Ophelia (36 page)

"Dear Horatio, you are a most welcome apparition yourself," I say lightly. "But why have you come?"

"I could not for a day forget you as if you no longer lived."

His plainness astonishes me. He speaks as if there is no time and no need for words that are not direct and true. Though I cannot say in turn that I have thought of him daily, his presence now fills me with an unaccustomed delight.

"To see you again—this is unexpected, to be sure. Like some unasked-for gift. But how did you come here? Who let you in? I usually admit visitors at the gate myself." I am confused, but I begin to suspect Isabel has a role in this.

"I wrote to your prioress, who received me herself, when I arrived. I inquired if you had any needs. She said little but summoned another sister, the one with brown eyes and a round face, who assured her that you would welcome me. She led me to this garden just now, and left me here. They are very protective of you."

Thinking of Horatio being studied and judged by Mother and Isabel makes me laugh. I spread the cloth from my head on a fallen log, and motion for him to sit with me.

For a long moment there is silence between us. How do we begin, I wonder, to take up the broken thread of our long-ago story?

I tell him about my journey to St. Emilion. How the arrival of his letter soon dashed my hopes and brought me to despair. How, when the letter was lost, I wondered if I had merely dreamed its honors.

"It was the full and terrible truth, alas," Horatio assures me, and I see by his eyes that his own griefs have not died, but only diminished. I look down and see the wild pansies, small purple and white violets, growing at my feet. I pick a handful and open his palm.

"Pénsees.
That's for your thoughts," I whisper. Does he remember this long-ago gesture, how he consoled me when Hamlet disdained my gift? Horatio cups the little flowers with their thin stems and speaks with difficulty.

"I held Hamlet as he took his last breath. He and your brother forgave each other their wrongs. That much I did achieve."

"Thank you," I whisper.

"Hamlet lamented that he left behind a name so wounded, and he bade me tell his story, which I do still."

"Horatio, I am sorry for your burdens. You may lay them down here, for a time, in this peaceful place. Or better still, share them with me."

"I will, but first finish your story."

So I tell him about my life at the convent, its simple routines and pleasures. How much I love Isabel and Marguerite, the sisters who befriended me in my need. How I have found purpose in being a physician and gained a mother in the prioress Ermentrude. How I tried to save Therese and was forgiven my failure when she died.

"Now you must satisfy my curiosity. Have you news of dear Elnora? And Cristiana and her Rosencrantz, are they married?"

"Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead, justly served for their treachery. Hamlet learned of their role in Claudius's plot to kill him, and he sealed their fate first."

"Poor Cristiana, to lose her love, though he was unworthy," I say, surprised that I feel pity for my erstwhile enemy.

"Cristiana's grief was short-lived once she learned of her friends' villainy," says Horatio. "Now she climbs, as nimbly as ever, the ladder of favor in the court of Fortinbras, who has yet to take a bride."

I wish for some way to warn Cristiana of the new king's knavery.

"And Elnora? Does she yet live?" I am afraid that Horatio hides more sad news from me.

"Yes, though the loss of both you and her queen laid her at Death's door for a time. Lord Valdemar retired his post at court, saying he could not serve a foreign king. They settled in a humble cottage in the village, where Elnora, attended by Mechtild, has recovered a measure of her former strength."

Though I am relieved, Horatio is now distressed. His brow furrows as he describes the perilous condition of Denmark and relates how Fortinbras seized control after Claudius was killed.

"With his dying voice, Hamlet said he favored the Norwegian prince. Hearing this, Fortinbras pressed his claim more boldly. Very soon we felt the heavy arm of his oppression as he took revenge against Denmark for seizing hrs father's land. Then the rumor spread among the people that King Hamlet had another heir, that Hamlet his son had a cousin, or even an heir himself." He shook his head. "But it proved a baseless hope."

I search Horatio's face, but as always there is no guile in him. He does not suspect the truth. How shall I tell him?

"Now the Danes seek the overthrow of Fortinbras. Some pin their hopes on me, a mere friend of the prince who should have been their king," he says with some dismay.

"You would have been Hamlet's most trusted adviser, had he become king of Denmark."

"I am not a warrior," he says, shaking his head. "And though I will speak truth to the powerful, I seek no power myself. There are noblemen here in France, however, who may aid the cause of Denmark."

"And this is why you have come to France, to seek their support?"

"No, I come to seek you," he says, startling me with his frank reply.

"Horatio, I am at peace now, though what is past remains always with me—"

I look away, toward the cottage where Hamlet sleeps.

"Do not look back," Horatio says. He brings up his hand to turn my cheek toward him. The pansies scatter in our laps. I see how his eyes, brown like the rain-soaked earth, are gentle, wise, and sad. His lean figure inclines toward me on the bench.

"Horatio, my heart leaps with joy that you have come. I have not realized until now how deeply I need you." These words spill from me and my tears spring unbidden. "My life is in your debt, and as I own nothing, I repay you with this token of love."

I take his fair face in my hands, not minding that they are creased with dirt, and I kiss his lips, inhaling for a moment the scent of him, which is new to me, for I had never touched him so nearly.

