Ophelia (15 page)

Chapter 18

My simple device to deceive Polonius and the king grew, under Hamlet's hand, into a plot with ever more complex motives and uncertain ends.

"Remember, I will appear mad with love for you—or with a general madness—but I put on this disposition to divert and test them all," he said.

"Why do we test them?"

"To make a trial of their wits and an ordeal of their judgment," he said as if he relished confusion itself.

"Why must you put on madness?" I asked, not understanding his drift. It was late at night and we were in Hamlet's chambers. A single candle gave the flickering light by which we made our plans.

"Thwarted lovers are melancholy, and is not melancholy a form of madness? Let them doubt my mind to be sane," said Hamlet. He took a pen and paper and in a few minutes had penned a sonnet.

"Listen," he said, and began to read with a feigned accent. His comically arched brows and broad gestures made me smile, and the injured look he then assumed caused me to laugh until I was weak.

"Doubt thou the stars are fire,

Doubt that the sun doth move;

Doubt truth to be a liar;

But never doubt I love."

"Not bad, but not at all good, either," I said. Indeed the hasty poem was lacking in music and halting in meter.

"Never doubt I love
can also signify
Never suspect I love.
See?"

I nodded, though the meaning seemed obscure.

"It matters not, for I know you love me," I said with a coy tilt of my head.

But Hamlet was all business in his reply.

"This should serve my purpose well," he said.

"How, exactly?" I asked.

"If Claudius has done evil, his reason and judgment will be corrupted, and he will be deceived; that is, he will believe that what we act is true. If he is innocent, he will perceive the truth: that we only play at being lovers."

"You know it is not true that we are only lovers. We are married," I reminded him gently.

"Of course." He waved his hand. "It is the truth of our play to which I refer."

"And how should my father react?" I asked, doubting the soundness of Hamlet's reasoning.

"Polonius, not being evil but only foolish—I beg your pardon, but he is a fool—will believe this nonsense is proof of my love," explained Hamlet. "Now, we will contrive for this poem to be made public and observe their response."

"It needs a letter showing that you intend the poem for me," I pointed out.

"Yes, of course. I did not think of that." Hamlet took up his pen again and wrote a letter hailing me as the
beautified Ophelia.
"You see, I should say
'beautiful
Ophelia,' for with the mistaken phrase I suggest that your beauty is painted on."

I tried to smile, but I could not see how his purpose was served by writing of me this way. Hamlet sensed my hurt and looked up from his writing.

"I do love you, Ophelia, my own true wife."

"And I you, husband of my heart," I said, contented again.

"Remember, when we are in company I will play the languishing lover to your disdainful mistress; you will show me no pity, and yet I will fawn upon you. Let us see how they do greet this love."

"Yes, I will relish this sport," I said. "Like a pair of licensed fools, we will tweak the beards of our elders." I tucked the letter into my bodice and kissed him good night.

The next morning, I ran to my father, pretending distress, and told how Hamlet had come into my room while I sat sewing. I described his ungartered stockings, his unlaced doublet, and his pale visage. Imitating Hamlet's astonished stare, I showed my father how he had gazed upon me. Seizing my father's hand and pressing it hard, I let him feel my desperation. I passed my other hand over my brow, as Hamlet had done. I nodded, sighed, and backed away from my father, all without speaking.

"This was his manner exactly!" I declared. "He said nothing, but his movements spoke of some terrible suffering. It was most strange!"

My father reacted to my pantomime just as Hamlet had predicted he would.

"This is the very ecstasy of love!" He rubbed his hands with delight and pinched my cheek.

Thus encouraged, I played the false role of obedient daughter with even more zest. So well did I act my part that even my father, despite being schooled in deceit, did not perceive my mask.

"I have refused Hamlet's letters and avoided his presence, as you, dear Father, have commanded. Here, I yield you this, its seal unbroken."

He snatched the missive from me as if it were money. Upon reading the letter and the poem, he crowed with pleasure and, forgetting me, hastened to find the king. After a moment, I followed, half pitying my father for being so gullible. He darted this way and that, until he determined that Claudius was holding court in the great hall. While he descended there, fairly topping in his haste, I took the tower stairs to the arcade, where I could look down and observe their encounter without being seen.

Seated on a dais, Claudius was speaking in low tones to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Gertrude leaned against him, seeming bored by their business. She held her crown in her lap and polished it idly on her skirt. I was surprised, for I had never seen her look so undignified. Then I was startled to see a guard in blue and white livery approach and stand at the king's side. His legs were spread and his arms crossed in a menacing way. One hand clutched a tall pike, the head of which bore a sharp point and a fearsome curved blade. I recognized the guard as Edmund. How fitting, I thought, that the villain had found a position as a mercenary soldier, paid to protect Claudius and fight his battles.

As the two courtiers prepared to leave, Gertrude leaned forward and called them back. I strained to overhear her speech. Her brow was creased with concern. She seemed to be begging Rosencrantz and Guildenstern for some favor. They bobbed their heads, eager to comply. I caught the words
friends of Hamlet
and
visit my much-changed son.

A welcome visit that would be, I thought with scorn. Hamlet would pounce on these agents like a wolf on a pair of ducks.

My father rushed in, announcing the arrival of the ambassadors from Norway and promising, upon their departure, his own news of great importance concerning Hamlet's recent disposition. I had to smile at the means by which my father hastened his eventual reception. The ambassadors then swept in, wearing capes edged with fur and bearing maps and many papers. The chief ambassador proclaimed loudly that by his wise diplomacy, Prince Fortinbras's challenge to Denmark had been deferred. Fortinbras was no light threat, I knew, for his mission was to reclaim lands that his father had lost to King Hamlet in battle. But Claudius merely waved the men away and bade them join him in feasting that night. How poorly, I thought, the mantle of kingship rested on his careless shoulders.

