20 December 1601

            Oh, woe is me! Hamlet has returned the heart I had so willingly given him. Returned? Nay! It is more appropriate to say he has used his sword to carve out the portions of my heart that most faithfully belonged to him before tossing them to the ground for me to gather.

            Today, Hamlet spoke four words I never fathomed I would ever hear from his lips, those lips I have kissed more times than I can number.

            “I loved you not.” My heart stings with a surprising strength at the mere memory of the words…

            Well, I suppose I should first explain the circumstance before I continue further.

            King Claudius and my father sent me to Hamlet to find whether or not love for me was the true source of the prince’s madness while they observed secretly. I strongly disapproved of deceiving Hamlet in such a manner, but there were two reasons why I conceded. Primarily, I knew I must obey both my father and the king. The true reason, though, was out of my own curiosity.

            Ever since Hamlet came into my chamber room so wildly earlier this week, I have been unable to keep my thoughts elsewhere. I have heard much of Hamlet’s madness, which has upset many, particularly here at Elsinore. I know, for instance, Queen Gertrude is concerned greatly with the mental state of her only son.

            I wanted to learn for myself if there was any validity to Hamlet’s madness, so when my father told me of his plan, I eagerly agreed. If Hamlet was not mad, I believed he would tell me the truth, if only to relieve me from worry because he loved me.

            I had not expected Hamlet to treat me with such disdain. I see now that I have been a fool!

            My conversation with Hamlet had reached no further than a few phrases before he began to hurt me in a way that was unexpected and irrational, making me incline towards the notion of Hamlet’s madness for a moment.

            When I attempted to return some gifts, as instructed by my father, Hamlet denied ever having given me them. He then began to question my honesty and fairness, leaving me utterly perplexed.

            That was when he revealed his lack of love for me, when he engraved those four words into my heart, “I loved you not.”

            The punishment did not cease there. Hamlet repeatedly told me to go to a nunnery, the meaning of which I still do not comprehend. Was he referring to our physical relationship? Does he regret coming to my chamber room at night to express our love in my bed?

            Was this Hamlet’s way of telling me he no longer wishes to be my husband? He had mentioned he “will have no mo marriages.” He even told me to marry a fool! Does Hamlet truly no longer want me as his wife?

            Hamlet must be mad or else I have been deceived. Had I been wrong that night when I thought I saw reason in his eyes? Nay, I know I did not see madness in them. Even as Hamlet spoke such cruel words to me today, I continued to look into those sane, recognizable blue eyes.

            Perhaps Hamlet knew we were being watched and the way I was treated was part of his plan. Even so, I do not see how treating me with such contempt would fit into any plan. Did he simply not want others to think his madness was due to our love or did he truly want to be rid of me?

            There was a phrase Hamlet mentioned that strengthens my belief that he is not mad. He said, “Those that are married already, all but one shall live.” It seemed like a threat to a married couple. The only marriage that comes to mind is the one between King Claudius and Queen Gertrude and it is no secret that Hamlet is against the union. Why else would he mention such a thing unless he knew either King Claudius or Queen Gertrude was listening? Surely Hamlet cannot be mad in such a case!

            If Hamlet is not mad, though, then it is true. I have been deceived!

            I am no longer pure. I have given my most precious treasure to the man I thought would treasure me the most. No man would marry me now. Perhaps that is why Hamlet wishes for me to go to a nunnery. He is accusing me of moral frailty, of being damaged now that I am no longer virtuous. The only place I can go to even attempt to regain some of that virtue is a convent, where I can abstain from sinning.

I hesitate to admit it, but Laertes and my father were right.

            Hamlet has merely used me to gratify his own desire. I have meant little to him. I have been the toy he played with when there was nothing else to do and he has thrown me aside now that he has found a more pressing pastime: pretending to be mad for a greater purpose only he fully comprehends.

            Oh, how I have been naïve!

.          

I feel anger surge within me, building up with heat like a fire that grows faster than one expects it to. I am not quite sure to whom my anger is addressed towards. Myself for my naivety? Hamlet for using me? Both?

My own gender irritates me. After all, I am not the only one who sinned. Hamlet and I made love TOGETHER. So why am I the only one to be tarnished? Why am I the one Hamlet tells to go to a nunnery? I do not see him presently preparing to leave for a monastery.

Enough. I have made myself nauseous from all this contemplation and do not feel like writing any longer. I shall go find some mint to calm my belly.

15 December 1601

            Since I have had to keep my distance from Hamlet, no event of particular interest has passed in which to cause me to write. Except for today, when Hamlet gave me the greatest fright of my life!

Having denied Hamlet love in all forms, except for deep within my heart, I have kept myself busy sewing as a way to distract myself (although it does not do much good). Whenever my thoughts wander to Hamlet and cannot find another subject to dwell upon, I sew.

