Pathway to Japanese Literature

Preface This came into being—or rather, there was no other way. However, I must clarify to readers that this work is neither a commentary on Shakespeare’s Hamlet nor a book of new interpretations. This is, after all, nothing more than the author’s self-indulgent creative play. "I borrowed only the characters’ names and general setting from Shakespeare’s Hamlet to write about one unfortunate family." Beyond that, there was not a shred of academic or political significance. Narrow—it was a psychological experiment.

It might be said that I wrote of the archetype of youth from a bygone era. I chronicled three days' events within one household—or strictly speaking, two—centered around that incorrigible young man. Certain psychological undercurrents may elude cursory reading; should anyone protest "Who has leisure for multiple readings?" I can only acquiesce. To those blessed with idle hours, I entreat you to revisit these pages. Moreover, readers drowning in free time might uncover richer insights by comparing this "New Hamlet" against Shakespeare's original during such comparative study.

In writing this work, I, the author, read through only Dr. Tsubouchi’s translation of Hamlet and Mr. Uraguchi Bunji’s New Annotated Hamlet. Since Mr. Uraguchi’s New Annotated Hamlet included the original text in its entirety, I painstakingly read through it with a dictionary at hand. I feel as though I gained various new insights, but there’s no need to report each one here in detail. Additionally, while there are a few lines in the second section of this work that might appear to mock Dr. Tsubouchi’s translation, I wrote them in a lighthearted vein, so the doctor’s disciples must not take offense. Having now read through Dr. Tsubouchi’s translation of Hamlet, I have come to feel that a play like Shakespeare’s Hamlet may indeed require being translated in an antiquated, kabuki-esque style as the doctor did.

When reading Shakespeare’s Hamlet, one couldn’t help but feel the colossal genius at work. The pillar of passion stood massive. The characters’ footsteps echoed loudly. I thought it truly remarkable. This *New Hamlet* remained nothing more than faint chamber music.

Furthermore, the script for the reading drama in Section Seven of this work was created by the author through somewhat garish embellishments of Christina Rossetti’s Time and Ghosts. I must also apologize to Rossetti’s spirit.

Finally, while this work's form somewhat resembles a play, I must clarify that the author never intended it to be one. The author is first and foremost a novelist. Regarding playwriting techniques, I know almost nothing. This is what might be called a novel in the style of LESEDRAMA that I would ask you to consider.

February, March, April, May. It took me four months to finally complete it. When I reread it，I feel a certain loneliness. But as for works superior to this，I don’t seem able to write any at present. The author’s ability amounts only to this. Even if I flail about making self-justifications，it won’t get me anywhere.

Showa 16, early summer.

Characters.

Claudius. (King of Denmark.) Hamlet. (Son of the late king and nephew of the current king.) Polonius. (Lord Chamberlain.) Laertes. (Polonius's son.) Horatio. (Hamlet's school friend.)

Gertrude. (Queen of Denmark. (Hamlet's mother.)

Ophelia. (Polonius's daughter.)

Others.

Location.

Denmark's capital, Elsinore.

I. The Great Hall Inside Elsinore Castle

King. Queen. Hamlet. Lord Chamberlain Polonius. His son Laertes. Numerous other attendants.

King.

“Everyone must be exhausted, I imagine. “You’ve worked hard.” “The late king passed away most suddenly, and before the tears had dried, someone like me succeeded to the throne and performed a wedding ceremony with Gertrude this time. Though it was an awkward affair for me as well, it was all for Denmark’s sake.” “Since these various decisions were made after thorough consultation with all of you, I believe that my brother beneath the earth—the late king—will forgive us in light of your selfless patriotic sentiment.” “Truly, Denmark at present stands in discord with Norway; war may break out at any moment, and the kingship could not be left vacant for even a single day.” “Though Prince Hamlet’s youth led everyone to urge my ascension to the throne, I—lacking the late king’s competence, bereft of virtue, and as you see before you an unremarkable younger brother who scarcely resembles a true sibling sharing blood—had grave doubts whether I could bear this heavy responsibility or avoid foreign contempt. But when the ever-virtuous Gertrude resolved to stand by me lifelong and lend her strength for the nation’s sake, the castle’s foundation grew steadfast, and Denmark now stands secure.” “You’ve all worked hard.” “It has already been two months since the late king passed away, but to me everything still feels like a dream.” “But thanks to everyone’s wise counsel, I have somehow managed to come this far without major missteps.” “Since I am indeed inexperienced, I ask that all of you continue to demonstrate your loyal service from this day forth and set my mind at ease.” “Ah, I nearly forgot.” “Laertes mentioned having some request for me, didn’t he?” “What is it?”

“Reya.” “Yes.” “The truth is, I would like to request permission to go study abroad in France once more, but...”

King. “If that’s all, it’s quite all right.” “You too have worked quite hard these past two months.” “Now that matters here have settled somewhat, take your time with your studies.”

“Reya.” “I am honored.”

King. “You’ve discussed this with your father already, I presume? “Polonius, what do you say?” Poro. “Yes. “Since he kept pestering me so insistently, I finally relented last night and told him he should try asking Your Majesty instead. “Heh heh, it seems the young find the allure of France rather hard to forget.”

King. “No wonder.” “Laertes，for children，a father’s permission holds greater importance than royal sanction.” “Household harmony becomes loyalty to the crown.” “If paternal consent exists，that suffices.” “Go amuse yourself—within bodily limits.” “Youth makes even play vigorous—how enviable.” “Hamlet seems listless lately—do you too yearn for France?”

“Ham.” “Me?” “Please don’t mock me.” “I’m going to hell.” King.

“What are you sulking about?” “Ah, right.” “You were saying you wanted to return to Wittenberg University.” “But please refrain from that.” “Let me be the one to ask this of you.” “You are the one who must soon inherit the throne of Denmark.” “Given that the nation is currently in troubled times, I have temporarily ascended to the throne. Once this crisis passes and people’s minds settle, I intend to have you succeed me so that I may rest at ease.” “Therefore, you must strive to stay by my side from now on and gradually learn the ways of governance.” “No—rather, I want you to help me.” “Please, give up on going to university.” “This is also a father’s wish.” “If you were gone, even the Queen would feel lonely.” “You seem to have been impairing your health of late.”

Ham. “Laertes, ——” Reya. “Yes.” Ham. “You’re fortunate to have such a good father.”

Queen.

“Hamlet, what a dreadful thing to state.” “To me, you only seem to be sulking.” “Stop that unpleasant, affected attitude.” “If you have any complaints, state them clearly like a man.” “I dislike that manner of speaking.”

Ham. “Shall I speak plainly?”

King.

“I understand.” “I would like to take this opportunity to speak with you alone at length.” “The Queen need not be so angry either.” “Young people must have their own legitimate grievances.” “It seems there are still many things I myself must reflect upon.” “Hamlet, there’s no need to cry.”

Queen.

“What? Those are tears! This child has mastered feigned weeping since infancy. Spare no indulgence—administer stern rebuke.”

King. “Gertrude, watch your words. Hamlet is not yours alone. He is Denmark’s prince.”

Queen. “That’s precisely why I’m speaking up.” “Hamlet is already twenty-three.” “How long will he keep acting like a spoiled child?” “As his birth mother, I am ashamed of this child.” “Please look.” “Despite today being the king’s first audience ceremony, this child alone deliberately wears ominous mourning clothes—likely fancying himself tragic—but he gives no thought to how much suffering this causes us.” “I understand everything this child is thinking.” “Even these mourning clothes are harassment directed at us.” “It must be intended as a sarcastic jab—as if to say we’ve already forgotten the late king’s death.” “We haven’t forgotten.” “In their hearts, everyone is deeply grieving, but now we cannot remain submerged in that sorrow alone.” “We must think of Denmark.” “We must think of Denmark’s people.” “We aren’t even free to grieve.” “Our bodies are our own yet do not belong to us.” “Hamlet simply doesn’t understand any of that.”

King.

“Now that’s too harsh. “You mustn’t speak in such a confrontational manner. “It only serves to wound people needlessly. “Your position as his birth mother gives you security to rely too heavily on hidden affection, but for the young, spoken words carry greater weight than veiled love. “I too remember this feeling. “It feels as though one’s entire being becomes defined by words. “You’re not yourself today either, my Queen. “I see no issue whatsoever with Hamlet wearing mourning clothes. “A youth’s sentimentality is pure. “To force its assimilation into our lives would be sinful. “We must nurture it. “Perhaps we ourselves should learn from this boy’s purity. “Even when convinced of our understanding, we sometimes lose what matters before realizing it. “In any case, I wish to speak with Hamlet privately at length—everyone may withdraw for now.”

Queen.

“In that case, I entreat you.” “I may have spoken too harshly myself, but you, thinking yourself bound by obligation, seem too indulgent with this child.” “If this continues, this child will never mature properly.” “Even were the late king here today, he would surely rage at this child’s conduct and strike him.”

Ham. “You should hit me.”

Queen. “Now what are you saying? Be more honest.”

King. Hamlet.

King. “Hamlet, please have a seat here.” “If you dislike it, remain standing.” “I shall stand as well while we speak.” “Hamlet, you’ve grown tall.” “You already match my height.” “You’ll keep growing into manhood.” “But you must gain some weight.” “You’ve become too thin.” “Your pallor has worsened of late.” “Exercise more restraint.” “Consider your future weighty obligations.” “Today we’ll converse leisurely here—just us two.” “I’ve long awaited this chance for private discourse.” “I shall voice my thoughts with perfect frankness, so speak candidly without reserve.” “However profound mutual affection may be, unvoiced love often leaves lovers strangers in this world.” “That philosopher’s notion—‘humans are linguistic creatures’—strikes me as sound.” “Today we’ll talk thoroughly between ourselves.” “These two months found me too occupied for calm discussion with you.” “Truly, no occasion presented itself.”

“Please forgive me.” “You too seemed to be constantly avoiding meeting with me.” “Whenever I entered a room, you would promptly leave it.” “How lonely I felt each time that happened.” “Hamlet!” “Look up.” “Then answer my questions clearly and seriously.” “I have something to ask you.” “Do you dislike me?” “I am now your father.” “Do you despise a father like me?” “Do you hate me?” “Now, answer clearly.” “A single word will suffice.” “Let me hear it.”

Ham. “A little more than kin, and less than kind.”

King.

“What was that?” “I didn’t quite catch that.” “Don’t be flippant.” “I am asking in earnest.” “Please don’t give me puns or clever answers.” “Life is not a play.”

Ham.

“I’ve been speaking plainly.” “Uncle!” “You were a good uncle—”

King. “So you’re saying I’m a disagreeable father?”

Ham. “Genuine feelings can’t be so easily dismissed, you know.”

King. “Oh, thank you. Well said. I wish you would always speak clearly like that. When it comes to truthful words, I will never get angry. The truth is, I too share the exact same sentiment as you. There’s no need for you to change your expression like that and glare at me. You’re being a bit overdramatic. When young, everyone is like that—you say quite harsh things to others, yet if someone says even a single word to you, you fly into a rage. Just as you find it painful when others speak harshly to you, you never consider how much it pains them when you speak bluntly to them.”

Ham. “No, that’s not—absolutely not—how absurd.” “I’m always speaking out of desperation—cornered and frantic.” “I don’t recall ever being blunt like that.”

The King.

“That’s precisely why I say it isn’t only you.” “We too always speak in desperation.” “We live at the limits of our strength.” “To you all, it may seem we overflow with some reserve of power and confidence—but it’s no different.” “It’s nearly identical to yours.” “If we manage to pass a single day in peace, we sigh in relief and thank God—such is our state.” “Moreover, I am a man born of the Hamlet royal bloodline.” “As you well know, an indecisive weakness flows through the Hamlet royal bloodline.” “Both the late king and I were crybabies from childhood.” “When foreign envoys saw us two playing in the garden, they mistook us for girls.” “Both of us were sickly.” “The royal physician doubted whether we’d fully mature.” “Yet through subsequent self-cultivation, the late king became such a splendid wise king.” “That fate can be transformed by will—this I now believe.” “The late king stands as that shining example.” “I now strive with all my might.” “I mean to become a sturdy pillar for this Denmark.” “I truly exhaust myself.” “But Hamlet—know you what pains me most now? You.” “You spoke earlier of irrefutable feelings—well I too, exactly so, cannot think you my child.”

“Let me be clearer.” “You were a dear nephew.” “I have loved you sincerely as a clever nephew.” “Even you were attached to this goat uncle when the late king was alive.” “The first to notice my face resembles a goat was my dear nephew.” “Your uncle too gladly became the goat uncle.” “Those days were nostalgic.” “Now you and I are parent and child.” “And so our hearts have drifted thousands of miles apart.” “The affection we once shared has turned to hatred.” “Our becoming parent and child was the root of misfortune.” “But we cannot leave this unresolved.” “Hamlet, I have one request.” “Deceive them.” “At least before the watching subjects, deceive your true feelings.” “Pretend to be on good terms with me.” “It must be disagreeable.” “It is painful.” “But there is no other way.” “The royal family’s discord loses vassals’ trust, darkens the people’s hearts, and invites foreign scorn.”

“As the Queen mentioned earlier, in our position, these bodies may be our own, but they do not belong to us.” “In all things—for this Denmark, for our ancestral soil—we must discard our personal feelings.” “This land of Denmark, its seas, its people—all will soon pass into your hands.” “We must work together now.” “I do not ask you to love me.” “Since even I—to speak plainly—find myself unable to feel enough affection from my heart’s depths to call you my child and embrace you as such, I cannot demand that you alone force yourself to love me.” “Only before others’ eyes need it suffice.” “That is our shared painful duty.” “I believe this is heaven’s will.” “We must obey it.” “What pleases and earns God’s reward, I believe, lies not in purity toward love but in patient submission to duty.” “Moreover, even if it begins as mere gestures of love’s courtesy, I believe true affection may gradually seep forth and well up from them.”

Ham.

“I understand.” “That much even I understand.” “I’m just so troubled.” “Please let me remain as I am a while longer.” “Uncle, I have one request.” “Please let me return to the University of Wittenberg.”

King.

“When it’s just us two, you may call me uncle without reservation—but before the Queen or subjects, you must promise to address me as father.” “To dwell on such trifles pains and shames me, yet even these petty formalities sway Denmark’s fate.” “This is what I’ve been imploring you about since earlier.”

“Ham.”

“Is that so.” “Fine.”

King. "Why must you be like this? Whenever I become even slightly earnest about something, you immediately get huffy, give such a flippant reply, and evade my words."

“Ham.” “Uncle—no, rather, it’s the King who evades my request.” “I want to go to Wittenberg.” “That’s all there is to it.”

King. “Is that true? "I think that is a lie." “That’s why I had thought to pretend not to hear it.” “That you wish to return to university is not your true intention.” “That is nothing but an excuse.” "You are merely trying to rebel against me by saying such things." "I know that too." "The wings of youthful arrogance simply yearn to flap without purpose." "You simply yearn to struggle recklessly." "I consider that to be animal instinct." "You link various ideals and righteous rationalizations to that animal instinct and groan." "I can assert." “Even if the late king were alive, you would surely be rebelling against him by now.” “And then despising the late king, hating him, calling him a fool behind his back, and giving him endless trouble.” "That’s the age you’re in." “Your rebellion is physical.” “It is not spiritual.” “Even if you were to go to Wittenberg now, I can already foresee the outcome.” “You will be welcomed like a hero by your university friends.”

“As the true friend and prince of unblemished justice who rebelled against antiquated family traditions, fought your stubborn and cruel stepfather, and sought freedom to return once more to university, you will be showered with a rain of kisses and celebratory toasts.” “But what is such grotesque fervor?” “I would call that physiological sentiment.” “I think it closely resembles a dog frantically rubbing its body against the lawn.” “I may have gone too far.” “I do not mean to deny all that youthful fervor.” “It is a phase ordained by God.” “A sea of fire you must inevitably pass through.” “Yet one must crawl out of it as soon as possible.” “It’s only natural.” “Go fully mad, burn out, then awaken as swiftly as possible.” “That is the optimal path.” “I too, as you know, was never an intelligent man.” “No—rather, I was an utter fool.” “Even now, I cannot say I’m fully awake.” “But I don’t wish to let you fail.” “Have you ever examined the true nature of your university friends’ fleeting cheers?” “That’s the relief of finding dissolute companions.” “They boast to each other of vice and adventure, until they drag one another down into becoming grubby, incompetent old men.” “I admonish you from my own foolish experience.”

“I spent long years indulging in dissolute university life.” “And what remains of it now?” “Nothing.” “Only sordid memories.” “Shame that leaves me groaning.” “The inertia of sensuality.” “That bad habit overwhelmed me.” “Even now I still struggle with its aftermath.” “With Laertes it’s different.” “That one has hope for advancement.” “So long as ambition exists, men don’t sink into decadence.” “You lack such hope.” “All you crave is to plunge headlong into decay.” “You’ve already squandered three years at university.” “That’s more than enough.” “Should you rekindle that madness with your old comrades now, the damage may prove irreversible.” “The world laughs off youthful indiscretions, but a twenty-three-year-old man’s disgrace festers—a rancid stain no mirth can cleanse.” “Exercise restraint.” “Those students will only inflame you with reckless rhetoric.” “This I know full well.”

“Earlier before the subjects, I stopped your return to university under other pretexts—no, indeed, what I stated then was also of significant import—but more than that, I was concerned about these wings of arrogance you now spread.” “I feared where the passion of those wings might lead.” “What I stated earlier before the subjects—I want you to keep that in mind as well. That is to say, I want you to remain by my side and learn practical governance. But beyond such political calculations, I wished to counsel your recklessness as your father—no, rather, out of duty as your foolish senior.” “I did say I couldn’t feel genuine fatherly love for you, but human obligation stands apart.” “I want to be useful to you.” “From my foolish experiences, I want to impart the conclusions I’ve finally reached and shield you.” “I am resolved to mold you splendidly.” “You mustn’t doubt this.” “You are Denmark’s Prince.” “Your station is without equal.” “Deepen your self-awareness.” “You mustn’t group yourself with Laertes.” “Laertes is but one subject among your many.” “His going to France merely serves to gild his future standing.” “Hence even that cunning Polonius permitted it.” “You have no such need.” “I beseech you to desist from returning to Wittenberg.” “This is no longer entreaty.” “It is command.” “I bear the duty to forge you into a worthy king.”

“Stay in this royal castle, and let us soon welcome a suitable princess, Hamlet.”

Ham.

“I have no intention of imitating Laertes.” “It’s nothing.” “I was just—”

King.

“There, there, I understand.” “You wanted to reunite with your university friends again, didn’t you?” “There must be matters you couldn’t confide even in me.” “Then there remains no need whatsoever for you to go all the way to Wittenberg.” “I summoned Horatio.”

Ham. “Horatio!” King. “You look happy.” “He was your best friend, wasn’t he?” “I also hold his sincere character in high regard.” “He should have already departed from Wittenberg.”

Ham. “Thank you.”

King. “Well then, let us shake hands. When we talk it over, it amounts to nothing. We shall gradually grow closer from now on. I may have said some disrespectful things to you today, but please do not take offense. The banquet signal cannon resounds. Everyone must be growing impatient. Let us go together.”

Ham. “Well, I’d like to stay here a little longer and think by myself.” “Please go ahead.”

Hamlet alone.

Ham. “Ugh, I’m bored.” “He just keeps droning on about the same things.” “Lately he’s suddenly putting on this solemn face and spouting pious words, but none of it means anything.” “Nothing but self-justifications.” “It all comes back to Goat Uncle.” “Didn’t he used to drink himself stupid and get scolded constantly by Father?” “Wasn’t it Goat Uncle who egged me on and took me out to play with women beyond the castle walls?” “Those women there called him a pig demon.” “A goat would’ve been a classier name.” “He’s not cut out for this.” “Not cut out at all.” “It’s almost pitiful.” “He’s unqualified.” “Unqualified to be king.” “A goat king—how utterly absurd.” “But I can’t underestimate Uncle.” “He saw right through me, damn him.” “He knew I never really intended to go back to Wittenberg.” “Can’t let my guard down.”

The serpent's path is the serpent itself? Ah, I want to see Horatio. Anyone will do. I want to see old friends. There's something I need someone to hear. There's something I need to discuss! That Goat Uncle called Horatio for me—he's really outdone himself. Those who indulge in pleasure develop a weirdly sharp intuition. Just how much does that goat know, I wonder? Ah, I've fallen so low. I've become depraved. Since Father died, my life has been complete chaos. Mother has taken Goat Uncle's side over mine and become a complete stranger, and I've gone mad. I am a man of great pride. When I think of my own shameless behavior lately, it's unbearable. I have become such a man who can't speak ill of anyone now. I'm despicable. I act timidly around everyone I meet. Ah, what should I do? Horatio.

Father died, mother was taken, and on top of that, that goat specter keeps lecturing me with exasperating self-importance. Disgusting. Filthy. Ah, but more than that, there burns within me an even more searing anguish. No—it’s everything. Everyone suffers. All manner of things have come jumbled together these past two months and overwhelmed me. I never knew pain could strike like this—one after another, all at once. Suffering begets suffering, sorrow begets sorrow, sighs multiply sighs. Suicide. The only escape lies there alone.

II. A Room in Polonius’s Residence

Laertes.

Ophelia.

Reya. “You could have at least done the packing for me.” “Ah, I’m busy.” “The ship’s already waiting with sails full.” “Hey, bring me that philosophy dictionary.” “If we forget this, it’ll be a disaster.” “French noblewomen adore philosophical turns of phrase.” “Hey, sprinkle some perfume inside this trunk.” “A gentleman’s mark of refinement.” “There—the packing’s done.” “Now we depart.” “Ophelia, I expect you to tend your father properly while I’m gone.” “What are you gaping at?” “Lately you wear nothing but drowsy expressions—I suppose adolescence must be a sleepy season.” “There’s a ditty about one who snores through nights muttering ‘I’ve troubles too’—you’re its very image.” “Less napping, more writing to your brother in France.”

“Ofu.” “Think you I’ll leave things unresolved?”

Reya. “What’s that?” “That’s a weird phrase.” “This is sickening.” Ofu. “But Mr. Tsubouchi said—”

Reya. “Ah, so that’s it.” “Mr. Tsubouchi may be the greatest scholar in the East, but he goes overboard with his language.” “‘Think you I’ll let matters rest?’ To say something like that—how harsh.” “You’re sucking up.” “No, no—it’s not just Mr. Tsubouchi’s fault.” “You yourself have been acting rather disgustingly lately.” “Be careful.” “I understand everything.” “You’re putting on such bright red lipstick and sucking up, aren’t you?” “Disgusting.” “What’s this? You’re awfully flaunting your charms.”

Ofu.

