Work Text:
A common question individuals have for me is “Hamlet, why do you hate Polonius?” Instinctually, I have the urge to rant and tear the old man to shreds verbally. This does not make me seem rational, however. As a rational creature I must aim for objectivity. Why would an individual such as myself hate him? Let me count the ways, and list the objective reasons why the fool is the single worst person in Denmark.
To begin: He thinks that I am an idiot. I have overheard him say once that it was as proper at his age to cast beyond himself in his opinion as it is common for the younger sort to lack discretion. Lack discretion? Me? Aside from his stupid, idiotic jabs he regularly treats me with contempt. He insists because I am not old and decrepit that I must not know anything. He regularly attempts (sadly enough) to correct me on issues he knows nothing about. He thinks that I must twiddle my thumbs at university all day and still need to be coached on my A’s, B’s, and C’s. Perhaps with his lower faculties he cannot recognize my age, however. It seems he is stuck at least ten years in the past and must think that I am a child. But simultaneously, he is concerned with me spending time with his daughter… Which is it, old man? I suppose this is what happens when one fades away with time, doomed to be forgotten.
Secondly: He is an idiot. One day I walked around the castle with a book in my hand, and he seemed unfamiliar with the object. I had to explain to him what words were. How sad. I like it when he shuts himself up in his room. It keeps everyone safe. It seems he has replaced Yorick as the royal jester (speaking of which, I must inquire of Yorick when I get the chance). I have overhead the painful conversations he has with others. (I myself have made the mistake of asking a brief question, only to be stalled for half an hour listening to his rambling.) “Reynaldo, would you—erm, ugh, where am I? Who are you? What am I doing here? What is happening, I’m scared!” Someone should put him out of his misery. Who am I kidding, one day it will become too windy and he will blow away into dust.
Thirdly (perhaps most importantly): He knows nothing about theater. He claims that he studied theater when he went to university (I did not know they had universities in the Stone Age), yet he only appreciates the base garbage made for the masses. He has never heard of The Murder of Gonzago, knows nothing about performance (I shudder to think what the audience had to endure for his performance of Julius Caesar), speech, positioning, dialogue, projection, the curtain, theory pertaining to theater, the classics, character, acting, fun, entertainment, story, hearing, seeing, theater etiquette, props, sound design, the history of the theater, Aristophanes, Roman plays, comedy, tragedy, stock characters, emotion, or art. I do not think he attended a single class. He does not even know of The Murder of Gonzago and how it revolutionized theater, fundamentally redefining the medium. He knows nothing.
Fourthly: He is obsessed with me. He opens my letters, which I am sure has to be against some law. He reads my journal when I leave it unattended by accident. He is constantly watching me, like the freak that he is. Always making excuses to look at me… Reporting everything I say and do to my mother like the guard he believes himself to be. I am an adult that he treats like a child. I am his prisoner. He is my captor who, as soon as I run the nation, he will be put in stocks and have tomatoes thrown at him (Oh, how I wish he would perform Caesar again so I can pelt him with fruit). He says I cannot be with his daughter; I think he is jealous that she, unlike him, is wanted by someone.
Fifthly: I have seen him naked, once. I saw too much. I can never unsee what happens to a man with age.
And, finally: I have heard how he talks to Ophelia. He thinks she is an idiot, too. It is even more egregious than the abuse he leverages at me, because Ophelia is his daughter and looks up to him. It is like he tries to control her very mind. Scary. I wonder how I would have turned out with him as a father, instead of receiving the support I do from my parents. Ophelia of all people does not deserve his harassment. Neither does Laertes. The creep sends spies after Laertes to find out what he is doing at university. Who cares if Laertes finds love or gets drunk or parties? He is an adult living his life. Ophelia is an adult, too, yet he has her wrapped around his finger. He talks to her as if she is mentally incapable of handling anything complex. I try to introduce her to culture and talk about plays with her, but his presence undos any progress we make. It is sad, really. She deserves better.
…
I am attaching this part of the letter discretely because I will deal with more controversial subject matter here. What Polonius is doing to Ophelia is cruel. Any of us who have studied the classics are well familiar with what happens to docile women. Penelope, Danaë, Lucrece… the story is not new. Being an Antigone is preferable to a Jocasta. The male gender can be oppressive to their female counterparts. I know this is a hypocritical statement coming from a man, but even Plato advocated on behalf of women, believing them capable of reason. Socrates learned from a wise woman. Women are human beings, similar to men, and therefore capable of thinking and possessing reason. Polonius’s attempts to take away Ophelia’s ability to think reduces her to cattle, liable to be bought and mounted by any individual in need of meat. I would like to see her discuss The Murder of Gonzago without that ape breathing down her neck.