Preface

     Among the papers discovered at my family's ancestral estate was a curious manuscript proved to be more than five hundred years old.  Less certain is its claim to contain the personal reminiscences of Hamlet of Denmark.  A cursory translation revealed this Hamlet's story to be quite different from that popularized by Shakespeare, at least from intermission on.  I will summarize the original here for readers whose Shakespeare has lapsed. 

Hamlet, prince of the Danes, is feeling down because his father, the King, has died, and his uncle, Claudius, has assumed the throne and married Hamlet's mother, the dead King's widow.  To make matters worse, Hamlet is visited by what appears to be his father's ghost, who reveals that Claudius murdered him (poison), and asks Hamlet to avenge his murder.  Hamlet hesitates. Unsure what to do, he arranges a play about murder to be shown and is convinced by Claudius' reaction that he is indeed guilty.  That night, thinking Claudius to be hiding in his mother's closet, he thrusts his knife through the curtain.  Sadly, the body in the closet turns out to be not Claudius but old Polonius, advisor to the King and father to fair Ophelia, with whom Hamlet was at one time in love. Claudius dispatches Hamlet to England, part of a scheme to have him executed there; but Hamlet's capture and eventual release by pirates foil this plan. Our hero returns to Denmark, reuniting with his trusted friend Horatio, and is told that Ophelia has gone insane and drowned herself.  Claudius, still scheming to get rid of Hamlet, stages a sword-fighting contest between Hamlet and Laertes, Polonius' son, in which Laertes will secretly use a poisoned blade.  Just to make sure, Claudius also prepares a poisoned drink for Hamlet.  However, Hamlet's mother drinks it instead and dies.  Both Hamlet and Laertes are cut by the poisoned blade and die, but before succumbing, Hamlet finally carries out his mission of vengeance and kills Claudius. 

There is also quite a bit of chatty dialog.

The linguist who completed the final translation published here suggested that in some way both versions --  Shakespeare's and this -- may be true, in some sort of metaphysical, "alternate history" sense.  I shall not speculate on that but believe the story will yet be of interest.

                                   Dr. Jane Watson

                                   London, 2002

  

I. After Ophelia's Funeral

     "So much for this," I panted.  "Now -- let me see ..."

     "Good my lord ... 'Eat a crocodile'?  What was that about?"

     "I was bereaved.  I loved her."

     "Yes.  So I recall.  'Get thee to a nunnery'? Wasn't that what you told her?"

     "Horatio, you wound me."

     His voice softened.  "My lord, I know you wear an antic disposition to fool your enemies.  But sometimes e'en I cannot tell which is for play, and which for show."

     A lanky fellow, tallish for a Dane, with aquiline features and a hooked nose, Horatio had been my constant friend since the years we shared rooms on Bakker Street at school in Wittenberg.  Even now I could not be angry with him.

     "Horatio, I have that within which passeth show.  Ophelia lies dead, and surely my murder of her father, and my heartless words when last we spoke, did precipitate her drowning."

     "Season your guilt for a while, my lord.  There are one or two bits about this business I find most curious."

     "Indeed?"

     He nodded, glancing behind us to make sure the crowd from Ophelia's funeral was beyond earshot.  "These last few months I have developed to a keen pitch certain faculties of observation that to me are now as natural as breathing but which often command the admiration and amazement of others.  For example, have you ever seen the victim of a drowning?"

"Why yes, in the months I spent at sea."

     "Did you observe any signs of it, my lord, in the late Ophelia's body, just now, while you grappled with her brother Laertes in the grave?"

     "No, but ... her fair and unpolluted flesh ..."

     "Yes, yes.  'May violets spring ...'  "But soft now.  Who comes?"

     A courtier entered and introduced himself as Osric.  He was a silly fellow in foppish dress, with dark hair and beard, and too-ancient eyes. He told us that Claudius the King had wagered that in a friendly exchange of swordplay I would best Laertes. 

I agreed to come immediately and make a try of it.

     "Dost thou know this water-fly?" I asked Horatio, as Osric left.

     "No, my good lord." 

I could tell from his expression he was concerned about the match.

