Ah. I think I’ve got it. I was struggling to understand why Hamlet suddenly starts swearing by the Rood here when he was not sworn by this particular thing before. But now I think I’ve got it. It’s a pun. Rood really sounds just like Rude. If you don’t see it written (as an audience at the time definitely wouldn’t have) they are interchangeable. In a discussion about appropriate behavior – that doubleness of Rood/Rude comes in quite handy.
Have you forgot me?
I rarely forget people. I am usually the person who can tell you where we met, how we know each other and I probably remember your name. It often makes me feel a little strange that I remember someone when they’ve clearly forgotten me. It makes me feel like I don’t really make an impression on people, like I somehow don’t matter enough to remember.
I comfort myself with the idea that it’s not that I’m not remarkable, it’s that I just have an unusually good memory for faces and circumstances – though I’m not sure if this is so.
Recently though, I’ve run into people who remembered me that I had no memory of. This baffled me – because I almost always remember. I probably meet such moments with more than your average sense of incredulity.
What’s the matter now?
The lock broke at the building I’m staying in. When they fixed it, my key no longer worked, no longer did what a key is meant to do.
Sometimes I feel like that key – slotting in to that same old lock – but no longer able to do what I’m supposed to do.
Unlike the key, though, I have more than one slot – more than one purpose. So if one ceases to work, I’m not rendered useless.
What’s the matter now?
The lock broke at the building I’m staying in. When they fixed it, my key no longer worked. It no longer did what a key is meant to do.
Sometimes I feel like that key – slotting in to that same old lock – but no longer able to do what I’m supposed to do.
Unlike the key, though, I have more than one slot – more than one purpose. So if one ceases to work, I’m not rendered useless.
Why, how now, Hamlet?
We’ve lost “how now” in our daily speech. It stuck around a little – all I can think of in contemporary(ish) language was a phrase (was it from a TV show perhaps?) that went, “How Now, Brown Cow?”
And that’s about the extent of it.
But many things have stepped into its place.
And a lot of those things were initiated by teenage girls.
I read an article about how almost all language innovations and inventions start with teenage girls. They are the culture’s language originators. Which is kind of great.
I mean, I’m not always a fan of what they invent – but I’m glad they have power somewhere – that they have left their marks century after century in the evolution of the language. And part of that evolution means losing things – even things as useful as “How Now.”
Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue.
There’s something about this banter that calls to mind the rhythm of a romantic comedy. It is more Beatrice and Benedick (or even Cybil and Bruce from TV’s Moonlighting) than Mother and Son. Perhaps the rat-a-tat quick wit exchange is another reason people slip into the strange Freudian analysis of this scene. This exchange – it’s not erotic in any way – but traditionally exchanges between men and women of this nature tend to show up at the beginning of a romance, which is very definitely NOT happening here. But we can hear a little of Kate and Petruchio in it. Or at least I do. Maybe the queen does too, which may be what motivates the “Why, how now.”
Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue.
Screeeeech! We got a switch from the informal to the formal right here. A line ago it was thou and thy and now it’s you. Does scolding naturally indicate a switch in tone? Like, when Gertrude told Hamlet to take his elbows off the table, was it all like, “Wouldst thou pass the potatoes? They are there at thy left. What’s this I see? Take your elbows off the table, young man.”
It makes sense actually. I know some parents who have trouble communicating good behavior to their kids because they do not know how to make this switch. It might be helpful in a classroom, too. You could be all cool teacher – thee-ing and thou-ing it up with your cool students – but when it’s time to get them to shut up. . .well then – it’s “YOU all need to be quiet right now.”
Mother, you have my father much offended.
Walked right into that one, Gertie.
I mean, really, even if we set aside a possible complicity in his murder, her hasty marriage to her dead husband’s brother could not help but be offensive to Hamlet, Senior. As far as Hamlet’s actual father goes, Hamlet himself has only offended him by not revenging his death right away. He’s about to turn up actually – to scold him on that point.
But offense is funny. It’s a word that shows up a lot in this play. It’s how Claudius describes his crimes as well.
It’s funny in the world of murder and revenge that offense takes on as much weight as it does in the contemporary world, offense is most often used in the context of small slights, of language that feels disrespectful. It’s gotten rather a lot smaller. It retains its former power only in the formal language of courts and law enforcement. But mostly we only talk about offending someone when we’ve told an off color joke.
Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended.
The Queen really ought to know better than to call Hamlet’s stepfather/uncle his father. Anyone with a blended family learns this lesson pretty quickly. You just don’t do that – PARTICULARLY when they have a contentious relationship. It’s incendiary. You might as well pour out some emotional gasoline and light a match.
A complete and total stranger could call my stepmother my mother and I would likely lose my shit just as quickly. I would shoot back, “She is NOT my mother.” So fast it would make your head spin.
There are families where the step-parent becomes so much like a father or mother that eventually it can shift to a changing of identifications. But this is very rare and takes a LOT of time. The only examples I can think of are ones in which a step parent really steps up and takes care of a child (and it does tend to be a CHILD) and essentially acts so much like a father or a mother that it becomes possible to be called such. But I’ve never met anyone for whole this was true. Everyone I know is VERY CLEAR that a step parent is not their parent. Even if they’re great. Which Claudius definitely isn’t.
Now, mother, what’s the matter?
The tricky thing at the top of this scene is to have Hamlet’s behavior somehow work Gertrude up into such a state that she fears for her life and calls for help. Does that begin here or is this line a simple, if mildly frustrated, “What’s up, Mom? Why you calling me so hard?”
The Hamlet Project 