Ophelia by Lisa Klein Read Free Book Online Page A

find love?

Chapter 7
    While I read books about love in the confines of Elsinore Castle, the wide world was Hamlet's school. He studied at the great German university and sailed to England and France with Horatio. He was away from Denmark for many months at a time, and Gertrude was always melancholy in his absence. Only a letter bearing news of his return would gladden her, and she would celebrate his homecoming with all the ceremony of a holiday or saint's festival. Great stores of provisions were delivered for feasting, musicians were summoned, and new livery brightened the guards and soldiers. At the prince's coming, excitement stirred Elsinore to its darkest corners.
    When Hamlet arrived one summer, dark-skinned from some adventure upon the seas, Gertrude embraced him and petted him as if he were still a boy. At her bidding, I brought them wine and delicacies in her chamber. So absorbed was she in her son that she did not even look my way. Hamlet did not greet me, nor did our eyes meet. I was disappointed yet relieved, for I would have blushed and stammered had he spoken to me. Perhaps, I thought, he did not recognize me. I had changed much in four years. Hamlet, now twenty-two, was no taller, though more sinewy, and he seemed more intense than before. Experience had carved new expressions in his features and given him a worldly manner.
    Gertrude was jealous of her son's company and spent many hours with him, laughing at his clever stories and hearing tales of his journeys. Sometimes the king joined them, and I saw Hamlet's father grow dark with disapproval at their lightness. But in the presence of their subjects, King Hamlet and Queen Gertrude were yoked to each other in rule and in love, bestowing all their pride on their son. Prince Hamlet shone with his own glory, and courtiers arranged themselves around him like the smaller lights in the heavens around their sun. I sighed and wished for his light to fall on me.
    Soon my desire was rewarded. One day I lounged idly in the long gallery that led to Gertrude's privy chambers. Cristiana sat plying her needle in the sun that streamed through high windows and slanted across the floor, then spilled through the arches and into the great hall below. On the walls between the arches hung tapestries woven with scenes from Ovid's Metamorphoses, tales of gods and humans transformed by love.
    I mused on the portrayal of Diana the huntress. Her bow rested on the ground while she bathed, half hidden in the pool. I recalled the day so long ago when I was swimming in the brook, free as a fish, and Hamlet came upon me. I studied the goddess in the tapestry. Her eyes were downcast, and her hair, woven in gold thread, covered her breasts, but her round hip and thigh were naked. Spying on Diana from the bushes was the hunter Actaeon, unaware of the grim fate awaiting him.
    Cristiana picked up my needlework, some linen garment I cared nothing for.
    "Your stitches are too long. You are simply lazy," she said, and tossed it aside.
    I met her criticism with my own harsh words.
    "My stitches would be finer if my needle were half as sharp as your nose," I said.
    Elnora slept in a chair, her own needlework in her lap. Our voices did not even cause her to stir. Like an old cat, she slept more and more, some days awakening only to move into a new patch of sun and fall asleep again. I got up to fetch my Herball , for I had meant to try a new mixture of herbs for her latest pains. As usual Cristiana seized the opportunity to mock my habit of study.
    "You will never get a man in your lap while you are making love to that big dusty book," she said with a tone of contempt.
    "Tend to your own business, lest you are pricked unawares," I said coolly, as she stabbed the needle at her cloth and glared at me. I enjoyed seeing her fury.
    The sudden entrance of Hamlet and Horatio put a stop to our argument. They were deep in conversation but halted their steps upon seeing us.
    "I seek my mother, but I find