ACT ONE

Scene 4: Hamlet follows the Ghost

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The four men shivered.

"It is very cold," said Hamlet, drawing his cloak more tightly about him.

"The air is sharp and nipping," agreed Horatio, who had accidentally left his cloak behind and now regretted it. He settled for blowing softly on his hands.

"What hour is it?" Hamlet asked.

"I think it's nearly twelve," said Horatio.

"No," Marcellus said. "It has already struck."

Horatio nodded slowly, glancing up at his lord. "Then it draws nears the time when the spirit customarily walks..."

A sudden, unexpected flourish of trumpets made them all jump, and Horatio looked to the castle in alarm. "What does this mean, my lord?" he asked Hamlet, who merely scowled.

"The King does stay up late tonight," he said. "He will drink deeply, become disorderly, sing and hold wild dances...as he drains his goblets of Rhenish wine, the drums and trumpets bray out his triumph."

Horatio looked confused; no such goings-on had there been in the court of Denmark when the old King Hamlet had lived. "Is it a custom?" he asked curiously.

"Ay," admitted Hamlet, "but to my mind it is such a custom that is more honourable to break than to keep...this drunken revelling east and west lowers our worth in the eyes of other nations. They call us drunkards, pigs! And it does indeed soil our reputation, detracts from our achievements, though outstanding might those achievements be."

His friends nodded sympathetically, but Hamlet was in full flow, and continued, fiery-eyed.

"So often it happens that in certain men that they have some vicious mole of nature within them, that they cannot help, but which breaks down their reason...carrying the stamp of but one small defect – no matter how pure their virtues might else be – they shall, from that particular fault, become infected, be brought into disrepute..."

"My lord!" interrupted Horatio softly. "Look, it comes –"

As the icy cold froze the hairs on their arms, the Ghost's grey eyes bore into those of his son. Hamlet fell back against the wall. Staring in pained amazement upon the face of his dead father, the young prince murmured, "Angels and ministers of grace defend us!"

The Ghost said nothing, keeping its sorrowful eyes fixed upon Hamlet's face.

Trembling, the prince spoke again, his voice tortured. "Whether you are a spirit of good or a damned goblin – whether you bring with you the airs of heaven or blasts of wind from hell – whether your intents are wicked or charitable – I will speak to thee!"

Horatio was no longer looking at the ghost, but at his shaking friend; Hamlet's face was deathly white. The young prince wrung his hands, eyes tortured.

"I'll call thee Hamlet!" cried the Prince wildly. "King – father – royal Dane! O, speak to me! Tell me why thy blessed bones enclosed in death have burst their shroud – what may this mean?"

But the Ghost did not speak.

"Thou, dead corpse," Hamlet whispered, "making nights hideous, say, why is this? Wherefore? What should we do?"

The Ghost said nothing, but raised one smoky hand, and crooked a finger. His eyes never left Hamlet's face.

"It beckons you to go with it," said Horatio, in sudden fear. He resolved that he would not let Hamlet go alone, if so he wished – who knew with what malicious intent the Ghost beckoned him?

"It waves you to a more removed ground," said Marcellus anxiously. "But do not go with it..." Horatio knew that Marcellus was thinking along the same lines as he.

"No, be no means!" Horatio put in, as Hamlet, like in a dream, moved slowly forward.

"It will not speak," said Hamlet calmly. "So I shall follow it."

"Do not, my lord," beseeched Horatio; he was gripped by a consuming terror that his friend would not return.

"What, what should be the fear?" Hamlet asked Horatio without looking at him. "I do not value my life – not even at the worth of a pin!"

At this, Horatio looked anguished. His oldest friend, so dismissive of his own life! Where had the Hamlet he had once known gone? The playful Hamlet of vigorous life and smiles, who wanted not only to live, but to live well, and fully? This new Hamlet, of the smouldering eyes and thin pale face; Horatio did not know what to make of him.

"As for my soul," Hamlet went on, taking a few more steps towards the Ghost, who drew further away, still beckoning, "What can it do to my soul? It is immortal itself. It waves me forth again – I'll follow it!"

Horatio laid a restraining hand upon his lord's arm. "What if it tempt you toward the sea, my lord," he warned, "or – or to the dreadful summit of a cliff? And there assume some other horrible form which might draw you into madness? Think of it!" he said pleadingly, as Hamlet shook off Horatio's hand, looking impatient. "The very place puts desperation into every brain that looks so many fathoms to the sea and hears it roar beneath!"

But Hamlet would not listen. "It waves me still. Go on," he said to the Ghost. "I'll follow thee!"

He started resolutely forward, but in one swift movement Horatio and Marcellus both seized his arms and held him tight.

"You shall not go, my lord!" said Marcellus, looking at Horatio desperately; he had more influence over the Prince.

"Hold off your hands!" cried Hamlet, struggling to free himself from their grasp.

"Be ruled, you shall not go," Horatio told his friend, panting with the effort of holding him back.

Hamlet stopped struggling and glared at them. "My fate cries out," he hissed, "and makes each petty artery in this body as strong as a lion! I am called – unhand me, gentleman – by heaven, I say, away!" He wrenched himself free from their grasp, and stood there, fierce, eyes burning.

"Go on," he said again to the Ghost, who had watched the proceedings silently. "Go on, I'll follow thee."

And before Horatio or any of them could say another word, he had gathered his cloak about him and disappeared into the darkness.

Horatio ran his fingers in agitation through his dark locks. "He waxes desperate with imagination," he whispered.

"Let's follow," said Marcellus. "It is not fit thus to obey him."

Horatio nodded quickly. "Let us go after him. Oh, what outcome will this reach?"

"Something is rotten in the state of Denmark," lamented Marcellus, as they started swiftly in the direction Hamlet and the Ghost had taken.

"Stay, Barnardo, and keep good watch," said Horatio ov his shoulder to the young guard, Barnardo -- who nodded, only too grateful to keep away from the Ghost's new haunt.

"Let's follow him," said Marcellus again, and the two men, too, were swallowed up by the inky darkness around the battlements.

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