Berowne’s 124

For Three-Word Wednesday and ABC Wednesday
It was a few years ago that I published my Ophelia post; I’m glad to have this chance to run it again.
In the play “Hamlet,” Ophelia sings:
“Tomorrow is Saint Valentine’s day,
All in the morning betime…
And I a maid at your window,
To be your Valentine.”
Now, why would Ophelia sing such a song? It wasn’t Valentine season – what she sang made no sense.

Beautiful Ophelia is portrayed in the early scenes as a demure and dutiful daughter, but she suffers one traumatic event after another. Prince Hamlet, the man she loves, brutally rejects her, and she later learns that her beloved father has been killed by that very man. It is all too much for her – she goes insane. The loss of her sanity perhaps serves as a buffer against her life’s misfortunes.
The sequence of Ophelia’s madness is one of the most powerfully dramatic scenes Shakespeare ever wrote.

Demure Ophelia, now totally disheveled, comes before the King and Queen, who are horrified at what they see. She’s babbling, speaking nonsense:
“They say the owl was a baker’s daughter.”
Interesting point. Shakespeare projects a sense of unity here because in his plays when jesters, fools, clowns, and as far as that goes genuinely crazy people, come up with bizarre, nonsensical speech, there are often good reasons for what they’re saying.
For example, Ophelia, making her transition from sanity to madness, is probably remembering a legend she had been taught as a girl about the importance of generosity.
It seems that, years earlier, when Jesus Christ was visiting Britain – which, by the way, is a bit of a stretch because you can be pretty sure he never did – he was wandering about, as he was wont to do, and he got hungry. Short on cash, he stopped by a bakery and asked the daughter of the baker if he could have just a crust of bread.
The daughter reasoned that she and her dad were operating a business, not a charity for vagrants, so she turned him down.
Well, because of her stinginess (and also perhaps because the person in question was, after all, the Messiah), she was turned into an owl. A lesson for everyone. Who would want to be turned into an owl? (As the owl itself might say: Who?)
In addition Ophelia, in her lunacy, sings some, for her, indecent ditties:
“Then up he rose and donn’d his clothes
And op’d the chamber door.
Let in the maid, that out a maid
Never departed more."

Later, Ophelia dies by drowning. When the body is made ready for burial, her loving brother says:
“Lay her in the earth
And from her fair and unpolluted flesh
May violets spring!”

(Also submitted to Sunday Scribblings)

For Sunday Scribblings and Three-Word Wednesday

(Also submitted to Magpie 98 and ABC Wednesday)
"Y" is for "Year"

It was on a riverbank just like the one above that there occurred one of the most tragic scenes in Shakespeare:
In the play "Hamlet," it was the year of Ophelia's death.
Not just a tragedy, it was a mystery.
She drowned, but was it an accident or was it suicide?
Surely you’re familiar with Ophelia. She was Hamlet’s true love – not that he really appreciated her.

A daughter of the Lord Chamberlain, she can hardly be said to have lived a normal life; she had been firmly sheltered.
Ophelia clings to the memory of the days when Prince Hamlet had treated her with respect and tenderness, and she defends him and loves him to the very end despite his harsh treatment of her. She is incapable of defending herself, but through her timid responses we see clearly her intense suffering.
Her innocence is not a tactic. She simply cannot cope with the unfolding of one traumatic event after another.
Hamlet causes her emotional pain throughout the play and when she learns he is responsible for her father's death, she has endured all that she is capable of enduring and goes insane.

There follows the scene when she, quite mad, appears before the King and Queen. Ophelia, the very symbol of innocence, sings naughty songs, ditties no one would have expected she would even have been familiar with. They may seem harmless to us, living our dissolute twenty-first century lives, but from Ophelia at that time they’re something of a shock.
For example, she sang:
“Then up he rose and donn’d his clothes,
And op’d the chamber door.
Let in the maid, that out a maid,
Never departed more.”
Her subsequent death by drowning is reported to the court by the Queen, whose announcement of Ophelia's death has been praised as a kind of literary zenith; it’s one of the most poetic reports of death in all literature.[9]

“There is a willow grows across the brook
That shows his hoary leaves in the glassy stream.
Therewith fantastic garlands did she make
Of flowers, nettles, daisies and long purples
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name."