"Since Laertes went into France I have been in continual practice," I assured him.  "And I often fenced with the pirates."

     "You will lose this wager, my lord."

     "I shall win at the odds.  Besides, Horatio ... there's a special providence in the fall of a sparrow."

He raised an eyebrow.  "Not for the sparrow."

 

II.  To Be Or Not To Be

 

     "A hit," announced Osric.  "A very palpable hit."

     Osric was getting on my nerves.  But I was enjoying the match, my skill in good form.  Laertes and I played in the courtyard, surrounded by nobles and lords.

The son of Polonius, who had been advisor to both my father and my uncle, Laertes was about my age: a little under thirty.  Though I had not known him well -- his schooling had been mostly in France -- I had hoped friendship might yet bloom between us.  Those hopes died when I accidentally killed his father. 

Before the match I did my best to put a good face on our conflict, explaining to him that I had shot my arrow over a house and hurt my brother.  He did not seem to take this well, perhaps because what I had actually done was stab his father.  Still, he was a good fellow.  A brisk round of swordplay might just patch things up between us.

     "Hamlet, here's to thy health," said Claudius, pouring a cup for me.

     "I'll play this bout first." I would sooner drink poison than accept wine from that bloody, bawdy villain.  "Set it by."

     Laertes and I resumed and I scored another hit.  In the corner of my eye I saw Horatio standing amongst the applauding nobles, his eyes fixed on my uncle.

     My mother raised the cup the King had poured for me moments before. "The Queen carouses to thy fortune."

     "Madam, do not drink," protested Claudius. 

"I will drink it, my lord, I ... you clumsy oaf!"

     Laertes and I halted to see what had happened.

"I apologize most heartily, Madam."  Horatio dropped a cloth over a spilled puddle of wine and a broken goblet.  "I merely sought a better view of the action."

"No harm done," grunted Claudius, surprisingly calm.  Almost relieved.  "Bring her another cup."

We resumed.  "Nothing, either way," reported Osric, presently.

"Good friends!" shouted Horatio suddenly.  "Might I suggest a custom enjoyed in my home village?"

All eyes turned to him in surprise, mine included.

"After three rounds," he explained, "the fencers exchange foils!"

I stared daggers at him. How was this supposed to help me?

Claudius made to protest.  The Queen cut him off, clapping her hands.  "Excellent!  Let it be done!"

Laertes' expression suggested he was even less enthused about this new development than I.

We made the exchange and began anew.  I was unused to the heavier weapon and Laertes took advantage of my hesitation, using my own sword to make a slight cut to my wrist.  Osric reported it gleefully, and something in his voice reminded me of someone.

But I had the feel of Laertes' sword now, and was eager to try again. "Come on, then!"

Laertes paled.  "I ... forfeit," he said, to everyone's astonishment.  Backing out of the courtyard, he added, "I have a headache." 

For a man who had just won a bet, the King did not look pleased.

  

III.  Frailty, Thy Name is Woman

 

My mother's closet.

Behind the arras, just where Polonius had hidden, after the players' diversion had ended in chaos that fateful night, with Claudius calling for light, his fratricide exposed ... to Horatio and me, at least.

Poor Polonius.  He only intended to serve his lord as best he knew.  When I questioned my mother, perhaps too roughly, and Polonius cried out, I thought Claudius was hiding there.  Hasty for my o'er delayed revenge, I thrust my dagger through the tapestry.  But moments later we found not Claudius but his trusted advisor, dead, features frozen in his death agonies, a spray of blood across his clothing.

I wondered if bloodstains yet remained. Detecting the slightest aroma of wine, I saw shreds of rotten fruit on the floor.  In the richly woven Flemish tapestry that had concealed Polonius, I found the gash made by my poniard.

Voices. 

I edged against the back wall.

"Madame, for this interview I do give thee thanks," I heard Horatio say.  "Laertes did heartily wish for a better understanding of his sister's untimely death.  As a friend of the family he felt I might be better suited for this questioning."

"As my husband has said, when sorrow visits this castle it comes not single spies, but in whole battalions," my mother commented.  I heard her sweep into the room as she does.  "If there is aught I can do to ease the pain my family has brought his, I welcome it."

