by Lisa Klein
“What ho, Hamlet! Come with me for some sport. Your father will not miss a doe or two.”
“No, Uncle.”
“What’s this? Ah, you are already engaged. Let me see the wench. Oh, she hides herself, does she? I’ll find out who she is.”
“Uncle, you are drunk. Be gone.”
“Some advice for you, boy. Give her a pinch and a paddling, too. The lusty ones love it, I can vouch for that. Heh, heh!”
Claudius’s laugh sounded both sly and hearty. Burning with undeserved shame, I wanted to strike at him with my words. In my agitation, the hood slipped from my head just as Claudius spurred his horse and seized the mane to keep his slack body from falling off. I looked at Hamlet, whose body was tense with anger.
“He insults me, calls me ‘boy.’ The drunken sot, unworthy to be my father’s brother!” he said.
“And you said there was no serpent in this garden?” I said bitterly. The orchard’s pleasures now seemed blighted by the intrusion of Claudius.
Horatio, full of remorse, then joined us.
“I am sorry I could not stop Claudius, for he came from the direction of the deer park.”
“Where he poaches my father’s game in his absence, the thief,” interjected Hamlet. “But he is drunk as usual and most likely will not remember seeing us.”
Hamlet forgave his friend, and henceforth we vowed to be more careful. It was my idea that we disguise ourselves as a rustic and a shepherdess, for the lovers in Gertrude’s romances often did so. So I wore a linen smock and petticoat and, over them, a sleeveless bodice that laced below my breasts. It was plain and comfortable, unlike my stiff and fashionable courtly dress, and it gave me an ease of movement that I relished. Hamlet found some loose breeches and a homespun tunic and covered his curls with a leather cap. I liked him all the better for his plain attire and the easy manner he put on with it. When we wore our simple disguises, few people gave us a second look. Holding hands, we strolled openly through the streets of the town. Then like country folk without any cares, we lay in the meadow, surrounded by tall grass, and wove garlands of white daisies and purple columbines to crown each other.
“Let us make up a song together,” I said one day. “For I have read that shepherds like to engage in singing contests.”
“Ophelia, you read much nonsense. What dung-covered lad can tell his ABCs, let alone rhyme a sonnet and count all its feet?” Hamlet said. “He whistles for his sheep, or rings a bell, or shouts ‘hey.’ I have heard none of them sing.”
“Then we will be the first, and set the pattern for all herders of sheep in these hills.”
So Hamlet thought for a moment, then sang:
“Where the bee lights, there dip I
my tongue;
I’ll taste the flowers until I die
so young!”
Though his song was lusty, he kissed me very courteously. In turn, I sang:
“Here by the greenwood tree, fa la,
Come, love, and lie with me, fa la.”
Taking my song as an invitation, Hamlet put his head in my lap, and I gently pushed him away.
“You are too eager, my lord,” I said, and he withdrew at once.
“I did not mean to offend you, Ophelia,” he said, taking my hand instead.
I got up to pick fresh flowers to replace wilted ones. Passing through the meadow, I came upon a small brown bird that had fallen from its nest on a branch overhead. I picked it up and held it in my palm. Its heart, visible beneath skin more fine than the thinnest sheet of vellum, was no longer beating. When Hamlet came upon me, I was weeping, and this embarrassed me more than his head on my lap.
“I am sorry. I am not practiced in love. When will you forgive me?” he pleaded.
“It is not that,” I said, touched by his humility. “You have not offended me.” I showed him the bird. “It is this that makes me weep, though I do not know why.”
“Perhaps because this creature had a spirit, but now it is flown?” Hamlet offered. His brow was furrowed, as if my sadness confused and worried him.
“Where is its mother?” I whispered. “Why could she not save it?” I looked around to see dozens of birds flitting and singing, careless of the dead one in my hand.
“Nowhere. Nature is beautiful, but she can be cruel. Just like a woman,” Hamlet mused. “Though not you, of course. Cruel, I mean. That is, you are beautiful, but not cruel.”
Now Hamlet blushed and stammered, and I could not help but smile.
