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.
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