Ophelia (5 page)

"For you, my child," Mechtild said, turning her sharp eyes on me, "I recommend the water of distilled strawberry, for it not only smooths the skin, it guards against the passions of the heart."

"I am a green girl. I know nothing of love," I murmured, looking down at the dog.

"Ah, but you soon will. No one who is at court can remain innocent in the ways of love. See that you mind your passions," she said, holding up a bent forefinger to underscore her advice.

I thought of the knavish Edmund and his dark desires. I remembered how I quivered when Hamlet pulled me from the brook and gazed on me. As Mechtild seemed able to pierce my mind, I wished to change the topic.

"Have you something for Elnora?" I said. "Though she will not complain, I know that a pain in her side often troubles her, making her breathing difficult."

"Ophelia! That is not our purpose today," Elnora said sharply, but her rebuke was a mild one.

"Hmmm, a thoughtful girl. Cumin is what I advise. Rare and odorous. Not in your queen's herb bed, I am sure. A poultice applied to the side. I will prepare it now." She led us toward the cottage.

Inside the small house, a large cupboard dominated the single room. Curious, I watched while Mechtild unlocked the doors to reveal all the tools of an apothecary. She drew out a mortar and pestle and began to grind seeds while Elnora tested the scale.

Meanwhile my gaze was drawn to the topmost shelf of the cupboard. I stared at a row of dark vials, sealed in red wax, the labels bearing the symbol of a death's head. I drew in my breath with an audible gasp that made Mechtild look up from her work.

"Tincture of belladonna. Grams of opium. Henbane distilled. If ill-used, these bring death," she explained soberly.

"Tush, Ophelia, turn away your gaze lest you tempt evil," said Elnora, crossing herself and pushing me away.

Mechtild closed the cupboard door and turned the key. Removing it, she thrust it deep into her pocket, where the curve of her old body surely protected many secrets.

Chapter 5

Not long after our visit to Mechtild, I discovered a book that Elnora had laid aside, for her weak eyes no longer allowed her to read. As heavy as a small coffer of coins, it was entitled
The Herball or General History of Plants.
It was a treasure more valuable than gold to me. When I tired of my needlework, which was often, I pored over this book with ever growing fascination. I studied its precise drawings and stored in my memory the virtues and uses of all plants. I learned that peony taken with wine can relieve nightmares or melancholy dreams. When a mother delivers her babe, parsley seeds aid in bringing away the afterbirth cleanly. Rhubarb purges madness and frenzy. Fennel sharpens the sight and is an antidote to some poisons. All this and more I committed to memory. Soon Elnora began to rely on me to create new mixtures and tonics. I copied Mechtild's cumin poultice and Elnora found relief from the pain in her side. She chided me less for my laziness and melancholy, and she allowed me more time to study and write.

Since Elnora allowed me to study this book that so entranced me, I tried to please her by attending chapel services with her. She prodded me to attention when the preacher railed against pride and vanity. I also read the conduct books she prescribed to teach me morals, though I found them most tiresome. They all said that I must be silent, chaste, and obedient, or else the world would be turned topsy-turvy from my wickedness. I scoffed at this, suspecting the writer had no knowledge of women and even less liking for them. Another manual advised me to be silent, but not always so, that I might cultivate the art of witty but modest conversation that was the mark of a court lady. I preferred this book.

However I had no occasion for witty discourse, except with myself. Sometimes as I worked, I imagined both parts of a conversation between a beautiful woman and her noble suitor. Or I contended in my mind against the ignorant writers who condemned women as frail and lacking in virtue. These exercises distracted my mind from the menial tasks that fell to me as the lowest of Gertrude's ladies. I had to empty the queen's close stool, which before had been Cristiana's task. I also had to fetch large pitchers of water for Gertrude's bath and empty the tub afterward, until my feet were swollen from running to the well and the latrines, and my arms ached.

It was dismaying to be chosen like a new bauble and then forgotten, a mere passing fancy. Gertrude rarely spoke to me, but I gazed on her, my eyes drinking in her beauty. Her hair shone like oiled oakwood, and her gray eyes seemed to hide her soul. She was still shapely and her face was unlined. Her ladies evermore praised her beauty, and she loved to be told that she was too young to be the mother of a grown prince. Like her, I dressed my hair in a long braid, which I sometimes tucked under a coif that I embroidered, rather crudely, with pansies. I longed to know if she approved of my dress and manner. It hurt me to think that she took no notice of my attempts to please her.

Humility was a hard virtue for me to learn, for I did not like to be always meek, with downcast eyes. Though looking down one day, I made a startling discovery: New curves had appeared in my body. Small breasts rounded out my silk bodice. They began to ache and throb. One day my flowers commenced with a stream of bright blood and a sharp pain in my gut. I ran to Elnora.

"I have hurt myself. I know not how," I cried in a panic.

She calmed me and wiped my tears. She brought me clean rags and explained how generation occurs. It amazed me that now my body was able to create a child, and it frightened me to think of the pain that lay in my future. It was like a sudden turn of fortune, to be thrust one day into womanhood.

Now that I was a young woman, I determined to take more pride in my gowns and ornaments, even though they had been worn by other ladies first. I thought that my lace cuffs set off my white hands. The stiff ruff that was then in fashion framed my face to good effect, though the first time I wore it, Cristiana insulted me.

"Your neck is so short, you resemble a bulldog!" she said mockingly.

"And you have spots on your face you have neglected to paint over," I countered, which made her fume silently. I had no need of paint, for my cheeks and lips were naturally bright, my skin softened by Mechtild's strawberry water. This pleased me, and I became a little proud, but I believed that a measure of vanity was required of me as a woman of the court.

