Hamlet. Suicide. The thought and the man are irrevocably linked. Even if you haven't heard his story, you know he once contemplated killing himself. Yet the larger part of Hamlet's life was not spent in dark brooding. Far from it. It's this other side of him that I want to show you, for no picture of him can be complete without a glimpse into his past, before his grief transformed him, back when he was just another student at Wittenberg. Albeit, a very famous student.
Hamlet always seemed to be laughing at something. He was good at laughing, and bringing it out of other people. When he started, you felt ashamed if you didn't join in quickly enough. Whatever he deemed funny was.funny. It's not that he was a bullying character. It was his entourage that made those with low self-esteem quake at his approach.
"This is the prince, right?" Guildenstern seemed to shout. "And if he's laughing, youbetterlaughtoo!"
So Hamlet was kept away from the better class of friend, as the worthier people were all frightened or disgusted with the picture his gang painted of him. The very reason I hadn't talked to my roommate since he'd moved in. Hamlet showed restraint unusual to him by following my lead, and didn't talk to me either. Until one day- Jove save us- the prince got bored.
I was broken sharply from my literature induced reverie as I felt a sudden weight on the bed I was sitting in. I looked over my book. The space next to me was full of prince.
The book was plucked from my hands, and examined upside down. Of course. No other prey around, so it was finally my turn.
"Words, words, words." Hamlet said. "Don't you ever get tired of them, Horatio?"
"No, my lord, I do not." I said, flatly, refusing to play his game. I made a grab for my book, but Hamlet made a spazzy dive to keep it from me, and fell off the bed. He popped up on his feet as though nothing had happened.
"'Mylord'," he said, mockingly. "You see, I did you the courtesy or referring to you by name. Why don't you return the favor?"
"That would not be proper, my lord."
"And you always worry about what's proper? Then why are you always cooped up in here? It's hardly proper for a bloke of your age to have his nose glued in one of these rather than having a drink down at the pub."
"You mistake 'proper' for 'common', my lord."
"Ooh, calling names now, are we? Come on! How common am I, then?"
"I never said-"
"You know right well what you did. You called any man who prefers drinking deep to reading deeper common, a preference of which I am proud."
"Proud of being common, my lord?"
"If by 'common' you mean 'person who prefers living to digesting another pound of paper and glue', Hell yes!"
"Hell is not an affirmation, my lord." I said, unperturbed.
He leaned towards me. I used the opportunity to snatchmybookbackandemergevictorious-No, he dangled it away again.
"And I am not yourlord. Why, I might be anybody's aristocrat!"
"Very well." I said, with a tight smile. "I think I'll have no difficulty addressing you with less respect."
"You see, that's the problem with you." he said, sadly. "You think too much."
"And you too little."
"Oh, ho, ho! Found a backbone now, have we?"
"I have had one for some time, but I cannot speak for yours."
I made one final grab for the book, still trying to save it from it's inevitable death in the pig muck, but again failed, and my frustration reached it's peak.
"And what's that supposed to mean?"
"That people with backbones don't panic at the thought of no audience!" I snapped.
There was a pause. Then Hamlet laughed. I pointedly didn't, and it finally got through to him that I wasn't enjoying this.
He tossed the book back, surprising me.
"There, good Horatio." he said. "Never fear. I won't pursue your company again."
What a liar.