"Ophelia was hopelessly insane, then?"

"You saw her yourself."

"My poor memory does not always serve, Madam.  Can you recall her words, that last day we saw her?"

"The chatter of a child.  Meaningless."

"Nonetheless."

My mother's voice took on a familiar irritation, but she answered.  "She sang of flowers. This phrase remains with me:

And will he not come again?

No, no, he is dead

Go to thy death-bed

He never will come again."

"And you never saw her alive again, Madame?"

"Yes.  I mean, no.  As I told you all before ... she was in the willow beside the brook.  The branch broke, sending her in her heavy garments into the weeping brook, which pulled her to a muddy death."

"You witnessed her drowning, then?"

"I ... yes."

"And no one else was present."

"Yes.  I see not the purpose ..."

"Was it quick, Madam?"

"As I told you before, she sang snatches of old tunes.  It took some time ..."

"You made no attempt to find assistance?"

"Sir!"  She paused.  "I dislike your tone.  Shall we continue this interview in the King's presence?"

"Indeed.  I welcome the opportunity to discuss Ophelia's murder with the head of our state."

"Murder?"

"Murder most foul, Madam."

"You accuse your Queen of lying?"

"I seek the truth.  There are developments of which you are unaware.  This morning, by the highest authority, I had Ophelia's body exhumed and examined."

Ophelia's grave, disturbed?  I caught the cry before it escaped my lips.  I had given Horatio no such authority ... but break my heart, for I must be silent. 

Horatio had previously wrung from me by laborsome petition my promise that I would remain so, feeling the questioning best done by him alone.

"And?" Her tone had changed now.

"And it was clear that this young woman had not drowned. There were signs of a forced death ... of another sort."

Now my mother was silent.

"Madam, I suggest you tell me what you know."

"I can tell you nothing."

"Surely ..."

"This is enough!" I cried, stepping into view.  My mother stared at me, startled, as if I, too, had returned from the dead.  "There was no need to disturb Ophelia's grave, Horatio!"

"My good lord," Horatio said coldly.  "I did but attempt a ruse, on the basis of what I call a 'hunch'.  Which was about to bear fruit."

I stared.  "Oh."

"But if you knew about his questions ... then ... ah, heaven."  She slumped onto her couch.

"Who are you protecting, Madame?" Horatio demanded.

She was still looking at me.  "Hamlet ... you, also, seek the truth about Ophelia's death?"

"Of course!"

She sighed.  "I have wronged you indeed. Sit down, gentleman, and let me tell you what really happened that day." 

She paused to collect her thoughts.

"I often take my tea beside that same brook.  I like a little time to myself each day.  That afternoon, when I arrived, I found Ophelia dead, not drowned as I told everyone later, but strangled, on the ground beside the willow.  The marks on her throat were clear."  She looked sadly at me.  "My son, I am sorry, but I believed you had killed her."

"Me?  How could thou?"

"My son ... before you departed for England, your words were wild and whirling. I did not yet know that time had calmed you.  I assumed, unfairly I do now acknowledge, that you had returned home and quarreled with her as before, and that in rage you had killed her too."

I winced at the word "too", a reminder I had slain Ophelia's father in this very room.

"But madam," Horatio protested gently.  "When Ophelia was killed, you believed Hamlet still in England."

"No.  On my way to inform the castle of Ophelia's murder, a messenger met me to tell me there had been a letter from Hamlet, a letter both strange and threatening, and that Hamlet was here in Denmark."  Her face dropped.

"So I returned to her body, covered her neck with flowers, and dragged her into the brook, while working out the details in my mind of the story I told everyone later.  I am sorry, Hamlet."

I barely heard her.

Someone had murdered Ophelia. 

Not suicide.  Not an accident.

Murder.

And I had a good idea who that someone probably was.

Bloody, bawdy villain!

I held my mother for a moment. "Good lady, fear not.  You acted on my behalf, and Ophelia was beyond your help. But I must avenge her death."

"Hamlet, no!"

I shook off her embrace. "Now could I drink hot blood."