His hands in turn become tangled in my hair while he returns my kiss like a hungry boy. Then, abruptly, he pulls away.

"No! I should not have touched you, nor kissed you. God forgive me," he murmurs, hrs face turning scarlet.

In the distance, thunder sounds, heralding more ram. A few sparrows hop on the ground at our feet. I am confused and hurt by his sudden repentance.

"Why? Are you married?" I ask.

"No, on my honor, or I would not have kissed you."

"And I am a widow. So we do no wrong."

Now he looks at me with genuine dismay and begins to stammer.

"Still, it would... I must not... dishonor you." He gestures toward my linen habit and falls silent.

I suddenly realize the reason for his reluctance, and I laugh with a delight that soon melts into compassionate tears.

"Mother Ermentrude and my friend Isabel did you a great wrong not to tell you more about me, Horatio. But I will not be so cruel, nor sport with you as if we lived still at court."

"Then tell me now, Ophelia, what I must know," says Horatio, still holding himself aloof from me.

"I live like a nun and look like one, but I am not bound by any vows. Horatio, I am free."

Relief and joy show on his face.

"In that case, dear Ophelia, may I kiss you again?"

"I give you leave, kind Horatio," I say, leaning toward him.

Horatio takes my hands and his breath on my cheek makes me shiver.

"Mama! Where are you, Mama?" The childish cry comes, and I spring to my feet.

"Here I am, dearest boy! In the garden!"

Little Hamlet, his thumb between his lips, toddles from the cottage. His cheeks are rosy and his hair tousled from sleep. His chubby legs and bare feet poke from beneath his wrinkled shirt. I hold out my arms and he runs to me, grabs my skirts, and stares from behind them at this stranger.

Horatio, his eyes fixed on the child, rises like a man entranced by some ghost or magical creature. Speechless at first with surprise, he then looks from me to my son until recognition dawns on him.

"I do not dream! I see the face of Lord Hamlet on this youth, overspread with Ophelia's beauty and her truth," he says in a tone of wonder. He steps closer and takes my hand in his. Still holding it, he kneels, putting himself eye to eye with young Hamlet, and bows as if offering allegiance to him.

My trusting boy smiles and reaches out to touch Horatio's red curls.

Defying the storm that threatened, the clouds that curtained the sun now pass, and we three survivors of a long-ago tragedy stand together in silence, beholding one another in the sun's light.

Acknowledgements

I wish to thank Karen, Katie, Amy, Cynthia, Leslie, Ten, and Emily for their helpful criticism; Dad and Erin for their encouragement; and my husband, Rob, for his unfailing support. I am grateful to Carolyn for believing in the book and Julie for her wise and cheerful guidance in editing it. Finally I acknowledge with gratitude the students who, over the years, helped feed my imagination as we studied
Hamlet
together.

If writing well is the best revenge, it is because of all of you that Ophelia now has her due.

A Conversation
with
LISA KLEIN

Interviewer: When reading
Ophelia,
it is clear that you, as the book's author, have a deep understanding of Shakespeare's plays and the Elizabethan world. How did you come by this expertise?

Lisa:
I wrote my doctoral dissertation and my first book on Elizabethan poetry (Sir Philip Sidney and the sonnet craze) and taught Renaissance literature to college students for several years. So while I wasn't trained as a Shakespearean scholar, Shakespeare goes with the territory. I've taught most of his plays,
Hamlet
more times than I can count. Then I became interested in the lives and works of Renaissance women and wrote articles about the needleworks of Queen Elizabeth and not-so-famous women of the period. I read (and taught) women's journals, letters, and poetry. I studied so-called "nonliterary" works such as conduct books, religious tracts, and satirical works about women. So while Shakespeare's works are a wonderful window into the Renaissance, there are many other sources for understanding how sixteenth century people experienced their world.

Why did you choose Ophelia as the character from Shakespeare whose story you wanted to tell?

Whenever I taught
Hamlet
I found that students shared my disappointment that Shakespeare's Ophelia is such a passive character. To be fair, he was writing a revenge tragedy, a popular genre at the time, not a love tragedy like
Romeo and Juliet.
Still, I think he missed an opportunity to deepen Hamlet's conflict by enhancing his relationship with Ophelia. The film versions of the play, which many readers have seen, focus on her naivete and madness. Well, if Ophelia was so dim, what on earth made Hamlet fall in love with her? How would the play have been different if she had not drowned? If Ophelia could tell her own story, how would it differ from Shakespeare's version? These were the kinds of questions that started me thinking. They just wouldn't let go, so I began writing.

Why did you decide to tell Ophelia's story in novel rather than play format (as Tom Stoppard did in
Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead)?

It never occurred to me to write a play. Maybe I didn't want to take on Shakespeare (or Stoppard, for that matter) on his own turf. I know that I doubted my ability to write good dialogue, and a play is all dialogue. I enjoyed and admired
Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead,
and, like Stoppard, I wanted to write "between the lines" of
Hamlet,
weaving Ophelia's story into the existing time frame of
Hamlet.
The novel format seemed the natural choice, because I find it easier to become deeply engaged in reading a novel than in reading a play.

Are there other Shakespearean characters whose story you would like to tell?