Today was one of those days. I was working on a new dress when, suddenly, there was a pounding on the door, startling me half to death! I immediately answered and let in a raving Hamlet, so unlike the Hamlet I have grown to love.

His clothes were disheveled and his skin was paler than his shirt. Before I could even question him, Hamlet grabbed my wrist, then my arm, and pulled me towards him. Uncomfortable, I attempted to pull away, but he did no harm. He simply stared intricately at my face with wide eyes. Then, he let me go and left.

Unsure what to make of the entire ordeal, and frightened out of my wits, I went to find my father and told him everything. According to him, Hamlet’s actions are “the very ecstasy of love.” I supposedly made Hamlet mad by following my father’s orders and denying Hamlet’s access to me.

If my father is accurate, then I am truly a fool! How could I have obeyed my father’s orders without explaining to Hamlet the reason for my sudden distance? I had planned to tell Hamlet the next night he visited my chamber, but he has abstained since the month before last. I assumed he was simply occupied with his grief over his father’s death and mother’s marriage. In addition, he had still written me love letters, which let me know he still favors me.

I kept them tucked under my pillow at night to remind me of him, although I did not read them out of fear they would make me long for Hamlet more. My father has them now to show the king.

It does perplex me, though, why Hamlet has not returned at least once to my chamber. Although he does still write me love letters, would he not wish for the comfort of my love during such difficult times? I cannot come up with a satisfactory reason. The puzzle has indeed given me much stress, even to the point where my bleeding has not occurred for a month. 

Nevertheless, it does not seem plausible to me that Hamlet would act the way he did simply because I have recently neglected him. It was too strange. Yes, he came to me without a hat and his socks were soiled. Yes, he looked pale and his knees were knocking together as if he were shaking. Yes, he grabbed me with such a hard grip that I feared him.

Yet, as I looked into Hamlet’s crystal, blue eyes, I did not see the eyes of a mad man. When I gazed back into those eyes I love so, I saw reason, logic, and contemplation, just as I have always seen. I did not by any means find senseless, irrational, and foreign eyes observing me.

Perhaps I cannot explain why Hamlet acted as he did today. However, I do know I disagree with my father. He may feel confident enough in his deduction that he could bring it to the king, but I do not. Hamlet has a plan underneath those blonde curls I adore so. All I must do is discover it.

My father beckons. I shall rush to his side for he has news of his meeting with King Claudius and Queen Gertrude.

6 November 1601

            My father and brother make my blood boil like a river on the hottest day of the summer!

            Laertes left for France today, off to see the world in a way my father would never allow me to. I know it is not a woman’s place to do so, but I envy my brother’s freedom. How I wish to explore the world! But alas, I am but fifteen, at the perfect age to be married and nothing else.

            Although, if it were up to my father and brother, I should marry anyone in the world, so long as it is not my sweet Hamlet.

            Before Laertes took his leave today, he came to give me “brotherly” advice. He dared to warn me about my love, saying Hamlet’s favor for me was “not permanent” and “not lasting!” I found it difficult to keep any bitter remarks to myself and allow Laertes to finish what he had come to say. If I had known the rest of his speech, I would have simply walked away right then!

            Laertes went on to warn me about keeping my virtue. MY virtue! Hah! After he gets to frolic off to France to fancy himself any French maiden in his bed, I am the one who has to be wary of my virtue. Where is the justice in that? Just because of our different sexes, I am not allowed to open my bed to my love, but it is acceptable for my brother to?

            Unfortunately, I could no longer hold my tongue. Through gritted teeth, I told him, “I shall th’effect of this good lesson keep,” although I knew I was speaking a falsehood. But then, I reminded him to follow his own advice and not be hypocritical. It only angered me further when Laertes smiled and said, “Oh fear me not.”

            As close as Laertes and I have always been, and as much as I know he wants to protect me as his little sister, he knows exactly how to be irksome at times.

            For a moment, it was a favorable occasion that my father appeared. It gave me time to bite back my bitterness and remind myself to be respectful. After all, my brother and father are all I have in the world besides Hamlet. However, my relief at my father’s appearance soon dissipated.

            After Laertes left, my father questioned me about our conversation and then later about the nature of my relationship with Hamlet. Fearing his rebuke, I told him only about Hamlet’s affection, not of our promise to marry.

            He disagreed immediately and warned me not to ruin his reputation with our foolish relationship. Once again, I found it difficult to remain silent. A great urge to defend Hamlet surged within me. “He hath importuned me with love in honourable fashion,” I defiantly told my father.

            My father would have none of it, despite my words.