“Does it not say in the Bible that there is providence even in the fall of a sparrow?” I asked.
“Yes, and it says that every hair on our heads is numbered, for we are more precious than any sparrow. Therefore do not fret,” said Hamlet, and with a kiss, I let myself be comforted.
Another day, as the sun fled across the sky, we roamed the woods between Elsinore and the village as Horatio followed us in silence. At dusk, we came upon a deserted cottage of crumbling stones, which looked like a hermit’s dwelling. In the hearth we kindled a small fire against the chill. Horatio declined to join us as we ate our bread and cheese.
“Why is Horatio so unsmiling today?” I asked.
“He is not,” denied Hamlet. “Like himself, he is ever the same. Give it no further thought.” He shared his flask of ale with me, then drank of it himself. But I persisted, uneasy.
“Does he disapprove of our courtship?”
Hamlet spewed liquid from his mouth, and bitter words with it.
“The whole world would disapprove of our courtship, Ophelia!” he exclaimed, waving the flask in a broad arc. “Horatio fears I do but trifle with you. He is wrong, mind you. And your father! Your family’s honor would demand that your brother challenge me to a duel.”
“They do not know that we meet, nor can they prevent it,” I said, with more certainty than I felt. For months my father had been away on the king’s business, and Laertes was studying in France. I did not want to think about the consequences of being discovered by them.
“You know, I am the heir of Denmark���” began Hamlet, as if I had forgotten.
“Yes, and I am no one,” I whispered.
“No, you are my love. But my father the king has alliances to secure by marrying me to a princess of France or Germany. He will prevent us.” Hamlet’s tone was matter-of-fact. He fell silent and fed sticks to the small fire.
I stood up awkwardly and stumbled to the cottage door. Beyond its battered frame the black-barked trees grew straight to the heavens, disdaining the forest floor, where tangled heather and brush hid the path leading from this lonely spot.
How foolish I had been to think I was as free as any peasant girl and as worthy as any king’s daughter! I gazed out into the forest.
“This courtship is ill-fated. No good can come of it for you or me,” I said bitterly.
I heard Hamlet sigh. Or was he blowing air on the stuttering fire? I felt him come up behind me and touch my shoulder.
“When we come to these woods in our humble clothes, I am no prince, but a man who may have my will,” he said, his words full and rounded with yearning. “Here I am simply ‘Jack,’ and I choose you as my ‘Jill’”
He turned me around to face him and kissed me warmly.
The touch of his lips somewhat banished my fears. I realized that Elsinore was for Hamlet, as it was for me, a gilded cage.
“In these woods and cottages there are no envious eyes, no carping tongues, no gossip or lies,” I said. “So let us remain in this place always and speak only simple truth to each other.” I rested my cheek against the rough homespun of his jacket, knowing that my wish was a vain one.
As soon as I returned to Elsinore, I felt constrained to lie, to deceive the queen herself.
“What ails thee, Ophelia? You are wan and distracted today.”
“I studied late last night,” I said. “And then I did not sleep soundly.” In truth, I was tired, for I had been stealing many hours from my rest to spend with Hamlet. My absences
were beginning to displease Gertrude and she grew testy with me.
“I do not like it when I call and you cannot be found.”
“I was in the garden getting herbs for Elnora,” I lied again.
Soon Gertrude suspected that I had a lover. Summoning me, she tried to catch me off my guard.
“Fetch me some lavender water, Ophelia. And tell me, what is his name?”
“I do not know what you mean, my lady.”
“It is as plain as the daylight that you are in love.” She held up a trinket, dangling it before me. “Wouldn’t you like to wear this beaded comb?”
“No, it becomes you better,” I said, fastening the comb in her hair and avoiding her gaze.
“Does he love you back? Perhaps a word from me will help smooth the path of true love.”
So Gertrude probed, while I denied that I loved anyone. How could I tell the queen that it was her son I desired? That we talked and laughed for hours together? That we pretended to be rustics not ruled by custom but free to choose our love?
