HAMLET
He found himself wrapped in a cloud of fog so thick that he could barely see the stones at his feet. Before him the ghost shone with a strange inner light. Recalling Horatio's warning that the ghost might lure him to some perilous spot, he called out, "Whither wilt thou lead me?" The ghost gave no answer but continued its steady pace into the darkness. "Speak!" Hamlet commanded, then stood his ground defiantly. "I'll go no further."
The ghost turned, and in a voice Hamlet recognized as his father's said, "Mark me."
"I will."
"My hour is almost come when I to sulphurous and tormenting flames must render up myself," it said, a look of pain crossing its face.
"Alas, poor ghost," said Hamlet, touched by its keen evocation of suffering, but still unwilling to address it as his father.
"Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing to what I shall unfold," his father's voice said sternly.
Hamlet recognized the tone of paternal command and found himself a child again, receiving instruction. "Speak," he said. "I am bound to hear."
"So art thou to revenge when thou shalt hear."
The reply astonished him, and he gasped, "What?"
"I am thy father's spirit, doomed for a certain term to walk the night and for the day confined to fast in fires till the foul crimes done in my days of nature are burnt and purged away." Hamlet felt faint at the revelation, but took a deep breath as the ghost continued, "But that I am forbid to tell the secrets of my prison-house I could a tale unfold whose lightest word would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, make thy two eyes like stars start from their spheres, thy knotted and combined locks to part and each particular hair to stand on end like quills upon the fearful porpentine -- but this eternal blazon must not be to ears of flesh and blood."
Hamlet felt grateful to be spared more description of his father's tortures, but tears came to his eyes.
"List, list, O list," the ghost commanded. "If thou didst ever thy dear father love --"
"O God!" Hamlet gasped.
"-- revenge his foul and most unnatural murder!"
"Murder!" Hamlet echoed, though he had only a shred of voice available.
"Murder most foul -- as in the best it is -- but this most foul, strange and unnatural."
Hamlet's mind reeled with questions and suspicions, but the ghost seemed to fall silent, as if assessing Hamlet's readiness to proceed. "Haste me to know't that I with wings as swift as meditation or the thoughts of love may sweep to my revenge," Hamlet urged.
The ghost slowly nodded. "I find thee apt. And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed that roots itself in ease on Lethe wharf wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear." Suddenly Hamlet felt that the voice was speaking to him inside his own head, not to be overheard: "'Tis given out that, sleeping in my orchard, a serpent stung me." Hamlet nodded; he had heard the story. "So the whole ear of Denmark is by a forged process of my death rankly abused. But know, thou noble youth, the serpent that did sting thy father's life now wears his crown."
Claudius! Hamlet thought, as a blaze of revelation surged through him. "O my prophetic soul! My uncle!"
"Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast, with witchcraft of his wits, with traitorous gifts -- O wicked wit and gifts that have the power so to seduce -- won to his shameful lust the will of my most seeming-virtuous Queen." A look of terrible sorrow came across the ghost's face. "O Hamlet, what falling off was there, from me whose love was of that dignity that it went hand in hand even with the vow I made to her in marriage, and to decline upon a wretch whose natural gifts were poor to those of mine."
Hamlet fought off the waves of nausea that rose within him as the ghost continued, "But Virtue, as it never will be moved though Lewdness court it in a shape of heaven, so Lust, though to a radiant angel linked, will sate itself in a celestial bed and prey upon garbage."
The ghost fell silent for a moment, pain visible on its features. Then it recovered: "But soft, methinks I scent the morning air. Brief let me be. Sleeping within my orchard -- my custom always of the afternoon -- upon my secure hour thy uncle stole with juice of cursed hebona in a vial and in the porches of my ears did pour the leperous distillment whose effect holds such an enmity with the blood of man that swift as quicksilver it courses through the natural gates and alleys of the body and with a sudden vigour it doth possess and curd like eager droppings into milk the thin and wholesome blood. So did it mine and a most instant tetter barked about most lazar-like with vile and loathsome crust all my smooth body."