"Down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide,
And mermaid-like a while they bore her up, but long it could not be,
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull’d the poor wretch to muddy death.”
But there’s one thing that has always bothered me about this; it’s the mystery I mentioned earlier. The Queen makes the report as one who had been there, watching.
How could she have watched all this and done nothing to save the girl?
In addition, did Ophelia fall in or was it suicide?
Later, at her funeral, we see a sexton at the graveyard insisting she had killed herself and that the religious ceremony must be curtailed. Her brother Laertes is outraged by what the cleric says, and replies that Ophelia will be an angel in heaven when the cleric "lies howling in hell.”

Magpie 82

I imagine most Magpie posts this week will have the tragedy of 9/11 in mind. I hope that something a bit different, my rather lighthearted piece on ghosts generally, may also be permitted.

You think of ghosts, you think of Shakespeare.
Or you should.
Because Will S. packed so many of these phantoms in his plays it almost seems they came out of the woodwork.
Which of course is what many ghosts do.
Look at the lineup:

First there is the specter who’s probably the most famous of the Shakespearean ghosts, Hamlet’s father. (His dad, by wild coincidence, was also named Hamlet.)

Then there’s the ghoul who wrecked Macbeth’s elegant dinner party, Banquo.


Of course we should also mention Julius Caesar’s pervasive spirit, in the play of that name, who comes back to remind everyone that he’s pretty ticked off about his assassination – as who wouldn’t be?
And we’ve got to add to the list the play about Richard III, Shakespeare’s Bad Guy par excellence, who pretty well hated everyone and who everyone, by the end of the play, pretty well hated him.

He had a whole platoon of ghosts come to torment him. (I counted eleven of ‘em.)
Some of these ghosts had lines; they had things to say. But there’s always been a question in my mind about these phantoms: who saw them?
Because Shakespeare wasn’t consistent. Sometimes the ghosts were seen by just one person; other times they were seen by many.
For example, Banquo, at the dinner party, is seen only by Macbeth; none of the guests at the banquet see him at all. Even Mrs. M – Lady Macbeth – doesn’t see him, yet she’s just as guilty of murder as her husband.
Hamlet’s father, on the other hand, is seen by the night watch at Elsinore castle, who then call this rather bizarre apparition to the young Prince’s attention. They all see the ghost.

But later in his mother’s bedroom, while Hamlet is criticizing his mom for having had carnival knowledge of his uncle Claudius, the specter of his dad shows up again. What’s remarkable is that the old King’s ghost, this time, is seen (and heard) only by his son – his mother sees nothing.
All of which leads to an obvious question: Did Shakespeare believe in ghosts?
My guess (cries of “For what that’s worth!” are heard in the background), is no, he didn’t.
He wrote a lot about witches too, but scholars point out that this probably had a lot to do with the simple fact that Will’s king, James the One, who was the playwright’s patron -- and, let’s face it, his boss -- was very occupied with witches. So Our Will wrote a play that concentrated so heavily on witches it might as well have been titled “The Witches,” but wound up as “Macbeth.”
So I conclude Shakespeare didn’t believe in ghosts or witches or a number of other supernatural types. But truth is, no one knows, or will ever know, just what Will Shakespeare did believe in.