"First it's crocodiles, now hot blood," commented Horatio.  "You must learn to control these appetites, my lord."

"You mock me."

He shook his head.  "Old friend, Uncle Shylock once told me that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.  But O day and night, I fear the truth my investigation leads me toward may be wondrous strange."

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

"I doubt it," he muttered, but his eyes had taken on the look of someone lost in thought.

I left them. 

It was time for Claudius to die.

 

IV.  And Be A Villain

 

"You serve a false king," I told the lords and officers assembled in the State Room, striding down the length of the long table.  "Claudius seized the throne by murder of my father."

Claudius rose from his place at the head of the table.  "Officers, hold him."

Marcellus and Bernardo, officers of the guard and friends well known to me, appeared, weapons ready.

"This usurper has no right to the crown and dishonors our state by its wearing," I told them all.  "It has been made known to me that he murdered my father Hamlet by loosing a vial of cursed hebenon in his ear, whilst he slept."

The room erupted into murmurs and more than one whisper of confirmed suspicion.  The well-repeated rumor "stung by a serpent" caught my ear.

"Aye, that is what you were told.  And there stands the serpent himself!

"Bernardo and Marcellus, you bar the path of the rightful heir to the throne of Denmark.  Now let me pass.  By Heaven, I'll make a ghost of the man who stops me."

They nodded and stepped aside.

I strode to Claudius and drew my dagger.  "Confess the deed now or die unrepentant."

Claudius was almost relieved.  "It's true, Hamlet.  I murdered your father.  God have mercy on my soul."

Explosions of outrage behind me.

"And Ophelia?"

"What ... what of her?  She's dead."

And as surely as I'd known him guilty of my father's murder when he blanched at the play, I now knew him to be innocent of hers. Perhaps Horatio would yet solve that question.  But whether for one murder or two, Claudius still deserved to die.

And now could I do it.

... or could I? 

I might ease my father's soul by Claudius' killing, but what burden would I impose on my own?  Suddenly the deepest cause for all my warring hesitations was clear.  If Man was indeed to be more than a quintessence of dust, more than a beast without discourse of reason, then could he kill without provocation?  Removed from his stolen throne, surely Claudius must be ... but slaughtered, the more quickly to enter blessed Eternity?

I dropped the hand that clenched my dagger and turned my back on him.

And saw Marcellus, a shout of warning on his lips, and a hand raised in alarm ...

Some instinct brought me low and I felt the whisper of Claudius' blade over my head.  I turned, bringing my own weapon up ...

... and pierced his heart.

"Wait," he whispered.  "Wait ... there is another ..."

Claudius fell to the ground, dead.

Free! 

I had fulfilled my father's vengeance.

Free at last.

I left the chaos of the State Room and paced madly, blindly, through corridors, consumed with wonder at his final, mysterious words, barely conscious that someone followed.

When the blow came I had just time to realize that this was perhaps the one occasion on which I should have hesitated. 

At least until Claudius had finished his sentence.

The rest is silence.

  

V.  All The World's A Stage

 

I woke with a piercing headache and discomfort in my arms, seated in a forgotten dungeon of the castle.

A face pressed itself near mine, startling me.  The eyes were old and familiar. 

A moment later I recognized the dark hair and beard of Osric the courtier.

"You live," he grunted.

I understood the discomfort in my arms now; they were bound behind the chair.  "What is the meaning of this, Osric?"

"The meaning should be clear.  You are my prisoner."

"Then you struck me!"

He nodded.

"But why?"

He smiled.  "I'll answer that.  Someone should appreciate the great efforts I have expended upon this enterprise."

"What could you ..."

"You underestimate me, my lord Hamlet, as I have always intended. I sit motionless, like a spider in the center of its web, a web with a thousand radiations, each quiver well known to me.  In the years I 'served' your father and uncle, I wove a fabric of trusted agents and confidants in the castle and in the service of the royal family, agents who reported to, and were loyal to me -- Reynaldo, for example -- all awaiting the right moment.  For dog will have his day."

"What years?"  I worked my wrists as I spoke, hoping to loosen the cords.  "I never saw you before this ..."

