Chapter 8:The Tempered Pipe
Within the walls of Elsinore Castle, the halls were thick with the merry sounds of feasting. People laughed, drank, tore at mutton with their teeth, and crowded close to the empty stage as they eagerly awaited the much anticipated play for the night. The royal court, meanwhile, were seated in high seats as they waited with the servants and peasants for the fun to begin. King Claudius whispered in a giggling Gertrude's ear, and Ophelia slouched miserably in her seat as she listened to her father muttering with Hamlet's old friends.
"Where the devil could he be?" Polonius cursed under his breath, clenching his fists as his eyes searched the surrounding hall for Hamlet.
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern shrugged guiltily.
"I know we were charged to keep at his side," began Guildenstern, not meeting Polonius's angry eyes, "but he gave us the slip, my lord . . ."
"Fools!" hissed Polonius at them both. "You don't leave a mad person to his own devices! What think you the king brought you here for? Let's away! We must find him . . ."
But Hamlet, meanwhile, was backstage with his player friends. The players crowded around him eagerly as he whispered last instructions for the play.
"I must hurry," Hamlet was muttering to his surrounding friends, "for my fool servants will have marked my absence – but have you my speech memorized, then?"
"Down to the last flourish," joked one of the players, grinning, and Hamlet laughed.
"Good, good," said the prince, "and be not too tame neither. Go, quick, and make you ready, for my fool friends approach!" Hamlet hissed, glancing over his shoulder. He straightened as the players dispersed and turned to Polonius, who was approaching with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern in tow. "How now, my lord! Will the king hear this piece of work?"
Polonius nodded, "And the queen too, and that presently."
"Bid the players make haste," Hamlet told Polonius, who hesitated, but hobbled away to obey with a sour disposition. "And won't you help to hasten them?" Hamlet said to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, who started at being sent away yet again and knew obeying Hamlet would only mean more trouble for them. But it would look too suspicious if they insisted on clinging to him constantly, so the two young men said, "We will, my lord," and hurried after Polonius.
"What, ho! Horatio!" called Hamlet, delighted.
Horatio was indeed wandering through the crowded hall. He spotted his friend over the sea of heads, grinned, and fought his way over.
"Here, sweet lord, at your service," he said, bowing to his prince and brother.
"Horatio, thou are as just a man as ever I met," said Hamlet merrily, clapping his friend on the back, and his bitter eyes surveyed the crowded hall and landed with disgust on his uncle, who was still tickling the queen's ear with his wet whispers.
"Oh – my – my dear lord – " began Horatio, flustered.
"Nay, do not think I flatter. Why should the poor be flattered? Give me that man that is not passion's slave, and I will wear him in my heart's core, aye, in my heart of hearts, as I do thee. There is a play tonight before the king and one scene comes near the circumstance which I have told thee of my father's death. I pray thee, observe mine uncle. If his guilt does not occur, then it is a damned ghost we have scene and my imagination foul. My eyes will rivet his face and later we will both our judgements join."
"Well, my lord, if he so steal and conceal his guilt while the play is playing, then I will pay the theft," said Horatio grimly.
"The players are ready, and I must seem crazy," whispered Hamlet as some of the torches in the hall were doused. "Go, get you a place . . ."
Horatio nodded and moved off through the murmuring crowd. Hamlet watched him go, then moved toward the king and queen, who were holding hands and giggling like two young lovers. Polonius sat at the king's side, Ophelia at the queen's, and lastly Rosencrantz and Guildenstern at the end of the row. A seat was saved for Hamlet between Ophelia and the queen. Hamlet felt his heart burn as he looked on Ophelia, as he looked on them all. How he hated them now, hated them! They had been his family and now? Now they were all against him. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, his childhood friends, were nothing but traitors now. Ophelia (his sweet nymph, so kind and so lovely!) had thrown his love back in his face. Polonius was nothing but a nosy knave, his mother a loyal-less harlot, and his uncle the king?
We shall soon see, thought Hamlet grimly as the king lifted a hand and called happily, "How fares our cousin Hamlet?"
"Excellent, in faith of the chameleon's dish, for he feeds on only air. I eat air, promise-crammed," was the prince's puzzling reply.
The king and Polonius exchanged meaningful glances.