Magpie 66

Polonius, the Lord Chancellor, can’t figure out just what’s the matter with the young prince.
He should be content; the country has a new king, a queen who is obviously very happy – all Denmark is celebrating.
But moody young Hamlet just sits with his nose in a book.
Polonius is determined to find out what is wrong. Shakespeare’s famous scene in Act Two beautifully sums up what happens when a stodgy, tedious old bureaucrat tries to deal with, or even understand, a young guy who is astute and sharp-witted.
The Lord Chancellor approaches the Prince.
Polonius: Do you know me, my lord?
Hamlet: Excellent well; you are a fishmonger.
Polonius: Not I, my lord.
Hamlet: Then I would you were so honest a man.
Polonius: What are you reading, my lord?
Hamlet: Words, words, words.
Polonius: What is the matter?
Hamlet: Between who?
Polonius: I mean, the matter that you read, my lord.
Hamlet: Slanders, sir. Though I most powerfully and potently believe that you could grow as old as I am, if like a crab you could go backward.
Polonius: My lord, I will take my leave of you.
Hamlet: You could not take from me anything I would not more willingly part with – except my life, except my life, except my life.

(Magpie 58, ABC Wednesday, Writer's Island and Sunday Scribblings)
“J” is for “January.”
Hamlet is very excited.
It’s January and it’s a bitter cold night in Denmark. We’re on a battlement of Elsinore Castle, where the young Prince has just learned that his late father was murdered, murdered by his own brother, the present King.

And Hamlet learned this from his father himself, who has appeared in the form of a Ghost who begs his son to avenge his murder.
Hamlet’s mind ranges wildly: was that really his father? Or could it have been an evil spirit, a fiend trying to trick him into performing an evil deed – to kill his uncle?

And of course there’s the possibility that he had imagined the whole thing. He has got to find out the answers to his questions.
He comes upon his two friends, who had also previously seen the Ghost.
Hamlet: “Good friends, as you are friends, scholars and soldiers, give me one poor request.”
Horatio: “What is it, my lord. We will.”
Hamlet: “Never make known what you have seen tonight.”
Horatio and Marcellus: “My lord, we will not.”
Hamlet: “Nay, but swear it.”
Both his friends readily swear to it.
But that’s not nearly enough for the young Prince. An oath is all well and good, but this is serious business. It calls for a special kind of oath.

Hamlet: “Upon my sword.”
Marcellus: “We have sworn, my lord, already.”
Hamlet: “Indeed, upon my sword, indeed!”
Quite astonishingly, the Ghost calls out from beneath the stage: “Swear by his sword!”
They swear again. Horatio's amazement is unlimited.
Horatio: “O day and night! But this is wondrous strange!”
Hamlet: “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

Magpie 44

This week’s prompt of a sled immediately brought to mind a strange, curious passage in the play “Hamlet.”
Hamlet’s dad, the late King, is of course dead as the play begins. However, he has returned as a ghost to encourage his son to seek vengeance for his murder.
Problem is, young Hamlet, who has not as yet seen the spirit, can’t be sure that the phantom is really his late father.
His friend Horatio, however, has seen it, and is convinced it is the ghost of the late King. He was on the guard-platform of the castle when it appeared.
Sentinel: “Is it not like the King?”
Horatio: “As thou art to thyself. Such was the very armor he had on when he the ambitious King of Norway combated.”

Horatio: “And so frowned he once when in an angry parley he smote the sledded Polacks on the ice.”
According to the text, the late King had been in various battles – more or less something to be expected from a king – and was involved in a fracas with some Polish guys who were on a sled. The Elizabethans used what for us today is a politically incorrect term, “Polacks,” for Polish people, but it was the 16th century and they knew no better. :-)
In other words, the way the old King had looked during this battle on the ice, this skirmish on sleds, is exactly how he looked when he showed up at the castle as a spirit. So the ghost must be legit.

Whether he is an authentic phantom or some evil spirit just pretending to be the late King is a key problem, which Hamlet spends a lot of time trying to figure out.

For ABC WEDNESDAY

“Q” is for “Queen”
Queen Gertrude, that is.

Do you like murder mysteries? Well, here’s one for you to consider.
It’s the story of a queen whose husband has recently died. Protocol requires that, after the death of a king, his widow should remain in mourning for at least a year. But Queen Gertrude has married all too soon after the death of her husband.