I wanted to confide in Elnora but was certain that her loyalty to Gertrude would prevail over our friendship. There was no one else I trusted. And though I said nothing, everyone suspected that I had a suitor. Did my looks, though guarded, betray me? Did I murmur to myself? Surely not, but the ladies still gave me sly glances and attempted to guess the aim of my desire. It was wicked of me, but I let them believe I fancied Horatio, for his good reputation put him above all reproach.
Gertrude knew that I was deceiving her, and she in turn began to hold me at a distance. I was no longer asked to wait upon her or to read to her. While I was out of favor, Cristiana slipped into my place and worked her malice on the queen’s mind.
When Gertrude spoke to me again, her tone was cold.
“I am told that you spend your days in the country with a common boy, that you dress like some farmer’s daughter.”
Her misunderstanding would have been comic had we read of it in a romantic fable. She and I could have laughed at the mother’s blindness and pitied the plight of the unequal lovers. But this was no fiction. I merely hung my head as she poured out her disappointment on me.
“Do you thus repay my kindness by disgracing yourself?” she demanded. “Surely there is some gentleman at court whom you could favor.”
I was dismayed to be so fallen from Gertrude’s esteem.
“My heart is in such turmoil,” I cried, unable to suppress my tears. “You are right; I love unworthily.” That at least was true. “I will strive against it,” I promised, a fresh lie.
“I hope that you will return to your senses, Ophelia. This madness does not become you.”
I was sure that it was Cristiana who spied on me and told the queen what she saw. One day not long after the queen’s lecture, I caught Cristiana in my chamber. I worried that she had searched my trunk, where my tokens and letters from Hamlet were hidden. But I saw with relief that it was still locked. I grabbed my homespun costume from beneath my mattress and thrust it at her.
“Here. Is this the proof you seek?”
“Why would you so disgrace yourself in these rags?” she said, fingering the dress in disbelief before dropping it. “Then again, I don’t know why I am surprised that you love basely.”
It was a wonder that Cristiana had not discovered that it was Hamlet I loved. I should have been thankful for her ignorance. Instead I loathed her pride, her lies, and her disdain of me when I should have despised myself for lying to Gertrude. But I was blinded and had no use for reason, desiring only to take revenge on Cristiana for her cruelties to me.
Chapter 10
The idea for my plot began with a ribald tale of mistaken love I had once read to Gertrude. I saw how, by imitating it, I could trick Cristiana and sow discord to the confusion of all.
I told Hamlet my plan, disguising its motive, for I did not want him to think me too unkind.
“An excellent device, worthy of a playwright.” His praise was like honey to a bee, and I sucked it up.
“By this means I will test the mettle of Cristiana and her two suitors,” I said.
“May it prove them false, like bad coins,” Hamlet replied. While I aimed at Cristiana’s pride, Hamlet relished the opportunity to trick Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. “This will pierce their puffed-up ambitions,” he exulted.
“But we must hide our authorship of this work,” I cautioned, and Hamlet agreed.
Our plot was to unfold at the banquet celebrating the twentieth year of King Hamlet’s rule. The evening would be filled with masking, dancing, and feasting. In preparation, men and women borrowed each other’s finery and planned fanciful disguises. An excited Cristiana collected feathers of every color and stitched them to a mask, for she had found this note in her pocket:
By your cloak of red and feathered face
You give me proof that I have won the race.
My prize I’ll take, ‘tis earned but free
Beneath the spreading boughs of the willow tree.
The verse was signed Rosencrantz, the name perfectly executed by Hamlet. Meanwhile I had copied Cristiana’s hand to write the note Hamlet delivered to Rosencrantz’s rival. This note read:
I can no longer hide my longing for you, gentle Guildenstern. Tonight the red bird perches in the willow tree. She awaits the hooded black crow. Catch me and I am yours.
On the night of the banquet, firelight flashed on the walls of the great hall and rush torches sent up their oily smoke. Spiced wine poured from spigots, overflowed pitchers and goblets, and was consumed like water. Tables groaned under joints of venison and pork, smoked fish, and meat pies. I drank a little wine, though not enough to make me tipsy, and sat with the ladies, sucking on plums and sweet figs. A juggler made his way through the crowd, keeping several oranges aloft at once. Dancers wearing bells stepped high, clapping to the beat of tabors and the whistle of pipes.