“I’m sorry.” “Reya.” “Tch! You have to go and cry right away.” “I understand everything—absolutely everything.” “Until now, I’ve been pretending not to notice on purpose. Even so, I should’ve been subtly urging you to reflect all this time—yet you haven’t paid the slightest attention.” “You’re so lovesick there’s no helping it.” “I never wanted to get involved in such trivial matters if I could help it.” “Filthy.” “But today, I got so worried about what might happen while I’m away that I ended up bringing it up—but now that it’s come to this, maybe it’s better to just lay everything out for you.” “Listen—give up on that man.” “It’s ridiculous.” “It’s perfectly clear.” “If you consider what sort of status that man holds, you’ll understand.” “That’s an impossible request.” “I’m categorically opposed.” “I’ll make this clear now.” “As your only brother and as the stand-in for our late mother, I am categorically opposed.” “Father’s too easygoing to have noticed yet, but if he ever finds out—what do you think will happen?” “Father will have to resign from his high position out of responsibility.” “My future is pitch darkness.”

“You’ll end up raising a fatherless child and becoming a beggar or something. Listen—tell that man this: If he dares make Laertes’ sister his plaything, there’ll be no mercy for anyone. No matter how highborn they are, they won’t be spared. Say that Laertes swore it by demon gods.”

Ofu.

“Brother!” “You mustn’t say such terrible things.” “That person—”

Reya. “You idiot! “Still spouting that nonsense?” “Disgusting.” “Fine—I’ll make it plain.” “My opposition isn’t just about his status.” “I hate him.” “Despise him.” “That man’s a nihilist.” “A hedonist.” “I’ve known him since childhood—served as his playmate all these years.” “He was clever.” “Precocious.” “Mastered everything instantly.” “Archery, swordsmanship, horsemanship—even poetry and plays—he mastered them all uncannily well.” “But there’s no fire in it.” “Once he’d passably mastered something, he’d abandon it.” “Fickle.” “I can’t stand that sort of character.” “Quick to pry into people’s hidden thoughts—smirking like he alone understands.”

“He’s a terrible person.” “He’s laughing at our desperate efforts.” “That’s what they call a frivolous genius.” “He puts on this insufferable act.” “And yet, the moment the King or Queen reprimands him, he’ll start sniveling in front of all the courtiers without a shred of dignity.” “He’s like a rotten woman.” “Ophelia, you don’t know anything.” “But I know.” “That man is utterly unreliable.” “There are more men in Denmark than there are leaves in the forest.” “I’ll find you the strongest, kindest, most sincere, and handsomest young man among them all. Come now—trust your brother.” “Haven’t you always believed everything your brother told you?” “And has your brother ever once deceived you?” “Right? Good—you understand now?” “Please—I beg you—give up on that man as of today.” “Next time he bothers you, tell him Laertes swore he wouldn’t let him live.” “That coward will surely turn pale and tremble.” “Understood?” “If—though it’s unthinkable—you were to do something shameless while I’m away, your brother won’t let you two remain as you are.” “You know your brother becomes more terrifying than anyone when angered?”

“Now then—come on—let’s part with a smile.” “Your brother does truly trust you.”

“Oh…”

“Goodbye.” “Brother, stay well too.”

Reya.

“Thank you. Please look after things while I’m away.” “I can’t help feeling uneasy…” “Right—one thing—swear to your brother before God.” “Somehow—it’s worrying me.”

“Oh…”

“Brother, do you still doubt me?”

Reya. “Well, it’s not like that, but...” “Well, fine then.” “You’ll be all right?” “Can I rest assured?” “I don’t want to press this issue too insistently.” “As your brother, it would be unbecoming.”

Polonius. Laertes. Ophelia.

Poro. “What, you’re still here?” “Since you came to take your leave earlier, I assumed you’d already departed long ago.” “Come now, off you go.” “Ah! Wait, wait.” “Before we part, I shall impart the precepts of study abroad to you once more.” Reya.

“Ah, that—I’ve already heard it three times—no, actually four times now, though.”

“Poro.” “It doesn’t matter how many times.” “Even ten repetitions wouldn’t be excessive.” “Now then—first and foremost—don’t you worry about your school grades.” “If you have fifty classmates, being around fortieth in rank is most desirable.” “Whatever you do, don’t even think about aiming for first place.” “If you’re Polonius’s child, there’s no way you could be that smart.” “Know the limits of your ability, accept them, and study with humility.” “First.” “Next: Do not fail.” “Even if you cheat, I don’t mind—but do not fail.” “Failing will leave you scarred for life.” “When you’re old and finally attain some respectable position, people will forget your past cheating—but never your failures. They’ll meddle and tug at your sleeves, pointing fingers and laughing behind your back.” “Schools are originally designed to prevent students from failing.” “Failing is invariably the result of students themselves obstinately volunteering for it.” “That’s sentimental nonsense.” “Rebellion against teachers—nonsense.” “That’s vanity nonsense.” “A futile sense of justice—nonsense.” “There are even students who go so far as to treat failure as a badge of honor and make their parents weep—they’ll regret it when they’re old and on the cusp of advancement.”

“In their student days, they believe cheating to be the greatest disgrace and failing to be a heroic deed—but when they enter the real world, they come to realize it’s the opposite.” “Cheating is no disgrace—resolve that failing alone is the foundation of defeat.” “Oh well—once you’ve left school, try reminiscing with those classmates from back then.” “They’re usually cheating anyway.” “Even if they confess those things to each other, they’ll just pat each other’s shoulders, have a good laugh, and that’ll be the end of it.” “It won’t leave lasting scars.” “But failing—that’s different.” “Even if you confess it, people won’t just laugh it off with innocent smiles.” “You’ll end up being despised somehow.” “A roadblock to success, the seed of degradation.” “If you think life exists solely in student life, that’s a grave mistake.” “Take great care and act without oversight.” “You’re Polonius’s child, aren’t you?” “Next, regarding how to choose classmates.” “This too is crucial.” “You must befriend at least one student from the grade above and keep them close.” “To learn the exams’ key points.” “They can teach you the examiners’ grading quirks.” “Furthermore, you must befriend one top student in your year.” “It is to borrow their notes and have them sit right next to you during exams.”

“Two friends are all you need.” “Unnecessary friendships mean unnecessary expenses.” “Now then—money.” “This demands particular attention.” “No lending or borrowing whatsoever shall be permitted.” “Borrowing is inherently improper; lending too shall not be allowed.” “Starve rather than borrow.” “The world is structured to prevent starvation.” “People may forget marrying off daughters, but never lending a single ryo.” “Even repaid tenfold, they’ll remember that one ryo lent.” “This too becomes an eternal impediment.” “A man of ambition incurs not one rin of debt.” “Lending too is forbidden.” “Those who borrow from you will slander you.” “Ashamed of their debt yet resenting you, they’ll whisper behind your back.” “Thus sprouts discord’s seed.” “To spare your friendship future wounds, become the man who declares ‘I will not lend’ and refuses requests outright—else greatness eludes you.” “Understood?” “Handle money with care.” “Don’t borrow.”

“Don’t lend.” “Next: alcohol.” “Drink in moderation.” “But never drink alone.” “Solitary drinking is the beginning of delusion—the spur to melancholy.” “No matter how much you drink, it won’t lift your spirits.” “Drink with classmates once a week.” “Moreover, you doing the inviting would be ill-advised.” “Being invited by others and striving to reluctantly accept—that’s what makes a shrewd man.” “Eagerly accepting marks you as a fool in haste.” “The etiquette of drinking is difficult.” “You must not get dead drunk and vomit.” “You will be despised by everyone.” “Shouting loudly and picking fights with anyone indiscriminately will only make people avoid you—there’s not a single good thing in it.” “Ideally, you should sit in the lowest seat, earnestly listen to the surrounding discussions, and maintain an appearance of deeply nodding at each point—this would be most desirable. But once you’ve overindulged in drink, even that becomes difficult.” “At such times, suddenly stand up and sing university song as if to tear your throat out.” “After finishing the song, grin cheerfully and resume drinking.” “If someone persistently picks a quarrel with you, draw yourself up and stare at their face—then calmly say, ‘You’re a lonely man, aren’t you?’” “No matter how skilled a debater they may be, they’ll go limp.” “However, if possible, laughing and bending like a willow in the wind would be superior.”

“If a banquet grows excessively rowdy, cultivate the habit of rising without hesitation and quietly returning to your lodgings.” “A man who lingers dawdling at banquets forever—thinking something good might happen—such an indecisive fellow has no hope of advancement whatsoever.” “When leaving, choose a reliable classmate and do not forget to hand sufficient funds to that person.” “If the fee is three ryo, five.” “If five ryo, leave ten—withdraw smartly. That’s what makes a good man.” “Without hurting others nor being hurt yourself—thus your reputation will naturally rise.” “Ah, one more thing requires utmost caution regarding drinking.” “That is: make no promises whatsoever at drinking gatherings.” “This—unless you’re extremely careful—will lead to disastrous consequences.” “Drinking stirs passion and elevates the spirit.” “Consequently you’ll rashly take on more than your capabilities allow—turn pale with regret when sober—but it will be too late.” “This is the first step to ruin.” “Make no promises while drunk.” “Next: women.” “This too is unavoidable.” “Well... just guard against self-conceit.” “You are Polonius’s son.” “Like your father—not cut out to be loved by women.” “Do not forget you’ve been a loud-snoring child since infancy.” “With such snoring—any woman besides your wife would surely recoil.”

“When you encounter a woman’s temptation, you must resolve to recall that loud snoring.” “Understood?” “Even if you’re disliked in France, there’s a beautiful girl in Denmark who insists it must be you, so leave that to your father—over there, you’d do well not to grow too conceited.” “In your youth, womanizing isn’t about paying for women—it’s about showcasing your manhood. So regard self-conceit as your greatest enemy.” “Now, next is—”

Reya. “Gambling.” “Lose five ryo and return home laughing.” “You must not make a profit.” Polo. “Next is—” Reya. “It’s about clothing.” “Wear a good shirt and put on an unobtrusive jacket.” Polo. “Next is—” Reya. “Do not forget to give a parting gift to the innkeeper.” “You mustn’t become too familiar either.”

“Polo.” “Next is—”

“Reya.” “Keeping a diary, buying hardtack to have on hand, trimming your nose hair now and then—oh, the ship’s about to depart.” “Father, stay well.” “When I arrive there, I’ll send you a letter in due course.” “Ophelia, goodbye—don’t you forget what your brother just told you.”

Polo.

“Ah—he’s already gone.” “What a quick fellow he is.” “Well now—that should suffice.” I forgot to mention the remittance limit—ah! And neglected too regarding strolls—no matter—shall address these by letter later.

“Oh, Ophelia, you don’t look well.” “Your brother said something unreasonable to you, didn’t he?” “I know.” “Did he pester you for your allowance money?” “Since what you receive from your father alone isn’t enough, he threatened and ordered you to keep sending him some amount secretly every month from now on.” “No—that must be it.” “He’s a bad one.”

Ofu. “No, Father, you’re mistaken.” “Brother isn’t such… such a petty person.” “It’s all right.” “Even without your meticulous instructions now, Brother is already well aware of everything.”

Polo.

“Well, that’s right. That goes without saying. What do you expect him to do, being twenty-three and still not knowing such things? Even at the same age, he’s three times as mature as someone like Prince Hamlet. Laertes is a son who’ll surpass this old man. But making such a fuss and nitpicking like that is part of my deeply considered strategy. Even though that child finds it bothersome, the very thought that there’s someone who nags him about every little thing becomes his reason to keep living. If he could just know there’s one person here terribly worried about his future, I’d be satisfied with that. I gave all sorts of bothersome advice, but really, it’s all nonsense. They’re just trivial matters. Laertes has his own way of living. The times are changing. Laertes should live freely. If only he could know this one fact—that I’m the one fretting over him—that would be enough. As long as he remembers that, he’ll never fall into depravity. I’ve been worrying for two—myself and your departed mother. That’s what I wanted him to know. As long as he keeps that in mind—ah, I repeat myself.” That’s what they call an old man’s ramblings. I’ve grown old without noticing.

“Ophelia, sit here. Come now, sit beside your father.” This should do.

“Well, do listen to your father’s grumbling a little longer. You’ve come to look more and more like your mother lately. I somehow feel as though I’m speaking with your mother herself. She must be rejoicing beneath the grass too. Laertes has grown so sturdy, and you’re kind and obedient—tending so well to my needs. They say even people beyond the castle walls sing your praises. ‘What handsome children to come from a parent like Polonius’—scandalous talk, but there—even such rumors reach my ears. Truly, I should be happy now. There should be nothing lacking at all—yet listen, Ophelia—lately I find myself suddenly overcome with uncertainty at times. I might die soon. No—there’s nothing to fear. I don’t mean to force death upon myself. I always earnestly thought of living to a hundred—no, a hundred and nine years old. After seeing Laertes’ splendid success, I’d praise him mightily—declare myself fully at ease—then wish to die.” “That’s rather self-serving.” “But I meant it sincerely.” “I have nothing now that could be called my own enjoyment.” “Yet I believed I must live for you both.” “A motherless child is such a precious thing—but neither Laertes nor you would know.” “For children’s sake—any hardship—I would endure.”

“Father had even thought of such things.” “In other words, life must have one final praiser.” “Take Laertes’ case—though he’ll strive endlessly to earn others’ praise from now on, even if the whole world flatters him frivolously, I alone will stubbornly withhold it.” “If praised too soon, they grow complacent too quickly.” “I alone will maintain this stern countenance forever.” “I’ll go so far as to insult him instead.” “However, I will always praise him in the end.” “In other words, I shall become the ultimate praiser.” “I will praise him greatly.” “I will praise him with a voice loud enough to reach the heavens.” “At that moment, he will think all his efforts until now were worth it.” “He will thank God for being alive.” “I’d strived all this time to stay alive until a hundred and nine—no, even a hundred and eight would do—just to become that final booming voice of praise. But lately, those efforts have begun to feel utterly foolish.” “Holding back praise to give nagging remarks is as painful as suppressing the urge to lash out.” “No one but your father would take on such a painful role.” “They call that a doting parent, don’t they?” “It’s parental greed.” “I wanted to make Laertes truly outstanding—so much more splendid—and was prepared to take on that painful role myself, but somehow, lately, I’ve grown lonely.” “No—I’ll still keep scolding you all from now on.” “Just now as well, I gave Laertes such a nagging scolding.”

“But after saying it, Father suddenly feels uneasy.” “In other words—education isn’t merely this psychological maneuvering Father imagines—I’ve come to vaguely realize that.” “Children eventually see through their parents’ stratagems before they know it.” “How about that? For me—isn’t this tremendous progress?” “Laertes may be dependable, but being a man—he still retains certain simple qualities.” “He gets swept up by Father’s clever ploys and strives earnestly.” “That’s his good point.” “Knowing this—I occasionally employ tactics with Laertes—and successfully so.” “Just now—when Father gave him all that loud advice—though Laertes found it bothersome—knowing full well Father fretted over him—he departed feeling true purpose deep within.” “But Ophelia—hey—Ophelia—come closer here.” “Do you grasp what Father’s been trying to say all along?”

Ofu.

“You’re scolding me.”

“Polo.”

“That’s it. “Right away. That’s it. “You see—that’s exactly why I’m afraid of you. “Lately, I’ve grown noticeably more afraid. “My maneuvers don’t work on you. “You see through them immediately. “It wasn’t like that before, you know. “Ophelia.”

“That’s right.” “All this time Father’s been talking about nothing but you.” “Truly worrying and speaking of nothing but you.” “I’m not scolding.” “Not scolding—but why won’t you speak plainly to Father?” “That loneliness belongs to Father.” “Laertes? I hardly worry.” “That one straightens right up when roared at.” “But Ophelia—lately I can’t scold you.” “Can’t even bark orders.” “That’s why Father grows uneasy.” “Why living till a hundred-nine repels me.” “Why I’ve realized education isn’t mere mind games.” “Why playing ultimate praiser feels foolish.” “Why death whispers close—Ophelia, all for you.” “No tears needed.” “Now—tell Father every trouble.” “Father waited breathless for your voice.” “So I spewed empty complaints to ease your tongue—still too scheming by half.” “My apologies.”

“Father is being underhanded and that won’t do.” “Come now—I’ll abandon schemes entirely. You must trust me and speak plainly.” “Where do you imagine you’re going, rising like that?” “No need for flight.” “Sit.” “Very well—I shall voice it myself.” “Ophelia—your brother gave you quite the scolding earlier.” “This wasn’t about allowance funds, was it?”

“Ofu.” “Father, you’re cruel! I’ve had enough.” “Polo.”

“Alright, I understand. Ophelia! You fool. It’s no wonder Laertes got angry. I received unpleasant advice from a certain subordinate this morning. The advice came like a bolt from the blue, but when I considered your recent despondent state, I thought—could it be...? I wanted to believe it wasn’t so, but in any case, I resolved to gently inquire in a way that wouldn’t hurt your feelings. I believe I inquired as gently and considerately as possible, exactly as intended. But you stubbornly remained silent—and even tried to run away from here. But I understand now. Ophelia, your love affair is underhanded. There’s not a shred of innocence in it. It’s impure. Why did you have to hide it so much from us? The gentleman’s attitude is truly admirable. Nonchalantly wearing mourning clothes while shelving your own transgressions, you instead make sour remarks to the King and Queen. Is this what passes for love among young people these days? If you love him, then love him. There is a difference in social status, but even that shouldn’t be as much of an issue nowadays as it was in the past. Why couldn’t you have confessed it innocently?”

“Lord Claudius isn’t an unreasonable man.” “Even I made blunders in my youth.” “I meant no harm.” “But now it’s too late.” “With rumors spreading this far, things grow awkward.” “Fool.” “You’re both fools.” “No use.” “No use crying however much you weep.” “Even Father’s lost patience.” “Well?” “Does Laertes know everything?”

“Ofu.” “No.” “Brother said that if it’s something like that，he can’t let them live.”

“Polo.”

“That’s right.” “That’s something Laertes would say.” “Well, I’ll keep it quiet from Laertes.” “If he comes barging in now on top of all this, it’ll be a real mess.” “Nasty business, this.” “This is why I can’t stand girls.” “Hmph, Ophelia.” “You failed to seize the Queen’s crown.”

Three: High Ground

Hamlet.

Horatio.

Ham. “It’s been a while. You came after all. How’s Wittenberg? How’s everything? Is everyone still the same?”

Hor. “It’s cold here，isn’t it?” “There’s a briny air about this place.” “The wind blows straight in from the sea—unbearable.” “Is it always this cold every night?”

Ham. “Well, tonight’s rather warm all things considered.” “It was cold earlier though.” “It’ll only get warmer from now on.” “Denmark too will have spring soon enough.” “By the way—how’s everyone keeping?”

Hor.

“Prince. Rather than our affairs—how about yourself?”

Ham. “That’s a strange way to put it. “Is there some bad rumor going around about me? “Wittenberg’s got loose lips. “Horatio. “You’re acting weird. “Somehow you feel distant.”

Hor.

“No, there’s nothing strange at all. “Really, Prince, are you truly all right?” “Ah, it’s cold.”

Ham. “Prince, huh?” “That wasn’t how it was supposed to be.” “Hey—call me Hamlet like you used to.” “You’ve become a complete stranger.” “What on earth did you come to Elsinore for?”

Hor. “Sorry… sorry.” “Still your same old self I see… Lord Hamlet.” “Quick to anger.” “Yet surprisingly… you look well.” “Seem… alright.”

“What an unpleasant way to put it. “You must have come here after hearing some bad rumors. “What is it? “What kind of rumors? Go on and tell me. “Uncle must have told you some unnecessary things. “I’m sure that’s it. “Even though he doesn’t know a thing, he goes on spouting unnecessary crap.”

Hor. “No, the King’s letter was heartfelt.” “It said that since the Prince was bored, I should come keep him company—written with such excessive politeness it felt almost unmerited.” “It was a gracious letter.”

Ham. “You’re lying. There must have been something else written in that letter. I thought you were the one man who wouldn’t lie...”

Hor. “Lord Hamlet. Horatio remains your longtime friend. I don’t deal in half-measures. Very well—I’ll recount everything I heard at Wittenberg exactly as it came to me. This cold bites to the bone, doesn’t it? Let’s retreat indoors. Why haul me out to this godforsaken spot? When you drag me wordlessly to some freezing dark corner the moment we meet, then toss out a casual ‘Long time no see’—anyone would grow suspicious.”

Ham. “What do you doubt?” “I see.” I think I mostly get the gist of it. “But that’s surprising.”

“Hor.”

“Have you understood?” “Let us return to the chamber.” “I neglected to bring a jacket.”

Ham. “No, talk here. I’ve got something big I need you to hear about it. A mountain of things. Wouldn’t do if others heard. Should be safe here. Must be freezing, but endure it for me. Funny how when people get secrets, they start thinking walls really have ears. I’ve grown rather suspicious myself lately.” Hor.

“I can well imagine.” “I can only surmise how profound your grief has been through this ordeal.” “Though I myself had the honor of meeting the late King on several occasions—”

Ham. “That’s not even the half of it. “Grief’s blazing up now. “Anyway—why don’t you start by telling me what you heard in Wittenberg? “If you’re cold—here—take my coat. “Study too long in civilized countries and even your skin turns refined, eh?”

Hor. “That’s most kind.” “I must apologize for not bringing a jacket.” “Then I’ll gratefully take your coat.” “Ah... I’m quite comfortable now.” “Much warmer already.” “You have my deepest gratitude.” Ham

“Why don’t you start talking already? You seem to have come to Denmark just to feel the cold.”

Hor. “It’s truly cold, isn’t it?” “I must apologize for my rudeness.” “Lord Hamlet.” “Then I shall begin.” “Oh—I have the feeling someone is standing there in the darkness.”

Ham. “What are you saying? “Isn’t that a willow? “Under it—faintly glowing white—is a stream. “Narrow in width but somewhat deep. “Until just recently frozen, now melted and flowing swift. “You’re more cowardly than even I. “When one studies too long in civilized countries—”

Hor. “One’s senses become refined as well.” “So no one’s listening, right?” “No matter what grave matter I may bring up, you won’t mind?” Ham. “You’re putting on such airs.” “Haven’t I been saying from the start that this place is absolutely safe?” “That’s why I dragged you here.”

Hor. “Well then, I shall begin. You mustn’t be surprised. Lord Hamlet. The people at the university are gossiping about your disturbed state of mind.” Ham. “Madness? That’s just absurd. I thought it was a love scandal or something like that. Ridiculous. You’d know if you looked. Where did such a rumor come from? Ah, I see. That’s Uncle’s propaganda, huh?” Hor. “You’re saying such things again. Why would His Majesty engage in such trivial propaganda? Absolutely, it is not.”

Ham. “You deny it so vehemently. “Uncle Goat’s quite the romanticist beneath it all. “If he became a parent to me, our hearts would drift thousands of miles apart—love turning to hatred—that’s the kind of man who broods tragically alone over such imagined slights. So now he’s completely changed tactics: ‘The old king dies, Crown Prince Hamlet cannot endure his grief—descends into melancholy madness! But brave new King Claudius shoulders this family’s misfortunes!’ “The new king who boldly shoulders the misfortunes of this family is none other than Claudius. “That’d make a fine scene in a play. “Uncle’s propaganda. “Uncle’s been trying every way to prop himself up and win popularity, so lately he’s been treating me like a fool. “He’s going to great lengths to put on airs. “It’s almost pitiful to watch. “But spreading rumors that I’m crazy—I think that’s going too far. “That’s awful. “Uncle is a bad person.”