"Guildenstern and Rosencrantz, for example.  You inconvenienced me, dispatching them in England."

"What ... what do you want, Osric?"

"The dukedom of Elsinore, no less.  You have heard Fortinbras is on the march?"

"Of course.  He has been granted passage through our lands, on route to exploits in Poland."

"So you were led to believe.  Did you really think this hot-mettled lad would so smilingly kneel to Norway?"  He laughed.  "My agents have been in constant communication with him.  My task was to create chaos within Castle Elsinore, to weaken the royal family before his arrival."

"And his?"

"To crown himself King of Denmark upon his arrival.  Which I anticipate any day now."

"'To weaken the royal family's rule' ?"

"To set brother against brother, uncle against nephew. Divide and conquer."

I stared at him through dawning understanding.  "Thou art no mere courtier!"

"Indeed not, my lord," said a familiar voice.  "He is the Alexander of Crime."

"Horatio!" I strained my neck to see him enter through a passageway, ducking his head as he did so. 

But my spirits fell when I realized he too was a prisoner, a sword at his back.

Laertes appeared, carrying the sword.  "I caught him exploring the nearby passageways, Father," he said.

With shock, I turned back ...

... to see that Osric had disappeared, and Polonius now stood in his place.

  

VI. Murder Will Speak

 

"So you took me for my 'better', that night, eh?"

He set aside the beard and wig he had worn until just now, his voice losing the affectations of a foppish courtier.  "In my youth I played many roles at the university and was accounted a good actor.  That, along with more than a little facility with paints, powders and wigs, was a skill I never lost.  It allowed me to insert myself back into Claudius' court after my 'death', with a signed letter of recommendation from -- who else? -- Polonius."

"But I stabbed you!  I saw you die!"

"Did you?" asked Horatio.  "Did you feel his pulse, my lord? Test his breathing?"

"You stabbed but a piece of fruit on the table in your lady's closet, behind the arras," Polonius said scornfully.  "Your mother, my lord, is a woman of hearty appetites."

"Sir!" I blushed.

"I meant merely that she keeps quite a supply of food and wine in her closet.  My mind worked quickly when you attacked that tapestry.  In truth I did fear for my life.  If you struck out once you might again, and there was no exit from the lady's closet save past you in your fury.  I noticed then that the nearby wine was of such a color it might acceptably pass for blood.  Therefore I shouted, 'I am slain', splashed wine upon my doublet, and knocked the fruit out of view as I fell.

"I have in my time studied the writings of Eastern philosophers, and one gem I discovered there is a technique of slowing one's breathing, aye, even one's heartbeat, sufficiently to convince the casual observer that life has departed.  This technique I employed upon you and the Queen that night with great success.  Later, after your temper had calmed, it occurred to me that it might be convenient to remain 'dead' until Claudius was out of the way, and Fortinbras securely on the throne."

"But later ... surely, the soldiers ... the priests, sent to bury you?"

"All my own agents.  Who did your uncle send to retrieve the body?"

I grimaced, remembering.  "Guildenstern and Rosencrantz!"

"There is little doubt of your genius, sir," said Horatio with affected admiration.  "Perhaps you would tell us the rest of the tale?"

Polonius nodded.  "You know that Claudius placed poison in the elder Hamlet's ear ... but who, do you think, told him to do it?"

I struggled with my bonds. "There is something rotten in the state of Denmark, sir, and I know who it is!"

"And 'uncle against nephew'?" Horatio prompted.

Polonius smiled broadly.  "The greatest of my triumphs." 

He slipped into another chamber and shortly returned, carrying a sable-silvered wig and false beard.  Putting them on, he repeated the words I had heard months earlier, in the dead of night:

"I am thy father's spirit, doom'd for a certain term to walk the night."

"Oh, God!" I cried.  "I thought it might have been a demon, assuming a more pleasing form ..."

"Blame not thy royal self, Hamlet," consoled Horatio.  "I did in part believe it too. Yet these last two days I began to perceive the truth.  It seemed only too convenient that a courtier unknown to both Hamlet and myself should have become part of Claudius' court so soon upon Polonius' death.  And when I posed questions regarding Polonius' burial and interment, the answers I received were tellingly incomplete."

