If I were the King of Denmark, I would not like this so well. Let a guy in, who, up until a few moments before, was poised to invade my kingdom? And not just let him IN to my kingdom – but let him in with weapons and soldiers and war preparation? I’m sorry, I don’t care who he needs to invade now, he’s not walking through my kingdom with that army. Not even if his feeble old uncle (who he managed to put one over on before) vouches for him and swears up and down that he’s harmless. I suppose I might, if I were itching to use all the war stuff I just got together to defend the place from this guy. Maybe letting him in leaves all sorts of openings for misunderstandings on both his and our sides. Maybe if I find that exciting, I let him in. Or maybe Claudius is just more trusting than I am.

If Voltemand and Cornelius are the king’s good friends, then it would seem that Voltemand is the better friend of the two, or at least the one he feels most comfortable talking to. It almost feels like Cornelius is the woman at the meeting – that even though she may have the higher status, the guys will always talk to the other guys. Or maybe they held an election and Voltemand was voted the guy to talk while Cornelius was voted the guy to smile and nod. Or hold the luggage. I guess that’s how status works in general. #1 speaks to #2 and #2 speaks to #3 and so on. And of course, it just makes me curious about Cornelius.

Now the ambassadors are his good friends?
Really? I guess since they bring good news.
If they came back from Norway all downcast and chagrined, I suspect
they might not be such good friends of the King.
I guess, you bring good news, you get promoted up the friendship chain.

Like flour for a cake
Like gold from a stream
Shake all the little grains from one space to the next.
We shall shake his shoulders and his words will fall from him –
either in little soft piles that call out to be touched
or the sand will fall out, leaving little shiny bits behind in the pan
or maybe both –
little piles of flour, topped with gold.

We are ever looking for the cause.
It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul.
Or what we are hoping to be the cause.
We want to know the trigger when the gun’s been fired. Why? What made him do that? What made him lose his marbles? It must have BEEN something. An event? A disappointment? A sudden cruelty or act of violence? But the truth of these things, the truth of real madness (not the kind you make up to throw murderous uncles off your scent) rarely has a trigger. It is highly unsatisfying to probe the onset of it and find no trigger, no smoking gun, just a possible change in brain chemistry or some wiring that just sort of came loose.
There is no satisfaction to be had, no explanation that makes sense, no context to insure us that it won’t happen to us. Because it could. It could.

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.”

“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.”

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.

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.

Of the two, perhaps Guildenstern is the more diplomatic, the more gentle of the gentlemen. I haven’t followed this closely through the rest of the play, but based on the evidence here, he seems to be the more graceful of the two when talking with royalty. Maybe that’s why the king gives him the “gentle” and the even more diplomatic queen smooths out the potentially ruffled Rosencrantz with her next line.
These two lines are usually played for the laugh of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern being interchangeable – that the king does not know which is which and the Queen corrects him, gently. I believe I played it that way myself – but there are other choices here – perhaps ones that go deeper than a joke at the king’s expense.