Hor. “I must state once again—this is not His Majesty the King’s propaganda.” “Lord Hamlet.” “How unfortunate.” “You truly know nothing of it, do you?” “The rumors reaching the university are not such trifling matters.” “Ah, I can’t say any more.”

Ham. "What is it?" "You're putting on such a grave tone." "You were told something by Uncle, weren't you?" "To prompt my reflection, or some such thing." "That's how it is, right?"

Hor. “Let me state once again. In His Majesty the King’s letter, it was simply written to ask me to keep you company. I believe His Majesty never dreamed in his wildest thoughts that I would bring such a dreadful rumor to you.” Ham.

“Hmm, I wonder.” “Well, that might be.” “If Uncle had spread those rumors around the university, he wouldn’t risk summoning you to me.” “Your coming here would expose everything.” “If not Uncle, then whose doing is it?” “I can’t make sense of it.” “Anyway—to claim I’ve gone mad? Outrageous.” “Though truthfully, some pains cut so deep now that madness might be a mercy.” “We’ll speak of this later.” “Horatio.” “Is that all there is to these rumors?” “There’s more lingering beneath.” “Out with it.” “I’m steady.” “Steady.”

Hor.

“Must I really say it?”

Ham.

“Cut it out. You’re the one who brought it up yourself, and now you’re trying to weasel out like a coward? Is that groaning, affected sort of line popular at Wittenberg these days?” Hor. “Then I shall tell you. “If you insist on insulting Horatio’s sincerity like this, then I will tell you.” “I truly ask that you dismiss this calmly.” “It’s trivial—a rumor not worth considering.” “I, your servant Horatio, naturally do not believe such improper rumors.”

Ham. “It doesn’t matter—all that stuff.” I grew sullen. “I never knew you could be so stiff.”

Hor.

“I must tell you. “The rumor is that lately a ghost has been appearing at Elsinore Castle—” Ham. “That’s quite something—how awful. “Horatio, are you serious?” “I burst out laughing.” “Ridiculous.” “Wittenberg University has really fallen off, hasn’t it?” “Where has that unique scientific spirit gone?” “Though given how drama studies seem to be thriving at the university lately, maybe some particularly dimwitted graduate students among them concocted such an inept drama.” “Even so—ghosts? What feeble imagination.” “That they’re getting a kick out of it and raising such a ruckus—the university’s standards have really fallen lately.” “Ghosts and Hamlet’s Madness.” “It’s a title that would suit some cheap play.” “Uncle told me to give up on university because it’s boring, but it’s true.” “Uncle’s far smarter.” “If I were to associate with such trivial people and get caught up in their ghostly commotion, even Uncle would be utterly exasperated this time. Can’t they come up with a slightly more clever rumor?”

“Hor.” “I do not believe it.” “But please do not speak ill of our alma mater.” “I feel rather uncomfortable.”

Ham.

“Nonsense! You’re different. Uncle also praised only you. He said you were a man of integrity. That there was no need for me to go all the way to Wittenberg—that summoning Horatio alone here would suffice. I truly didn’t want to go to university, but I wanted to meet you.” Hor.

“I pledge my loyalty. “With all due respect—though it pains me to contradict—this strange rumor did not originate from our Wittenberg University. “This much I must declare for our alma mater’s honor. “The rumor arose from Elsinore’s streets, spread through Denmark’s breadth, and now contaminates even foreign universities’ ears. “So insolent and unspeakable it is that Horatio himself grows daily more oppressed by gloom. “Had my lord Hamlet remained ignorant of this until today?”

Ham.

“I don’t know anything about such absurd nonsense.” “Still, it seems to have spread quite widely.” “If it spreads too far, I won’t be able to just laugh it off as ridiculous.” “I wonder if Uncle and Polonius and the others know about it.” “Where exactly do they keep their ears?” “Are they pretending not to hear even though they can?” “They’re a devious bunch, I tell you.” “Horatio—what sort of ghost is it supposed to be?” “I’m starting to feel curious.”

Hor.

“Before that, there is one matter I would like to clearly inquire about beforehand.” “May I?”

Ham. “Horatio, I’m starting to get scared of you. Hurry up and tell me. Just say it already. If you keep acting so pretentious, I might just have to break off our friendship.” Hor. “I shall tell you. Once I tell you, it may turn out to be nothing of consequence. You will once again laugh heartily at it, and that will be all. Somehow, I too have started to feel that bright anticipation. Still, just to be certain, I must ask one thing in advance: Lord Hamlet, you do of course believe in the current king’s character?”

Ham. “That’s an unexpected question. “That’s a bit of a tough one. “This is tricky. “What should I say… “It’s complicated. “What’s the harm in that? “What does it matter anyway?”

Hor. “No, that won’t do. Unless I clearly ascertain this beforehand, I cannot tell you anything.”

Ham. “You’re being harsh, aren’t you. “You’ve changed. “Become absurdly stubborn. “You weren’t like this before. “Ah, never mind. “I’ll answer. “Why ask me this now? “Uncle has his slovenly aspects, but he’s not truly wicked. “Yet if pressed about his character—well, I’d hesitate. “Are there vile rumors about Uncle? “People will chatter regardless. “This coronation business was ill-timed, you see. “But naturally Uncle didn’t decide alone. “Such matters can’t be settled singlehandedly. “Polonius and the ministers deliberated collectively. “I’m hardly fit to assume the throne yet. “Denmark faces precarious times. “With Norway too—war could erupt any moment. “I lack the confidence.”

“With Uncle taking the throne, I’ve actually felt more at ease.” “It’s true.” “I want to keep freely joking around with you all for a while longer.” “It’s nothing.” “After all, it’s just the natural relationship between uncle and nephew.” “He’s the closest blood relative.” “Well, I do say all sorts of selfish things to Uncle.” “I sometimes say things to annoy him.” “I sometimes look down on him.” “There are plenty of times when I deliberately sulk and don’t even give a proper reply.” “But that’s a matter between uncle and nephew.” I might be acting spoiled. But I think Uncle understands that much at least. I do still have parts where I rely on Uncle, you know. He’s a good uncle. He’s timid. He’s not particularly skilled in politics either, and when you get down to it, he’s just the Goat Uncle after all—it’s disappointing, you know. He seems to be making various efforts, but he’s just not the type from the start, you know. He’s pitiable. He tells me to call him Father, but I can’t do it.

Mother also did an ill-advised thing. To solidify the Hamlet royal family's foundation—since everyone says that's the best course—Mother seems to have agreed to it, but what can one say? They're already advanced in years, and likely married just to have companions for sharing tea, but honestly, I still find it rather mortifying. But I make efforts not to ponder such matters deeply. What can be done? For a child of humanity, to crudely scrutinize one's parents' affairs constitutes an unforgivable vice. Such a base child cannot count among humankind. Isn't that so? There was a time when loneliness overwhelmed me, but now I strive not to dwell on it. The world doesn't turn on my personal affections and resentments—in the end, one must leave those people's matters to themselves. How does that sound? Let this much suffice as response. Truly, complexities abound. But Uncle isn't wicked. That much remains certain. He may be a minor schemer, but never a grand villain. "What could he possibly achieve?"

There.

“Thank you.” “Prince Hamlet.” “Hearing that, I was completely relieved.” “Please continue to trust the King unchanged.” “I too like the current King.” “He is a cultured person.” “I believe him to be deeply compassionate.” “Prince Hamlet’s present opinion has given me a hundredfold courage.” “I offer my gratitude.” “Prince Hamlet remains as clear-minded as ever.” “Pure judgment knows no cloudiness.” “How splendid—I’ve grown quite delighted.”

“Ham.” “You mustn’t flatter me.” “You’ve suddenly become quite cheerful, haven’t you?” “You’re such a self-centered guy.” “Horatio, you’re still the same scatterbrain as ever.” “So? What’s this rumor?” “I went mad, a ghost appeared, and then what came next?” “Did a rat show up too?”

There.

“Far from a rat—no, it’s truly vile. —Unconscionable. Outrageous! Denmark’s shame. Prince Hamlet, let me tell you. No—absolutely outrageously disrespectful, utterly preposterous, vulgarly base!” Ham. “Enough already—I’m getting fed up with this barrage of clumsy adjectives. Did you join Wittenberg’s drama society too?”

There. “Well, that’s about it. I just wanted to try playing the role of a patriotic poet. I’d actually already been put at ease. Having received such clear judgment from you earlier, Prince Hamlet, I’ve found room for playfulness in my heart. Prince Hamlet, you mustn’t laugh—truly absurd rumors are circulating. You’ll surely laugh. But this has spread throughout Denmark and even reached us at foreign universities, so we can’t simply laugh it off. There’s a pressing need for containment. You mustn’t laugh now. I must say, even I’m starting to feel ridiculous bringing this up. They say the late king’s ghost appears every night and entreats you, Prince Hamlet, to take revenge.”

Ham. “Me?” “That’s strange.” Hor. “Honestly. “It hasn’t happened. “Moreover, it’s absurd—there’s still more to it. “The ghost declares: ‘I was killed by Claudius. Claudius, in love with my queen—’” Ham. “That’s terrible. “Such affection is cruel. “My mother has full dentures, you know.”

“That’s why I told you not to laugh, didn’t I? Well, do listen. There’s more to it. ‘In his bid to seize the queen and claim the throne together, he crept up during my nap—exploiting my moment of carelessness—and poured potent poison into my ear.’ That’s how it supposedly happened! Quite elaborate, isn’t it? ‘Hark, Hamlet—if thou hast filial devotion, never shalt thou endure this grudge.’”

Ham. “Stop it!” “Even if it were a ghost, cease this reckless imitation of my father’s voice and manner.” “Leave the deceased in solemn peace.” “I suppose my jokes went a bit too far.”

Hor. “I’m sorry.” “I got carried away without thinking.” “By no means have I forgotten the late king’s noble virtues.” “The story was so absurd that I ended up taking the joke too far.” “I’m sorry.” “Inadvertently, I have touched upon the matter of your grief, Prince Hamlet.” “Horatio really must stop being so scatterbrained.”

Ham. “No—it’s nothing. I’m the one who was rude, shouting loudly like that. I’m selfish. Don’t worry about it. And then—what becomes of that ghost? Go on, tell me. That’s preposterous!” Hor. “Yes—it is said that this ghost stands by your bedside night after night to make such entreaties, and that you, Prince Hamlet, have finally descended into madness from terror, suspicion, and anguish. An utterly groundless tale, of course.”

Ham. “That could happen.”

Hor. “Huh?” Ham. “That could happen.” “Horatio—I feel sick.” “They’re spreading vile rumors about me.”

Hor. “I probably shouldn’t have told you after all.”

Ham. “No—hearing it proved most beneficial.” “If thou dost harbor filial devotion—” “Ah, Horatio—that rumor holds truth.” “I had been too trusting.”

Hor. “What are you saying? “That’s precisely what being contrary means.” “They’re merely vulgar rumors from the common folk.” “What basis exists for them?”

Ham. “You wouldn’t understand. “It’s frustrating. “You wouldn’t get it. “Which is more humiliating—being insulted over baseless rumors or having people spread stories about you with solid evidence? Think about that. “I’ll find that proof.”

As members of the Hamlet royal family—my father, uncle, mother, and I—to be ridiculed so mercilessly by the people over something completely baseless was something I could not endure as myself. There had to be some basis for it. Given how plausibly they were being passed down, perhaps there really might have been some truth to it after all. If there had been some basis for it, I might actually have felt relieved. Unjust insults without any basis—I could not endure them. The Hamlet royal family had been mocked by the people. Poor Uncle. Even though he was working so hard right then, having such rumors spread just ruined everything. It was too cruel. Disgusting. I would ask Uncle directly. I had to uncover some basis for this—I wouldn’t rest until I did.

“Horatio, you’ll help me, right?”

Hor. “Then the responsibility lies with me.” “Ah.” “Won’t you leave it to me?” “Prince Hamlet, if I may say so, you are being rather petulant.” “I can only perceive that you’re being unreasonably petulant.” “You were laughing so brightly just a moment ago.” “It is, of course, a completely baseless and outrageous rumor.” “For you to rudely question the King—such a thing is outrageous.” “You will only needlessly distress the King.” “I wish to continue believing in your clear-sighted judgment from earlier.” “Have you already forgotten?” “Didn’t you say you trusted the King?” “Was that a lie?”

Ham. "There's a limit. There's a limit to insults. Do you think my father—were he a ghost—would say such filthy, senseless things?" Ugh, everything was absurd. In that case, maybe I should just go truly mad. He'd be pleased. Horatio, I was being petulant. I did sulk. "You don't understand—you couldn't possibly understand."

Hor.

“I would like to discuss this thoroughly with you later.” “This humble servant Horatio has committed the greatest blunder of his career.” “I never anticipated you would grow so agitated.” “Prince Hamlet, you truly remain unchanged.” Ham. “Ah, I’m still myself.” “Still the same capricious soul.” “As for being called scatterbrained—I’ll gladly claim that title!” I lacked proper self-cultivation. I wasn’t some magnanimous saint who could keep smiling through such humiliation.

“Horatio, return that cloak to me.” “This time, I’m the one who’s gotten cold.”

Hor. “I shall return it. “Prince Hamlet, I should like to have a proper discussion with you tomorrow.”

“Ham.” “That’s exactly what I want.” “Horatio, are you angry?” “Ah, I can hear the sound of the waves.” “Horatio, I had wanted you to hear an even more important secret tonight—could you stay with me a little longer? I want to discuss the current rumor more thoroughly, and besides, I have another painful secret.”

Hor.

“I would like to request that we defer our discussion until tomorrow, once we have both composed ourselves.” “I must beg your forgiveness for tonight.” “I too wish to give this matter proper consideration.” “After all, I am not wearing a jacket.”

Ham. “Suit yourself. You’re hopeless because you don’t believe in the genuine nature of people’s passion. Well then, get some proper rest. Horatio, I am an unfortunate child, aren’t I?” Hor.

“I am aware.” “Horatio will always be on your side.”

IV The Queen’s Parlor

Queen. Horatio.

Queen. “It was I who requested the King to have you summoned from Wittenberg. “You met Hamlet last night already, didn’t you?” “How was it?” “It was utterly hopeless, wasn’t it?” "Why did he suddenly become like that?" “He speaks with no coherence whatsoever—no sooner does he flare up in anger than he bursts into senseless laughter, then turns around to sob pitifully before crowds of courtiers. Next he’ll blurt out some irrelevance and round on the King with ‘You...!’” “I cannot begin to describe how much anguish I endure for that child alone.” “Even before, he was a weak-willed child with a somewhat timid streak, but never to that extent.” "When the mood struck him, he would invent the most eccentric antics and make us all laugh." "He also had a very innocent side." "As he was his father’s child born in his later years, his father doted on him excessively, and I too, with him being my precious only child, raised him by letting him do as he pleased, but that seems to have been not for his own good." “It seems children born to parents in their later years tend to be inferior.” “One cannot keep relying on one’s parents and indulging in dependency forever.” "That child was so fond of his late father that even after entering university, whenever he returned to the castle on vacation, he would stay in his father’s parlor from morning till night." "When he was a child, it was even worse—if his father was out of sight for even a moment, he would become sulky and pester everyone about where he had gone, leaving them at their wits’ end." “Since his father passed away so suddenly from that unexpected heart disease or whatever it was, that child must have become utterly at a loss about what to do.” "After the late king passed away, he suddenly became unable to stand out." "Moreover, though it is rather shameful of me, the fact that I became—for the sake of this Denmark—though only in name, a wife to Lord Claudius must have been an unexpected event for that child, and I believe it has greatly darkened his spirits." "When I consider everything, I can’t help but feel sorry for that child."

“It’s only natural, I suppose.” “But even that child is Prince Hamlet of Denmark.” “He is someone who must eventually inherit the throne.” “If one’s father and mother suddenly vanish from one’s side and one keeps crying and sulking forever, first of all, one will be looked down upon by the retainers.” “I believe we are now at a critical juncture.” “Even though I have married Lord Claudius, I am not moving to some other castle—I will continue living here as always, still as Hamlet’s birth mother. Moreover, the current king is no stranger—he is Hamlet’s own uncle, with whom he was once so close. If only Hamlet would recover slightly from his recent resentful mood, I believe everything would proceed harmoniously and peacefully.” “Lord Claudius too has restrained his former frivolous conduct and is now striving earnestly to achieve splendid accomplishments worthy of the late king.” “He is also deeply concerned about Hamlet.” “Since they are bound by duty, there must naturally be various reservations between them.” “I am always on edge, mediating between them.” “Hamlet utterly mocks his Uncle now.” “That won’t do.” “Since they have become father and child, even if only in name, Hamlet must learn to observe a bit more decorum.” “He’s no longer the Goat Uncle of old.” “It is said that Denmark is now in perilous times.” “In Norway, there are even rumors that they’ve already deployed troops to the border, aren’t there?” “Truly—what a situation at such a critical time!” “If only Hamlet would kindly warm up to us, the hearts of Elsinore Castle’s people would settle, and the King could strengthen his resolve to focus on diplomatic negotiations with foreign nations—if only.” “What a foolish child!” “I think he lacks the awareness that he is the Prince of Denmark.”

“At twenty-three years old, he still trails after the late king and his mother like some girl. Horatio—how old are you now?” “Hor.” “Yes—I’m twenty-two now, by your grace.”

Queen. “That’s right. “I thought Hamlet was supposed to be one year older than you. “It’s completely reversed. “You appear five years his senior. “Your constitution seems robust, your academic record exemplary—above all your demeanor remains composed. “Are your father and mother still thriving?”

Hor. “I am grateful. They continue to live peacefully at their country castle—it is thanks to Your Majesty’s benevolent governance.”

“Queen.” “I envy your mother.” “What joy she must take in having such an admirable son.” “Compared to that, Hamlet—well, I see no future for someone in his state.” “Falling apart over trifling sorrows—crying one moment, sulking the next—” “Hor.” “Forgive my contradiction, but Lord Hamlet—no, the Prince—that is, Lord Hamlet is by no means inferior.” “He’s the only one I respect.” “I’m the worthless scatterbrain here.” “I’m always the one being scolded by Lord Hamlet.” “I love Lord Hamlet.” “That’s why I become so flustered whenever I stand before him.” “Lord Hamlet’s mind works so swiftly—he knows what I mean to say before I utter a word.” “It’s utterly unbearable.”

Queen. "That is by no means that child's virtue." "I understand your wish to defend your dear friend, but there's no need to go out of your way to praise him by enumerating his flaws." "That child has been quick to read people's countenances since infancy." "That rather proves his twisted disposition." "It's unnecessary in a proper man." Hor. "I beg your pardon for contradicting you, but I find it improper to speak so persistently ill of Lord Hamlet." "My mother never once retired to her chambers before I did." "She remained awake until I slept." "Even when I urged her to rest first, she'd say: 'You're not my child alone - you're one who must become His Majesty's worthy retainer.'" "'I hold your upbringing in trust from the Crown,' she'd declare, 'and must permit no discourtesy.' Thus she never preceded me to bed." "Even a meritless child like myself - when shown such sincere regard - resolves to strive earnestly." "Your Majesty speaks too harshly of Lord Hamlet." "You'll leave him no standing ground." "Didn't Your Majesty herself declare earlier-" "Have you forgotten proclaiming Lord Hamlet Denmark's Prince?" "Lord Hamlet is Denmark's Prince." "He isn't Your Majesty's child alone." "He's moreover our liege lord whom we must henceforth serve with our very lives."

“Please take better care of Lord Hamlet.”

Queen. “My, my—this is an unexpected turn, being entreated by you of all people.” “I understand your single-minded loyalty to Hamlet, but you’re still a child.” “I will not tolerate such presumptuous speech from now on.” “The true feelings between parent and child are often beyond the understanding of others.” “You must never meddle.” “Your mother does seem to be a truly wise mother, and her methods differ from mine—but even I must not presume to comment on that.” “Matters between parent and child are best left to them.” “The circumstances differ greatly between those of subjects and the royal family, so I will no longer tolerate any impertinent directives arising from momentary fervor.” “By the way—did Hamlet say anything to you?”

Hor. “No, nothing in particular—” Queen. “There’s no need to suddenly stiffen up like that.” “Where did all that earlier vigor go?” “You’re said to resemble Hamlet.” “If you’re a boy, act like one—even when scolded, don’t flinch and respond clearly.” “Was Hamlet speaking ill of us again?” “Isn’t that so?”

Hor. “Contradicting Your Majesty’s words—no—Your Majesty’s words—Your Majesty’s words—contradicting—”

The Queen. "What are you saying?" "It’s unbecoming for men to cower too much." "I’ll forgive any disobedience or anything else except reckless orders, so speak more clearly like a man." "What did Hamlet say about us?" Hor. "He said it was unfortunate and expressed sympathy."

“Sympathy?” “Unfortunate?” “That’s strange.” “You’re covering up for him again, aren’t you?” “Hamlet made you swear to keep quiet about various things, didn’t he?”

Hor. “No—though I must contradict Your Majesty—Lord Hamlet is not someone who would engage in something underhanded like making others swear to secrecy.” “Lord Hamlet would never say behind someone’s back what he cannot tell them to their face.” “When there is something he wants to say, he always states it directly to one’s face.” “He was like that even in his university days, and he still is now.” “That is why Lord Hamlet is always like that.”

Queen. “When it comes to Hamlet, you immediately purse your lips and raise your voice—it seems you’re remarkably compatible.” “Hamlet forgets his station and lacks all restraint by nature—no wonder he’s so popular with underlings.”

Hor.

“Your Majesty.” “What more is there to say?” “I will answer no further.”

Queen. “I wasn’t speaking about you.” “Aren’t you Hamlet’s close friend?” “Not only Hamlet—I too rely on you.” “As I listen to your words like this, various things become clear to me.” “The way you flare up so quickly—truly just like Hamlet.” “Young people these days all resemble each other in some way.” “Don’t make such a pale face—open up and tell me everything properly.” “That Hamlet doesn’t speak ill of others—I only learned this from you.” “If that’s true, I too would be pleased.” “That child might have had some unexpectedly good points after all.”

“Hor.” “That’s why I was just—”

Queen. “That’s enough. “I will not permit commands that overstep your station.” “You are too prone to excitement; this will not be tolerated.” “What’s Hamlet saying now—pitying us and spouting all that pious nonsense?” “That’s unlike his usual self, isn’t it?” “Is that really true?”

Hor.

“Your Majesty.” “Even I can’t help but feel sorry for Your Majesty.”

“There you go again.” “Mocking elders is your wretched habit.” “Why should I be pitied?” “Out with it plainly.” “I abhor such coy implications.”