I was now thirteen years old, an age at which many young women commenced courtships and some were already betrothed. Curious, I watched how men and women acted in each other's presence. I practiced turning my head and shoulders in the manner I had seen one of the queen's ladies use while conversing with a young lord. I wondered if Hamlet would find such a movement appealing. Seeing my reflection in a bowl of water or a looking glass, I thought how amazed Hamlet would be to see me transformed from a wild girl into a lady. But we had not met since the long-ago day by the brook. Hamlet had left for Germany to study at the university in Wittenberg. Surely his mind was too full for thoughts of me, and I had only a few idle minutes each day to think on him.

Moreover, I was reminded daily that my favor at the court of Elsinore was unlikely and precarious.

"Your father is a nobody, and you are nothing, Ophelia," Cristiana taunted me. "I cannot fathom what the queen sees in you. Ha!" She laughed lightly.

I said nothing in my defense. I was still angry that my father seemed careless of me, and I was ashamed of our family's poor estate. Why indeed should Gertrude keep me?

The answer soon came to me. When the queen learned that I had been schooled in Latin and French, she bade me read aloud as she and her ladies worked on their embroidery. One of Gertrude's favorite books was
The Mirror of the Sinful Soul,
which, she told us, was written by Margaret, the queen of Navarre in France. Reading aloud and translating as I read, I was glad to exercise my mind and tongue again. Though I still performed my lowly duties, I dared to hope that my status at court was improving.

Gertrude knew that her other ladies disliked these pious exercises. They would frown at me for reading prayers and meditations when they preferred to gossip. But when Gertrude recited the devotions, they bowed and crossed themselves and seemed to pay close heed.

"We shall observe our likenesses in this mirror and reflect on our sins," she said, touching the book lightly. "I would be remiss in my duty, I fear, if I did not look after your spiritual welfare." Her words and tone almost conveyed apology.

I soon discovered that Gertrude's piety hid a secret pleasure. One evening she called me to her chamber. Her hair was loose, and its ripples shone in the candlelight. She wore a nightgown clasped at the bodice with jeweled buttons. Kneeling as if for prayer, she dismissed Cristiana, who set down the basin of scented water she earned.

"My tired eyes hinder my devotions," she said. "Ophelia shall read the scripture to me."

Cristiana glared at me like the proverbial green-eyed monster. I was struck at that moment with the unbelievable thought that she was jealous. I had no time to dwell on the discovery, however, for the queen was demanding my attention. Cristiana slipped out, closing the door, and I stood by, waiting. Gertrude rose to fetch a small book from a high shelf and returned to a cushioned settee, motioning for me to sit at her feet. I sat, as noiseless as a cat. The book she handed me resembled her other devotional books. It was called the
Heptameron,
and I saw that it was also written by the pious queen Margaret.

I opened the book to where a ribbon lay between the pages. I began to read aloud and found to my shame that this was no book of prayer. I blushed and my voice was barely above a murmur as I read the tale of a noble woman seduced from her foolish husband by a handsome knave. Elnora would punish me for reading such a book! She would forbid me even to touch its binding! But night after night, Gertrude and I spent an hour or more in such devotions, reading tales of love and desire. Then the queen would return the book to its place and wish me good night. I would go to my room heavy with guilt yet consumed by curiosity.

One night when I had finished reading, Gertrude gave me some trinkets—a pearled comb for my hair and a small looking glass with a crack. I knelt and thanked her. Then, made bold by her show of kindness, I dared to ask a question.

"My lady, you are the queen. Why do you read this book in secret?"

Gertrude sighed.

"Good Ophelia," she said, "the king is a godly and proper man." She fingered a miniature painting of him she wore on a ribbon about her neck. "He would be grieved to know that I read such tales, which men say are not fit for a lady's ear."

"And because I am no lady, they will not harm me?" I said.

Gertrude laughed, a musical sound, like chimes.

"You are both wise and witty, Ophelia. Your words are saved and spent in good measure. Moreover, you are honest. I know you can be trusted not to gossip about my taste for romance."

"I, too, have developed a liking for these stories," I confessed, "for it pleases me to read of clever women who find love."

"You have the spirit of a lady, Ophelia. Though you were not born to high estate, you will rise to greatness," said Gertrude, kissing my forehead lightly.

I almost wept at her touch, which lingered like a memory. Were my mother's lips this soft?

"Why am I so favored?" I whispered.

"Because Elnora is a puritan and Cristiana is vain and foolish," she said, misunderstanding me. It was the kiss, more than the reading, that I treasured. "You, Ophelia, are sensible, but unschooled in matters of love and passion. It is necessary to learn the ways of the world and the wiles of men, so that you may resist them. So read freely, my dear."

I was surprised that Gertrude, who had not seemed to notice me at all, in truth understood me well. So at her bidding I read much, though in secret, and the stones completed my courtly education. While I learned the importance of virtue from Elnora's conduct books, Gertrude's romances held out the delights of love and the means to achieve them. I imagined and longed for the time when I would be old enough to enjoy such pleasures.

At times, however, I doubted the use of some story or another. One night I read to Gertrude about a jealous official who killed his wife with poisoned salad greens because she had taken a young lover. The tale made Gertrude merry, but I did not share her mirth.

"What, are you a puritan who will not laugh?" she chided.

"No, but it disturbs me to read that the woman's wrongdoing led her husband to kill her. She was more weak than wicked," I said.

"This is fiction, Ophelia, not a true history. Often we love to read of deeds and desires we would not dare to perform ourselves. That is the pleasure of a tale like this."

"But I cannot believe that men and women would do such wicked things in the name of love," I said.

"Oh, but they do, and they will," she replied in a knowing way, and that ended our conversation.