king in all that you do.”
“Why, yes, sir, he is, in all things, our ruler.”
“And you are a sponge.”
Rosencrantz had been moving forward a little with each address to the prince, but now he stopped. “A sponge? Sir, do you mistake me for a sponge?” He glanced at Guildenstern as if to say, It’s true, he’s quite mad; next he’ll tell us we’re eggplants.
But the prince was quite calm. “Oh yes, sponges, both of you, kept by the king to soak up his rewards, his orders, his moods, the spittle that drops from his lips. You soak them up, and when you are dripping with them, when you are saturated, then he squeezes you dry. You are his best servants, you sponges! And if not sponges, you are the piece of apple in the corner of his mouth, which he chews and sucks on until he is ready to swallow it. But the problem is, how does a prince answer a sponge?”
Guildenstern: “Highness, I do not understand you.”
Hamlet: “I am glad of it.”
Rosencrantz: “Sir, you must tell us where the body lies.”
Hamlet: “Must! Is ‘must’ a word to be used to princes, little man?”
Rosencrantz: “Well, it is the king’s wish that you tell us where the body lies.”
Hamlet: “It does lie, that much is certain. No one ever got a true word out of him while he was alive, and now he lies still.”
Rosencrantz: “Your Royal Highness, Hamlet, please tell us where the body is, and then go with us to the king.”
Hamlet: “The body is already with the king, but not the king you are thinking of, perhaps. And the king is not with the body. The king is a thing . . .”
Guildenstern: “A thing? Sir, the king is a thing?”
Hamlet: “A thing of nothing. Bring me to him.”
Claudius was distraught, unable to fix on a plan, an easy answer. He liked life to be obvious. “Hamlet’s too popular with the people,” he told his wife again. “Just because he’s good-looking, that’s all it is. But it makes him dangerous. He could kill their grandmothers, and as long as he keeps smiling at them and kissing their babies, they’ll forgive him. The people didn’t love Polonius, but as long as he was around, they felt secure. We have to get rid of Hamlet, but we must do it so it looks all right.”
“Get rid of him!” exclaimed the queen, showing for the first time an interest in the king’s fretful monologue. “Get rid of him?”
“No, no, I don’t mean like that. I told you, I’ve arranged for Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to go away with him. But it mustn’t look like a cover-up. We’ll send him early, but we’ll say it’s for his own protection. And we’ll set up an inquiry, so it looks as though we’re doing something. In the meantime, while we’re establishing the terms of reference and so forth, he shall be sent to a safe place. Farther than England. To Australia. No, he’ll end up marrying some unsuitable girl. To Nepal. No, not Nepal. Bad idea. To the moon.”
“I fancy England will be far enough.”
“Yes, all right, England, then. Yes, as long as it looks as though we’re just bringing his trip forward. He must go now, straightaway. England will do nicely, I think. Keep him out of mischief and away from us.”
At that moment Hamlet entered the room, and the king wondered if the young man had heard his last comment. The prince looked composed, but a flush in his cheeks and a brightness in his eyes gave the appearance of someone who had just come in from playing a game of football, or skiing down a fast and dangerous slope. Claudius hurried forward. Behind Hamlet came Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, Rosencrantz signaling that they were returning empty-handed: they had not found the body.
Claudius was genial. “Now, Hamlet, we can’t have this. Where’s Polonius?”
Deadpan, Hamlet replied, “At supper.”
“At supper?”
“Yes, there’s a regular feast going on, and Polonius is at the center of it.”
The king was still baffled until Hamlet pressed on. “The worms are having a
“Why, yes, sir, he is, in all things, our ruler.”
“And you are a sponge.”
Rosencrantz had been moving forward a little with each address to the prince, but now he stopped. “A sponge? Sir, do you mistake me for a sponge?” He glanced at Guildenstern as if to say, It’s true, he’s quite mad; next he’ll tell us we’re eggplants.
But the prince was quite calm. “Oh yes, sponges, both of you, kept by the king to soak up his rewards, his orders, his moods, the spittle that drops from his lips. You soak them up, and when you are dripping with them, when you are saturated, then he squeezes you dry. You are his best servants, you sponges! And if not sponges, you are the piece of apple in the corner of his mouth, which he chews and sucks on until he is ready to swallow it. But the problem is, how does a prince answer a sponge?”
Guildenstern: “Highness, I do not understand you.”
Hamlet: “I am glad of it.”
Rosencrantz: “Sir, you must tell us where the body lies.”
Hamlet: “Must! Is ‘must’ a word to be used to princes, little man?”
Rosencrantz: “Well, it is the king’s wish that you tell us where the body lies.”
Hamlet: “It does lie, that much is certain. No one ever got a true word out of him while he was alive, and now he lies still.”
Rosencrantz: “Your Royal Highness, Hamlet, please tell us where the body is, and then go with us to the king.”
Hamlet: “The body is already with the king, but not the king you are thinking of, perhaps. And the king is not with the body. The king is a thing . . .”
Guildenstern: “A thing? Sir, the king is a thing?”
Hamlet: “A thing of nothing. Bring me to him.”
Claudius was distraught, unable to fix on a plan, an easy answer. He liked life to be obvious. “Hamlet’s too popular with the people,” he told his wife again. “Just because he’s good-looking, that’s all it is. But it makes him dangerous. He could kill their grandmothers, and as long as he keeps smiling at them and kissing their babies, they’ll forgive him. The people didn’t love Polonius, but as long as he was around, they felt secure. We have to get rid of Hamlet, but we must do it so it looks all right.”
“Get rid of him!” exclaimed the queen, showing for the first time an interest in the king’s fretful monologue. “Get rid of him?”
“No, no, I don’t mean like that. I told you, I’ve arranged for Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to go away with him. But it mustn’t look like a cover-up. We’ll send him early, but we’ll say it’s for his own protection. And we’ll set up an inquiry, so it looks as though we’re doing something. In the meantime, while we’re establishing the terms of reference and so forth, he shall be sent to a safe place. Farther than England. To Australia. No, he’ll end up marrying some unsuitable girl. To Nepal. No, not Nepal. Bad idea. To the moon.”
“I fancy England will be far enough.”
“Yes, all right, England, then. Yes, as long as it looks as though we’re just bringing his trip forward. He must go now, straightaway. England will do nicely, I think. Keep him out of mischief and away from us.”
At that moment Hamlet entered the room, and the king wondered if the young man had heard his last comment. The prince looked composed, but a flush in his cheeks and a brightness in his eyes gave the appearance of someone who had just come in from playing a game of football, or skiing down a fast and dangerous slope. Claudius hurried forward. Behind Hamlet came Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, Rosencrantz signaling that they were returning empty-handed: they had not found the body.
Claudius was genial. “Now, Hamlet, we can’t have this. Where’s Polonius?”
Deadpan, Hamlet replied, “At supper.”
“At supper?”
“Yes, there’s a regular feast going on, and Polonius is at the center of it.”
The king was still baffled until Hamlet pressed on. “The worms are having a
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