Glenn Close, as Gertrude.
However, the people of her realm, Denmark, don’t hold it against her because the man she married, Claudius, was the brother of the late king. The general feeling is that now the country will have new rulers whom everyone admires and who will bring stability and prosperity to the land.
In fact, everyone seems to be happy with the marriage – except for one guy who doesn’t go along with it at all.
That would be Gertrude’s son, Prince Hamlet.

Laurence Olivier as Hamlet.
Hamlet has his reasons. He despises his uncle, Claudius, and he hates the idea that his mother is now living with him. He’s also upset that his mother, defying tradition and respect for the late, beloved King, has rushed into the marriage. In addition, Hamlet suspects that Claudius had something to do with his father’s death.
We who are sitting in the audience, watching the play, are gradually made aware that Claudius did indeed kill his brother. And it also seems to be true that Gertrude had been having an adulterous affair with Claudius while her husband was still alive.

In the Olivier film, Gertrude was played by Eileen Herlie. The Queen doesn’t understand why her son cannot join in the general feeling of good-will.
In Act Three there is an extraordinary scene: Hamlet visits his mother in her bedroom to tell her just how angry he is. His anger turns to rage.

He steps over the line; he says things few sons have ever said to their mothers. He shows his disgust, his very nausea, at the thought of her sleeping with Claudius.
Hamlet: “To live, as you are doing, in the rank sweat of a greasy bed, stewing in corruption!”
Queen: “Oh, Hamlet, speak to me no more! These words are like daggers!”
Hamlet: “He’s a murderer and a villain! A slave that is not a twentieth part of your precedent lord.”
Queen: “Have you forgotten who I am?”
Hamlet: “No, you are the Queen, your husband’s brother’s wife. And – though I wish it were not so – you are my mother.”

Hamlet is so angry that Gertrude fears for her life. The scene ends as her son finally calms down and tries to convince her that what he had said was for her own good; he had been “cruel only to be kind.”
All of the foregoing leads to some fascinating theories about the Queen.
Question number 1. Did Gertrude have any idea, when she married Claudius, that he had murdered her husband?
Question number 2. Is it possible that the Queen was aware of this but went ahead with the marriage anyway?
Number 3. During the adulterous affair, did Gertrude learn that Claudius was planning to kill the King?
Number 4. Is it possible that there was complicity on her part, that she played a role in the killing?
Number 5. Or is it possible that Gertrude was completely innocent of having anything to do with the murder of the late King?
(It’s interesting that there are scholars who have written that the play “Hamlet” should really have been named “Gertrude” because the whole plot revolves around her. Whatever any of the other characters do during the action of the play, everything seems to be tied in one way or another to the Queen.)
Depending on how familiar you may be with “Hamlet,” what’s your opinion as to the correct answer to the questions about Queen Gertrude listed above?

Magpie 38

The Magpie prompt this week immediately brought up memories of the greatest graveyard scene ever created in what was possibly the greatest play ever created: the graveyard sequence in “Hamlet.”

You’re probably familiar with the action of the scene, but let’s run through it again.
A couple of gravediggers are doing their thing in Act 5, digging away, and at the same time making jokes. Shakespeare has been criticized by some scholars for mixing humor – or what passed for humor four hundred and some years ago – with tragedy. After all, that’s Ophelia’s grave they’re digging.
But as Quentin Tarantino has assured us, mixing humor with tragedy is often powerfully effective.
Sample of grave-digger humor:
First G-D, to Second G-D: “Who would build the best house? A carpenter, a mason or a shipwright?”
Second G-D (sort of bored): “I don’t know.”
First G-D: “Well, don’t wear out your brains on it. The answer? A grave-digger! The houses he builds last till doomsday!”
Now, come on; that’s not bad – for the sixteenth century. :-)

Anyway, Hamlet and his close friend Horatio come upon the scene. There’s a skull that the G-D has tossed aside. It’s Yorick’s skull.
Hamlet: “I knew him, Horatio!”