Hor. “I shall speak. “Because Your Majesty does not know Lord Hamlet’s heart at all. Last night, Lord Hamlet said this to Horatio: ‘I, being so young and inexperienced, have caused much trouble to both Uncle and Mother, and I feel truly sorry for it,’ he said earnestly. ‘I cannot express how much it has saved me that Uncle has ascended to the throne,’ he also stated. Lord Hamlet believes in the current king’s affection. ‘Even if I sometimes act selfishly or say things to annoy, it is because I feel secure in the affection between uncle and nephew,’ he explained. ‘Aren’t we the closest of kin? It’s nothing—I might be acting spoiled, but Uncle could at least try to understand. It’s absurd that he alone nurses a grudge, claiming love has turned to hatred,’ he said something along those lines. He also said that he truly does care for Uncle.”

Upon hearing this, Horatio felt so happy and grateful he could have wept. Long live Denmark, he cried out in his heart. Lord Hamlet is a splendid prince. He does not groundlessly suspect others. His judgment is like a spring breeze sweeping through wheat fields—warm and refreshing. There is not a trace of stagnation. Regarding Her Majesty the Queen, he of course speaks to Horatio about her with absolute trust and pride as his birth mother. “Regarding Her Majesty’s recent marriage as well, he states that to basely criticize it in various ways as a human child would be the greatest vice—that such a person cannot be considered part of human society.”

Your Majesty. “Who?” “Who—who cannot be considered part of human society?” “State it clearly once more.”

“I believe I have made myself clear. It means that any lowly wretch who dares to imagine Your Majesty’s marriage in vulgar terms—as mere mortals do—would be better off dead. Lord Hamlet’s disposition is noble. It is lucid. As clear as a mountain lake. Last night, Horatio received many precious teachings from Lord Hamlet. Lord Hamlet is a model for us fellow students.”

The Queen. “How trying. If you praise Hamlet so lavishly, even I shall blush. The child you revere cannot be that boy—it must be some other splendid youth named Hamlet from parts unknown. I simply cannot believe that child could speak with such manly bearing. Why do you persist in these fabrications? No one knows a child’s nature—no, their frailties—like the mother who bore them. For those frailties are her own. Even I am no flawless creature. My human imperfections have regrettably taken root in that child. I know everything about him—down to the blackened edge of his right little toenail. You may attempt clever deceptions, but they will not avail. Give me plain words. You conceal something. Were Hamlet truly the compliant, guileless child you describe, I would harbor no concerns. Yet I cannot credit it. I do not think you lie outright. You are an innocent ill-suited to falsehoods. Moreover, I have long known that child possesses some forthright aspect such as you describe. Last night, he showed you this better face, did he not?”

“But you are hiding something else.” “Even observing that child’s recent behavior makes it plain enough—his true heart isn’t nearly as cloudlessly resolved as your pretty words suggest.” “Yet I cannot believe he’s simply clinging to family ties while throwing childish tantrums.” “Horatio—what say you?” “Tell me truthfully.” “A mother’s love breeds suspicion.” “That you defend Hamlet so earnestly—this gladdens me inwardly.” “How could it not?” “He’s fortunate to have such a friend.” “But my fears run deeper.” “Here I fret alone—wishing he’d confide his pains to this mother’s heart—yet Hamlet dances round with evasions.” “In his present straits, I’d plunge beside him—resolve all secretly.” “Do you understand?” “Mothers are foolish creatures.” “All my sharp words—never from hatred.” “This shameful obviousness—the one I love most...” “...is Hamlet.” “Love him to excess.” “Cannot bear his solitary anguish.” “I implore you—”

“Horatio, please help me.” “Hamlet is suffering—what is causing it?” “There’s no way you don’t know.”

“Horatio.” “Your Majesty.” “I am not aware of it.”

The Queen. “Still—you—”

“Hore.” “No, unfortunately, I truly do not know. Last night—in fact—I committed a grave blunder. Certainly, Prince Hamlet seemed to harbor special inner anguish as Your Majesty has said. He appeared most eager to confide in me about it, but lacking a jacket, I was too cold to listen properly. I am a fool. I’ve been no help at all. Worse than useless—last night I even sinned. Your Majesty, matters have taken an awful turn. It’s as though I came from Wittenberg solely to set fires. Last night I lay groaning in bed. Couldn’t sleep a wink. The responsibility rests entirely with me. This resolution—I shall see it through by any means. Today I mean to have a proper talk with Prince Hamlet.”

The Queen. “What are you talking about? “I don’t understand any of it. “Everything you people say is like Les falling from the clouds—nothing but incomprehensible nonsense—and I can’t make heads or tails of it. “What on earth does that mean? “Did you quarrel with Hamlet or something? “If so, I could mediate for you. “It’s nothing serious—you probably just started some philosophical debate. “There’s no need to worry so much.”

“Horatio.” “Your Majesty.” “We are not children.” “It’s not that simple.” “I set fire to your peaceful household.” “I am Judas.” “I am a man worse than Judas.” “I have betrayed every single person I love.”

The Queen. “Suddenly bursting into tears—what an undignified spectacle for a fine young man.” “What am I to do with you?” “Do you all always carry on like this—trading grandiose theatrical declarations about Judas setting fires and whatnot, then weeping and laughing as if it were some game?” “A splendid pastime indeed.” “How utterly dependable.” “Horatio, withdraw.” “I’ll let it pass today, but take greater care hereafter.”

King. Queen.

Horatio.

King. “So here you were.” “I’ve been searching everywhere.” “Ah, Horatio’s here too.” “Perfect timing.” “When you came to greet me this morning, I was too preoccupied to speak properly, but there were several matters I wished to discuss with you.” “You seem rather dispirited.” “Is something troubling you?”

Queen.

“Horatio, withdraw at once. “Going on about Judas setting fires and such—and then you put on this tearful spectacle. “You’re of no use at all.”

King. “Judas set a fire? That’s news to me. There must be some rationale behind it. The Queen’s quick temper won’t do. Horatio here is a man of principle. Let us discuss this properly later.” Horatio. “My deepest apologies. This was entirely my failing. When Her Majesty the Queen shared her maternal sentiments with me, I became overwhelmed and spoke out of turn. I humbly beg your forgiveness for this disgraceful display.”

King. “Horatio, wait. You need not withdraw. Stay here. There’s something I want you to hear as well. Come closer. This isn’t something we can speak of aloud. Gertrude, I was astonished. I understand now. I’ve finally figured out why Hamlet has been so agitated.”

Queen. “So.” “Is it about us after all?” Horatio. “No—all responsibility lies with me.” “I will certainly—”

King. “What are you both talking about? Now, let’s all calm down. I’ll sit here as well. Horatio, please have a seat. I want your counsel as well. I was just informed by Polonius and am astonished. It was truly beyond anything I could have imagined. Polonius has submitted his resignation to me. I’ve decided to hold onto it for the time being, but Queen, you mustn’t be alarmed. Please listen calmly. This is a problem. Ophelia has—”

Queen. “Ophelia?” “I see.” “There was a time when I too doubted it.”

King. “Now don’t stand about, Gertrude—sit down. Sit properly, compose yourself, and take time to consider carefully. Horatio—as you’ve now heard—this constitutes a matter of complete disgrace.”

Horatio.

“I see.” “So there was a culprit after all?” “Speaking of Ophelia—she is Lord Polonius’s daughter, is she not?” “To think that despite her beautiful face, she would fabricate such baseless, unscrupulous slander against the peaceful House of Hamlet—spreading rumors not just throughout Denmark but even to the University of Wittenberg! This demands our utmost vigilance.” “What could possibly be her motive?” “Resentment over unrequited love perhaps, or maybe—”

Queen.

“Horatio, you must leave now.” “You don’t understand anything.” “You’re just spouting dreamlike nonsense.” “Ophelia is pregnant.” King. “Queen!” “Restrain yourself.” “I haven’t gone that far yet.” “As a man, it was an uncomfortable thing to say.” “To state it plainly would be cruel.”

Queen.

“Women are sensitive about women’s bodies. Anyone who’s seen Ophelia’s recent discomfort would have suspected it at least once. Ridiculous. Horatio, have your senses awakened?”

Horatio. “It’s like a dream.”

King. “No wonder you feel that way. I too feel as if this were a dream. But I cannot just keep sighing and watching this. So, Horatio, I have a request for you. You are supposed to be Hamlet’s close friend. Up until now, you’ve been the kind of friends who confided everything in each other, haven’t you?” Horatio. “Yes. Until yesterday, I believed that to be the case, but now I’ve lost all confidence.”

King. “There’s no need to look so dejected.” “When you calmly consider it, this isn’t such an unexpected major incident.” “These past two months—what with the late king’s funeral celebrations, my succession festivities, and the wedding—the castle had been thrown into utter chaos.” Amidst that turmoil, Hamlet alone—unable to bear his grief over the late king’s death—had sought gentle words of comfort from someone. It was Ophelia. He believed grief and love had become twisted. “Even Hamlet—what feelings he now harbors toward Ophelia—that remains unclear.” “I think perhaps his affections are beginning to cool.” “Then it’s simple.” “If Ophelia were to seclude herself in the countryside for a time, everything would resolve itself.” “Rumors seem to have already spread through the castle—Polonius was deeply troubled by this—but even the vilest gossip would be forgotten after six months.” “Polonius would skillfully manage Ophelia’s situation through this ordeal.” “You could leave that matter to us.” “We would never do anything careless enough to ruin Ophelia’s life.” “Please rest assured on that account.” “At any rate—could you try speaking with Hamlet yourself?” “Listen closely—probe into those unfeigned depths of Hamlet’s heart.” “We intend no harm whatsoever.”

Queen. “Horatio, what a disagreeable role you’ve been given.” “If it were me, I’d refuse.” “Since it’s something Hamlet did, have him take responsibility and let that boy handle everything alone.” “The King seems far too understanding of Hamlet.” “The feelings Your Majesty had during youthful dalliances and those of today’s boys—there are differences, you see.” King. “Oh, men’s feelings haven’t changed from past to present.” “Hamlet will eventually bow his head to me in earnest.” “Horatio, what do you think?”

Horatio. “I—I have something I want to ask Prince Hamlet.”

King.

“Oh, that’s good. Thoroughly sound out his true feelings and calmly convey our intentions to him. I’m counting on you. Because Hamlet is to welcome a princess from England.”

Queen.

“I have something I want to ask Ophelia.”

Five: Corridor

Polonius. Hamlet. Polo. “Prince Hamlet!” “Ham.”

“Oh! You startled me.” “Polonius? What are you doing lurking in this dim corner?”

Polo. "I've been waiting for you, Prince Hamlet!"

Ham. “What is it?” “Creepy.” “Please let me go.” “I’m looking for Horatio right now.” “Do you know where Horatio is?” Polo. “Please refrain from digressions.” “Prince Hamlet.” “I submitted my resignation this morning.”

Ham. “Your resignation letter? Why? Did something happen? That’s reckless of you. You are indispensable to the current Elsinore Castle.” Polo. “What nonsense you speak. Your innocent face has deceived Polonius until now. I finally heard the regrettable rumors within the castle yesterday.”

Ham. “Rumors?” “Oh, that’s what this is about.” “But that’s serious.” “It’s not like I’ve been deceiving you either.” “Hearing such unpleasant rumors and still pretending not to know—I can’t do that.” “Truly, I didn’t know either.” “In fact, someone told me about it just last night—I was shocked.” “But I’m surprised you didn’t know until now.” “This isn’t like your usual self at all.” “That was rather careless.” “Did you really not know?” “That can’t be true.” “If you truly didn’t know, it would warrant resignation over accountability—but someone of your stature couldn’t possibly have been unaware.”

“Polo.”

“Prince Hamlet, if you’ll pardon my asking—are you in your right mind?”

Ham. “What are you talking about? Don’t mock me. Can’t you tell just by looking? Surely even you aren’t believing those rumors now, are you?” Polo. “Liar extraordinaire! How dare you utter such blatant lies! Prince Hamlet, cease this shallow pretense. If you’re young, act like it properly. Why not speak honestly? You can’t possibly keep this hidden. I heard it directly from the person in question yesterday.”

Ham. “What are you... What on earth are you talking about? “Polonius, aren’t your words going too far? “I don’t consider myself your master or anything of the sort, but your words aren’t something to laugh off even between close friends. “I am, as you’ve surmised, an undisciplined coward and pleasure-seeker. “I can’t help you with anything. “But even I’m prepared to lay down my life for Denmark at any time. “I should be considering the future of the House of Hamlet too. “Polonius, your words go too far. “Why make such a fearsome face and rage like this? “You’re being disrespectful.”

Polo. “What a sight you are. “No tears come. “Is this the child I nurtured with my own hands for twenty years? “Prince Hamlet, it’s as if Polonius were dreaming.” Ham. “This is tiresome. “You’ve aged too, Polonius. “If even the sage of yesteryear believes my madness now, all is lost.” Polo. “Madness? “Indeed—you are truly mad. “The Hamlet of old would never have fallen this far.”

Ham.

“They’re all conspiring to turn me into a genuine madman.” “So Polonius, even you have come to believe all those rumors are true?”

“Polo.”

“Believe? What’s there to believe? “What are you saying now? “Enough of this cowardly way of speaking.” Ham. “Cowardly, you say? “What’s cowardly? “How am I being cowardly? “You’re the one being utterly disrespectful! “There are things I must apologize to you for—I’ve held back much until now. “Even now I keep restraining myself from striking you as we speak. “Yet you look down on me and spew intolerable slander. “I’ll show no more mercy. “Polonius, I’ll speak plainly. “You’re a disloyal subject. “You believe rumors of Uncle’s misdeeds, mock Mother, and try to make me truly mad. “A dreadful traitor to the House of Hamlet. “No need for resignation papers. “Vanish immediately.”

Polo. “I see. There are all sorts of tactics.” “To think you’d take such an approach—it never occurred even to the wise Polonius.” “It seems Polonius has indeed aged, just as your words suggest.” “I see. There was another unpleasant rumor.” “At this juncture, you make a spectacle of that matter alone while pushing your own indecent rumors aside.” “Just to avoid having your misdeeds mentioned, you sensationalize others’ gossip into grand scandals, putting on airs of distress while racking your brains—what a shrewd strategy indeed.” “Adjusting scandal’s winds by a hair’s breadth.” “Lord Claudius is the one truly burdened here.” “Ouch!” “Prince Hamlet, how vicious! What do you think you’re doing?” “You struck me.” “Ow, that smarts.” “I can’t contend with a madman!”

Ham. “Should I strike your other cheek?” “Your cheek’s so parched dry, it’s worth hitting.” “I don’t want to speak with you anymore.” Polonius. “Wait.” “Even if you flee, I won’t let you escape.” “Prince Hamlet, you’re acting cowardly.” “You’ve reduced my family to utter ruin.” “I must retreat to the countryside and live out my days as a destitute farmer.” “Poor Laertes too.” “Though he rushed off to France full of ambition, I’ll have to recall him now.” “That child’s future lies in total darkness.” “And then—well—”

Ham.

“Ophelia will marry me.” “There’s no need for your concern.” “Polonius, if you hate me this much, I too will speak plainly.” “I thought you were a more broad-minded intellectual.” “I thought you were a more light-hearted, understanding person.” “I even thought you might eventually become someone who’d side with me.” “There is something I must apologize to you for.” “Regarding that matter, I had intended to discuss it with you thoroughly in due time.” “I had wanted to ask for your help.” “As you know, I am now troubled because I simply cannot reach an understanding with Uncle and Mother.” “It’s not as if I’m deliberately trying to make things awkward with them, but somehow it just doesn’t work.” “I feel constrained.” “It just doesn’t work.” “I could not bring myself to confess my painful secret to them and was left tormented, unable to sleep at night.” “No matter what, I cannot bring myself to trust them.” “If I confide in them, I feel like it will only lead to a terrible outcome instead, so lately I’ve even started avoiding meeting them.” “I’m scared.” “Somehow, I feel this very gloomy, dreadful sensation.” “When I meet them face-to-face, I just end up fidgeting nervously.” “I end up unable to say anything.”

“They aren’t bad people.” “They’re always worrying about me.” “I know that.” “They may deeply love me, but I can’t stand it.” “Discussing matters is detestable.” “Polonius, I was relying on you as my last resort.” “If things became utterly impossible, I had thought to confess everything to you, beg your forgiveness, and discuss future plans.” “Somehow, I had felt that you would surely forgive us.” “When you called out to me earlier, I felt a chill.” *It’s come,* I thought. This seemed the perfect moment—I resolved to confess everything myself. But when I saw your deathly pale, terribly agitated face, I suddenly lost heart and tried to retreat. Then you grabbed my arm, started talking about presenting a resignation letter and other drastic matters, so I thought perhaps another incident had occurred. When I asked you, and you mentioned the castle rumors, I jumped to the conclusion—ah, that business. “It was never my intention to evade you deliberately.” “I am not a cowardly man.”

“Polonius.” “Your eloquence flows most refreshingly.” “How skillfully you slip through verbal nets.” “But Polonius will no longer swallow these deceptions.” “What need compels you to abruptly drag forth matters of Lord Claudius and Her Majesty now?” “You wield their names as fig leaves for your discomposure.” “This sophistry reeks of desperation.” “Still you squirm beneath scrutiny’s lens.” “I would have plain answers regarding this immediate affair.”

“How distrustful you are.” “When pressed this relentlessly, even I dig in my heels and feel like laying everything out with brutal honesty.” “Until yesterday, I had only one worry.” “Ophelia.” “That’s all.” “But last night, I heard another most unpleasant story.” “If I were to say it’s no longer about Ophelia, you’d immediately sneer that I’m changing the scandal’s course or using it as a cover for embarrassment—but that’s absolutely not the case.” “I suffered last night, you know.” I was lonely. I was unbearably lonely. I cried in bed. Everything felt absurd, infuriating, utterly unbearable. Two problems had become bizarrely entangled, impossible to address. To say ‘This goes beyond Ophelia’ would be poor phrasing—for her matter still clings to my thoughts—and now this terrible new suspicion comes crashing down. Turbulent clouds boil up, flow, and pile upon themselves until my suffering swells threefold, fivefold. Last night, truly, I could not sleep a wink. If I went mad, it’d be a relief. “Polonius, do you understand?” “When you brought up that unfortunate rumor in the castle—did you mean Ophelia’s affair?” “I did consider both possibilities, but for me, the other rumor loomed larger than that matter—so I ended up steering there instead—though I never intentionally feigned ignorance.” “When you say things like ‘So that’s your angle?’, I find it utterly insufferable.”

“Hitting you was my blunder.” “I’m sorry.” “I lost my temper.” “But from now on, don’t use such unpleasant language yourself.” “There’s no need to worry about Ophelia.” “I’ll marry her.” “It’s only natural.” “No matter what obstacles arise, I must marry.” “I love Ophelia.” “What torments me is having to confess our situation to the King and Queen and beg their forgiveness.” “The thought of laying myself bare before them and making requests is utterly repulsive.” I’d be better off dead. Hearing those rumors last night made the confession even more agonizing. I must get to the bottom of those rumors. There’s something there. There must be. This premonition won’t leave me. If they prove groundless, I’ll count myself fortunate. Perhaps then I could sincerely apologize for my usual rudeness and share an unburdened laugh with them. But first—I must pursue the truth behind these rumors.

“Everything comes after that.” “Polonius—do you understand?” “Leave Ophelia’s matter untouched for now.” “I won’t act irresponsibly.” “Ah, Polonius—I’ve found some strange courage.” “Starting today, I’ll become a man of valor.” “When you fall to suffering’s inescapable depths—that’s when people gain new courage.”

“Polo.” “Who knows? It’s a dangerous thing.” “Lord Hamlet, you are young.” “Somehow, I cannot trust what you all say.” “You speak of new courage, but things don’t go well with courage alone.” “Furthermore, those who prattle on about gaining courage or whatnot—spouting grandiose nonsense born of momentary excitement—have always been lazy pretenders.” “Phrases like ‘It’s agonizing,’ ‘I’m lonely,’ ‘the roiling storm clouds’—such affected words never leave the lips of a man worth his salt.” “Those are words one simply cannot take seriously.” “Even though you already have a wispy beard, you’re pitiful.” “How long will you keep indulging in your complacent fantasies?” “You must be more resolute.” “From your words just now, at least I have understood that you had no intention of making Ophelia a mere temporary comfort.” “I find you pitiable.” “But the true ordeal lies ahead.” “Though my assistance may prove inadequate, I shall lend what aid I can—but you must become far more resolute.” “I sincerely beg of you.” “As for phrases like ‘turbulent clouds boiling up’ or whatnot—please try to avoid using them from now on.” “I simply cannot take such talk seriously.” “What a lot of ill-advised remarks you make.” “It’s about time you became a father yourself.”

Ham.

“That’s why—that’s why—that’s exactly why I’m suffering. When I’m suffering, am I not allowed to say I’m suffering? Why? I always just say exactly what I’m thinking. I’m being honest. Because I’m truly lonely, I say I’m lonely. Because I’ve gained courage, I say I’ve gained courage. There’s no maneuvering, no room for doubt. These are words of pure intent. The phrase ‘storm clouds looming’ might sound like an exaggerated, clumsy metaphor to you, but to me, it’s as vivid as a fact I can see. It’s tactile reality. It might even be called truth. Because I still love you through my blood connection with Ophelia, I feel assured enough to convey my truth plainly. Tch! I do trust people too much. I get too carried away with love.”

“Polo.” “What does it matter, Lord Hamlet? The world isn’t a philosophy classroom, nor—with all due disrespect—do you intend to become some sage or saint. While you’re mimicking wise men with your talk of love and truth and storm clouds, Ophelia’s belly grows larger by the minute. That alone remains undeniably visible. Even if you love me now, even if you feel reassured, I find nothing remotely gratifying in it. It’s rather a nuisance. Right now, it’s only Ophelia’s matter that—”

Ham. “That’s why—that’s precisely why—ah, you don’t grasp it—you simply can’t grasp it.” “You may remain complacent about that if you wish.” “But my anguish—”

“Polo.” “Let us do away with the word ‘suffering.’” “A chill runs down my spine.” “You have already said that word a hundred times.” “You’re not the only one suffering.” “My family too is in utter disarray because of you.” “I have already submitted my resignation.” “I must leave this royal castle by tomorrow.” “The situation is urgent.” “Lord Hamlet, I humbly request your assistance.” “First for your sake, and then for the Polonius family’s sake, there is only one course of action to take.” “Last night I too lay awake thinking.” “I considered the necessary measures.” “Lord Hamlet, I humbly request your assistance.”

Ham. “Polonius—suddenly so formal. What’s wrong?” “A greenhorn like me helping you? Preposterous.” “Stop mocking me.” “Aren’t you the one dreaming?” Polo.

“A dream?” “Yes, it may be a dream.” “But this is precisely our last resort.” “Lord Hamlet, do you believe in Polonius’s loyalty?” “No—that doesn’t matter.” “That was a foolish thing to say.” “Lord Hamlet, do you love justice?”