Hamlet shuddered, wanting to wrap his arms around his father and console him, but realizing that it was impossible to embrace the insubstantial figure that stood before him.
"Thus was I sleeping by a brother's hand of life, of crown, of queen at once dispatched, cut off even in the blossoms of my sin, unhouseled, disappointed, unaneled, no reckoning made but sent to my account with all my imperfections on my head."
"O horrible, O horrible, most horrible!" Hamlet cried.
"If thou has nature in thee bear it not," the ghost spoke sternly. "Let not the royal bed of Denmark be a couch for luxury and damned incest. But howsomever thou pursues this act taint not thy mind nor let thy soul contrive against thy mother aught; leave her to heaven and to those thorns that in her bosom lodge to prick and sting her."
The admonition caught Hamlet by surprise. It was if the ghost had entered his mind and seen the disgust and rage he was feeling toward his mother. Did he feel her complicity more strongly than he did the manifest villainy of his uncle? She was, after all, his flesh and blood. But before he could respond to the challenge to spare her, he saw that the ghost was withdrawing.
"Fare thee well at once," it said. "The glow-worm shows the matin to be near and 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire." The figure began to fade, and Hamlet saw that the sky was noticeably lighter. The fog was almost gone. "Adieu, adieu, adieu," the ghost said, its voice growing fainter with each word, "remember me." And it was gone.
"O all you host of heaven, O earth -- what else? -- and shall I couple hell?" He felt faint, and admonished himself: "O fie! Hold, hold, my heart, and you, my sinews, grow not instant old but bear me swiftly up." He drew a deep breath. "Remember thee?" he said, addressing the vacancy where the ghost had once appeared. "Ay, thou poor ghost, whiles memory holds a seat in this distracted globe. Remember thee? Yea, from the table of my memory I'll wipe away all trivial fond records, all saws of books, all forms, all pressures past that youth and observation copied there and thy commandment all along shall live within the book and volume of my brain unmixed with baser matter."
He realized that he was speaking to empty air, but it felt good to give voice to what he was feeling. "Yes, by heaven," he muttered. "O most pernicious woman, O villain, villain, smiling damned villain." He became aware that he was still clutching his sword, so he sheathed it. My tables! he thought suddenly, feeling in the pockets of his tunic for the notebook he always carried. Meet it is I set it down, and through gritted teeth he spoke as he wrote: "That one may smile and smile and be a villain -- at least I am sure that it may be so in Denmark." So, uncle, there you are, he thought as he reread what he had written. Now to my word. It is "Adieu, adieu, remember me." He bowed his head and crossed himself. I have sworn it.
Suddenly he felt exhilarated. He laughed aloud as a giddiness seized him. He had a most precious, priceless secret and a task to pursue. He felt as if he were floating, as if he had been freed from prison darkness. Suddenly, oddly, he remembered a figure from his childhood, the jester in his father's court, old Yorick, long dead. He was a licensed fool, permitted to say anything, no matter how much it might shock or embarrass the courtiers. People thought him mad, but this only made it possible for Yorick to go anywhere in the castle, to pry into its secrets and scandals and to turn them into hilarious mockery of the guilty or the truly foolish. One of his targets had been the pompous courtier Polonius, now the king's right-hand man. What would it be like, Hamlet thought, to play the fool and speak his mind. What true freedom!
In the distance he heard voices: Horatio calling out "My lord, my lord!" and Marcellus, "Lord Hamlet!" He heard Horatio, drawing nearer, say, "Heavens secure him!" to which Hamlet said "So be it." Marcellus gave out a falconer's cry, "Illo, ho, ho, my lord!" and Hamlet, who had gone hawking with Marcellus, replied, "Hillo, ho, ho, boy, come and come!"
The two appeared running, and, both out of breath, Marcellus asked, "How is't my noble lord?" and Horatio, "What news, my lord!"
"O, wonderful," he replied, with an odd laugh.
Horatio looked puzzled, not expecting hilarity from Hamlet. "Good my lord, tell it."
Hamlet wagged his finger, smiling. "No, you will reveal it."