From his throne, King Hamlet beheld the scene, his queen beside him. In deference to the glad occasion, his foot kept the rhythm of the dance and his usually stern mien was softened. Old Yorick had died, and a younger fool now made King Hamlet laugh, though not so heartily as he used to.
By contrast, Claudius took his pleasures fiercely, carousing with his cup in hand. His mask was lifted, the better to feed himself. Drops of wine, ruby red, splashed his tunic and the floor. He pinched the curves of many women, careless of the spilled wine that stained their costumes. Before the king he made an exaggerated bow, nearly toppling to his knees. He began a speech, but the king cut off his slurred words. So Claudius seized Gertrude’s hand, urging her to join the revelry. With a show of reluctance, she left her husband’s side to appease Claudius by dancing. King Hamlet’s look grew dark.
This drama was but one of the night’s shows. My own plot was of greater interest to me then. In my dark blue cloak and plain mask I moved about the hall, watching my actors. Guildenstern arrived in a black cloak and a mask with a beak. Cristiana flitted about in a crimson gown and long cape. The musicians started to play, and the dancers paired for a stately pavane. I found myself facing Hamlet, who wore a mask emblazoned with two faces.
“Good evening, Lord Janus,” I said, thinking again of the strange token he had given me in the garden.
“Will you dance with me, hidden here in plain sight?”
“It is a contradiction I delight in,” I said. Taking his hand, I could sense an expectation of pleasure that matched my own. Then in the whirl of dancers, I heard Cristiana’s tinkling laugh.
“Will the red bird yield herself to the crow?” I wondered aloud to Hamlet. The masks made it possible for us to speak without drawing the attention of others.
“If she does, it will devour her, I know.” Hamlet spoke in my ear, sending a shiver down my back.
Then we switched partners, and I was thrust into a high-stepping bransle with the nervous Guildenstern, who nearly stumbled over his long cloak.
“I see you eyeing the red bird,” I said to him.
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“Methinks she preens her feathers just for me,” Guildenstern boasted. He affected an accent that almost made me laugh.
“Who could she be?” I was teasing him, for I thought no disguise was sufficient to hide Cristiana’s manner. But Guildenstern seemed mystified.
“Some fine lady, a newcomer to the court,” he said, following the red-clad Cristiana with his eyes. She danced with many men, no doubt seeking Rosencrantz under each disguise. But Rosencrantz was not at the ball, for he had been sent by Hamlet on a fool’s errand.
I was dancing with a fleshy but nimble-footed gentleman when I saw Cristiana leave the hall, the folds of her red cape billowing behind her. Hamlet signaled that Guildenstern had followed her. Pleading my weary legs, I left my partner and slipped out of the steamy, smoky hall. With light steps I made my way through the outer courtyard and the gates, descended through the meadow, and crouched amid the rushes by the brook.
Hamlet, silent as fog, was soon beside me. The night was damp and chilly. Clouds hid the moon, and the willow tree was shrouded in darkness. But Cristiana was visible, her red cloak enfolding another in a close embrace.
“See how the fish first nibbles, then swallows the bait!” Hamlet whispered with glee.
“Yes, both are sorely hooked,” I admitted.
I had imagined that Cristiana and Guildenstern would soon discover the game. I expected them to recognize each other and part with embarrassed laughter. But as we watched, the cloaked figures sank to the ground without breaking their grasp. I was overcome by shame.
“We are not meant to see this private passion,” I whispered.
“Then let us close the curtain on this scene,” said Hamlet.
We withdrew ourselves and returned to Elsinore in silence. I turned aside from Hamlet’s lips after one chaste kiss, and we parted for the night.
Instead of returning to the dance, I went to my chamber, undressed, and prepared to retire. I listened to the distant sounds of revelry while the night deepened. Though I still hated Cristiana, I took no delight in my trick. I tossed on my bed, unable to sleep. Hours later, when I heard light footsteps, I went to my door in time to see Cristiana pass by, her feathers bent and her cloak dirty. Her cheek was deeply flushed and her hair disarranged.