"I – I have nothing with this answer . . ." answered the king uncertainly.
"My lord, you played once in the university, did you not?" Hamlet asked Polonius abruptly.
"I did enact Julius Caesar and was killed by Brutus . . ." Polonius lifted his eyebrows at the king as if to say "You see what I mean?"
"It was a brute part of him to kill so capital a calf," said Hamlet without cracking a smile, and Polonius's mouth dropped open behind his back in smothered rage. "Be the players ready?"
"They await your convenience, my lord," answered Rosencrantz.
"Come hither, my good Hamlet, sit by me," begged the queen, for Hamlet had remained standing all this time, as if he loathed to be seated among those people he now had to hate.
"No, my good mother," Hamlet answered, and his green eyes wandered with a crazed glint to Ophelia, who went rigid with fear in her chair. " . . . here's metal more attractive," and Hamlet knelt at Ophelia's feet and roughly snatched her hand.
Ophelia (totally convinced of Hamlet's madness) remained frozen in her chair and watched Hamlet in wide-eyed pity and terror. She could only imagine what antics he would perform here before all eyes and could not bear to see the scorn glittering in the green eyes which had once looked upon her with such tender love.
"Ho! Do you mark that?" whispered Polonius to the king, who was watching Hamlet with narrowed eyes.
Hamlet roughly kissed Ophelia's hand, whose fingers were trembling uncontrollably in their fierce desire to be free of him. "Lady," said the prince, laying his head in Ophelia's lap, "shall I lie in your lap?"
Ophelia's eyes, now glistening with tears, wandered toward the murmuring crowds and the stage, as if she longed for the play to begin and free her of her ex-lover's madness. She swallowed and managed, "No, my lord."
"I mean, my head in your lap?"
"Ay – ay, my lord," Ophelia said uncertainly, and Hamlet snuggled his face against her thighs. She shuddered, feeling her body stir hungrily for his touch. He had not laid a hand on her in weeks, and she realized suddenly that he had meant to rouse her.
Hamlet laughed scornfully at the clear ache for him in her eyes, rose, and seated himself in the seat beside her. "Did you think I meant country matters?" he taunted. "Did you think I wanted to – "
"I think nothing, my lord," Ophelia said in a rush, glad suddenly that her eyes had not overspilled with tears. But her cheeks burned angrily. So he would be vulgar, make sex jokes, humiliate before all these watching eyes while the players waited patiently for him to finish? Well, she would bear it with dignity, then!
"That's a fair thought to lie between maid's legs," said Hamlet, smiling scornfully at her attempted dignity.
"What is, my lord?" said Ophelia through her teeth, her dark eyes clouding with her wrath.
Hamlet grinned at her rage, delighted. "Nothing," he answered.
"You are merry, my lord," Ophelia said dismissively. Had he been drinking? It was not like her Hamlet to drink, but then again, Hamlet had not been himself for days now. He'd grown unpredictable, mad, crazed . . . There was no telling what he would do or say to her here before all these people. Was he really mad? Or was this humiliation her punishment for turning him away? Oh, if only he knew the truth!
"Who, I?" the prince said in mock surprise.
"Ay, my lord."
"O god, your only jig-maker. What should a man do but be merry? For look you how cheerfully my mother looks, and my father died within two hours!" Hamlet said loudly, and Gertrude froze in her chair, stricken.
Claudius, meanwhile, was grinding his teeth.
"Nay, tis two months, my lord," said Ophelia, trying with all her might to focus on the stage and not look at Hamlet. She felt the intensity of his gaze as strongly as if he could touch her just with his look. Was he indeed mad or had the last comment been sarcasm? With him it was always hard to tell, and she turned her face in despair and crossed herself, thinking as she gulped down a rising sob, My poor, poor Hamlet!
Hamlet saw Ophelia's distress and dropped his gaze with a pang of guilt. Though her treachery deserved all the cold slander and humiliation he could muster, he could not look into her deep black eyes without loving her. How sorrowful she was now: her bottom lip trembling, her eyes shimmering with unspilled tears. She was suffering for him, worrying for him, crossing herself and praying silently. And how much was he terrorizing her! She sat rigid in her chair and would not even look at him!