“Polo.” “That’s unsettling.” “You’ve suddenly turned into a romanticist, haven’t you?” “It’s completely reversed.” “This time it seems I’m about to become the realist.” “I never thought I’d hear words like ‘justice’ and ‘loyalty’ coming from your mouth.” “What on earth is wrong?” “Why are you hanging your head so low? What’s wrong?” “What are you thinking?”

Pol.

“Lord Hamlet, I’m such a bad person, aren’t I?” “I was thinking of something terrible.” “For my daughter’s happiness, I am a man who would even betray the king.” “I will confess everything to you.” “Ah, no good—Horatio is coming.”

Horatio.

Hamlet.

Polonius.

Hor. “Lord Hamlet, how dreadful! How dreadful!” “I’ve been utterly disgraced, you know.” “You staying silent like this—it’s dreadful!” “Though admittedly, last night I too was at fault.” “I kept prattling about trivial matters, and what with the cold besides, I didn’t properly listen to what you were saying—that was the cause of my failure.” “But now I’ve come to understand.”

“Lord Polonius, this has truly been an unforeseen calamity.” “You must be worried.” “What comes next?” “Lord Hamlet—what exactly are your intentions?” “At this juncture, I believe Lord Hamlet’s intentions are what matter most.” Ham

“What are you jumping to conclusions about all by yourself? Still as hasty as ever, you are. What are you making such a fuss about? I don’t recall ever embarrassing you.”

Hore. “No, no. “Playing dumb won’t do.” “I’ve just heard everything from the King.” “No—this is no laughing matter.” “This requires careful consideration.”

Ham. “You're the one smirking like that aren't you?” “Don't tease me like that.” “What on earth did you hear?” Hor. “Oh come on—you're blushing so much yet you're still trying to play dumb.” “On the contrary I'm the one feeling so embarrassed and awkward that I can't help but end up laughing.”

Ham. "You bastard! "You finally saw through me. "Damn you—let's go!"

Hor.

“Alright, come at me! If it’s a brawl you want, I won’t lose.” “Come on, bring it!” “Take this!”

Ham. “I’m fine, I’m fine. “You bastard! I’ll twist you once. “You scatterbrain—when I squeeze this throat like so, it squeaks funny-like. Strange thing.”

Polo.

“Enough, enough! What is this? Starting a brawl so suddenly in this corridor—isn’t that rather barbaric? Both of you, stop this mischief immediately. This makes no sense. What on earth are you two doing, laughing uproariously and grappling with each other like this? Cease this at once! This is no time for such foolishness. Let us all show proper decorum. That’s quite enough now. Lord Horatio—what could possibly be the matter? This isn’t the university, you know.”

Ham. “Polonius, you wouldn’t understand.” “When we’re terribly embarrassed, we make it a point to have these absurd brawls.” “If we don’t do this, things won’t settle down, right?” Hor.

“Exactly.” “I’d been completely taken in.” “Prince Hamlet—you’re awful.” Ham. “Not really.” “This has its own circumstances.” “Heh heh.”

Pol. “Oh, must you laugh in such a vulgar manner? What is the meaning of this?” “There’s no reason for any of this.” “The matter is really quite simple.” “Lord Horatio, do come over here.” “Goodness—the hem of your coat is torn.” “You must cease this brutish behavior.” “Our Laertes may be quite wild, but he’s nowhere near as uncouth as you.” “Now Prince Hamlet—do compose yourself.” “This is a critical moment.” “This is no time for laughter and tomfoolery.” “Lord Horatio—you too must lend us your strength henceforth.” “From now on, we three shall confer on all matters.” “Well?” “What precisely did His Majesty tell you?” “Speak plainly.” “Since I’ve become Prince Hamlet’s ally today—trust me and disclose everything.” “What words did the King give you?”

Hor. "He was astonished. He said it felt like a dream." Ham. "And I'm sure he was badmouthing me too."

Hor. “You mustn’t take this the wrong way. “His Majesty quite understands.” “Well, does he really?” “Anyway, His Majesty was astonished.”

Polo.

“You’re being unclear.” “Please speak more clearly.” “What is His Majesty’s opinion?” Hor.

“No—well, that is... No, it’s utterly antiquated. “Ridiculous.” “I was appalled.” “I understand Prince Hamlet’s feelings.” “But His Majesty is under such a terrible misunderstanding that I was appalled.” “I withdrew with fearful reverence, but no—it’s just awful.” Ham. “I understand. “It’s utterly unforgivable—is what he’s saying, right?” “He’s saying we should bring in a princess from England, right?” “I know.”

Hor.

“Exactly. “No—it’s even worse. “He was saying Prince Hamlet’s feelings should have cooled by now. “Therefore he’ll have Miss Ophelia secluded in the countryside to resolve everything. “As for people’s gossip—whether two months, five months—or was it six? “That was the gist of his opinion. “He says he won’t mistreat her. “His Majesty isn’t speaking from malice. “Please don’t misunderstand that. “His Majesty is simply mistaken. “I was merely ordered to convey His Majesty’s generous intentions to Prince Hamlet.” Her Majesty the Queen had been laughing alone. She appeared to thoroughly understand Prince Hamlet’s feelings. Therefore this wasn’t absolute despair. At this point they must appeal to Her Majesty. The King wouldn’t do. He’s fundamentally unsuitable. “In other words—would you call that old-fashioned?”

Ham. “Horatio, stop spouting such irresponsible nonsense.” “Old versus new isn’t the point.” “Pragmatists always behave that way.” “Uncle clings to worldly happiness.” “That’s precisely what one expects from Uncle.” “I’ve understood that much from the beginning.” “The problem lies there.” “That’s where the agony begins.” “Endure? Escape? Fight honorably? Or feign compromise, practice deception, employ appeasement—to be or not to be—which path? I can’t decide.” “This indecision torments me.”

Polo.

“Twice! “You said the word ‘painful’ twice.” “You immediately blurt out such exaggerated philosophical things, sigh meaninglessly, and put on expressions like a bad actor’s imitation—it’s truly unseemly.” “I had braced myself for His Majesty’s words.” “You mustn’t lose your composure over such a trivial matter.” Polonius had understood His Majesty the King’s measures. “That’s why I also submitted my resignation.” “Now, the one to rely on is you alone, Prince Hamlet.” “I have my own plan.” “Please enlist Lord Horatio’s support as well.” “All of this is for Prince Hamlet’s sake.” “Now, Lord Horatio, swear to me.” “Swear that you will never divulge what I am about to say.”

Hor. “What’s wrong? Lord Polonius, you’ve suddenly become so stiff and formal.”

Polo. “It is for Prince Hamlet’s sake.” “Do you find the oath disagreeable?” Hor. “I swear, I swear.” “It was just so sudden and disjointed—like grafting bamboo onto a tree—that I was flustered.” “I swear.” “For Prince Hamlet’s sake, I will do any disagreeable task.” Polo. “I trust you.” “Then I will tell you.” “Prince Hamlet, earlier I began to say something but stopped when Lord Horatio arrived. In truth, Polonius believes that other dark rumor circulating through the castle these days.”

Ham.

“What? “Do you believe it?” “You fool!” “You’re the one who’s gone mad.” “Otherwise, you’re the one scheming to intimidate the King with vile rumors and forcibly thrust Ophelia upon me as my consort—a despicable, base stratagem.” “Disgusting. Disgusting.” “Polonius, you said something earlier, didn’t you?” “You muttered, ‘I am a man who would even betray the king for my daughter’s happiness; I am a bad person.’” “At that time, I had no idea what any of it meant, but now I understand perfectly.” “Polonius, you are a terrifying person.”

Polo.

“No! That’s not it! “My feelings have changed.” “I will tell you everything from the beginning.” “I first heard the rumor about the late king’s ghost very recently.” “I had been thinking it was a troublesome matter.” “I had intended to consult His Majesty in due time and implement appropriate measures, but lately, when observing His Majesty’s demeanor, there seems to be a shadow over him.” “I hesitated to consult.” “For some reason, I find it difficult to bring up.” “I will state it clearly.” “I had gradually come to suspect His Majesty.” “While thinking ‘It can’t be…,’ yet when I observe His Majesty’s demeanor, an unpleasant, dark feeling comes over me.” “I have kept those feelings folded within my own breast until now, confiding in no one, waiting for the day they would resolve themselves with clarity.” “I secretly wished it would prove to be a groundless fear.” “But earlier, out of pity for my daughter, I suddenly thought of a terrible method.” “I have just now thought of the kind of base thing Your Highness spoke of.” “But Polonius is not a disloyal retainer.” “Please believe that.” “I only considered it for a fleeting moment.” “That I stayed up all night thinking last night was a lie.” “In my excitement, I uttered insincere embellishments.”

“Despite my years, when it comes to matters involving children, even I find myself wanting to use exaggerated phrases like Prince Hamlet does.” “For an instant—just a fleeting moment—I considered it, then shuddered at its vileness. Now conversely, I’ve come to ardently cherish this spirit called justice.” “To cherish it beyond endurance.” “Rather than Ophelia’s affairs, I must first ascertain the truth of that ill-omened rumor.” “This very matter—no, not merely a subject’s duty but humanity’s duty—I have come to recognize.” “Prince Hamlet, now I stand as your ally.” “From this day forth, I mean to be admitted into the fellowship of youth.” “The justice of youth.” “In all this world, that alone merits trust.”

Ham. “How strange.” “Now I’m the one feeling flustered.” “Something’s off.” “Horatio, life’s nothing but one unexpected thing after another, eh?”

“Hey.” “I believe.” “Lord Polonius, thank you.” “I do believe you.” “I was deeply moved.” “But somehow, it feels weird though.” “It’s too abrupt.”

“Polo.” “There’s nothing strange about it. You’re the ones who are cowards. I may have become reckless. No—that’s not it. It’s justice. Justice! What a splendid word! I will charge ahead. Please lend me your assistance. Let the three of us first test His Majesty the King. It may be rude, but everything is for justice. Let us probe His Majesty’s countenance. Let us uncover concrete evidence. How about it? I have one good idea. Please give me your counsel. Everything is all for justice. The path I must take is that alone.”

“Ham.” “Justice itself would blush at your audacity.” “Polonius—you’ve lost your senses.” “At your age—how undignified.” “Compose yourself.” “Do you truly credit that absurd rumor?” “A lie—isn’t it?” “I sense some scheme festering beneath this.” “Polo.” “How pathetic—utterly pathetic.” “Prince Hamlet—pitiful child.” “You comprehend nothing.”

There.

“Ah—I shouldn’t have—” “Lord Polonius—please stop this now.” “His Majesty—the King—is a good person.” “Even Prince Hamlet—deep down—holds admiration for His Majesty.” “At this point—please don’t say such eerie things.” No—no—ah— I’m getting cold again. Trembling. My whole body trembling.

Ham. “Polonius, this is a grave matter. You must refrain from frivolous words and actions—is there indeed any credible basis for this belief?”

“Polo.” “Unfortunately—there is.”

Ham. “Hah! Horatio, we were doubting this as a joke, but it turns out to be true. What a mess.” “I’ll burst out laughing like a fool.”

Six. Garden

Queen.

Ophelia.

Queen.

“It’s grown warmer, hasn’t it? This year, I feel spring will come earlier than usual. The lawn too seems to have taken on a faint green hue, don’t you think? If only spring would come soon. Winter has been more than enough. Look—the stream’s ice has melted too. Willow buds are so soft and truly lovely, aren’t they? When those buds stretch out and get blown by the wind, fluttering their white leaf undersides as they sway, all sorts of flowers will bloom wildly around here—buttercups, nettles, daisies...and orchids. What do common folk call those orchid flowers? Do you know?” “Seeing you blush suggests you do.” “How I envy them—uttering even indecent words so casually.” “What do you and your friends call those orchids?” “Surely you’re not using that vulgar name too.”

Ophelia. “No, Your Majesty. We too are the same in that regard.” “Because we innocently grew accustomed to calling them that in childhood, even now they still slip out of our mouths.” “It’s not just me—all the other young ladies nonchalantly say that vulgar name and keep straight faces.”

Queen. “Oh my, is that so. I’m astonished by how unabashed young ladies are these days. Though I suppose that frankness might make them more innocent and uncomplicated in the end.”

Ophelia. “No. But when men are present, we take care to call them ‘dead men’s fingers’ or such names.”

Queen. “I see, that must be how it is. It’s amusing how they can’t say it in front of men. But ‘dead men’s fingers’—what a name someone thought up. Dead men’s fingers. I see. I can’t say I don’t get that impression.” Poor flower. Dead men’s fingers adorned with golden rings. Oh, tears came even though I wasn't sad. At my age shedding tears over such trivial flowers—I must be quite the fool. Women want to indulge in childishness no matter how old they get. There must inevitably exist a certain feminine silliness in women. There's just no helping it. Even at my age I still secretly love a single daisy more than all of Denmark. Women are hopeless. No—not just women—lately human beings have become terribly unreliable to me. I've finally realized even seemingly respectable men uniformly live timidly obsessed with others' opinions. Human beings are miserable pitiable creatures. Was this world created just for us to strain red-faced over successes and failures—to pour sweat running about until we grow old? Is that all we were born to do?

We were no different from insects. Ridiculous. No matter what sadness or pain I faced, I lived until today striving without forgetting it was for Denmark's sake—but I was a fool. I had been deceived. Deceived by them all—the late king, the current king, even Hamlet. The phrase "for Denmark" seemed to carry such grand, noble meaning that I always endured every hardship and sorrow thinking it solely for Denmark. Because I took pride in doing sacred work bestowed by God, I could bear even the loneliest times. It was precisely this pride—this belief that God specially chose me for heavy duties—that made me silently endure this submissive life. How absurd it now seemed. With weak arms like mine, what work could I accomplish? People ignored my secret resolve, frittering days away fretting over wins and losses, then stirring up vile incidents that recklessly changed others' fates. Afterward came the exhausting cycle of shifting blame. Even if I alone strained for Denmark or the Hamlet royal family, I was straw floating in muddy currents—swept away regardless. Truly absurd.

“Ophelia.”

“How is your condition?”

Ophelia. “Huh?” “Not really.”

Queen. “You needn’t hide it. I already know. Rest assured. I too, as Hamlet’s mother, hold you dear. You look well today. Have those moments of feeling unwell ceased?”

Ophelia. “Yes. “Your Majesty, I have no words to express my gratitude. “To tell the truth, when I woke this morning, my chest suddenly opened up, and even the smell of things no longer bothered me. “Until yesterday, my own body’s odor and the smells of my bedding and undergarments reeked so strongly of garlic that no matter how much perfume I sprinkled, I couldn’t bear it and cried alone. “But this morning, as if waking from a bad dream, my body felt light all at once, and the soup tasted truly delicious for the first time in days. “I’m still a bit worried that if something sets me off, I might slip back into that hellish mood from yesterday. “My own body feels like a delicate object, and I’m on edge. “Even now, I’m treading tentatively, breathing as quietly as possible and stepping gingerly across the lawn one foot at a time. “Am I really okay now? “I don’t want to repeat such a painful experience again.”

Queen.

“Yes, you’ll be perfectly fine now. “Your appetite will only keep improving. “You truly know nothing at all, do you. “No wonder. “From now on, I could serve as your confidant. “Because you’ve been speaking exactly what’s on your mind so honestly from the start, I’ve grown fond of you. “I like people who speak boldly without shame.” Ophelia. “Oh no, Your Majesty. “I was telling nothing but lies until yesterday. “There is no hell as painful and distressing as deceiving people. “But I no longer need to tell lies. “Everyone has found out. “My condition has fortunately been improving since this morning, and from now on, I’ll become the tomboyish Ophelia I used to be without shrinking back. “Truly, these past two months—each day has brought nothing but unexpected events—it feels like a dream.”

Queen. “Oh, you’re not alone in feeling this is all like a dream.” “Everyone has felt as if trapped in a nightmare these past two months.” “The peace we knew under the late king now seems nothing but a falsehood when I reflect on it.” “That era when both castle and kingdom brimmed with hope—when we greeted each day with purpose—such times will never return.” “Though none can be named at fault, everything has turned murky and grim—I feel sighs and venomous whispers now fill every corner of Elsinore Castle and all Denmark.” “I cannot shake this dreadful premonition—that some terrible calamity approaches.” “If only Hamlet would show some steadiness—but that boy’s half-mad over you, while the others scurry about fretting over status and reputation—utterly useless.” “Women may be shallow creatures, but men prove scarcely wiser.” “You cannot yet comprehend how pitifully obsessed men are with us.” “Don’t laugh like that.” “It’s truth I speak.” “This isn’t vanity.” “For all their grand speeches about ideals, men live solely to fret over their dear wives’ opinions.” “Ambition? Success? Victory? All spring from wanting to please their precious spouses.” “They devise elaborate excuses and strive mightily—but in the end? They merely crave their women’s praise.” “What wretched creatures.” “Pitiable beyond words.” “I realized this recently—it shocked me.” “No—disappointed me.”

“I have always revered the world of men.” “We women believed they dwelled in lofty, painful ideals far beyond our understanding.” “Though our efforts were humble, we aspired to support them through domestic care—how laughable that these very women behind the scenes were men’s sole reason for living! What a farce.” “When you try to drape a cloak over their shoulders from behind, they spin around to face you—it leaves one utterly flustered.” “They posture as philosophers gazing at celestial heights with talk of ideals and suffering, yet in truth fret endlessly over women’s opinions.” “Every gesture seeks praise and affection.” “Lately men appear utterly trivial to my eyes.” “This remains beyond Ophelia’s comprehension.” “To your kind, Hamlet must still seem dashingly irresistible.” “That boy is a fool.” “He exhausts himself chasing popularity.” “In youth, peer approval seems life’s paramount concern.” “A foolish child indeed.” “Though cowardly at core, he performs reckless stunts to win praise from friends and you—then sulks alone, weeping helplessly when left to clean his own messes.” “Yet secretly he relies on us.” “He pouts while waiting for us to tidy his disasters.” “Spouting pretentious philosophical drivel to impress Horatio’s set—then whines like an infant begging sweets behind closed doors. Ridiculous.” “A clingy child through and through.” “From dawn till dusk he craves adoration from all around him.” “Constantly scheming for fleeting applause through shallow theatrics.”

“With such a nonsensical way of living, what on earth will become of him in the future? Your brother Laertes is the same age as Hamlet, yet he already comprehends the mechanisms of society.”

Ophelia.

“No, that is precisely my brother’s flaw.” “Your Majesty just now declared that even the most impressive-looking men are uniformly timid at heart, living solely concerned with others’ opinions—yet immediately after those very words, you praise Laertes. How contradictory.” “Even my brother’s true nature must ultimately be the same.” “While he may appear more rugged and reliable compared to Lord Hamlet, someone who lives with such coolly decisive clarity only leaves us feeling more isolated.” “I bear no hatred for my brother, yet I feel no urge to confide anything in him.” “The same holds true for my father.” “Perhaps I am a wicked daughter—an unworthy sister.” “There is no remedy for it.” “To feel no kinship with one’s own flesh and blood—rather—”

Queen. “So you feel affection for Hamlet alone.” “How petty.” “That’s enough.” “When consumed by love, everyone grows to dislike their father and brother.” “It’s perfectly natural.” “Truly, if I heed your words earnestly, I’d be made a fool.” “What utter nonsense you spout.”

Ophelia. “No, Your Majesty. “I am not infatuated. “I have wished to tell you this since long before matters came to this pass. “No—not Lord Hamlet, but Your Majesty. This I have earnestly wished to confess in secret. “In time, as Lord Hamlet and I became entangled in joys and sorrows and unexpected turns, what brought me greatest happiness—if I may be so bold—was the faint hope that I might come to address Your Majesty as ‘Mother’ and bask in such affection. “I beg you believe me. “Your Majesty could never fathom how I have revered you since childhood—how desperately I adored you. “Until now, I have done naught but imitate Your Majesty in every gesture, every turn of phrase—in all things. “Forgive me. “Not for Your Majesty’s station—but simply as a woman of grace, a noble soul, a paragon—oh, how might I express it—Your Majesty, laugh at me if you will. “I am a foolish girl. “Had Lord Hamlet not been Your Majesty’s child, even I would not have erred so. “I am no wanton woman. “As he is Your Majesty’s precious, precious child, I thought to guard him tenderly.”

Queen.

“You persist in these charming little jests. “You people voice every half-formed notion that crosses your mind with such earnestness—it leaves us perpetually nonplussed. “Whatever affection you claim for me stems solely from my station. “This glittering rank dazzles your eyes, inflames your senses until every mundane thing appears wondrous through its gilded haze. “I am but a tedious old woman. “Your inability to refuse Hamlet likewise springs from his position. “That preposterous notion—‘Since he’s the Queen’s cherished child, I thought to treasure him too’—I alone might humor such folly, but others would deem you simpleton or madwoman should you voice it. “This innocent pretense that calling me ‘Mother’ brings you greatest joy—how transparent. “You merely articulate the thrill of becoming Denmark’s princess-bride. “To wed the prince and gain leave to name the queen ‘Mother’—this constitutes life’s pinnacle for any Danish girl. “Natural as sunrise. “Your generation artfully cloaks vulgar ambition in childish prattle—we dare not lower our guard. “A moment’s lapse finds us hoodwinked. “These youths play the wide-eyed innocent, amusing us with infantile chatter while shrewdly tallying every advantage—it wearies the soul. “Truly, their cunning knows no bounds.”

Ophelia. “That’s not true, Your Majesty.” “Why must you be so spiteful and doubt me endlessly?” “I have no such outrageous, shallow ambitions.” “I simply… truly… love Your Majesty.” “I love you so much it makes me want to cry.” “My birth mother passed away when I was small, but even if she were alive now, I don’t believe she would compare to Your Majesty.” “Your Majesty is kinder than my deceased mother ever was, and possesses a more wonderful charm.” “I would be willing to die at any time for Your Majesty’s sake.” “I have always fantasized about calling someone like Your Majesty ‘Mother’ and living a modest life with you forever.” “I have never once considered matters of status.” “I am an unfaithful daughter.” “Perhaps because I have no mother, my feelings of longing are all the stronger.” “Truly, I have no ambition whatsoever.” “How pitiful you sound.” “I had even forgotten Lord Hamlet’s status.” “Simply, I sensed the scent of Your Majesty’s milk lingering somewhere on Lord Hamlet’s person, and thus found him unbearably dear—until at last I fell into this shameful state.” “I didn’t scheme at all.” “I can swear this clearly before God almighty.” “I have truly never even dreamed of harboring such an outrageous ambition as becoming the Prince’s consort to advance my station.”

