GHOST            But soft, methinks I scent the morning air.

Brief let me be. Sleeping within my orchard –

My custom always of the afternoon –

Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole

With juice of cursed hebona in a vial

And in the porches of my ears did pour

The leperous distilment whose effect

Holds such an enmity with blood of man

That swift as quicksilver it courses through

The natural gates and alleys of the body

And with a sudden vigour it doth possess

And curd like eager droppings into milk

The thin and wholesome blood.       (1.5.58-70)

Such long sentences, even though the Ghost knows he needs to hurry, that his time’s almost up: but soft, methinks I scent the morning air. It’s an interesting way of putting it—not a sign of daybreak, a glow on the horizon, but rather a breeze—it introduces a note of freshness, even sweetness, into the scene that the Ghost is about to describe, making it more multi-sensory and total. Brief let me be. (You said it, Ghost.) Sleeping within my orchard—in the garden, having a nap—my custom always of the afternoon, as you well know (and Hamlet can nod, picturing the familiar, peaceful scene in his mind’s eye, yes, dad, that’s exactly what you’d do). Then, upon my secure hour, when I thought myself safe, away from harm and from cares, no guards needed even, thy uncle stole. Stole here refers to his motion, stealthy, sneaky, he stole up, crept in, invaded—but the point is here that Claudius has stolen literally too, he’s stolen the crown and the queen; Claudius is a murderer and a thief.

Claudius had juice of cursed hebona in a vial—a little bottle of poison (poisoning is regarded as particularly dishonourable as a means of murder; here the suggestion is of a bottle small enough to be concealed, sneaky, treacherous) and in the porches of my ear did pour the leperous distilment. There’s a particular grotesqueness to this, the sleeping king, the poison poured into the ear—presumably the king would wake immediately?—but it’s baroque, odd, confusing, the ear peculiarly vulnerable and open, a porch, like an unguarded door, an unexpected visitation.

The poison is leperous, causing the appearance of leprosy, but also invoking that especially feared disease (and there were no more lepers in London, although there had been, in living memory). And the effect of that poison holds such an enmity with blood of man—is so inimical, so lethal to the normal functioning of the human body—that swift as quicksilver it courses through the natural gates and alleys of the body. The porches of the ear have established the metaphor: the body is like a castle, a city being swarmed and overcome as swift as mercury, flowing and skittering, uncanny, bright, it’s like a video game, a crash zoom, as the body of the old king is completely taken over, utterly polluted and corrupted from within. Even more, with a sudden vigour it doth possess and curd like eager droppings into milk the thin and wholesome blood. The whole body is arrested, its natural processes clotted, curdled, thickened, stopped. Denmark, invaded and conquered.

#InkyCloak is taking a Christmas break until the New Year…