Ophelia by Lisa Klein Page B

frenzy. A pile of books lay on the floor, and one by one she flung them from the open window as she wept with hysteria. I was horrified at the sight and ran to close the window.
    "Please, my lady, stop!" I pleaded.
    "Alas, it is over and done with! Love is nothing but folly," she cried.
    I seized her hands in mine and led her to her bed.
    "Oh, do not say such things. I know how you loved the king," I murmured, trying to soothe her.
    "You are but a child! You know nothing of a queen's desires," she said bitterly, thrusting me away.
    I did not take offense, considering her grief, but stayed by Gertrude's side until her raving ceased and she fell asleep. Then I removed the remaining volumes to my own chamber. In the garden the next day, I found the book of sonnets, torn in half, its damp pages scattered among the herb beds.
    Meanwhile, Denmark was like a ship without a rudder. Lords and councillors met in secret in the king's state rooms until late at night and argued openly in the great hall. Foremost was the question of who should succeed King Hamlet. In many countries the king's son inherited the crown, but this was not the law in Denmark. Some called for Prince Hamlet to be elected, despite his youthfulness. Others argued that Denmark needed a more warlike king to challenge Norway, which stood poised to strike our leaderless state. Gertrude, all queenliness drained from her veins, cared nothing for these matters. She refused all appeals and, like a black-veiled prophetess, declared Denmark cursed. But Claudius was everywhere at once, serious with seeming grief for his brother. His eyes, not clouded with drink but clear of purpose, were fixed on the captaincy of this reeling ship. At last the lords agreed, though with much ill will, to elect Claudius as king.
    King Hamlet's body was interred beneath the floor of Elsinore's chapel, near his father's bones and those of his father's father. At the funeral, Gertrude, wrapped in black veils, followed her husband's coffin. She walked alone, with no man to guide her steps. Elnora cried loudly. I felt some sadness for the king's passing, but even greater pity for Gertrude, bowed by the weight of her loss. What would it be like to lose a husband of so many years, I wondered.
    Neither the election nor the funeral could be delayed for Hamlet's return. Weeks were lost in bringing him to Elsinore, for the messenger who had been dispatched found him not in Wittenberg but traveling in the direction of Italy. He did not arrive until after midsummer, when hard young fruits hung on the boughs that had shed their blossoms at the king's death.
    Only with Hamlet's return did Gertrude uncover her face. She was thinner, with pallid skin to match her gray eyes, and her hair had turned more silver than gold. She clung to Hamlet like a vine to an oak tree. The prince wore a suit of black as a statement of sadness. His usually sensitive face was unreadable, as if he wore a mask.
    I longed to see Hamlet, but feared to approach him. I hoped for him to seek me out, but he did not. So I went to the great hall, looking for Horatio. It was bare, stopped of King Hamlet's liveries and banners. Garbage was strewn about and dogs scavenged for meaty bones. Courtiers seeking an office waited to meet with Claudius. Among them I recognized Edmund, the bully of my youth, now fat and losing his hair. He played at dice with some rough-looking companions. I also saw my brother, who had come to Elsinore for Claudius's coronation. He was with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, whom I still despised, so I did not approach him. Instead I beckoned him to come and converse with me, but he only bowed as if I were a stranger and not his sister.
    Then Claudius entered the hall. My father hurried after him with rolls of vellum documents spilling from his arms. He had wasted no time in currying favor with the new king. He saw me, shook his head, and continued on his way.
    Overlooked by my family, forgotten by Hamlet, and ignored by the