“If I can merely feel within myself even a tenuous bond to Your Majesty, that alone would be my happiness.” “I have already given up on everything.” “Now, my only joy lies in safely delivering Your Majesty’s grandchild and raising them to be strong.” “I consider myself a fortunate woman.” “Even if Lord Hamlet abandons me, I can go on living happily every day with my child.” “Your Majesty.” “Ophelia has her own pride.” “As Polonius’s daughter, I possess wisdom that brings no shame and a spirit that will not yield.” “I am fully aware of everything.” “I have never been so excitedly infatuated with Lord Hamlet as to think him the most beautiful, perfect warrior in the world.” “If I may be rude—his nose is too long.” “His eyes are too small, and his eyebrows too thick.” “His teeth seem terribly poor, and he is not at all handsome.” “Not only are his legs slightly bent, but he has a pitifully severe hunched back like a cat’s.” “His character is by no means commendable.” “Should I say weak-willed? He’s always fussing over others’ gossip and working himself into a state.” “One night he said something maddeningly pathetic—‘You’re the only one I can trust! I’m just constantly deceived and used! I’m such a pitiful child—please don’t abandon me too!’—then covered his face and pretended to cry.” “Why must he put on such an affected act?” “And if I show even the slightest hesitation in comforting him, he immediately shouts—‘Ah! I’m wretched! No one understands my suffering! I’m the most miserable man alive! So alone!’—tearing his hair and moaning pitifully.” “He seemed determined to forcibly cast himself as the tragic protagonist—unable to rest unless doing so.”

“He would suddenly stand up, smash his coffee cup against the wall with a thud, and shatter it to pieces.” “Then in complete contrast, he’d be in high spirits, declaring: ‘There’s no man in this world with a keener mind than mine—I’m a lightning-like man! I understand everything! Not even the devil could deceive me! If I set my mind to it, I could accomplish anything! I’d succeed at even the most terrifying adventures! I’m a genius!’ When I smiled and nodded, he’d snap: ‘No—you’re mocking me! You must think I’m a braggart! It’s because you don’t believe me that this happens!’ Then he’d swing to the opposite extreme and start viciously disparaging himself.” “I’m actually a braggart.” “A fraud.” “A sham.” “I’ve been seen through by everyone and laughed at.” “You’re the only one who doesn’t know.” “You’re such an idiot.” “You’re being deceived.” “You’ve been neatly tricked by me.” “Ah, I’m such a miserable man too.” “He’s been cast aside by everyone in the world, so now he’s puffing himself up by grabbing onto a fool like you.” “He keeps calmly ridiculing himself—saying things like ‘How slovenly!’—so endlessly that it makes me, the listener, want to cry.” “Then again, there are times when he stands before the mirror for an entire hour, contorting his face into various expressions as he gazes at himself.” “He seems bothered by his long nose—so while gazing at himself in the mirror, he’ll pinch it upward every now and then, which makes me burst out laughing.” “But I like him.” “There is no one like him in the entire world.” “It seems to me that he has some truly outstanding qualities somewhere.” “Even with all his comical flaws, there emanates from him an air reminiscent of the Son of God.” “I too am a proud woman.”

“However, I would never be so foolish as to overestimate a man and get carried away with euphoria.” “Even if his status were that of the Prince, I would not thoughtlessly cling to him.” “Lord Hamlet is the deepest in compassion of anyone in this world.” “Because his compassion runs so deep, he becomes overwhelmed by his own self—both his heart and words grow disordered.” “It must be so.” “Even Your Majesty knows Lord Hamlet’s merits full well, and yet—”

“Your Majesty.”

“What on earth—the things you’re saying make no coherent sense at all.” “First you spout this absurd logic about growing fond of Hamlet because you admire me—then turn around and viciously criticize him—only to immediately declare there’s no better man in the world than Hamlet, that he’s practically the Son of God! Such blasphemous extravagance!” “First you latch onto an old woman like me and babble foolishness about my supposed marvelous charm—then piously claim you’re not infatuated at all, that you’ve already given up.” “Where and how should I listen? I’m utterly at a loss.” “You too must have fallen under Hamlet’s influence.” “Shall I call you his foremost disciple?” “I thought it was only Horatio, but you too seem quite the excellent pupil.”

“Ophelia.” “When Your Majesty says such things to me, I too become disheartened.” “I should have conveyed my feelings without deceit, exactly as they were.” “Everything I have conveyed is true.” “The contradictions must surely stem from my inept way of explaining things.” “I have resolved never to lie to Your Majesty—and even if I were to lie, Your Majesty would not be deceived—so I grow frantic to convey every last thing I have felt and thought. Yet my eagerness races ahead while my words become muddled and sluggish, leaving me utterly unable to articulate what lies within my heart.” “I swear to God, I am being honest.” “I intend to be honest only with the one I love.” “Because I hold such affection for Your Majesty, I strive not to utter a single lie—yet the harder I try, the more clumsy my words become.” “When I think how nothing sounds more comical, fragmented, and nonsensical than honest human words, I feel inexplicably sad.” “My words may be jumbled and incoherent, but what lies within my heart follows perfect logic.” “That perfectly round thing within my heart is somehow complicated—I simply cannot express it in words.” “That is why I frantically try to present fragments and piece them together to show you everything—yet somehow, the more I speak, the more I fumble.” “Perhaps I love too much.” “Or perhaps I lack common sense.”

“Your Majesty.” “That’s all just rationalizations you’ve learned from Hamlet.” “Young people these days have grown so skilled at crafting self-excusing logic—it disgusts me.” “Instead of using such pretentious phrasing, why not simply say it like this?” “If you merely stated ‘I’m confused—my heart is full,’ we would understand you far better.” “When discussing other matters, you speak boldly and clearly like a proper girl—yet regarding Hamlet, you spout nothing but peculiar sophistries to conceal your shame.” “You haven’t even uttered a simple ‘I’m sorry’ to me.”

“Ophelia.”

“Your Majesty. “When I’m truly sorry from the heart, somehow those words won’t leave my lips. “Our recent actions cannot be forgiven with a mere ‘I’m sorry.’ “I feel my entire body covered edge-to-edge in ‘I’m sorry’ written in blue ink—yet I cannot say it to Your Majesty. “It would feel hollow. “To commit terrible deeds then expect forgiveness with one ‘sorry’—that’s the act of someone shamelessly unaware of their sin. “I simply cannot. “Lord Hamlet suffers the same way now. “He’s frantic to atone through some means. “Lord Hamlet and I—our only recent thought has been this anguish over how to apologize to Your Majesty. “You stand in such lonely circumstances that we should comfort you, yet we’ve caused more worry instead—this transcends words like ‘wrong’ or ‘foolish.’ “There’s pain worse than death. “I’ve truly adored Your Majesty since long ago. “That is true. “All my life I strove in manners and studies, yearning just once for Your Majesty’s praise—oh, what a fool I’ve been. “In madness, I did the most unforgivable thing to you. “Lord Hamlet rivals—no, surpasses me in respecting and longing for Your Majesty. “We pray Your Majesty remains healthy forever. “There was even a night I earnestly told Lord Hamlet we’d make amends while still alive. “Your Majesty, Your Majesty—oh!”

The Queen. “I’m sorry.” “I’ve been holding back tears since earlier and saying nothing but spiteful things I don’t mean.” “Ophelia, when you speak to me so kindly and adore me like this, it makes my heart ache.” “My heart felt as though it would burst.” “Ophelia, you are such a good girl.” “You are surely an honest girl.” “You may have some slyness about you, but innocent, unconscious lies are not something to be blamed.” “Such lies are rather beautiful, you see.” “Ophelia, in this world, there is nothing as beautiful and delightful as the words of an innocent girl.” “Compared to that, we are tainted.” “Disgusting.” “I’m tired.”

“When I heard you say you still loved me sincerely and prayed I’d live forever, I couldn’t endure it any longer.” “Ah, I must keep living if only for your sakes—but Ophelia, forgive me.”

“Oh! Your Majesty, what are you saying? “It’s entirely the opposite. “Your Majesty must have recalled some other sorrowful matter. “Ah, perfect timing. “There’s a bench here. “Now please sit down and calm yourself. “When Your Majesty weeps so bitterly, even I am moved to tears. “Come, let us sit here side by side like this. “Oh, Your Majesty. “This was the bench from the time of the late king’s passing, was it not? “When His Majesty was sitting on this bench in the garden enjoying the sunshine, his condition suddenly worsened—by the time we rushed to him, he had already taken on that pitiful appearance. “That was the day I first wore my new red dress that morning, yet I was so overcome with sorrow and regret that my own red dress kept appearing green to me. “When one is utterly grief-stricken, it seems red colors appear green.”

The Queen.

“Ophelia, that’s enough. “I was wrong!” “There is no hope left for me.” “Everything is pointless.” “Ophelia, you must live carefully from now on.”

“Oh…”

“Your Majesty, I do not quite understand your words.” “But you needn’t worry about Ophelia anymore.” “I will raise Lord Hamlet’s child.”

Scene Seven: A Room in the Castle

Hamlet alone.

Ham. "Idiot! Idiot. Idiot. I'm a complete fool. What reason do I have to live? Wake up in the morning, eat, wander about, sleep when night falls. And always thinking only of amusement. I mastered three foreign languages just to read foreign erotic poetry. This imaginary stomach of mine is five times larger and ten times greedier than others'. I never know satiety. I crave stronger and stronger stimulation. But being cowardly and lazy, I usually end up just yearning for it. A metaphysical charlatan. An adventurer confined to my mind. A voyager within my study. In short, I'm a worthless dreamer. Roaming about seeking stimulation, only to get tangled with someone like Ophelia—and end it there. Seems I've been thoroughly defeated by Ophelia. What a pathetic affair. Like some would-be Don Juan embarking on a spiritual journey—managing to seduce some country girl as my first conquest, then finding separation so agonizing I settle down there for life—a laughable tale.

I had intended to start with a trial run—deceiving a country girl to study the female heart—before solemnly embarking on my Don Juan training journey, but ended up squandering seventy years of my life researching that single country girl—a laughable tale. I maintain a grave expression yet am the hero of a comedy. I might unexpectedly have a talent for being a clown. Lately, my surroundings have been filled with laughable tales. I made wild guesses in jest and joked around, but then someone said with a straight face something terrifyingly sobering like "There is solid evidence," and I was horrified. This is what they mean when a jest takes a serious turn. The fact that my denture-wearing mother became someone’s illicit object of affection makes for quite the farce. Polonius suddenly playing the part of a righteous crusader with such earnestness is utterly laughable. That I will soon become a father is preposterous—no, more than anything, tonight’s recitation play takes the prize. Polonius is indeed becoming a bit unhinged. To see him rejuvenating thirty or even forty years at once, acting bizarrely excited, and then suggesting we perform a recitation play—it’s utterly absurd. Polonius found some cloyingly sentimental old-fashioned work by a British woman poet and brought it back, then went so far as to suggest we three use it as a script for a recitation play—it’s utterly beyond belief. Moreover, Polonius’s role being that of the bride is utterly absurd. Indeed, the content of that poem might be a bit painful for Uncle and Mother right now. Polonius’s scheme is to invite the King and Queen to this recitation play and test what expressions they make during its performance, but what a foolish idea he has conceived. Even if they were to turn pale, what kind of evidence would that be? Even if they were to laugh nonchalantly, that wouldn’t necessarily serve as proof of innocence. One might be able to judge whether their senses are acute or dull, but it won’t serve as a determination of guilt or innocence. Really, Polonius has lost his mind. Even as I think it’s absurd, I’m just as undisciplined.

Just because I didn’t want to upset Ophelia’s father, I flattered him by calling it a good idea, forced Horatio to agree too, and the three of us began rehearsing the recitation this afternoon. Horatio, who had initially made such reluctant remarks, suddenly became animated once rehearsals began and projected his high-pitched voice with some strange line delivery cultivated by Wittenberg’s drama society. He is a truly honest man. He expresses his emotions in words and actions without any alteration. No matter what blunders he makes, there’s something beautiful about it. There’s nothing vulgar about him. He is a truly humble man who knows resignation. Compared to that, this me—ah, I’m such a fool. Utter fool! I don’t know how to give up. My desires have no limit. I am such a fool that I nonchalantly fantasize about wanting to make every last woman in the world mine at least once. I want all people in the world to genuinely admire me—to occasionally flash my agile intellect, exceptional skills, and severe personality, making everyone gasp in awe—leaning on my cheek, I even try to ponder this dreamily. But in the end, I can do nothing. Not only all the women in the world—I’m suffering to death just trying to handle a single girl next door. Far from having exceptional skills, I understand nothing of the nation’s politics. Far from being gazed at in awe, I am constantly deceived by others. I am always afraid of people. I am always in awe of people. Even if someone gives me a superficial bow, I convince myself it’s sincere, immediately become ecstatic—even to the point of madness—and feel compelled to meet their expectations by putting on heroic airs I don’t truly feel, ending up in irreparable situations where everyone mocks me as a matter of course. Even when people speak ill of me, I fail to notice their hostility—convinced they’re reluctantly voicing harsh truths for my sake. Grateful for this kindness, I resolve to repay it someday without fail, inscribing their names as benefactors in my mental ledger—such is my predicament.

Even when despised by others, I'd mistake it for respect or affection and rejoice—only to realize five or six years later in one night that it had been contempt all along—damn it! But no—how splendid! Yet conversely, I also possess this calculating nature—while acting kindly toward friends, secretly thinking in some corner of my heart that kindness ultimately serves oneself—making me unbearable. The unfathomable fool is none other than me. Fundamentally, I can't even clearly distinguish greatness from wickedness in people. Those wearing lonely faces somehow end up appearing self-important beyond remedy. Ah, how pitiable. Humans are pitiable. Both I and Horatio are pitiable. Polonius, Ophelia, Uncle, Mother—everyone, everyone is pitiable. From ancient times I've never felt contempt or hatred, anger or jealousy—none of it. I merely imitated others and performed hatred and contempt theatrically. In true feeling, I comprehend nothing. What does hating someone feel like? How does despising or envying others register? I don't understand any of it. The sole emotion I truly grasp with chest-surging intensity is this feeling of pity—I've lived these twenty-three years through this single emotion alone. Beyond this I understand nothing. Yet though I see their pitiable state, I can do nothing. Unable to articulate this thought properly in words—let alone actions—only phenomena contradicting my heart's intent manifest themselves. It amounts to nothing—I'm simply a lazy good-for-nothing fool.

I'm of no use at all. Ah, how pitiable. It's no laughing matter at all. Horatio, Uncle, Mother, Polonius—everyone is pitiable. If my life could be of use, I'd give it to anyone. Lately I find humans ever more pitiable beyond bearing. "Even when we wring dry our meager wisdom and strive desperately, does everything not just keep worsening?"

“Polonius.” “Hamlet.”

Polo. “Ah, I’m busy. “Oh! Lord Hamlet—you were already here?” “What do you think? Isn’t this quite the little stage?” “It was I who earlier brought carpets and empty boxes into this room to create this stage.” “Oh, this much of a stage is perfectly sufficient.” “Since it’s a recitation play, curtains and backdrops aren’t needed.” “Don’t you agree?” “But since having nothing here felt too desolate, I tried placing a cycad pot.” “What do you think? Doesn’t this single plant pot make the stage look remarkably more impressive?”

“Ham.” “How pitiable.” “Polo.” “What was that?” “What’s pitiable?” “Are you saying we shouldn’t put the cycad pot here?” “Then shall I place it further back on stage?” “Now that you mention it, having this cycad pot placed at the edge of the stage does make it seem pitiable.” “It looks like it’s about to fall off the stage any moment now, you know.” “Ham.”

“Polonius, the pitiable one is you.” “No, it’s not just you—Uncle, Mother, everyone is pitiable.” “All living humans are pitiable.” “Enduring with all their might just to live, yet is there not even a single night where they can laugh joyfully?”

“Polo.” “What are you saying now?” “Calling things pitiable brings ill fortune.” “You keep ruining people’s carefully laid plans and dampening their enthusiasm.” “I only planned this childish scheme for your benefit.” “I resonated with your righteous integrity and joined your fellowship in truth-seeking.” “I have no other ambitions.” “Regarding this scandalous rumor—to determine how much is factual—we’ll test it by having them watch this recitation play—”

“Ham.”

“Okay, okay. Polonius, you truly are a paragon of justice. You’re truly admirable. But one’s own sense of justice can sometimes shatter another’s peaceful family life into pieces. It’s not that either side is particularly wrong. From the very beginning, humans were made to be so ill-timed. Even if we obtain evidence that Uncle is doing something bad, what would come of it? Wouldn’t we all just become even more pitiable than before?”

Polo. “Now, Lord Hamlet—with all due respect—you are still young.” “If this attempt reveals that His Majesty has no shady aspects, then we—needless to say—along with all the people of Denmark as one, will breathe a sigh of relief, and happy smiles will fill the castle.” “Justice does not always mean pointing out people’s faults and condemning them; at times, it means proving someone’s innocence and saving them.” “Polonius also anticipates even that one-in-ten-thousand happy outcome.” “One in ten thousand!” “If by some chance that outcome were to occur—ah, that would be close to a miracle. No—but, well, anyway, let’s try it.” “Please leave what comes after to Polonius.” “I will never act in a harmful manner.”

Ham. “Polonius, you’re working so hard.” “How pitiable.” I understood everything about everyone. Ah, I couldn’t stand this. Even if Uncle had been doing something, what did it matter? Uncle was just surviving to the best of his ability in his own way.

My feelings seemed to have completely changed. Until this morning, I had been speaking so ill of Uncle and clamoring about needing to uncover the root of that vile rumor—but Polonius, mightn't that have been your masterful ploy all along? You pierced through it like a fencer's deft redirection, perhaps to shift the scandal's winds entirely. After all, it might have merely served as a tool to hide embarrassment. Earlier, when you told me there was unfortunately solid evidence, I suddenly felt pity for Uncle. Pitiable. Uncle was doing his utmost. Uncle wasn't someone who could do such foolish, wicked things. Uncle was a weaker person than I. He was striving with all his might. Ah, I was such a fool. To have even jokingly doubted Uncle for a moment—I was such a scatterbrained, shameless fool.

“Polonius, let’s stop playing these justice games.” “When I think of what terrible consequences this frivolous game might bring—ah, considering those terrible consequences, I feel I can’t go on living.”

Polo. “You really must stop being so overdramatic.” “This morning it was a relentless stream of ‘painful,’ and now you’re firing off ‘pitiable’ one after another.” “Where did you learn to repeat them like some memorized phrase—one after another?” “The world isn’t made up of mere emotions.” “Justice and will.” “To live honorably, pity and self-reflection are strictly forbidden.” “You need only concern yourself with Ophelia.” “Compared to Lord Hamlet, someone like Lord Horatio lives unaffected and innocent, dwelling in truly youthful, simple dreams.” “At least try to learn a little from him.” “Lord Horatio seems to have completely forgotten the true purpose behind this recitation play—he’s been rehearsing so diligently purely out of delight in performing.” “That’s how it should be.” “Have you sufficiently rehearsed your lines?” “The guests will be arriving here shortly.” “Lord Horatio has now gone to invite all the guests.” “That fellow is really going all out.” “He apparently wanted to play the bride’s role deep down, but that role can’t be done well unless it’s me.” “Oh—it seems the guests have already arrived.”

King. Queen. Several attendants. Horatio. Polonius. Hamlet.

King.

“Ah, thank you for tonight’s invitation. Since Horatio will grace us with his Wittenberg-honed eloquence, I’ve brought everyone to listen. How truly delightful to host such an occasion with only close kin in attendance. Family communion might indeed prove life’s greatest happiness. Lately I’ve found no joys remaining—life seems naught but oppressive burdens. My sincere gratitude for this evening. Hamlet appears in fine spirits today. Evidently frolicking with his bosom friend Horatio mends his humor splendidly. We ought to stage such diversions periodically henceforth—Hamlet’s disposition shall surely brighten.”

“Yes, in fact, I too joined the young people’s theater troupe with that intention, casting aside my age.” “First, for celebrating Your Majesty’s accession and royal wedding; next, to lift Lord Hamlet’s spirits; and finally, to showcase Lord Horatio’s foreign-trained vocal technique—a technique of truly exceptional quality.” “There!” “Please don’t tease me like this.” “If you call it vocal technique or something like that, I’ll end up losing my voice instead.” “Now, Your Majesty, please.” “The audience seating is over there, Your Majesty.” “Please do take your seat, Your Majesty.”

Queen. “As abruptly as a bird taking flight from underfoot—why did they decide to start this recitation play? Whether it’s Hamlet’s whim or Polonius’s ill-conceived scheme, Horatio seems to be carelessly flattered into service, and in any case, none of it makes sense to me.”

KING.

“Gertrude.” “Theater connoisseurs don’t voice such obvious observations.” “Now then—everyone take your seats.” “Hmm—the stage appears rather well constructed.” “Polonius’s handiwork?” “Surprisingly competent craftsmanship.” “Yet even such men possess redeeming qualities somewhere.”

Polonius. “Indeed. Soon, I shall show you even greater skill. Now then, Lord Hamlet, please take the stage. Lord Horatio, please do likewise.”

Ham. “I feel like it’s higher than the Alps. Is this climbing the scaffold? Heave-ho.” There! “During the premiere, anyone would feel dizzy from how high the stage is. This is my third time, so I’ll be fine. Ah! My foot slipped.” Polonius. “Lord Horatio, please be careful. Since we pieced it together from empty boxes, there are uneven parts. Now then, ladies and gentlemen. We three—this is indeed the Righteous Troupe. Tonight, we shall present for your viewing a masterpiece by a certain British authoress—the dramatic poem titled *Welcome Fire*. As our troupe includes an inexperienced old man like myself, there may be some shabby aspects—we humbly beg your gracious indulgence. Lord Horatio—our foreign-trained star actor—you shall begin with your address.”

“There!”

“Huh? “I—well, it’s not that I—no—this is troubling.” “I only want to try playing the bridegroom’s role.”

Polonius. “I, this humble one, shall perform the role of the bride.”

Queen. "That’s eerie. Lord Polonius seems to be drunk." King. "Far from drunk— Far worse. Look at those eyes."

Ham.

“I’m told to play the ghost,” “Polonius, why don’t you start already?” “The audience says it’s a troupe of drunks.” Polonius: “Nonsense! I’m the only sober one here.” “Absurd—but let’s begin.” “Now then, distinguished guests.” [BRIDE] (Polonius) “Beloved...” “Kind soul...” “Hold me tight...” “That man tries to take me away.” “Ah... so cold...”

The dreadful sound of the pine wind. This cold north wind freezes my body.

In the distant beyond,

In the distant beyond, From the forest’s shadow emerged a small flickering light.

That is my welcome fire. Bridegroom. (Horatio.) Oh, I will hold you tight, my little dove.

Over by that distant stretch of woods - nothing but starlight flickering.

There’s no one suspicious anywhere. On nights when the north wind blows fierce, even the starlight turns piercing. Ghost. (Hamlet.) "If, If.

“Bride.” “Come with me. Surely you haven’t forgotten me?” “My voice is the wintry wind. My new home lies in the mud’s depths.” “Come with me.” “Come to the bed of ice.” “The one calling is me. You couldn’t possibly have forgotten.” If only someone had whispered “Come” long ago, the half-bloomed rose would have shyly nestled close.

