LAERTES A Norman was’t?
CLAUDIUS A Norman.
LAERTES Upon my life, Lamord!
CLAUDIUS The very same.
LAERTES I know him well. He is the brooch, indeed,
And gem of all the nation.
CLAUDIUS He made confession of you
And gave you such a masterly report
For art and exercise in your defence,
And for your rapier most especial,
That he cried out ’twould be a sight indeed
If one could match you. Th’escrimers of their nation
He swore had neither motion, guard nor eye
If you opposed them. Sir, this report of his
Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy
That he could nothing do but wish and beg
Your sudden coming o’er to play with you. (4.7.89-103)
Laertes is listening, thinking, even though he’s puzzled as to where this is going: a Norman was’t? Hang on, was this guy from Normandy? A Norman, yes. Upon my life, Lamord! You’re talking about Lamord, aren’t you!? Laertes is excited, Lamord is evidently something of a celebrity—but an audience might hear more readily the irony in the juxtaposition of life and Lamord, la mort, death. Claudius continues smoothly, makes up the line (the stichomythia signals their enmeshment): the very same, yes, you clever boy. I know him well, affirms Laertes (suggesting know of him, rather than personally). He is the brooch, indeed, and gem of all the nation. He’s amazing, a real superstar. (Laertes mirrors Claudius’s praising of his own apparent talents as a ribbon in the cap of youth.)
Whether any of this is true or not doesn’t matter, because Laertes is dazzled and Claudius is telling him what he wants to hear. He made confession of you—of me? I didn’t think he’d even know my name! some of this at least could be conveyed in gesture, expression, NO, stop!—and gave you such a masterly report for art and exercise in your defence, and for your rapier most especial, that he cried out ’twould be a sight indeed if one could match you. Defence here isn’t just self-defence in general but rather fencing, the skills taught by the masters of fence in London and elsewhere, which included duelling with the rapier but other weapons as well; there were hugely public exhibitions of such skills, sometimes in the theatres. And Lamord! LAMORD apparently said that you’re brilliant with the rapier in particular, and it’d be amazing to see you take on someone who could equal you. And th’escrimers of their nation, the very best French swordsmen, he swore had neither motion, guard nor eye if you opposed them. They simply wouldn’t able to compete with you, in any way.
And then Claudius—who has been feinting himself, distracting, mesmerising—starts to draw his own bout to a close. Sir, this report of his did Hamlet so envenom with his envy that he could nothing do but wish and beg your sudden coming o’er to play with you. When Hamlet heard this (and Claudius finally names him) he was consumed with jealousy, poisoned with it, that all he wanted to do, all he could speak of, wish for, was the opportunity to compete with you as soon as possible. This has to be a lie, and it’s so carefully shaped, the verbal equivalent of Claudius maintaining eye-contact, of course I’m telling the truth. Hamlet’s desire to fight is framed in such a way as to diminish him, with a slight homoerotic edge, flattering Laertes by placing him in the same position in relation to Hamlet as the much-admired Lamord is to Laertes. Lamord and Laertes may be being praised for their skills with the blade, but Claudius has just offered an absolute masterclass, and he’s not done yet.
