In the massive library of the castle in Elsinore, Polonius muttered quick instructions to his servant, Reynaldo. His daughter, Ophelia, was standing on the edge of the room, waiting for an audience with him, and he did not want her to hear what he was telling his manservant.
"Just be certain Laertes gets the money," Polonius was hissing to his nodding servant. "And . . ." he pressed a few coins in the servant's hand, 'Take heed of any actions on the boy's part that may dishonor both him and myself, and report all to me. Understand?"
"Yes, my lord," Reynaldo answered and was dismissed.
"How now, Ophelia!" Polonius said, frowning with concern, "Why look you so? What is the matter?"
Glancing left and right as if she thought she was would be overheard, Ophelia hesitated and then rushed desperately to her father, her black hair flying behind her and her long fingers twisting together anxiously.
"O my lord, my lord," she moaned, tears coursing freely down her cheeks. "I -- " she gulped, "I have been so frightened!"
"What is it, child?" Polonius said gently, taking her face in both his hands. "What, in the name of god!"
Ophelia hesitated again, as if she was loath to betray her attacker, then her face contorted and she burst, "My lord, I was sewing in my chambers when Lord Hamlet, with his doublet sloppy and unbraced, his stockings afoul, no hat upon his head, staggered in as pale as his rumpled shirt, his knees knocking together and -- and -- " she broke off as if she could not continue and averted her eyes.
But Polonius would not let go her face. "What? What, child? I can not help you if you do not tell me!"
"Such horrors he spoke of!" she shrilled, her slanted eyes popping. "He did not know himself! He seemed -- he seemed mad!"
"Mad for thy love?"
"My lord, I do not know," choked Ophelia. "But, truly, he was frightening."
"What said he?"
"He -- he took me by the wrist," Ophelia stammered, showing her father the white finger marks that were still there, "and held me very hard. Then he stretches away from me to the length of his arm and, standing thus, shades his brow and peers at me as if admiring me from a great distance! Long did he stand so, staring at me with a stranger's glinting eyes, and -- and I could not get away!"
She sobbed afresh, and Polonius took her into his arms.
"Hush, child, hush."
"Then -- then thrice did he wave his head up and down," went on Ophelia, sobbing, "as if he had confirmed something with his mad staring -- unshaved was he, his eyes bloodshot -- and he heaved such a weary sigh I thought he might have burst into tears. His face contorted as if he would, and his grip grew painfully tight. Only when I cried did he let go and shuffled awkwardly away, reaching out with his hands as if he'd gone blind!"
And she began to sob again, wailing, "O Hamlet! My poor Hamlet!"
"Hush now, peace, Ophelia," cooed her father, straightening up and holding her away. "Come, go with me. I will seek the king and we will straighten this matter. This seems the very ecstacy of love and leads the will to desperate undertakings. Have you given him any words of late?" he demanded of his daughter suspiciously.
"No," Ophelia answered stiffly. "But I did repel his letters and denied him access to me, as you commanded."
It still made Ophelia grind her teeth, that her father was keeping her from the only man she really cared about. She would be given to some old and ugly man twice her age and live a life more meaningless than the one she now led in her father's charge or, if she refused, would live out the rest of her miserable days shut up in a nunnery. There would be no happy life for her without her Hamlet.
"Then that hath driven him mad," confirmed Polonius, almost to himself. "Come, go we to the king. This must be known."
Polonius hobbled at once from the vast library, but Ophelia lingered, wiping the tears from her pale cheeks. She knew, in her heart of hearts, that this was the end. She and Hamlet would never be.
