What a curious piece of Christian mythology! I mean..for the most part, Christianity doesn’t go in for the transformations that Ovid made famous in Roman mythology. There aren’t a lot of metamorphoses.
I’ve been hearing this line for most of my life and I never realized its origins. I thought it was just Ophelia being crazy – saying quirky non-sequitors. Self-identifying as an owl maybe. Or her father as a baker. It felt like a fairy tale moment.
But no. This is a story about the savior transforming an ungrateful kid into an owl. That’s a Willy Wonka God right there. That’s Zeus shit.
And the story is that the baker was trying to provide some charity, bread-wise, and this girl got in the way. And was transformed into an owl for her behavior. An owl.
And presumably the baker, who now has no daughter but an OWL, is all like – “Oh praises be to the savior.”
Like – I thought the Christian god was supposed to be all forgiveness and mercy – aside from the wrath and punishment, of course. It feels like the “Christian” thing to do would be to say, “Hey kid, that’s not so nice. Maybe try being charitable. But, you know, I’m the Savior, so I forgive you. And even though I COULD turn you into an owl, I am definitely NOT going to. Because mercy. “

This is usually performed as an answer to the question she’s been posed. It’s usually a “I’m good. Thanks for asking.” Sort of reply. But it occurs to me now as I look at it afresh that it doesn’t have to be that logical. Ophelia’s not really in such a listening state. It could just as easily be an exclamatory “well” as an answer to how she is. It could be a “Well, Glory be. Look who we have here.” A “Well, spit in my eye and call me a seahorse, it’s the King!” a “Well how de doo!”

See, that comma isn’t necessarily important and even if it were, “Well” doesn’t have to be answer to Claudius’ question. She certainly doesn’t say a logical thing AFTER this sentence. She could just as easily not answer him at all.

Most scholars are most concerned with the “not” in this sentence – because it would seem that it’s the word Ophelia has added to a popular song as in, “Did you ever feel NOT like a paper bag?”
The concern being that perhaps Polonius has already been buried without ceremony and that this is what’s messing with Ophelia’s head.

The word I am most concerned with is “larded.”
“Larded.” I mean.
Lard is just sitting right there in the middle of the word. It’s, like, animal fat sitting right there next to sweet flowers. These two things do not go together. I can’t help but picture a bouquet of flowers with lard dripped all over it. Gross.

Now. I know technically the word can have connotations of embellishing and I can see how flowers could embellish a corpse. But larded is such an unpleasant word. Even if you ignore the meaning of lard sitting right there at the heart of it. It still is an ugly sounding word. Larded. I mean. Could it be lauded? Lauded I can understand. But larded is so odd.

I imagine that if you were burying someone in a snowy climate, actual snow might serve well as a shroud, as well as for the cover of a grave. I mean – sure, you probably would have some trouble getting someone into the actual ground if it’s frozen over but snow is such an otherworldly material, it seems a fitting way to send someone on their way. Not to mention the preservative effect of being packed in a lot of cold stuff.

A repetition! She has used exactly this phrase already. She doesn’t change it in any way (aside from not saying “Nay” before it.) If I were playing Ophelia, I might start with this phrase to help me understand her. For example, this phrase is essentially a request to listen, to observe, to notice, to see.
Ophelia, having largely been a cipher in the world of men making decisions, now asks to be heard. TWICE. At a moment in which she clearly has everyone’s attention. It’s like the thing she always wanted to stay but never could underneath all the “I will obey” stuff. Damn. I think I just talked myself into wanting to play Ophelia. I never have before…she was always a little too obedient to be interesting to me.
But now, I can imagine how interesting it would be to be SAYING, “I will obey,” while THINKING, “Pray you, mark.”

What is this style of burial?
Now, I’m pretty sure, most people are buried with the stone at their heads and the grass-green turf down to their heels. That’s why it’s called a headstone. But were people once buried the other way round? Or is there some style of burial or tradition or religious reason to put a stone at someone’s feet? Is it, like, murder victims get a footstone rather than a headstone? Or those who are quickly buried? Heads of state? Is there some layer of meaning in this stone placement?

Songs slip in at these heightened moments of life. Mostly most of us manage to not burst into song without an invitation or song sheet. But when we stand at one of these transforming moments – singing feels like the most logical choice. I’ve sung at death beds, at births, at weddings and at funerals and all the small steps at those events, in between.

It may also signal, a clear letting go of norms. I’m guessing one doesn’t usually sing to the Queen of Denmark unless specifically asked to do so.

Marking as listening always makes me picture a book. As one reads the book, one makes a little mark by the significant passages one wants to remember. It’s like highlighting in real life.

Say you? Say me. Say it together.
Naturally.

 

Sing it.

The addition of the word “shoon” to sandal improves the word “sandal” immensely. I mean, sure, for us now, shoon is a bit redundant. But it’s a bit like – it makes it more cool. Sandals have lost their cred. Sandal shoe or the plural sandal shoon makes them a bit more exotic. It sounds Scandinavian, in fact – which is interesting – there’s not much language in this play that evokes the Scandinavian, despite its Danish setting. Claudius, Hamlet, Ophelia, Horatio, Gertrude, Marcellus, Barnardo, Laertes, Polonius…no one in this play has a Danish name. The court is full of Latin names, for one. With maybe a hint of German. Sandal Shoon is about the most Danish sounding thing in the whole play.