"Sir, you swore an oath of loyalty to my father!"

Polonius made a face.  "Fie upon it.  To thine own self be true, I always say."

"'And as the night follows the day ..." Laertes muttered.

Horatio cleared his throat.  "But why did you kill Ophelia?"

Polonius lost his smile.  "That ... that was not by design.  She saw through this façade.  It unhinged her.  Having already mourned my death, she thought me the ghost of her father.  A common occurrence in Elsinore, it would seem.  This was followed by anger as her sanity began to return.  By the brook that day she told me she would expose me and clear Hamlet's name.  Foolish girl.  I struggled with her ... too roughly. 

"When I realized she was dead, I ran."

He shot a malevolent glance at Horatio.  "Hamlet I would leave alive until Fortinbras' arrival, but regarding your life I am under no such constraint.  Kill him, Laertes."

Laertes was as much taken aback by the command as I.  He had been staring at the floor during the telling of his sister's murder, and his blade had drifted.

But Horatio was ready.  He lithely sidestepped as Laertes raised the blade and caught Laertes' right arm between his knee and fist, dislodging his grip.  As the weapon clattered to the floor, Horatio drew Laertes' own dagger.  Pulling his arm behind him in a powerful grip, he pressed the blade to Laertes' throat. 

"Release Hamlet, sir, or your son shall die."

Horatio is being naïve, I thought. Even now Polonius was grasping a war-ax from the wall behind him.

And those ropes that held my arms were not quite loosed. 

But Polonius had not tied my feet.

I leaped up, bolts of fire shooting through my too-long inactive legs.  Spinning around, I battered Polonius with the chair still tied to me as he turned, pinning him against the wall. I took two steps away and hurled myself back.  This time I felt his body crumple against the stones.

The loosened cords gave way and the chair fell from my back.

I whirled, ready for a fight.

But Polonius lay in a broken and bloody heap, his own ax embedded in his side.

In a heartbeat I held Laertes' own rapier at his throat.  Horatio stepped away.

"Stay your hand for a brief request, noble Hamlet," Laertes pleaded.

I nodded.

"Only this," he gulped.  "Forgiveness.  I sought to kill you at the match that day.  My sword tip was poisoned, as was the cup your mother almost drank."

"Just as I suspected!" crowed Horatio.

"My lord, that day I believed you had unjustly killed my father.  I acted with the hot temper of a loving son.  Since then I have had occasion to regret my error."  He closed his eyes.  "Kill me quickly."

I shook my head.  "There has been too much ill will between our families already.  Laertes, take a horse and ride north to meet Fortinbras. Tell him to turn back whilst he can or face my strengthened armies, for we shall be ready for him.  If he lets you live, you have a place in my court. I swear it."

Gratefully, Laertes left.

A sound told us that Polonius still lived.

We hastened to him. I pressed water from a flask I carried to his pale lips.

"Old man ... I confess admiration for your skills, if not your intentions.  But still I have one question.

"How could you appear once more as my father's ghost while you lay counterfeiting death on the floor nearby, that night in my mother's chamber?"

His uncomprehending gaze met mine and he opened his mouth as if to ask a question.  But it remained unasked, his eyes open, still staring, but now forever blind.

Polonius was dead.

  

VII. Readiness is All

 

I was quickly crowned King, and the next few days were spent in hastily resumed preparations for battle. Within the month, my armies and I defeated young Fortinbras and sent him home.

I never saw Laertes again.

Horatio stood by me through the transition to my new government, advising me with much wisdom.

But one day he announced his departure.

"You have a place here, sir," I told him.  "I shall make you a lord."

"Noble Hamlet, I am more antique Roman than Dane.  I thank thee heartily, but I have a thirst to see England.  By the by, I perceive you had eggs for breakfast."

In the end I could not dissuade him, though he did accept a generous gift from the royal treasury for the service he had rendered our kingdom.

Today as I write these words the castle and my homeland are quiet.  If any ghosts endure, I pray their rest be easy.

And I heartily wish Godspeed to him who I shall ever regard as the best, the bravest, and the wisest man I have ever known.