kill himself, wanted to calm him before he did something truly dangerous. Committed an act that could not be recalled. No act can be recalled, but Hamlet looked ready to precipitate a landslide, without a thought as to who might be buried in its path.
“Good sir, let me have a word with you,” Rosencrantz tried again.
“Not only a word, my dear fellow, you can have an entire book. And you may pick the topic.”
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern glanced at each other. Their lips flickered in a silent signal: He’s hopeless — what can be done with him?
Hamlet did not notice, but loyal Horatio did.
“The king is in the throne room,” Rosencrantz said, “and is much distempered.”
“With drink?” asked Hamlet.
“Sir!” Guildenstern took a step backward.
“No, no, his blood pressure . . . he is in a fit,” Rosencrantz said.
“That sounds serious. Roll him on his side and make sure he does not swallow his tongue. I would do it myself, but he might misunderstand my intentions.”
Guildenstern tried a different tack. “And the queen, sir, your mother . . .”
“Yes, she is. Thank you for letting me know.”
“Your Royal Highness, please, could you allow us to deliver our message? It is very difficult when Your Highness speaks in this manner.”
“I will tame myself. Commence.”
Both men took deep breaths and looked at each other again. It seemed to be decided that Rosencrantz would begin.
“The queen, in great affliction of spirit, has sent us to you . . .”
“And you are welcome.”
But now Guildenstern had had enough. Normally the quieter of the two, he felt he had lost enough dignity in front of Horatio, and so stood upon the little he had left. “Your Royal Highness,” he said coldly, “you tell us we are welcome, but your courtesy is not of the right breed. If it pleases you to make us a straightforward answer, we will carry out your mother’s wishes; if not, you must give us permission to withdraw, and that will be the end of our business.”
To the surprise of everyone, Hamlet answered calmly, in the lilting voice he used to chat to servants about their babies, or diplomats about their hats. “Gentlemen, I cannot.”
“W-what, sir?” Guildenstern stammered.
Horatio, for some reason that he did not understand himself, felt a sudden surge of care for Hamlet. He eased a little closer to the prince.
“I cannot give you a plain answer. My mind is diseased. I am ill. However, I will answer you as best I can, so go ahead — if you have a message from my mother, as you seem to, then deliver it.”
“Then, sir,” Rosencrantz said nervously. “She says that your behavior amazes and astonishes her.”
“Oh, wonderful son, who can astonish a mother. But is there a sequel to this? I can hardly believe you have come here to tell me just that.”
It was Guildenstern’s turn again. “She would like to see you in her apartment before you go to bed.”
“She is not likely to see me in her apartment after I go to bed. That would be a strange state of affairs.” Hamlet had danced away again, back to the edge of the precipice. “But palace life these days is nothing but strange affairs. Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.”
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern looked aghast, fearing they were about to hear terrible words that would make them partners in some sort of conspiracy. “I beg you, Your Royal Highness,” they said in perfect harmony.
“Well, that makes it unanimous,” Hamlet said. “Anyway, I would obey any summons from the queen, even if she were only one-tenth of the mother she is. Have you any further business with me?”
“Highness,” said Rosencrantz, wheedling now. He reached out a hand as if to take the prince by the shoulder. “You loved me once.”
“And still do,” said Hamlet, unflinching.
“Then, please, why do you behave like this? You have been lost to your friends, to those who love you. Where is the sweet prince who was once such a merry
“Good sir, let me have a word with you,” Rosencrantz tried again.
“Not only a word, my dear fellow, you can have an entire book. And you may pick the topic.”
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern glanced at each other. Their lips flickered in a silent signal: He’s hopeless — what can be done with him?
Hamlet did not notice, but loyal Horatio did.
“The king is in the throne room,” Rosencrantz said, “and is much distempered.”
“With drink?” asked Hamlet.
“Sir!” Guildenstern took a step backward.
“No, no, his blood pressure . . . he is in a fit,” Rosencrantz said.
“That sounds serious. Roll him on his side and make sure he does not swallow his tongue. I would do it myself, but he might misunderstand my intentions.”
Guildenstern tried a different tack. “And the queen, sir, your mother . . .”
“Yes, she is. Thank you for letting me know.”
“Your Royal Highness, please, could you allow us to deliver our message? It is very difficult when Your Highness speaks in this manner.”
“I will tame myself. Commence.”
Both men took deep breaths and looked at each other again. It seemed to be decided that Rosencrantz would begin.
“The queen, in great affliction of spirit, has sent us to you . . .”
“And you are welcome.”
But now Guildenstern had had enough. Normally the quieter of the two, he felt he had lost enough dignity in front of Horatio, and so stood upon the little he had left. “Your Royal Highness,” he said coldly, “you tell us we are welcome, but your courtesy is not of the right breed. If it pleases you to make us a straightforward answer, we will carry out your mother’s wishes; if not, you must give us permission to withdraw, and that will be the end of our business.”
To the surprise of everyone, Hamlet answered calmly, in the lilting voice he used to chat to servants about their babies, or diplomats about their hats. “Gentlemen, I cannot.”
“W-what, sir?” Guildenstern stammered.
Horatio, for some reason that he did not understand himself, felt a sudden surge of care for Hamlet. He eased a little closer to the prince.
“I cannot give you a plain answer. My mind is diseased. I am ill. However, I will answer you as best I can, so go ahead — if you have a message from my mother, as you seem to, then deliver it.”
“Then, sir,” Rosencrantz said nervously. “She says that your behavior amazes and astonishes her.”
“Oh, wonderful son, who can astonish a mother. But is there a sequel to this? I can hardly believe you have come here to tell me just that.”
It was Guildenstern’s turn again. “She would like to see you in her apartment before you go to bed.”
“She is not likely to see me in her apartment after I go to bed. That would be a strange state of affairs.” Hamlet had danced away again, back to the edge of the precipice. “But palace life these days is nothing but strange affairs. Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.”
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern looked aghast, fearing they were about to hear terrible words that would make them partners in some sort of conspiracy. “I beg you, Your Royal Highness,” they said in perfect harmony.
“Well, that makes it unanimous,” Hamlet said. “Anyway, I would obey any summons from the queen, even if she were only one-tenth of the mother she is. Have you any further business with me?”
“Highness,” said Rosencrantz, wheedling now. He reached out a hand as if to take the prince by the shoulder. “You loved me once.”
“And still do,” said Hamlet, unflinching.
“Then, please, why do you behave like this? You have been lost to your friends, to those who love you. Where is the sweet prince who was once such a merry
Similar Books