Edmund escorted the ambassadors to the door, then returned to the king's side and stood, unmoving. My father stepped forward and began a speech as stuffed with words as an actor's coat is stuffed with bombast to make him fat. Finally Gertrude interrupted him and bade him come to his point.

"My liege and madam, I have found the cause of Hamlet's lunacy," he declared. "He is distempered in his brain—mad, that is, out of his mind, and the cause is this. I have a daughter, you know. Ophelia is her name. He, Hamlet, your son, is mad with love for—my daughter!"

Holding my breath, I observed Gertrude's response. She sat up-right and her eyes grew wide with interest. I longed to read her thoughts. Would she be angry with me? Then she gave a little nod, as if she had known. Claudius, his face like a stone, revealed nothing.

"Have I ever been wrong in my advice, my lord? Have I ever said 'This is so' when it was not?" My father fairly cringed in his effort to convey an attitude of humble service. "Believe me, I have not."

Without replying, Claudius waved impatiently for my father to proceed. So with a flourish, he produced his proof, the letter. He read it aloud, pronouncing each phrase of the sonnet with elaborate gestures.

In my hiding place, I laughed, almost revealing myself. My father had seemingly swallowed the bait Hamlet had fashioned. Was the king deceived as well?

Claudius leaned forward and questioned my father in a low voice. I considered how canny my father was, despite being a fool. He did not show his delight that Hamlet was in love with me, for then Claudius might suspect his ambitions. Instead, I heard him assure the king that he had kept his virtuous but unworthy daughter away from the most noble prince.

"It is this denial," he announced, "that has plunged the prince deep into the melancholy of love. Fasting, brooding, sighing, and disordered dress are its most infallible signs."

The king pressed his jeweled forefinger to his fleshy lips, contemplating his next move. My father waited with an expectant air. No doubt he hoped that Claudius would regard me as the cure to Hamlet's madness. Then he, the wise Polonius, would be advanced for his good counsel.

I, too, awaited the king's move, like his pawn on a chessboard. I wished and prayed to hear Claudius say,
Let him court her. There is no harm in it. I give my consent.

What would Hamlet wish? Did he want to love me openly, or did he plan to use our love to cloak his darker purpose?

And what of Gertrude? She pressed her bosom against Claudius's arm and murmured in his ear. She smiled at my father, so it seemed she favored us. But Claudius stood up, drawing away from Gertrude's touch.

"I will find where truth is hidden," he said darkly, tapping the letter.

My father was prepared. "I will produce a stronger proof. Let us set my daughter in Hamlet's way, and we will secretly observe their meeting."

Claudius, liking this plan, nodded in agreement.

Before their interview was fully ended, I was on my way to find Hamlet. I had to tell him of Claudius's doubt and warn him of their plan. I searched high and low until my breath grew labored, but I found the castle strangely deserted.

Near the king's guardroom I nearly met my father head-on, but I hid myself in the shadows just in time. He scratched his head and muttered strangely as he passed.

"Still harping on my daughter! He calls me a fishmonger? He knows me not. Truly, he is mad."

His meaning was a mystery I had no time to consider.

A distant fanfare sounded, announcing an arrival at the castle. When I reached the gatehouse windows, I saw below a throng of lords, ladies, and servants cheering and waving. A painted cart piled high with trunks rolled into the courtyard, pulled by a weary nag in bright trappings. A tram of curious villagers followed. A young fellow somersaulted backward from the cart to the sound of drumming, while a fat man wearing a red jerkin and bells on his trousers danced a jig, and another played the tabor.

The crowd parted to make way for Hamlet, who was accompanied by Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. How quickly they had followed the queen's instructions, finding Hamlet before I did! I silently cursed them, for I knew they would cling to him like leeches.

Hamlet greeted the young tumbler with an embrace and welcomed all the men, slapping their backs and shaking their hands.

A troupe of actors had come to Elsinore.

Chapter 19

The arrival of the actors put Hamlet into a merry mood. Indeed, everyone at court was cheered by the prospect of several nights of singing, juggling, and playacting, for who did not wish to forget for a time King Hamlet's suspicious death and the strange marriage of Claudius and Gertrude? I also welcomed the chance to see the plays of this famed troupe, which had not visited Elsinore in several years.

Hamlet spent every hour in the players' company and I longed to join them. I imagined the lively scene, the actors and Hamlet devising a comedy to lighten the mood at Elsinore. Perhaps I would suggest something witty that would please them and be added to their play. Three times during the day I looked for a message from Hamlet, an invitation to join them, but I was disappointed. I spent the night alone and miserable in my room. Hamlet seemed to have forgotten me.

The next day I decided to linger near the place where the actors gathered and hope to gain Hamlet's attention. After some searching, I found them rehearsing in the castle foyer, Hamlet directing their actions. My father sat on a stool, observing Hamlet's behavior while pretending to watch the actors. Seeing my father, I groaned inwardly. It would not suit our game for me to be seen looking for Hamlet. I fell back into the shadows to watch unseen.

"Suit the word to the action and the action to the word," Hamlet instructed his men, like a tutor before a class of students. "Do not overstep the bounds of nature."

The actors, poised in their places, paid close heed. They knew their fortune depended upon his pleasure.

"Come, give me a passionate speech," Hamlet directed, vaulting onto the trestle table that served as a prop. There he crouched and twisted his face into a fierce expression. "Give me the speech of Pyrrhus, who with arms black as his purpose, sought vengeance on old Priam!"