"Not I, my lord, by heaven," Horatio said, and Marcellus vowed, "Nor I, my lord."
"How say you then --" Hamlet began teasingly, "--would heart of man once think it?" He broke off again and feigned a coy suspiciousness, "But you'll be secret?"
"Ay, by heaven," they both swore.
Hamlet put his arms around their shoulders and drew them close. "There's never a villain dwelling in all Denmark but he's an arrant knave," he whispered.
Horatio pulled free and said, with some irritation, "There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave to tell us this."
"Why right, you are in the right!" he replied, stepping away from them. "And so without more circumstance at all I hold it fit that we shake hands and part --" He took each man's hand and shook it with mock formality. "You and your business and desire shall point you (for every man hath business and desire such as it is) and for my own poor part I will go pray." He started to walk away.
"These are but wild and whirling words, my lord," Horatio said indignantly.
Hamlet realized that he had carried his antic performance too far. He had offended Horatio, whose support he needed. But he was still uncertain how much he could trust Marcellus, who had been at court all along. Claudius might have enlisted his support secretly. "I am sorry they offend you," he said, "heartily, yes, faith, heartily."
"There's no offence, my lord," Horatio said, somewhat mollified.
"Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, Horatio, and much offence too. Touching this vision here, it is an honest ghost -- that let me tell you. For your desire to know what is between us o'ermaster it as you may. And now, good friends, as you are friends, scholars and soldiers, give me one poor request."
"What is't, my lord? We will," Horatio said, and Marcellus gave an assenting nod.
"Never make known what you have seen tonight."
"My lord, we will not," both men replied.
"Nay, but swear't."
"In faith, my lord, not I," Horatio said.
"Nor I, my lord, in faith," Marcellus echoed.
Hamlet drew his sword and presented it, hilt first. "Upon my sword."
"We have sworn, my lord, already," Marcellus said.
"Indeed," Hamlet said, giving Marcellus a piercing look, "upon my sword, indeed," he insisted.
Suddenly the ghost's voice was heard from below where they were standing: "Swear."
Hamlet laughed in surprise. "Ha, ha, boy, says thou so? Art thou there, truepenny? Come on, you hear this fellow in the cellarage? Consent to swear."
"Propose the oath, my lord," Horatio said, confused by Hamlet's insistence.
"Never to speak of this that you have seen, swear by my sword." He presented the hilt of the sword again, and Horatio and Marcellus laid their hands on it.
"Swear," came the ghost's voice again, a bit farther off from before.
"Hic et ubique?" Hamlet said, moving toward the ghost's new spot. "Then we'll shift our ground. Come hither, gentlemen, and lay your hands again upon my sword never to speak of this that you have heard."
"Swear by his sword," the ghost said once more, in a different spot.
"Well said, old mole, canst work i'th' earth so fast? A worthy pioner! Once more remove, good friends."
Horatio muttered, "O day and night, but this is wondrous strange."
"And therefore as a stranger give it welcome, " Hamlet said, overhearing him. "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy. But come, here as before," as they moved to the new spot, "never -- so help you mercy, how strange or odd some'er I bear myself (as I perchance hereafter shall think meet to put an antic disposition on) -- that you at such times seeing me never shall, with arms encumbered thus," he began to act out various eccentric gestures, "or this headshake, or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase as 'Well, well, we know,' or 'We could an if we would,' or 'If we list to speak,' or 'There be an if they might,' or such ambiguous giving out to note that you know aught to me. This do swear, so grace and mercy at your most need help you."
"Swear," said the ghost as Horatio and Marcellus again laid their hands on the sword.
"Rest, rest, perturbed spirit," Hamlet said to it. They had fulfilled the request to his satisfaction. "So, gentlemen, with all my love I do commend me to you, and what so poor a man as Hamlet is may do t'express his love and friending to you God willing shall not lack. Let us go in together and still your fingers on your lips, I pray."
The time is out of joint; O cursed spite that ever I was born to set it right, he thought.
Horatio and Marcellus stood back to let the prince precede them. "Nay, come, let's go together," he said, putting his arms around them.
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