            He forbade me to either “give words or talk with the Lord Hamlet,” shattering my heart with every syllable he pronounced. How could I stay away from he who holds my heart in his hands? Could I find it in myself to turn my head whenever Hamlet spoke to me with his melodic voice or to lock my door and go to bed knowing I had denied Hamlet my physical love?

            My eyes watered just at the thought of being without Hamlet, but I knew I had to obey my father. I owe him that much. I know he protects me so because I remind him much of my mother. He loves me, which is why I know he has always worked diligently to teach me how to be a woman to the best of his abilities despite my motherless state. I must to be thankful for that.

And so, if he did not wish me to be with Hamlet, I knew I must find a way to be without Hamlet.

With a barely audible voice so as not to reveal my tears, I replied, “I shall obey, my lord.” As soon as he gave me my leave, I ran to my chamber and began to write as the tears came forth.

            My emotions are strangers to me. Although I feel hopelessly unhappy, I cannot help but be enraged. Why is it that I am denied my happiness, but my brother is not? Why is my father able to control me, but he lets my brother run free? Had I been born a male…

I feel trapped within my gender like a helpless bird! That is what I feel. Being a female is the source of my unhappiness. As a male, it would not matter if I lay with a maiden before marriage. As a male, I could marry whomever I pleased. As a male, I could travel the world. As a male, I could simply fly free.

But I am a female. Nothing can be done. I must respect my father and brother and release Hamlet from my heart.

My head aches and the tears persist. I shall cease to write. I will lie upon my bed for some time and attempt some rest.

14 October 1601

            It is just my luck that Queen Gertrude would marry again before I had the chance of marrying her son for the first time.

            When Hamlet promised to marry me, I assumed we would have to wait an appropriate time for an engagement. With the coming threat of Fortinbras, though, the thought of our marriage slowly kept drifting farther and farther into the back of Hamlet’s mind like a leaf gradually being taken away to sea by the current.

            I knew I had to remind Hamlet about his promise, but then I recalled how my father always said it was a lady’s duty to stay silent. Before I could even begin to question disobeying my father, however, I heard that King Hamlet had died.

            Despite the courtship between the prince and myself, I knew not the king intimately. I would see him at times, with his beautiful queen on his arm or beloved son by his side, but I never spoke with him. Nevertheless, my heart grieved, and continues to grieve, along with the kingdom of Denmark.

            All thoughts of marriage evaporated as soon as I heard the news, leaving in its place only empathy for my love. Hamlet and I suddenly had something new in common: one of our parents was dead. Of course, my mother died when I was very young and I hardly remember her, so I cannot relate completely to Hamlet. Still, I felt as if I related enough to the situation to be able to comfort my prince.

            At least, I thought I would be able to, until I heard the news of Queen Gertrude’s upcoming wedding day.

            Although it has been about a week or so, I am still astonished that Queen Gertrude remains queen because she has married Claudius (or King Claudius, I should say, though the name does not sound quite right). I can honestly say I am not the only one to be perturbed by the unexpected occasion, which is understandable since King Hamlet has only been dead for a little more than a month.

             I dare not bring up the topic of marriage at a time like this. I know Hamlet has taken the death of his father despairingly, which is understandable, but he has taken the second marriage of his mother even harder. Whenever anyone speaks of marriage, Hamlet’s eyes transform from the color of a clear, blue sky to that of rigid, ice blue. He shuts everyone out, even his most dear Ophelia, who always leaves the door to her chamber room open for him.

            It is no wonder I was astonished when Hamlet appeared at my door tonight. There were no loving words, no caresses to recall sweeter times. Hamlet simply came in, shut the door behind him, and began to kiss me with such fervor that I barely had time to even think about how he was doing.

            Speechless, and left literally breathless, I comforted Hamlet with the only way I knew how at the moment, with the comforts of my body. I pushed away any incessant thoughts about whether or not what we were doing was morally correct. All I wanted to do was console Hamlet with my love and that is exactly what I did. Afterwards, he rose from my bed and took his leave, all without a word.

            It has been a few hours since and sleep has still not granted me its presence. I write to pass the time as I question how everything has been altered. King Hamlet is dead, Claudius now has the throne, and my Hamlet is almost as distant to me as the sky from the ground.

What would all this mean for the future of Elsinore? I know Queen Gertrude is a kind soul, but I do not know much about the new king. In addition, what would this all mean for the future of Hamlet and myself? I assume he still plans to marry me, although he has not mentioned anything of the sort for quite some time now. Does he still even want to be my husband or have me as his wife?

I yearn to speak these burning questions aloud, to Hamlet, my father, or my brother, to anyone willing to listen. I know I must not, though, as it is not my place as a woman and I do not wish to upset or disrespect my father and brother.

Oh, but how I do wish to speak my mind! How else will I silence these infernal questions?

Enough. I must attempt to sleep for it is late and the sun will soon stir awake the castle.