any sort of sin – but really, in young women, the only sin anyone really cares about is whether or not they had sex. Much to my frustration and dismay.
Lay her i’ the earth.
There is something about the way Laertes says this that expresses his love for his sister. It has a softness, an affection for both her and the earth. It is a beautiful way to say this.
The priest, who is an asshole who would rather throne stones on her, would say “Throw her in the ground” “Toss her into the grave” “get the body in the dirt.”
But Laertes finds a way to express the moment to bury his sister with care and gentleness.
We should profane the service of the dead To sing a requiem and such rest to her As to peace-parted souls.
This guy. This fucking guy. I mean – way to make Christianity look like a fucking dick. It’s enough to put a person off religion entirely.
But then, I saw that video of the Pope talking with a little boy whose father was an atheist. The boy worried that his dad would not be in heaven because he hadn’t believed in God. And the Pope’s response was so kind, so emotionally attuned, so compassionate for this kid’s grief. The Pope (well, the current one anyway) is like the opposite of this shitty priest in Hamlet.
But then, I saw that video of the Pope talking with a little boy whose father was an atheist. The boy worried that his dad would not be in heaven because he hadn’t believed in God. And the Pope’s response was so kind, so emotionally attuned, so compassionate for this kid’s grief. The Pope (well, the current one anyway) is like the opposite of this shitty priest in Hamlet.
No more be done.
I’m trying to think of an instance when this could be a positive thing to say. Obviously, here, it is really shitty. Here, the priest is like, wrap it up! That’s it! My time’s up. Give me my funeral money, throw some dirt over the dead woman and let’s call this thing over.
But… you could say it when you were done with a piece of art – like a painting or the final draft of a play. I’m working on a draft of a play right now and I have to submit the changes to this thing tomorrow and at a certain point, despite wanting to work a great deal more on it, I will have to declare that no more be done.
Must there no more be done.
I just learned that migraines are the number 2 largest disabler of people around the world. 47 million people have migraines and yet research into them is woefully underfunded. Apparently in the US, there is $20 million dedicated to migraine research. And while that seems like a big number to me – it is nothing like the funding for less pervasive diseases that afflict fewer people. I think I remember a $200 million number. You could make a Hollywood Action movie for what we spend on a migraine research.
And the American Disability codes have no code for migraine? Is that true? I mean. Wow. Come on guys. This is ridiculous.
Yet here she is allow’d her virgin crants, Her maiden strewments and the bringing home Of bell and burial.
I know, I know it was another time.
But I have reached my limit with all this virgin, maiden stuff in general. I cannot stand anymore the bits about women’s chastity being their honor, about their virginity being their virtue, about their unstained maidenhood being their honesty.
I absorbed all of that for decades and I absorbed a LOT of it, due to my lifelong love of Shakespeare, but I just can’t stomach it anymore.
I saw a production of A Winter’s Tale recently and had the same reaction I did to the last production of Othello I saw – and that was, “I’d be alright if this was the last production of this play I ever saw.”
I mean – Winter’s Tale has a LOT to offer.
The language is beautiful.
Paulina is fierce.
There’s a bear in it.
But the central premise is that the king thinks his wife is unfaithful and he’s wrong and everyone goes round explaining how he’s wrong but it doesn’t matter – because he thinks he’s not wrong.
And the whole time I’m thinking – So? What if she DID sleep with the King of Bohemia? It’s not actually that terrible. Not so terrible that the Oracle needs to be called and then have her put in prison and so forth.
I mean, sure, it would be terrible personally for the guy she cheated on – but – otherwise? A woman’s chastity is not a concern for the entire country.
Anyway – Ophelia’s virginity and maidenhood is striking me the same way right now.
There’s a special garland for virgins?
Special virgin flowers?
I mean, really?
We got to broadcast this girl’s sexual status at her funeral?! Ugh.
The Hamlet Project 