Though you've crushed me, I need you to look at me or I'll die! Hamlet thought, watching her.
"Has it been so long then?" Hamlet said gently, gesturing for the players to start. "O heavens! To die two months ago and not forgotten yet! Then there's hope a great man's memory may outlive his life half a year."
Hearing his softened tone, Ophelia looked at Hamlet quickly and was shocked to see the scorn had melted from his eyes. He was looking at her with a sort of naked vulnerably as if the green eyes said, "Please . . . I'm sorry I hurt you, but you see, I am hurting." How tender his expression now, and how miserable, and how yearning. Ophelia felt her heart melt as he quietly gathered her fingers into his own, his eyes fixed on the stage as the play began, and was puzzled to tears. Why the sudden change of mood? Why the tender look, why the gentle hands, why the apology in the eyes? Was he really sorry he had taunted and humiliated her? Was he normal again? For those green eyes had become her Hamlet's once more – not the eyes of the mad and raving man they'd been the last few days.
"What means my lord?" Ophelia asked breathlessly.
"Marry," answered Hamlet without looking at her and nodded at the stage if he thought her question pertained to the play, "this is miching mallecho – it means mischief."
Ophelia smiled uncertainly, feeling as if she could sing. Was it true? Was her Hamlet (the Hamlet who loved theater, loved music, loved her) back? "Belike – belike this show reveals the plot."
Hamlet chuckled, "We shall know by this fellow: the players cannot keep counsel – they'll tell all."
"Will he tell us what this show meant?" asked Ophelia, relaxing and rejoicing in the warmth of Hamlet's fingers. It was like they were in her chambers beside the fire again, reading their favorite plays to each other and discussing them. Hamlet absolutely loved the theater, and she had indulged in it just for him.
"He'll not shame to tell you what it means."
"You are naught, you are naught," teased Ophelia, squeezing his fingers. "I'll mark the play."
"Is this the prologue or the posy of a ring?" complained Hamlet as a single player on the stage trilled of the play's prologue.
"Ay, it is too brief," agreed Ophelia.
"Like woman's love," Hamlet muttered bitterly, and stung, Ophelia snatched her hand away.
On the stage, a queen and her lover were plotting the downfall of their king. The queen was very reluctant and sobbed and sighed, but her lover growled at her with much impatience and told her she must help him.
"Madam, how like you this play?" Hamlet asked his mother.
"The lady dost protest too much, methinks," answered the queen.
"Have you heard the argument?" hissed Claudius, pulling at his collar as if the hall was suddenly too hot. "Is there no offence in it?"
"No, no," laughed Hamlet, "they do but jest, poison in jest."
"What do you call the play?" Claudius wanted to know. He would never allow this play to show again!
"Mouse-trap," answered Hamlet by way of a jest, watching his uncle closely. A crazed smiled lingered around his lips, unnerving the king. "The play is the image of the murder of Gonzago in Vienna. You shall see soon. Tis a knavish piece of work. But what of it, your majesty, we have innocent souls and it touches us not!" he added like a final jab to an already beaten man.
"You are a good chorus, my lord," said Ophelia in an attempt to flatter Hamlet so as to win back his good side, the side which he had briefly shown to her when he'd taken her hand. "You interpret the play rather well."
"I could better interpret you and your love if I could see the puppets fondling each other," Hamlet remarked scathingly.
Ophelia flushed again in her anger. "You are keen, my lord, very keen," she said coldly. Why the sudden sarcasm again? Why the angry eyes? Why the mean stare? Did the illness in him come and go? Did the madness waver? Would she never have her Hamlet back? How keen – how sarcastic and cruel he was now!
Hamlet laughed bitterly, leaned over, and whispered in her ear, "It would cost you a groaning to take off my edge."
Ophelia felt his lips brush her ear in a soft kiss, shuddered angrily, and looked away again. "Still better and worse," she said tonelessly.
"So you mistake your husbands," mocked Hamlet, beginning again his rant against women. He would have continued but noticed the climax of the play had finally come: the player lover was poisoning his king. "What, ho! He poisons him in the garden estate!" Hamlet cried, watching Claudius was glittering eyes.
"The king rises!" gasped Ophelia.
"What!" mocked Hamlet. "Frightened with false fire?"
