Flourish. Enter Claudius, King of Denmark, Gertrude the Queen, Council – as Polonius and his son Laertes [and]Hamlet, with others [including Voltemand and Cornelius].

CLAUDIUS      Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother’s death

The memory be green, and that it us befitted

To bear our hearts in grief, and our whole kingdom

To be contracted in one brow of woe,

Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature

That we with wisest sorrow think on him

Together with remembrance of ourselves. (1.2.1-7)

Lots of square brackets and editorial additions in the stage direction, but the main sense is: almost all the main characters, with as many extras as possible; this is the Danish court, and it needs to look like it, with attendants (Gertrude can have at least one waiting gentlewoman, for instance) and hangers-on, and probably a guard or two. (Even in modern dress there can be functionaries with files.) They might enter in formal procession, and sometimes it’s an actual wedding; whatever, it starts with a fanfare, flourish.

As an audience, the temptation is to look for Hamlet, the Eponymous Prince of Denmark: will he speak first? Where even is he? It may not be obvious. But no. It’s the other guy, apparently the dead king’s brother, and this is a big speech, perhaps his first big speech, or at least one of them: though yet of Hamlet our dear brother’s death the memory be green—it’s still recent, then; green is fresh, but also raw, wounds are green—and that it us befitted to bear our hearts in grief… Hmmm. This guy, presumably recognisable as a king, with a crown, is embracing the royal plural almost ostentatiously, defensively, and being defensive about his own actions too, meeting criticism that it’s been too much too soon, whatever he’s done. Hearts suggest a romantic entanglement of some kind, and it may be obvious by his actions, holding his queen by the hand, a gesture, smile, kiss even. Some might say it’s inappropriate, and that our whole kingdom should be contracted in one brow of woe, solemn and frowning, #sadface (and he might smirk slightly, at the ridiculousness of the mental image). Yes, some might say that everyone should be being really, really serious right now, and focusing on Our Great Loss and National Mourning.

But. Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature—the pros and cons have been weighed, reason and passion, propriety and desire, sensibility and sense—that—aha! a triumphant reconciliation of opposing points of view; also, what am I like, what are *we* like!?—we with wisest sorrow think on him, it’s not like I’ve forgotten my brother (but is he not in fact using the royal plural, is he bringing in his queen here too?) I’m still obviously *very sad* that he’s no longer with us, but at the same time, life goes on, you know? so we’re mourning him #verysadface together with remembrance of ourselves. Not putting our own Needs to one side, oh no. Circle of life, and a man—a king—has got to put himself first.

So slippery, this bravura introduction to the Danish court. What’s going on? What has this got to do with the ghost and the guards on the battlements, who seem to have been in a different play altogether?