Now, anemones bloom heavily in their splendor. Beautiful liar.

“Come.” Bride. (Polonius.)

“You.” “Hold me tighter!” “That person has come as a shadow of the past to torment me.” “That person is grabbing my wrist with cold fingers.” “Ah, you.” “Please hold me tight.” “My body might slip smoothly out of your arms and float away to that forest cemetery.” That sound of wind through pines is a human voice.

From a fleeting hesitation, it kept whispering the long-ago promise made. It murmured in secret. “Hold me tighter!”

Ah, foolish past mistakes.

"I can’t do this." "Bridegroom." (Horatio.) "I am here." "Fearing those already gone now amounts to nothing but needless conscience." "I am here." "There’s no one suspicious anywhere." "If the wind’s sound frightens you, keep your ears covered awhile."

Ghost. (Hamlet.) "Come." "Even if you cover your ears and close your eyes, my voice should be heard, my form should be seen." "Let’s go."

“Come, let’s go.” “As promised long ago, I will keep you safe.” “I’ve even prepared your bed.” “A good bed that grants sweet, never-waking sleep.” “Come now.”

"My new home lies in the depths of mud. The end of the path I walked with single-minded devotion. Come, let us go. We shall fulfill our ancient vow." Bride. (Polonius.)

“You.” “There’s no longer any need to hold me.” “It’s no use.” “That person with the winter wind’s voice is forcing me away.” “Farewell.” “Even when I’m gone, don’t lose heart—drink plenty of wine.” “Do bask in the sun too.”

“Ah, just a little more.” “One more word.” “Not leaving you any parting words, hair, or kisses—nothing at all—I am taken away.” “It’s no use.” “Please do not forget me.” Ghost. (Hamlet.) “How futile.” “Such pitiable words are futile.” “You do not know that bridegroom’s heart.” “That knight you love will surely forget you on the third day after you leave.” “Beautiful—therefore fragile—woman of sin.”

“You shall soon taste in the afterlife the same suffering I have suffered to this day.”

“Jealousy.” “That is your harvest—the culmination of your desperate wish to be loved.” “Truly, a splendid harvest.” “In time, upon that Bride’s chair shall sit a younger woman than you—one with deeper modesty—assuming your very posture. She’ll make the Bridegroom swear new vows of every kind, and soon bear a child.” “In this world, the more frivolous one is, the more beloved and fortunate they remain.”

“Come, let’s go.”

“Only you and I, Battered by wind and rain, Darting about, wailing, racing around!”

Queen. “Stop this! Hamlet, that’s enough—stop this at once. Whose monkey tricks are these anyway? It’s too absurd—I can’t bear to watch any longer. If you’re determined to harass me, at least do it with something cleverer. You are cowards. It’s despicable. I’ll be taking my leave now. Somehow I felt like I was going to vomit.”

King.

“There’s not the slightest reason to be angry. It’s rather amusing, don’t you think? It seems there’s still more to this. Polonius’s Bride was quite the success. The way you pleaded desperately—‘Hold me tighter’—while holding your breath was excellent, and when you said ‘It’s no use’ and slumped your head, it truly captured a maiden’s essence. A splendid performance.”

“Polo.” “I’m deeply honored by Your Majesty’s praise.”

King.

“Polonius, I’d like you to come to my chambers later.” “Hamlet went so far as to say lines not in the script, didn’t he?” “But there was no passion in it somehow.” “His expression was dismissive.”

Queen.

“I will take my leave.” “Such a bungled performance—I’ll have none of it.” “For Polonius’s Bride, only a sea demon as her groom would make a suitable match.” “Then I’ll be going ahead.”

King. “Now, wait a moment.” “Hamlet—has this play already ended?” Ham. “Ah—it’s over.” “There’s more to it—but it doesn’t matter.” “Let’s stop here.” “After all—performing this play wasn’t our true objective.” “Now—everyone—please leave.” “Thank you for enduring this tedious evening.”

King. "I had thought it would come to this." "Now then, Gertrude, I shall take my leave as well." "Well now, that was rather entertaining." "Horatio, your Wittenberg-trained eloquence appears to have found its distinguishing characteristic in stammering repetition." Hor.

“I fear my vulgar voice has reached your ears.” “I’m afraid I was somewhat inadequate for this recitation play.” King. “Polonius, come to my chambers later.”

“Well then, I’ll take my leave.”

Polonius. Hamlet. Horatio.

Pol. “This won’t be settled with simple measures, I tell you.”

Hor. “It seems nothing of consequence came of it.” Ham. “Of course. The Queen was furious, and the King laughed. But even knowing that much—what kind of key does that provide?” Claudius. “Polonius, you’re a fool. “It seems you’ve grown a bit jealous of Ophelia’s charm, haven’t you?” “You and I alone will be battered by storms as we dart about, weep and wail, and run ourselves ragged!” Polo. “Oh, the incident will now take a sudden turn. “Well, just you wait and see.”

8. The King’s Chambers

King. Polonius. King.

“You’ve betrayed me, Polonius. What were you thinking, inciting the children to stage that utterly meaningless recitation play? Have you gone mad? Show some restraint. I understand most things well enough. You’re scheming to frighten us with this absurd farce and have your daughter’s misconduct forgiven, aren’t you? Polonius, you too prove yourself a fool blinded by parental love. Why didn’t you consult me directly? If you bear resentment, you should have laid it bare openly. You’re dishonest. Underhanded. And instead of devising any manly all-or-nothing scheme, you fiddle with these petty tricks. Polonius, you ought to feel some shame. What possessed you to join those callow fledglings Hamlet and Horatio in reciting such nauseatingly affected lines? What recitation play? When you puckered your lips and repeated ‘Far away, far away,’ my entire body broke out in gooseflesh. It was appalling. So mortifying to watch that tears sprang to my eyes. You’ve always been delicate-nerved—which was also your virtue—attending meticulously to every quarter, fretting over distant future matters, offering counsel so I’ve been greatly aided. I’d felt truly grateful and reliant that none but you would do. Yet this same quality becomes your flaw: lacking bold openness, fussing over trifles, prone to complaints, never speaking plain but oddly dressing your words in gentlemanly pretense. Or should I say a poetic temperament?”

“This dreariness simply won’t do.” “Because you always seem to nurse grievances in your heart, even the castle folk find you off-putting and hardly take to you, don’t they?” “Though incapable of any real mischief, you still manage to appear underhanded somehow.” “Your character—it’s spineless.” “Tainted through and through.”

Polo. “As they say—such a king, such a retainer.” “Polonius’s spinelessness must be due to Your Majesty’s gracious influence.”

King. “What nonsense are you spouting in your delirium?” “That’s rude.” “What are you saying?” “That sullen face makes you look like a different person entirely.” “Polonius—have you truly lost your senses?” “Earlier you used that unnervingly shrill voice to play some vulgar bride role—and given your naturally delicate nerves, prone to wild swings between gloom and elation, I suppose some trivial incident excited you into forgetting your station and age to prance about. But even that has limits! You and I have lived under practically the same roof for thirty years, yet never before have I witnessed such disgraceful excess as tonight. There must be some profound reason behind this. Thinking to question you thoroughly, I summoned you here—and what do I get?” “Not a single word of apology—instead you change countenance and snap at me.” “Polonius!” “Now calm yourself and answer clearly.” “What possessed you to stage such cloying theater—the sort even a nursemaid would laugh at—at your age?” “That play—no, recitation play or whatever—that absurd recitation play must have been your idea from the start.” “I know full well.” “Even Hamlet or Horatio would select a more clever script.” “Only you could choose such an overwrought antique of a script—so antiquated it makes one shudder.” “Everything is your doing.” “Now, Polonius—answer me.” “Why would you commit such rude folly?”

“Polo.” “Since Your Majesty’s wisdom shines so brightly, surely you’ve already discerned everything without needing answers from this Polonius.”

King. “This time again with your foolish politeness and sarcastic jabs.” “Are you sulking?” “Polonius, drop that affected expression.” “You look exactly like Hamlet.” “Have you become Hamlet’s disciple too?” “I heard from Her Majesty that Hamlet’s disciples have been sprouting up everywhere lately.” “Horatio’s been obsessed with him since forever—even mimicking how he contorts his speech—and now they say he’s taken on some young woman as a pupil.” “And now it seems even an old man has become his follower.” “Hamlet must feel quite secure with such splendid successors multiplying daily.” “Polonius—at your age, this sulking doesn’t suit you.” “If you’ve grievances, why not state them plainly?” “If this concerns Ophelia—my mind’s already made up.”

“Polo.” “Respectfully, the issue does not concern Ophelia.” “That one’s fate has already been decided.” “Sneak off to a country castle and quietly terminate her pregnancy—that’s all there is to it.” “And then I will resign from my post, and Laertes’s study abroad will be discontinued.” “Our family is ruined.” “That has already been decided.” “Polonius has resigned himself.” “Lord Hamlet must still take a princess from England.” “It concerns the nation’s very safety.” “Although Ophelia is indeed pitiable, her plight cannot outweigh the nation’s fate.” “The Polonius family intends to endure any misfortune and live on, so please rest assured on that point.” “Now, the problem is not Ophelia.” “The problem is justice.”

King. “Justice?” “Now that’s an odd choice of words.”

Polo. “Justice.” “The justice of youth.” “Polonius has positioned himself in alignment with that.” “Your Majesty, Polonius will now disclose everything without stumbling.”

King. “Somehow I feel like I’m still listening to that recitation play’s continuation.” “Haven’t you grown oddly theatrical and worked up?”

“Polo.”

“Your Majesty, Polonius is serious. “Your Majesty, instead of jesting like that, I ask you to listen earnestly. “First and foremost, there is something I wish to inquire of Your Majesty. “What are Your Majesty’s thoughts regarding these truly loathsome rumors that have been spreading through the castle of late?”

King. "I'm not quite sure what you're talking about—if it's about Ophelia's rumors, I only learned of them this morning when you told me, and until then I hadn't even dreamed of such a thing."

Polo. “You must not feign ignorance.” “The matter of Ophelia is not an issue at present.” “That matter is already as good as resolved.” “What I now inquire about is far greater, more dreadful, and exceedingly difficult to resolve.” “Your Majesty, do you truly know nothing?” “Do you have no inkling?” “That cannot be.” “That’s impossible—”

King.

“I know.” “Everyone knows.” “Regarding the cause of the late king’s death, I am aware that disgraceful speculations are being whispered about.” “Rather than growing angry, I felt ashamed of my own lack of virtue.” “That such preposterous, baseless rumors spread so plausibly stems from my deficient character.” “I feel unbearably lonely.” “Yet these rumors only proliferate—now even reaching foreign ears. If I merely lament my failings, they may gain unstoppable momentum, leading to irreparable consequences. This is why I wished to consult you about containing them.” “As for me, I endure—but the Queen, being a woman, grows gravely distressed by these rumors, scarcely sleeping at night.” “Should we let time slip idly by like this, she will perish.” “These youths spout frivolous jibes and barbs, heedless of our plight, turning earnest lives into playthings.” “Just when I deemed it pitiable—now even you lead their frenzied dance for reasons beyond my grasp—this world turns truly insufferable.” “Polonius—surely even you don’t believe that rumor?”

“Polo.”

“I believe it.”

King. “What?” Polo. “No, I do not believe it. However, I intend to keep pretending to believe. This is Polonius’s parting gift of loyalty. Your Majesty—no, Lord Claudius. For over thirty years, not only your servant Polonius but even my family members have received your gracious favor and protection. Due to Ophelia’s regrettable misconduct this time, now that I must take my leave, various emotions come and go within Polonius’s heart. Before offering my painful farewell greetings, I wished to repay even a fraction of your immense kindness through this parting gift of loyalty—since this morning, I have taken what seemed the best measures regarding the young people. The young people initially treated that rumor like a joke, playfully exaggerating and making a huge fuss over it, but I didn’t deny their commotion—instead, I taught them that the rumor had grounds and was true.”

King. “Polonius!” “What manner of loyalty is this?” “You incite the young and spread vile rumors—this shows neither loyalty nor gratitude.” “Polonius, mere resignation won’t atone for your crimes.” “I misjudged you.” “Never did I imagine you such a worthless man.”

Polo. “I would ask that your anger be set aside for now. If my recent methods were mistaken, I shall willingly accept any execution you decree. Lord Claudius—with due respect—these bizarre rumors have spread unexpectedly far. The more we tried to suppress them, the fiercer their flames grew until I saw ordinary measures could never contain them. Thus I resorted to desperate measures: I recklessly fanned the commotion to disillusion the youth and cultivate sympathy toward Your Majesty. Indeed, matters have reached where even Lord Hamlet and Horatio grow exasperated at my fanatical cries of ‘Justice! Justice!’ and now defend Your Majesty themselves. This current, rising from the castle’s depths and soon rustling outward, will likely extinguish rumor’s flames before long. All appears successful. Rumors spread wider when suppressed but die naturally when vigorously fanned. Even at my age, I endured mingling with youths—spouting nauseating prattle of ‘justice’ and ‘ideals’ until forced to play that bride’s role. Even now, cold sweat breaks out at the memory. I humbly beg you to comprehend my sincere intent.”

King.

“Well said.” “That was a splendid justification.” “But Polonius, I am not a child.” “How could I believe such an absurd explanation?” “Even if I tried, it’s too ridiculous—I can’t help but laugh.” “To extinguish rumor’s flames by fanning them harder? What foolish, childish sophistry! Tell that to Hamlet and he might admire you, but to me it sounds utterly absurd.” “What an exemplary loyalist!” “Polonius, speak no more!” “This idiocy is unbearable.” “Let me enlighten you.” “You’ve long harbored special feelings for Gertrude.” “When the late king died suddenly and Gertrude drowned in grief’s tears, your comforting words held such peculiar sincerity—it became clear to me then.” “You reprobate!” “From that moment I knew you for a pitiable man and watched you warily.” “Polonius—unaware yourself—you vacillate between groveling over Ophelia’s disgrace and ranting about justice, carrying the youths’ banner to assail us, then suddenly posturing as loyal retainer. This Ophelia incident has thrown you into disarray—nothing but the farcical eruption of emotions long suppressed.” “You don’t realize it.” “You’re simply itching to hurl old age’s tantrums at anyone nearby—but Polonius, this feeling has an ancient name.” “It appeared in Hamlet’s lines during today’s recitation play.” “Did you notice?” “We call it jealousy.”

Polo. “Pfft! Contain your self-importance already.” “Love appears to blind people.” “Your Majesty is the one behaving strangely.” “When you yourself are lovestruck, everyone else seems lovestruck too.” “In any case, I must return that very word—this thing called jealousy.” “Though I’ve long lived as a widower, Your Majesty, I’ve never engaged in shameful affairs.” “Your Majesty is the one nursing peculiar jealousy.” “Truly, Your Majesty’s present disposition deserves precisely that name—jealousy.” “When Your Majesty’s long-cherished affections finally reached their intended, you ought properly to rejoice—yet to feel jealousy toward a boorish old man like myself? This humbleservant Polonius deduces your own endeavors must not fare so splendidly. What say you?”

King. “Silence!” “Polonius, have you gone mad?” “Who do you think you’re addressing?” “Your daughter’s disgrace has driven you to utter recklessness.” “Your impudent ramblings alone suffice to warrant dismissal and imprisonment.” “Filthy vulgar conjectures—these I abhor most.” “Polonius—construction takes ages, destruction mere moments.” “Thirty years of loyal service erased by tonight’s insolence.” “How fleeting.” “Human fate defies prediction even an inch ahead.” “What may come—utterly unknowable.” “I’d believed will could steer destiny—yet divine intent exists after all.” “Polonius.”

“I had intended to forgive you until just moments ago. As for Ophelia’s situation, I had steeled myself for the worst possible outcome. When Hamlet became truly infatuated with Ophelia and showed no signs of heeding our counsel, I saw no alternative—I resolved to abandon plans with the English princess and permit their marriage. The Queen has now aligned herself with Ophelia’s cause. This very evening, Gertrude knelt before me in tears and pleaded—Gertrude, who until today had met me with nothing but scorn, finally cast aside her pride to beg. I too had no choice but to make my resolve. Securing a princess from England stood as one of our most vital policies, yet I found myself lacking the courage to pursue it at the cost of my household’s harmony. I am weak! It appears I make for a poor statesman. I cherish my family’s peace more than Denmark’s destiny. To be a decent husband and father—that would satisfy me completely. Perhaps I lack the makings of a king after all. I had meant to forgive you all—we’re all fellow weaklings, aren’t we? Just when I resolved that we should support one another and move forward in harmony—Polonius, what manner of fool are you? Consumed by solitary bitterness, convinced your house faces ruin, you’ve thrown yourself into reckless despair—sniping at the Queen through that pathetic recitation play as vengeance for unrequited feelings, while attempting to hoodwink me with talk of loyal retainers’ last resorts! Then when exposed, you turn brazen and spew these insolent, extortionate tirades! Polonius, I’ve grown sick of forgiving you all. You’re a fool. You’re transparent.”

“I can forgive human evil, but I cannot forgive human foolishness.” “Stupidity is the greatest sin.” “Polonius, this time, merely resigning from your post won’t be enough.” “You understand that, don’t you?”

“Lies! Lies!” “Everything Your Majesty says is a lie.” “That you ever intended to permit the marriage between Lord Hamlet and Ophelia—that’s a lie upon lie, a blatant lie!” “Weak?” “Not a good politician?” “Do you love your household’s peace more than Denmark itself?” “It’s all lies!” “A politician as formidable and exceptionally skilled as Your Majesty is rare even across Europe.” Polonius had long been secretly astonished. “Your Majesty must not conceal it.” “In this chamber exist only Your Majesty and Polonius—no other soul remains.” “The hour now approaches deepest night.” “Every being within these walls—from birds nesting under eaves to mice in attic rafters—lies fast asleep.” “None listen.” “Speak now.” “Polonius knows everything.” “Your Majesty must surely have spent these two months secretly plotting Polonius’s downfall.”

“King.” “You’re spouting nothing but trivial lies.” “What of the dead of night?” “Shamelessly parading these theatrical adjectives—what exactly are you getting so worked up about?” “Disgraceful.” “Polonius, you must withdraw now.” “I will deliver my decision to you in due course.”

Polo.

“Let us hear your judgment immediately.” Polonius was resolved. He had resigned himself to there being no escape. For these past two months, I had been targeted by Your Majesty—scrutinized with hawk-like vigilance for any blunder. Having known this full well until yesterday’s end through utmost caution not to oppose Your Majesty’s will in all matters—or so I believed—I carried out my duties without major misstep. One reason I sent my child Laertes abroad to France was also to let him escape Your Majesty’s terrifying prying eyes—for even absent my own blunders—Laertes’ youthful recklessness might still invite mishap! Had he committed even slight error—as clear as fire—Your Majesty would seize chance to punish and bury my family! Thus I secured Laertes’ flight—only for Ophelia—my most trusted—to commit outrageous blunder yesterday! The ground crumbled beneath me—ruin acknowledged! Now clinging—straw-grasping hope for Ophelia’s happiness—I consulted Lord Hamlet this very dawn! Yet—forgive my bluntness—His Lordship remains young! Rambling black clouds billowing—storm clouds looming—utterly useless! Upon deeper inquiry—His Lordship fixates on rumors of late king’s death rather than Ophelia! Such reckless youths left unchecked might stir vipers from bushes! Thus Polonius devised once-in-a-lifetime stratagem—loyalty’s parting gift! Resolutely supporting suspicions—charging forth crying justice—proposing cloying recitation play—engineering youths’ disillusionment! Yet Your Majesty disbelieved all! Deep within—Ophelia remained pitifully dear—some part praying her sole happiness! Not without such intent did I scheme—to purge Hamlet’s mind of suspicion—make him fight solely for her! Yet—by no means solely that!

“Your Majesty, please believe me! “Humans have an instinct to want to do good things.” “People live wanting to be thanked by others.”

Polonius believed that today—for Your Majesty’s sake, for Her Majesty the Queen’s sake, for Lord Hamlet’s sake—he had made a splendid parting gift of loyalty. When instead of receiving the praise he rightfully deserved, he was met with scoffing remarks about “foolish excuses” and “reckless desperation,” and even had the utterly unexpected slander of jealousy imposed upon him, he could no longer endure it and let slip disrespectful invectives. He had already resigned himself. Your Majesty had been waiting and waiting these past two months for Polonius to fall into such dire straits. No doubt this was your heart’s desire. I am indeed a fool—the greatest fool in Denmark! I knew from the start that it would come to this anyway, but by making unnecessary gestures of obligation—like some parting gift of loyalty—I had only driven myself further into disadvantage. The punishment must have grown far more severe. “I have dug my own grave.”

“King.”

“Ah, I was asleep.” “Your skilled delivery of lines left me quite captivated.” “Polonius—isn’t this reluctance unbecoming?” “Lining up grievances now serves no purpose.” “Withdraw.” “My mind stands decided.”

“Polo.”

“You wicked man. “Your Majesty, you are a wicked man. “I hate you. “Shall I say it? “Do you think I don’t know about that matter? “I saw it. “I saw it with my own eyes. “Two months ago—just because I caught a glimpse of that—ever since then I have been plagued by misfortune. “Your Majesty, having realized I had seen it, then resorted to hawk-like vigilance to oust me. “I have come to be disliked by Your Majesty. “I had steeled myself that before long, I would surely be driven into dire straits and expelled from this royal castle.” “Ah, I should never have looked.” I should never have known anything. “Justice! “Until now, I was but a false champion of justice—but now I want to cry out for it from the depths of my gut!”

The King. “Begone! You speak intolerable words.” “Just to have your own mistakes forgiven, you even blurt out what sounds like threats.” “You filthy senile old wreck.” “Begone!”

Polo. “No, I won’t withdraw.” “I saw it.” “Two months ago—that day I’ll never forget. The morning was freezing cold, but a little before noon, the sun came out and it grew pleasantly warm. The late king had come out into the garden—that was when it happened. That was when.”

The King. “You’ve gone mad!” “The punishment—I’ll deliver it right now.”

Polo. “Punishment—I’ll take it.” “I saw it.” “Because I saw it, I’ll accept my punishment.” “Ah!” “Bastard!” “You call this punishment—a dagger?!”

King. “Forgive me.” “I didn’t intend to kill, but the sheath slipped and I stabbed.” “Your earlier insolent ramblings—those too came from a father’s frenzy over his beloved daughter. I endured them, thinking you a pitiable old man, but when you grew emboldened and began shrieking bizarre horrors as if truly mad, I drew my dagger without thought of consequence and stabbed.” “Forgive me.” “Your words also went too far.” “As for Ophelia, don’t worry.” “Polonius, do you understand what I’m saying?” “Can you recognize my face?”

Polo. “For justice.” “That’s right—for justice.” “Ophelia, bring out the armor.” “Father was a bad father, wasn’t he?”