There was a collective gasp and the players froze as the king rose from his seat, bellowed frenzied orders at the players and the hall at large, and stormed from the hall with the flustered queen and Polonius in tow. The rest of the hall exited in mass confusion, and Ophelia disappeared after her father with a worried look at Hamlet.
Hamlet lounged in the empty hall, his feet propped on his mother's empty seat. Horatio approached him across the strewn garbage and rumpled rugs, and he sat up with a sarcastically triumphant flourish of his hand.
"Why, let the stricken deer go weep, the hart ungalled play, for some must watch while some must sleep: so the world runs away." Hamlet heaved a sigh, "O good Horatio! I'll take the ghost's word for a thousand pound. Didst thou perceive?"
"Upon the talking of poison I very well did note him," answered his friend.
"Yes, there was a certain look of – " but Hamlet broke off and fell silent with a weary eye as Rosencrantz and Guildenstern approached. "Ah ha!" cried Hamlet, affecting madness at once. "Come, some music!"
"My good lord, vouchsafe me a word with you," said Guildenstern, bowing.
Hamlet shrugged, "Sir, a whole history."
"The king, sir – " began Guildenstern.
"Ay, what of him?"
"Is in his retirement marvelous distempered – "
"With drink, sir?" suggested Hamlet, his eyes mocking and wild.
"No, my lord, rather with anger," said Guildenstern, exchanging looks of dread with Rosencrantz.
"Your wisdom were far more richer to tell this to some doctor," said Hamlet, hopping down from the armrest of his mother's vacant chair. "What good will telling me do? For me to put him to his purgation would plunge him more into his anger."
"The queen your mother hath sent us to you," said Guildenstern.
"Your behavior hath struck her into amazement," added Rosencrantz, "and she desires to speak with you ere you go to bed."
"O what wonderful son that can so astonish a mother!" said Hamlet with a secret smile at Horatio. "But I shall obey were she ten times my mother. Have you anything else or is that all?" he added with a hint of annoyance.
"My lord," began Rosencrantz in earnest, "you did once love me. We were the best of friends."
"By my hands, we were," agreed the prince indifferently.
Rosencrantz shook his head, "But my good lord, what is the meaning of your distemper? You surely cause yourself to suffer if you deny your grievances to your friends."
Some players entered as he spoke, and Hamlet borrowed one of their recorders. Turning to Guildenstern, he said, "Will you play upon this pipe?"
"I believe I can not . . ." Guildenstern answered uncertainly, exchanging another look with Rosencrantz.
"I beseech you," said the prince with a creepy smile. "It's as easy as . . . lying." He watched their eyes dart nervously and plunged on in sudden wrath, "Why, look you now! How unworthy a thing you make of me! You would play upon me – !" and he threw therecorder in their faces, " – and you would pluck out the heart of my mystery – and there is much music in this little organ – yet you can not make it speak! Christ's blood, do you think I am so easily played upon as a pipe?"
And he stood, his chest heaving, glaring at his two traitorous friends. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern stood motionless, their faces burning their guilt, their eyes cast down. They were in the king's pocket and no friend of the prince's, and Hamlet had droppedall pretense ofmanners at last. He was calling them out for what they were: traitors and liars and bad actors. And they could hardly stand before him such was the ferocity of his gaze.
But Polonius entered at that moment, repeating again Guildenstern's message.
"Do you see yond cloud that is almost in the shape of a camel?" said Hamlet, gazing at the ceiling.
Polonius humored him with an I-told-you-so glance at Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, "By the mass, like a camel indeed!"
"Methinks it like a weasel," said Hamlet abruptly.
"It is backed like a weasel," said Polonius.
"Or like a whale?"
"Very like a whale."
Hamlet's eyes glittered with a suppressed smile, "I will come to my mother by and by."
"I will say so," said Polonius, and hurried away as if very eager to have something done.
"By and by," repeated Hamlet, glowering at Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. "Leave me . . . friends." He sneered the last word at them, and they left with burning faces. Then he clapped Horatio's shoulder, who smiled at him in turn and exited the hall.
"Tis now the very witching time of night," Hamlet murmured. "When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out. Soft! Now to my mother. Let me be cruel, not crazed. And I shall speak daggers to her!"
