Kings really can make some good declarations, can’t they? They want. They receive.

We have left behind the kingly model of leadership in this day and age – but many things still feature the echo of that kingly impulse. A film director can be very like a king – creating entire worlds with his words, hundreds of people all gathered around to please him. And theatre directors can take on this persona at times as well. Broadway Producers will tend to only hire the most king-like directors to bring work to the stage.

CEOS in some companies. School Principals. There are worlds of people who can still say, “It shall be so” and make it so it shall be.

Aside from the murdering and the dictatoring and the sending his stepson to be executed and speechifying, Claudius isn’t a terrible leader.
Here, he asks the opinion of his advisor – something that many a modern leader fails to do.
Very few things drive me crazier than shoddy leadership. This makes me particularly nervous when I’m leading myself – as I fear nothing so greatly as making the same awful mistakes the leaders I’ve known have.
I do think Claudius might actually have some decent kinging skills in his way. He makes some giant mistakes. But don’t we all?
(not the murdering part, obviously.)

This often works for me! Traveling abroad seems to swiftly bring blurry things into focus. The adjustment that it takes to simply buy a stamp in a foreign land works wonders for the whole self. Everything boils down to its essence. How do I ask for what I need? How do I communicate what I want? There’s no time to worry about my existential angst when the whole world has shifted around me.

Add to that the seas?
The sea, the sea, the movement of the sea, the blue, or green of it, the lulling magic of it, the calm of the horizon of it where blue meets blue.

I could sit by the sea for weeks, I think, and work through every problem I ever had. The magic is trebled by the possibility of swimming in that sea or wading in it.

When I travel abroad to a place by the sea, I can’t even remember what it felt like to want to throw in the towel. It is all so simple by the sea in a country where you do not speak the language.

Here’s a funny bit of business. England owes Denmark tribute in this world? Is this a hangover from the days when the brutal Danes rampaged the land? What, exactly, is this tribute? It’s not like Greek mythological tribute is it? Seven youths on a ship to be fed to the minotaur sort of tribute? Probably it’s money or, like, jewels.
But it’s an interesting background politically for this play. The king is using this tribute as an excuse to send Hamlet away but underneath, he’s using that same obligation of tribute, perhaps to get England to do his bidding to kill Hamlet.
England owes Denmark tribute.
Norway has agreed to peace years ago.
There’s a sense of volatility to the political landscape. Was this still true as Shakespeare was writing this? Did England owe Denmark something at this point?

It’s funny, though, to send someone you think is going to explode with melancholic danger to go do a diplomatic mission. It’s a funny excuse. And you know, it makes perfect sense on a villainous level – get the dangerous guy out of there, the one who might threaten your empire and get him out of your hair once and for all.
But politically, I wouldn’t think it sounds great to send a madman to do your diplomacy.
Maybe, though, there’s no real need to justify this to anyone. Maybe Polonius is in on it. Maybe Polonius just does whatever his king asks him. Maybe Polonius would never question a diplomatic judgment.

This tribute, though, is news to me. And I’ve read this play dozens of times. It’s such fun to learn new things in new lines.

Has he literally set it down? Does Claudius have a pad of Royal writs on his person at all times, ready to be proclaimed?
I picture it like one of those pink secretarial “While you were out. . .” pads and he checks off a little box that reads “to England” and another that reads “to prevent danger.”
Does he have a royal quill and parchment all rolled up in his robe just in case he needs to set something down? Or maybe he brought some work to do behind the arras while they listened and waited?
Maybe Claudius is always multi-tasking – doing the business while listening and so on.

Sometimes I do wonder what he’ll do with all the frustrations and darkness he presses down. Watching him swallow indignities and disappointments like poison berries, bowls of them, one right after the other, I can’t help but wonder when they will start to do their work. The best option might be that they’d come back up in a violent purge of bitterness. I suppose it’s possible that his system will purify them out and leave him unscathed. Maybe his liver is stronger than most and he’s able to take out all the poison, causing no long term effects. But poison is unpredictable and I mostly wish he didn’t have to eat quite so much of it. 

It is funny that Hamlet drops the madness act for this scene. There are so many reasons to think that this scene and the speech that precedes it (at least in this version, see also the “bad quarto”) are both for show, that he’s doing them for the audience of Claudius and or Polonius, whomever he thinks might be spying.
And yet – this line leads rather clearly in the other direction. That is, if Hamlet is putting on the madness for the benefit of Polonius and/or Claudius, why does he drop it for this section? The only option would be that he doesn’t know they’re watching. Except. . .

Hamlet does some crazy stuff in this scene but it’s not so much like madness as the madness Ophelia describes to Polonius. It is not like madness – even if it does lack form a little.

Or, is Hamlet attempting to do his mad act and failing to convince Claudius? Possibly.

They are undoubtedly affections. He is the most affectionate partner I have ever had. He curls around me like a coat sometimes, intertwines legs and arms and neck and all making us like a singular creature with two heads and hearts and so many limbs. For me, he will do things he was never done before. He will make cards, learn painting techniques, construct works of art meant only for me. All of it full up with affection, a water jug so full it sloshes over the side at times.
He does not say he loves me. Not with any ease. He’s not likely to holler my name in a rainstorm. He’s much too practical for that. He will never write me a poem, never use flattering language. I am mostly “nice.” He’s not likely to tell me I’m beautiful or sing songs in my praise. He will never show up at my door one day, having run all the way there. He’d never make the plane if we were in a romantic comedy.
But then, romantic comedies usually end before the relationship begins.

So very different than what I thought it would be. I thought it was all thunderstorms and drama. It was the love-ing-est in the middle of pouring rain, with thunder and lightning. It was all longing and yearning. It was passionate words and passionate kisses. That those things were not often forthcoming didn’t make them any less true. 
But then there was kindness and tenderness and there was quiet devotion, there were bags carried, meals made, laundry done. There was comforting and comfort. There were arms wrapped around one another in a cocoon that protected us against the slings and arrows of the world. There was team work. There was support, back and forth.

And I never imagined any of it. The things I imagined, well, they’d never end up like this. Love? It’s not what I expected. And better. And not. And better.

Boy, you’re gonna carry that weight, carry that weight a long time.

It does feel like bad guys really don’t think this sort of thing through before they do it. They seem to lack the predictive skill that most of us use to prevent us from murdering people in our way. Most of us can imagine how we’d feel after murdering someone or at least can imagine that we would feel a weight eventually. We can predict our own behaviors and responses and this is very likely one of the things that prevents us from going around murdering one another. Morality, sure, and all kinds of other social constraints but ultimately we’re probably more concerned about how our own consciences would sting us than about the right or wrongness of our acts.

This predictive skill, the imaginative leap around feelings is one of the major things missing in a psychopath. He cannot imagine what other people feel and cannot empathize. He likely also cannot predict his own emotions, should he have any.