I can’t really pray either
but in my case, the inclination is not so sharp.
The closest I get is the occasional, “Please, could I get this thing I want?” or
“Please can I avoid this impending thing?”
But I’m not sure that’s really prayer
particularly since it’s not to anyone in particular.
It’s just a general (probably) fruitless bargaining with the universe.
But – maybe that’s how religion got invented.
From general pleading for things to go our way.

I listened to a story told by a guy who grew up religious and then began to question. He talked about how he couldn’t talk with his parents about anything because the first thing they always said was, “Have you prayed about it?”
He said he said, “Let’s assume I HAVE. What’s the next step? What steps can I actually take to fix this thing? What would you do in my situation?”
And his parents’ only answer was prayer.
Poor guy was in a little bit of a similar situation as Claudius but for a very different reason. The impulse to pray being deeply embedded in him but at a certain point, no longer useful.

It’s probably not an accident that the first murder in the Bible is a brother’s killing a brother. While definitely not a good idea, fratricide doesn’t have the stamp of horror that murdering your mother or father or child might have. In a way, it’s primal in the sense of it going down deep – that we are perhaps, at our core, fundamentally at odds with our siblings – that murdering that person with whom you’re compelled to share so much – might just come naturally.

But this is really a Biblical reference, not just “primal” – it’s the “primal eldest” – that is Cain. Cain killed Abel…and presumably Claudius is the younger brother (by virtue of not having been King at first) so here the Danish Cain gets killed by Danish Abel.

It’s funny, too, that the offense has a curse upon it. Not, I don’t know, the man himself? It’s like Claudius is disassociating himself from his crime. It’s his offense that has the primal eldest curse upon’t. He didn’t do it so much as he’s in possession of the things that did. He doesn’t say, “I am rank. I did a terrible thing. I really screwed up and now I feel guilty.”

No, he does not. This is as close to a confession as he gets until the end of the speech – when he says, “I did the murder.” Of course, even in that context the sentence structure is such that the murder is an afterthought. It’s just a description of the things he got (i.e. he got them because he did the murder.) It all feels as though Claudius just can’t take responsibility for his own actions, even in his confession.

I’ve always read this line as something so smelly that the odor could reach up to heaven, that the reach of the stink is so long, the distance so great.

But I just realized it could also be a personification of heaven. That is, maybe this deed doesn’t stink to anyone on earth but in heaven, it smells abominably- like the way certain smells smell good to some people and awful to others. There are a lot of perfumes like that – wherein the wearer thinks it smells great and some people AROUND them would disagree.

While working with the international students this morning (those for whom English is not native or easy) they came across a lot of words in their scenes in Macbeth that were unfamiliar. We talked about the definitions of regret and repent, as well as revenge.

It’s an interesting cluster or words to have in mind when thinking of this line. Because it is neither regret nor repentance, really.

It’s just facts almost. It’s guilt but not regret. It’s self-disgust but not repentant.

I feel like those distinctions are key because it’s easy to see this monologue as a little redemptive of the king because he acknowledges his crime and wants to pray about it.

But aside from not being able to pray about it, he never really expresses regret.

He is a little like Macbeth here, steeped so far in blood there is nothing for it but to say – “Hey, I’m steeped in blood. And it smells kind of bad.”

There is no “Oh, I shouldn’t have done it” or “Can I redeem myself?”
Just an “Ouch, Guilt Hurts!”

No one would ever actually do this, I’m sure – but the arrangement of this line is such that it would be interesting for Claudius to forget who he was talking to for a moment, slip and call Polonius “dear” – before correcting himself and saying, “my lord.”
It would add to the atmosphere of Claudius’ mental landscape – reflect the storm brewing in him, lead him to this speech that’s essentially a giant confession.
To see Claudius a little bit scattered, a little confused, could be very interesting for this scene, which feels as though it’s all business until the soliloquy.

Damn that’s a lot of Fs!
Claudius isn’t usually so alliterative
and neither is Shakespeare.
Those Fs are doing something.
What is it?
I try it.
What happens when I pronounce F F F multiple times?
And it’s not a soothing sound,
It’s not a soothing feeling. It has a sputtering sense – a stop on something.

In the current climate, the repetition of F leads to feeling like I’m trying to avoid saying “fuck” or wanting to but somehow not being able to.

It has almost a SPITTING quality. Something that probably explain why “fuck” is such a satisfying word to swear with because it starts with that spitting sensation.

This scene could be super interesting for a Claudius to negotiate. . .to begin with outbursts to go toward this spitting Fs – and then finally get to the big confession.

Juicy.

Claudius listens to a whole lot of nonsense from these guys before he finally says this. Why does he not cut them off before now?
And when he DOES cut them off, why does he suggest that they arm themselves?
It feels like not QUITE a literal arming, that is, not arms, like weapons. . .just like preparations. But it also could be arms, like weapons.
In a way, I wonder if Claudius is blurting out things which he then softens to more sensible stuff. “Arm you” feels like it’s in the territory of “I like him not.” In other words, things that are much more succinct and blunt than Claudius usually is.
Also, “Arm you, I pray you,” is a somewhat clunky redundant expression. It feels to me like Claudius is in such a state, his speech is a little disrupted – and maybe he listens to Rosencrantz nattering on about deaths of kings and so on because he’s not really listening. He may be simply managing his stirred up emotions.
I mean, look, he’s just stormed out of a play asking for light and in a moment he’s going to fall to his knees from guilt. So there’s something going on from point A to point B – and I don’t think it’s handling the politics of his situation.
I think his mind must be in two places and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are just mosquito noise.
“Arm you,” for example, might be to himself before he realizes he’s still with them and he could switch gears, mid-sentence. I’d love to see this scene with an unraveling Claudius – where rather than sending Rosencrantz and Guildenstern out in a business-like fashion, he spirals out while they talk.

I picture a little flashing triangle pulsing its way out of Hamlet’s forehead – as if he had the Hazard symbol from a car emerging out of his head.
Danger! Danger! Danger!
It starts as a small quiet light, just a dull pulse – but as the hazard gets bigger – the triangle begins to become clear and eventually, he becomes one giant flashing warning.
Also – note Claudius’ language shift, in this little exchange. He starts with some plainspeaking and by the end here, he’s returned to doublespeak political phrasing. Such an interesting speech pattern our good king Claudius was!

I would like to know more about this commission. What exactly are Rosencrantz and Guildenstern getting for their betrayal of Hamlet? It is a lot of money?
A commission, even now, might signal a parcel of money. But it may also be a long term gig – like a job- like he’s hired them to be representatives in England. So it may not just be a stack of cash but a steady paycheck for a long time.
Was this commission on the table from the beginning? Like, we’d like to hire you to be our representatives in England – which carries with it housing, a salary, a per diem and a lot of status. All we want you to do is come see how Hamlet is doing,

In other words, has this been the endgame for Rosencrantz and Guildenstern all along or is this just the next link in the chain?

It won’t take long.
I barely moved in.
To leave again
could be done in a matter of hours.
I have Shawn Colvin’s “A matter of minutes” running through my head on a loop.
It would take more than minutes
but not a LOT more.