The picture of Hamlet with the skull has become one of the best known images of the play. It is clear that the Prince has been greatly affected by what he has seen and learned. In fact, it’s not too much to say that when he learns of Ophelia’s death it’s as though he becomes at least somewhat deranged.
When her funeral procession arrives, Hamlet, for no reason whatever, attacks her brother Laertes, who had always been his good friend.
Laertes: “Lay her in the earth. And from her fair and unpolluted flesh may violets spring!”
Hamlet, leaping forward: “What is he whose grief bears such an emphasis? I loved Ophelia! Forty thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum!”
There has always been a question as to whether Hamlet became really a bit insane or was just acting that way. Let’s examine closely what he shouts at this moment of high tension.
Hamlet: “What would you do for her, Laertes? Would you drink vinegar, eat a crocodile? Well, I would!”
The King: “Oh, he is mad, Laertes!”
Eat a crocodile? This is just part of his raving. Hamlet has definitely become unhinged, at least for the moment.
It’s a powerful scene, worth recalling when regarding this week’s Magpie prompt.

Magpie 31

Ophelia, singing: “Tomorrow is Saint Valentine’s day,
All in the morning betime…

And I a maid at your window,
To be your Valentine.”
Now, why would Ophelia sing such a song? It wasn’t Valentine’s day – what she sang made no sense.

In the play “Hamlet,” beautiful Ophelia is portrayed in the early scenes as a demure and dutiful daughter, but she suffers one traumatic event after another. Prince Hamlet, the man she loves, brutally rejects her, and she later learns that her beloved father has been killed by that very man. It is all too much for her – she goes insane.
The sequence of Ophelia’s madness is one of the most powerfully dramatic scenes Shakespeare ever wrote.

Quiet, demure Ophelia, now totally disheveled, comes before the King and Queen, who are horrified at what they see. Babbling, speaking nonsense – “They say the owl was a baker’s daughter” – Ophelia also sings some, for her, indecent ditties:
“Then up he rose and donn’d his clothes
And op’d the chamber door.
Let in the maid, that out a maid
Never departed more.
Quoth she, ‘Before you tumbled me,
You promised me to wed.’”

Later, Ophelia dies by drowning – was it suicide? When the body is made ready for burial, her loving brother says:
“Lay her in the earth
And from her fair and unpolluted flesh
May violets spring!”

HATS CAN TALK

In my Shakespeare studies, I came across something surprising: hats can talk; they have a language; they can say things.

First off, it’s a bit of a surprise to learn that in Will Shakespeare.’s day people wore their hats indoors. When the Shakespeare acting company, back in the 16th century, put on “Hamlet,” as a f’rinstance, the actors all wore their hats, even though they were supposed to be inside a castle.

So modern producers of Will S.’s plays should have all their actors equipped with headgear, even for the interior scenes.

This, of course, will never happen; no one in a modern audience would understand the reason for it. But it would be authentic.

There’s a fascinating scene in “Hamlet” that points this up beautifully. In Act 5 Osric, a foppish messenger, comes to Prince Hamlet with a message. As is to be expected, he removes his hat – after all, he’s speaking to a Prince.

Hamlet then chides Osric for having his hat off. Modern audiences usually find this scene difficult to understand; isn’t Osric supposed to have his hat off when speaking to royalty?

Well, it’s complicated. Hamlet knows Osric should remove his hat when he first addresses him; that’s normal protocol. But then he should put his hat right back on -- wearing a hat indoors (see above) is normal. So when Osric, in spite of Hamlet’s order to put his hat back on, keeps his hat off, the Prince gets irked. An expected show of respect for authority is now being irritatingly overdone; Hamlet suspects the sincerity of such exaggerated obsequiousness.

Do you think that today it's possible to wear a hat that can convey a message?