Hamlet: Haunted, Hunting, Hurting
Upon my words be steady and cautious and heed what I shall tell you, for should you misconstrue them, my honor will be afflicted by those cursed lies and misrepresentations that abound in the tales of our time. Thirty years ago, my mother lay drenched with sweat, forcing out the product of her love with the great Dane, Hamlet. As my eyes first saw light, I was greeted by a sole parent’s visage, a pattern which would imprint itself onto the entirety of my life; for as my mother birthed me in her delicate and fragile state, my own father in the absence of his only heir’s birth had ventured off to take up arms against the old king Fortinbras. In victorious return he celebrated my birth with that of his triumph, together as one with no respect for my own individual achievement of parturition.
He was a goodly king though: kind and gentle with me when he would have it so. I was raised with a steady hand and conformed to a prescribed regiment of learning, practice, and religious respect for penitence. As my father o’ersaw the functions of the kingdom with a wise and judicious manner I was explicated on all matters related to life. That is not to say that I did not jest as young ones often do. At my side throughout my youth was my good friend Horatio – the balance to my thirsty inquisitive and troublesome nature. The court clown Yorick watched over me for a portion of time, carrying me on his back often and perforating my otherwise rigid and structured youth. Yorick put on airs of the most amusing personages, often imitating others and delivering insults in the guise of niceties. From Yorick I acquired the art of putting on acts and impregnating my speech with witty retort and scalding remarks. At a young age I learned that words are words, but could be more than words would the speaker warrant so.
My mother seemed of’t to dwell on my upbringing, as my father busied himself in the matters of the court. Though, when together, my mother showed the signs of lusty passion and my father the throws of wooéd ecstasy as if they were young spring fondlers all over again. However, this was habitually brief, and the occasions grew far and fewer in the interval as I ripened on the vine of succession. Had I but known the fallacies laid before my own eyes during my upbringing, less harshly shattered wouldst my impression of my mother be; for as she sat upon the throne of Denmark on my father’s right-hand side, her wantonness for affection crept like a weasel behind her sovereign’s back and supplanted her affections within the same blood yet to another man. Oh the treachery of women and the feigning nature of love. My love for my mother, despite her actions remains resolute, and thus my comprehension of her actions is as corporeal and tangible as the ether.
I try exhaustively not to blame myself for the indiscretions of my mother, for while she performed those treasonous acts against my father I was off to school. Upon my seventeenth birthday whence the teachers of my kingdom could no longer satiate my appetite for learning and experiences, my father sent me off to school in the warmer lands of Wittenberg. There I studied the more progressive enlightened material of the time, as well as the more barbaric soldiering acts like fencing and hand-to-hand combat. I excelled in all that I attempted in hopes that my father would appreciate my triumphs and recognize my readiness to take the crown upon the proper time. However, in his kingly duties not once did he ever manage to sojourn onto Wittenberg to share in my innumerable accomplishments. Lovingly I understood, but regardless of my father’s habitual absence I continued attempting to impress upon him my endeavors, hoping simply for a kind hug or exultant word.
While in Wittenburg I sought refuge from my family’s disregard in the bosom of many a woman. Control came easily from my lips and fingertips and through Yorick’s diligent training I was able to prescribe upon myself whatever airs to which the women would flock. My inconsistent feelings ebbed and flowed as I moved from one beauty to the next, experimenting often and thoroughly. Fickleness and fun found themselves as partners in my erotic escapades, but when it comes to marriage and the law of God, those rules by which all men shall abide, I hold the morals high upon my esteem. Hence why I’ve yet to take to arm a wife; there is far too much fun to still be had.
My traitorous uncle shares not in respect for the Lord’s vows of marriage though, taking to arm my mother and supplanting himself upon my throne in my absence while I journeyed back to Elsinore. Wouldst he have a true and honorable concern for the well-being of the kingdom, I would not mind this dubious substitution; but the blood that runs through my veins boils at the thought of their incestuous coital relations. For as he sleeps and drinks and dines, the kingdom, in mourning loss of my great sovereign father, has fallen into disarray and severe mismanagement.
Upon returning from Wittenburg for my father’s funeral, I sought company and companionship from a beauteous maiden of Elsinore. At my father’s wake I caught my first glimpse of the fair Ophelia next to her bumbling father, shining brightly as a single pale rose left standing in a bush of thorns. Depression warranting affection, I chased her whole-heartedly to distract my mind from the loss of my father. I showered her with tokens of affection and busied my mind writing sonnets and sweet nothings to impress upon her my love.
But as I have expressed previously, love is fickle and fondness wanes, and the challenge Ophelia presented no longer seemed to reel me in upon the announcement of my mother’s re-marriage. This incestuous bond created through the most vile and conniving of means only serves to convey to me the trite nature of a woman’s love. For if I were to love Ophelia, wouldst she not simply grow weary of my ways and in turn give her love to another? Oh, my confidence in love hath been sucked dry, though I do hope one day to believe in its wondrous graces again. Until then though, I shall mourn the loss of my father and the loss of a love that I never fully knew. I will mourn the treasonous loss of my mother’s love for the good king as well, for she apparently shows no signs of bereavement. And in doing so, I hope to rekindle and redefine the honor and joyousness of love so that one day I might be able to love truly.