The King. “Tears.” “Even from eyes like mine—these tears come pouring out.” If only they could cleanse my sins... “Polonius—what exactly did you see?” “Your suspicions weren’t unfounded.” “Ah!” “Who’s there?!” “Who stands there?!” “Don’t flee!” “Wait!” “Oh—Gertrude!”

9. The Castle’s Great Hall

Hamlet.

Ophelia.

“Ham.” “Oh.” “Has Polonius not shown himself since last night?” “That’s a bit odd.” “But well—it’s probably nothing serious.” Adults had their own world. Though fully aware their transparent schemes had been seen through—they put on solemn faces—whispering in this corner—conspiring in that one—nodding gravely and exchanging meaningful glances—after all—despite amounting to nothing substantial—they simply couldn’t resist reveling in the pantomime of intrigue—pointlessly gathering again and again for these absurd theatrics they called meetings. Since both Uncle and Polonius seemed quite fond of petty scheming—it was possible the two of them had met last night and already hatched some new plot. Even last night’s recitation play had Polonius’s scheming behind it. If not—that man must have gone mad. There had been some flawless—cunning scheme at play. I usually had a good idea of what they were up to. Those people were quite the schemers. To be fair—schemers were generally shallow—disillusioning creatures obsessed with petty calculations—pitiful—despicable existences—but even if you saw through them—if you merely scorned them and carried on carefree—you’d suffer terribly. If I let my guard down—they would take me out. They were such a detestable existence that I wanted to ignore—no—rather—despise them utterly—but I couldn’t let my guard down. I had initially thought Polonius’s recitation play was nothing more than a ploy—a father’s deranged attempt to vent his frustrations at the King and Queen over his beloved daughter—but last night—upon reconsidering—it seemed it wasn’t just that. Everything they did was psychological manipulation and cunning—despicable fraud from start to finish—so I was sick of it. Last night—I finally understood—and once I did—I was startled. Those people were terrifying.

They couldn't be trusted at all. So there truly were villains in this world after all. Here I was at my age finally discovering that evil people genuinely existed. Not exactly an accomplishment. The most obvious revelation. I must've been profoundly stupid. Pathetically naive. What a feat—only now had I stumbled upon this self-evident truth and found myself reeling from shock. An unfathomably gullible fool. That recitation play last night—it had been Uncle and Polonius conspiring from the start. This much was certain. Were I mistaken, I'd gladly pluck out these eyes as penance. No more would they deceive me. Uncle had concocted that vile scheme with Polonius solely to divert our suspicious gazes—to hoodwink us through and through. They were mocking us. We'd danced perfectly to their piping. In essence: Uncle moved first to obscure his own guilt, commanding Polonius to spur us into staging that imbecilic recitation play as test for the King. When His Majesty remained unperturbed, our disappointment grew until those dreadful suspicions faded from our hearts naturally—and soon enough castle folk would adopt our sentiments one by one until every ominous whisper vanished entirely—such was his shallow stratagem. My deduction held firm. Uncle and Polonius had been colluding since daybreak. Why hadn't I seen through something so transparent?

Truly, their actions were underhanded and inexcusable. Must they have gone to such lengths to deceive us? On our side, we had relied on them, felt close to them, even respected them—so we were always letting our guard down and smiling at them. Yet they never opened up to us, constantly staying wary and scheming about this or that—it was heartbreaking. What a farce. They had colluded together—one playing prosecutor, the other defendant—staging a half-hearted quarrel of lies before conveniently declaring insufficient evidence and acquitting themselves. Horatio and I had put on grave faces to assist that sham prosecutor and even felt pleased with ourselves—this would surely become a laughingstock for generations to come. What an honor. Yet their scheme had indeed managed to succeed—for the time being. Horatio was already declaring things like “Now His Majesty stands vindicated under clear skies, long live the Hamlet royal family! How shameful that we ever believed those rumors and doubted His Majesty even temporarily—I just hope we won’t be reprimanded later for staging such an impertinent recitation play,” completely trusting Uncle while growing ashamed of our own suspicions; meanwhile, the people in the castle too seemed to be gradually regaining their respect for him. People’s hearts were truly such mercurial things. Like reeds blown by the wind, they bent easily to the left or right. I too, right after that recitation play, had thought Polonius was simply enraged and deranged—I had even considered going to the king’s chambers to apologize, feeling unbearably sorry for Uncle. But later, when I calmly reconsidered, I realized with a chill: this was no joke—we’d been utterly duped. There was something. That ominous rumor wasn’t a lie! Uncle and Polonius were part of an evil faction. They were now conspiring together, desperately trying to prevent their evil from being exposed. But I understood it. My eyes couldn’t be fooled. Now that it had come to this, I too had to resolve myself. Those people were bad people.

Even Polonius had known everything from the start. To bamboozle us into dancing along by spouting words like justice and comradeship with youth—now that’s a splendid skill indeed. If that man were a champion of justice, heaven would be packed like sardines, and hell would lie deserted.

“Ah, my apologies,” said Hamlet. “I got too carried away and forgot Polonius is your father. But I’m not singling him out—Uncle’s no better either. I’m furious with all adults in general.” He raised a cautionary hand. “Just so we’re clear.” His tone shifted abruptly as he leaned closer. “Oh? You’re crying.” “What’s wrong?” “Feeling anxious without your father around?” “So you really are worried after all?” “Don’t fret.” His lips twisted in a mirthless smile. “By now he’s doubtlessly buried in some urgent task under the King’s secret orders.” “What sort of work? Even I don’t know—but rest assured, it’s nothing honorable.”

“Hmph.” “I’m not crying at all.” “I just had dust in my eye and was rubbing it with my handkerchief.” “There—it’s out now.” “See? I’m not crying at all.” “Lord Hamlet always reads such grand meanings into my feelings that I sometimes want to laugh.” “When I was simply admiring the sunset’s beauty, you placed your hand on my shoulder and said: ‘I understand your pain—but you’re not alone. I too know sunset’s sorrow. Let us endure and live on. Stay alive for me a while longer. Thousands cling to life while longing for death.’ As if I were contemplating suicide! Your solemn words make me both laugh and ache.” “There’s nothing sad about me now.” “You always overinterpret things and make dramatic scenes alone, leaving me flustered.” “Women don’t dwell on profound matters.” “We drift through life.” “Though I worry Father hasn’t appeared since last night, I still trust him.” “Father isn’t the villain you claim.” “You’re so fickle—harsh today, effusive tomorrow—that I’ve learned to disregard your words. But when you baselessly suspect Father like this, even I want to cry.” “He’s timid.” “Easily excitable.” “I avoided last night’s recitation play due to my condition, but if Father staged it for justice, then justice truly motivated him.” “Father tells petty joke-lies but never grave falsehoods.” “In that way, he’s earnest.” “Scrupulous.”

"He is also a person with a strong sense of responsibility." "I believe that yesterday, Father must have been so moved by Lord Hamlet and the others’ passion that he embarked on something like a recitation play without considering the consequences." "I beg you to trust Father a little more."

Ham. “My, my—what curious wind blows today? Those crimson lips present a grand spectacle of spouting flames.” “If you’d always keep up this vigor, I’d have worthy competition—how delightful that’d be.”

Oph.

“Because you immediately make light of things like that, I don’t feel like saying anything anymore.” “I am speaking seriously.” “Lord Hamlet.” “From today onward, I’ve decided to say everything I think exactly as it is.” “I think even Lord Hamlet would praise me for it.” “Whenever I dawdle and hesitate or start to say something then stop, Lord Hamlet would get upset and teach me: ‘You mustn’t do this because you don’t trust me—your calculations in affection are too strong, that’s why you stammer so.’” “For these past two months, I had completely lost my confidence, so I ended up sniveling and sighing without being able to say what I wanted to say.” “I wasn’t like that before, but ever since I came to hold this painful secret, I’ve become completely hopeless.” “But after receiving various kind words from Her Majesty the Queen yesterday, I’ve completely regained my spirits.” “My physical condition has also improved remarkably since yesterday, as if I’ve become a different person, and now my heart is filled solely with the hope of giving birth to Lord Hamlet’s child and raising them robustly.” “I am happy now.” “I’m just so... happy, somehow.” “From now on, I’ll return to being the tomboy Ophelia of old—hold my head high and blurt out every thought that comes to mind.” “Lord Hamlet, you’re a bit of a sophist.” “I’m sorry.” “Because everything you say somehow feels like an act.” “That’s so cloying.” “I’m sorry.” “You always seem drunk.” “I’m sorry.”

“You’re showing off.” “That’s vile.” “Isn’t that just your melodramatic streak?” “You always have to cast yourself as the tragic hero, don’t you?” “I’m sorry.” “But that’s just how it is!” “Neither His Majesty the King nor my father Polonius are such terrible, lowly people as you make them out to be, Lord Hamlet.” “Because Lord Hamlet is being spiteful and sulking all by himself, His Majesty the King, my father, and Her Majesty the Queen are all quite worn out.” “That’s all there is to it, I think.” “Lately, it seems some unpleasant rumors have been spreading around the castle, but no one was seriously spreading them.” “The wet nurses and maids at my place are casually saying things like, ‘Such plays are popular abroad,’ and ‘They’re cleverly staged plays.’” “They show no sign of ever dreaming that it could be about the King and Queen of Denmark.” “Everyone peacefully respects His Majesty the King and Her Majesty the Queen.” “I think that’s just fine.” “In this Elsinore Castle, the only one who truly doubts and suffers is you, Lord Hamlet.” “I hear Father put on a recitation play last night out of a sense of justice, but what on earth was that about?” “I’m not quite sure—even I don’t understand.” “Father must have gotten excited.” “Because Father gets excited very easily.” “I have no right to scrutinize Father’s actions, and it’s only natural that a girl wouldn’t understand anything even if she questioned what fathers do—so while I can’t speak definitively, I do trust him.”

“I also trust His Majesty the King.” “Her Majesty the Queen has been my object of respect from the very beginning.” “It’s nothing at all.” “Lord Hamlet alone goes on about schemes and rogues and maneuvering, declaring as if swarms of wicked people surrounded us—you’re so terribly tense about it all, but it’s absurd.” “I’m sorry.” “Because you’re conjuring shadows of enemies with your own imagination where none exist, acting all grave about needing constant vigilance and being easily deceived.” “Even His Majesty the King and Her Majesty the Queen truly love you, Lord Hamlet—why can’t you understand that?” “There are no wicked people anywhere.”

“Lord Hamlet.” “You might be the only wicked one.” “While everyone lives peacefully and harmoniously, you come spouting convoluted reasoning to attack them all and cause pain—then act as though yours were the only pure and devoted love in this world—”

Ham.

“Ophelia, wait. “Your sniveling tries my patience enough without this pompous bluster when you’re carried away.” “Ophelia, you’re not yourself today.” “You understand nothing.” “Is that so…” “So this is how you’ve interpreted me all along.” “How disappointing.” “Women never grasp things no matter how you explain.” “You don’t comprehend a single thing.” “I’m weak-willed.” “Or perhaps drunk.” “Disgusting.” “Melodramatic.” “Very well.” “If that’s how it appears.” “But I’m certainly not conceited enough to believe my love alone pure and devoted while attacking others arbitrarily.” “Rather the opposite.” I am an insignificant man. I am a spineless man. I writhe in shame over it.

I knew my own incompetence and vices so thoroughly it sickened me, leaving no place to stand. I was absolutely no sophist. I was a realist. I knew everything with perfect clarity. I knew all my foolishness and disgrace with perfect clarity. But that wasn't all. I was sensitive to people's hidden darkness. I was quick to sniff out people's secrets. This was a base habit. There's a proverb that vice discovers vice—exactly right, for one can quickly spot others' vices only by sharing them. When committing wrongdoing myself, I grew sensitive to others' transgressions. Not something to take pride in—rather, a truly shameful instinct. I unfortunately possessed that repulsive faculty. My suspicions had never once been wrong. Ophelia, I was an unfortunate child. You wouldn't understand. I possessed nothing lofty. Nothing but a shiftless coward and an overflow of sensations. How was such a child supposed to keep living? Ophelia, when I spoke ill of my uncle, mother, or Polonius, it wasn't from contempt or disgust.

I had no such right. I was resentful. I resented always being betrayed and abandoned by them. I trusted them and even held respect for them in some corner of my heart, yet they viewed me with wary suspicion—treating me with strained, bitter smiles like someone gingerly touching filth—ah, were they all such refined people? They betrayed me spectacularly every time. They had never once confided in me or sought my counsel. They had never once raised their voices to scold me. Why did they dislike me so much? I always loved them. I loved them, loved them, loved them. I would have given my life for them at any moment. Yet they avoided me, criticized me furtively behind my back, sighing things like “What a nuisance the young master is” while affecting refined airs. I knew perfectly well. I wasn’t being resentful. I merely knew the precise truth. “Ophelia, have you grasped even a little?” “Even you joining the adult ranks to give me advice-sounding nonsense is pathetic.” “There was a philosopher who said ‘If you want to know loneliness, fall in love.’ How true.” Ah, I was starved for love. I wanted simple words of love. “Hamlet, I love you!”

"Isn't there someone who'll shout clearly and loudly, 'Hamlet, I love you!'?"

“Ophelia.” “No. “This time Ophelia won’t be defeated so easily. “Lord Hamlet, you’re truly adept at evasion. “Whatever I say, you counter. “When I mention bearing burdens, you invert it to proclaim no man lives more wretchedly than yourself. “If you truly recognize your flaws so clearly, why not quietly strive to amend them instead of endlessly ridiculing and berating yourself? “There’s no meaning in this constant self-mockery. “Forgive me. “You’re simply an incorrigible show-off. “This is truly exasperating. “Lord Hamlet, compose yourself. “Cease uttering these maidenish sweet nothings about craving words of love. “Everyone loves you. “You’re being rather greedy. “I apologize. “For when one truly loves, words of affection grow hollow and distasteful to speak. “Those who love gradually cultivate silent pride in their devotion. “They nurture modest confidence that silence will someday be understood. “Yet you trample that fragile pride—trying to rip open mouths and force screams of love.”

“Loving is shameful.” “And being loved feels somehow awkward.” “That’s why even those who love each other deeply can hardly bring themselves to say ‘I love you.’” “Trying to force them to shout it out is cruel.” “You’re being selfish.” “Lord Hamlet, even if you cannot believe my love, please at least trust in Her Majesty the Queen’s affection.” “Her Majesty deserves pity.” “She relies solely on you alone, Lord Hamlet.” “Yesterday in the garden, Her Majesty took my hand and wept bitterly.”

Ham. “That’s unexpected. To hear a philosophy of love from you—how unexpected. Since when did you become such an expert? Enough already—you should stop. A woman who learns petty sophistry will inevitably be abandoned by men. Paul says so. ‘I do not permit a woman to teach or exercise authority over a man; she must remain quiet.’ And it concludes: ‘If a woman abides in modesty, faith, love, and purity, she will be saved through childbearing.’ Meaning you shouldn’t try to lecture people or dominate men—just quietly contemplate your unborn child. Since you’re a good girl, never spout such nonsense again. The world would turn dark. I see Mother’s poisoned advice has filled you with this strange confidence. For all her faults, Mother’s quite the theorist. You’ll incur Paul’s punishment soon enough! Next time you see Mother, tell her this: There has never existed a single instance of wordless love since antiquity. To stay silent while claiming true affection is sheer stubborn self-righteousness. Saying ‘I love you’ is embarrassing. It’s embarrassing for everyone. But it’s in shutting your eyes to that shame—in shouting love’s words while leaping into raging waves—that love’s true essence lies.”

“Being able to stay silent ultimately means their love is shallow.” “Selfishness.” “There’s calculation at play.” “They’re just cowering from future responsibility.” “Can such a thing even be called love?” “Claiming embarrassment as an excuse for silence means you’re prioritizing your own comfort.” “You fear plunging into raging torrents.” “If you truly loved someone, words of affection would spill forth unbidden.” “Even stammering would suffice.” “A single word would do.” “Desperate words would force their way out.” “Even cats yowl and doves coo, don’t they?” “Tell Mother this—there’s never been wordless love in any age or land.” “Love is words.” “Let words vanish, and love too disappears from this world.” “If you imagine love has substance beyond speech, you’re profoundly deluded.” “It’s written in Scripture.” “‘The Word was with God, and the Word was God. In Him was life, and that life was mankind’s light.’ That’s why I’ll have Mother read it to you.”

“Ophelia.” “No, I am absolutely not speaking these things because Her Majesty the Queen instructed me to.” “I am merely stating what I truly believe to the best of my ability.” “Lord Hamlet, you say such dreadful things.” “If love has nothing but words, then I think love is such a trivial thing.” “Such a thing would be better off not existing at all.” “It merely complicates the world.” “I simply cannot believe what you say, Lord Hamlet.” “God exists.” “God remains silent and loves all.” “God loves you!” “He would never shout such things.” “But God loves.” “God silently and equally loves everyone—the forests, the grass, the flowers, the rivers, girls, adults, even bad people—all of them.”

Ham.

“You’re speaking childishly. What you believe in is a heretical idol. God properly possesses words. Just think. What first clearly taught us about God’s existence? Wasn’t it words? Wasn’t it the Gospel? Therefore, Christ— Oh! Uncle came rushing in with a crowd of retainers, his face frantic. Was there some ceremony happening in the great hall today? This was a room we rarely used, so I had thought it suitable for secretly meeting Ophelia and had taken to summoning her here occasionally, but unexpected things like this could happen—one couldn’t let their guard down. Ophelia, quick! Escape through that door! We’ll continue this discussion properly next time. From now on, I’ll teach you various things.” That’s right—that door. How quick she was! She vanished like the wind. “Love turns women into acrobats, they say—what a clumsy joke.”

King. A crowd of retainers. Hamlet.

King.

“Ah, Hamlet.” “It has begun.” “The war has begun!” “Laertes’ ship has been sacrificed.” “A report has just arrived.” “The ship carrying Laertes and his men approached the Kattegat Strait when a Norwegian warship suddenly materialized from nowhere and opened fire without warning.” “This was a merchant vessel—it couldn’t endure.” “Yet Laertes was courageous.” “He rebuked the cowering crew, rallied their spirits, stood on the upper deck with rifle ready, and fired ceaselessly while ammunition lasted.” “Enemy shells struck our mast, and instantly the sails burst into raging flames.” “Another shell hit the ship’s hull with a dull explosion, tilting the vessel beyond recovery.” At this moment, Laertes finally ordered lifeboats prepared—first helping four or five passengers aboard, then commanding crewmen with families to evacuate. He remained on board with five or six rugged, death-defying young sailors, all drawing swords to await the enemy assault. “They say Laertes resolved to die without permitting even one enemy soldier aboard his homeland’s ship, maintaining composure like Hercules.” “The enemy sailors glimpsed this hero’s figure and cowered fearfully, left only to circle our burning ship and await its self-immolation.” “Laertes tragically shared his vessel’s fate.” “A man of irreplaceable worth.” “A true loyal retainer unlike his father—no, rather, a splendid hero who brings no shame to his father’s name.” “We must repay Laertes’ pure-hearted devotion.” “Now is Denmark’s hour to rise.” “The longstanding enmity with Norway has finally erupted.”

“Upon receiving that urgent report this morning, I resolved at once.” “God allies Himself with justice.” “If we fight, our Denmark will surely prevail.” “Why—I’ve long awaited this opportunity.” “Laertes has made himself a noble sacrifice.” “Both father and—no, rather, I shall ensure Laertes’ spirit receives lavish rites.” “That is my duty as king.”

Ham. “Laertes. The same age as me—twenty-three. A childhood friend. Stubborn and quick-tempered—I always found him difficult—but a good man. Dead? Ophelia would faint if she heard. Thank God she wasn’t here. Laertes. To gild his reputation, to pave his path to advancement—just as he left for France, this calamity struck. In that instant he cast aside ambition, sacrificed himself without regret to protect Denmark’s honor. I lost. Laertes. You hated me. I never liked you either. After Ophelia... I grew afraid of you. We’d competed fiercely since childhood. Worthy rivals. Smiling at each other while nursing hatred. You were in my way. But you... you were magnificent. “Father—”

King. “You’ve called me ‘Father’ for the first time.” “Truly worthy of Denmark’s prince.” “For the nation’s fate, we must cast aside all private feelings.” “This very day, I shall assemble the ministers in this hall to make a grave proclamation.” “Hamlet, show us your noble bearing as general.”

Ham. “No, I shall become a weak common soldier.” “I lost to Laertes.” “How is Polonius doing?” “In that person’s heart too, there must be something anguished.”

King:

“That is naturally the case.” “I am fully prepared to console him.” “Now, what could have happened to the Queen?” “She has not been seen since this morning.” “I currently have Horatio searching, but have you not seen her?” “It would be problematic if the Queen does not attend today’s proclamation ceremony.” “After all, it’s inconvenient not having Polonius at times like this.”

Ham. “Then what about Polonius? “Is he no longer in this castle?” “Did he depart somewhere?” “Uncle, why are you so pale?”

The King: “It’s nothing to worry about. “On this pivotal morning for Denmark’s destiny, the personal circumstances of someone like Polonius are no matter of concern. “Don’t you agree? “I will state plainly: Polonius is not in this castle now. “He was a disloyal retainer. “The fuller details are not fit for discussion at this hour. “In due course, I shall make a proper announcement—openly and without concealment.”

Ham.

"Something happened? Last night... something happened? The way Uncle was flustered didn't seem to stem solely from war excitement. I too had carelessly become enraptured by Laertes' gallant death and forgotten the surrounding troubles. Uncle might be trying to use this war to cover up his own dark past. Unexpectedly, this could be—

The King. "What are you muttering to yourself about? "Hamlet! "You're a fool! An utter fool! "Stop this foolishness immediately! "War is neither jest nor sport. "In all Denmark now, only you refuse seriousness. "If you doubt me so profoundly, I shall answer plainly. "Hamlet, that castle rumor holds truth. "No—the claim I poisoned your father is false. "I merely resolved to do so one night—nothing more. "The late king succumbed suddenly to illness. "Hamlet—do you still mean to punish me? "It was for love. "Bitter though it is—precisely that. "Hamlet—there! I've laid bare everything. "Do you mean to punish me?"

Ham. “You should ask God.” “Ah, Father!” “No, Uncle—not you.” “I had my father.” “Poor Father.” “Father who kept smiling among filthy traitors.” “Traitors—here’s your answer!” The King. “Ah! “Hamlet—have you gone mad?” Drawing his dagger and brandishing it faster than sight could follow, he slashed his own left cheek. “You fool.” “How filthy—the blood flows.” “What sort of performance is this?” Just as he thought the blade would strike him down, Hamlet whirled its point to wound his own cheek. “A suicide rehearsal? Some new extortion?” “If this concerns Ophelia—no need for worry, you fool.” “When you return victorious, I’ll have her attend you without fail.” “Cease this weeping.”

“When war breaks out, you too will be a commander.” “If you keep crying like that, you’ll lose your subordinates’ trust.” “Ah—now the blood’s reached your coat.” “Someone take Hamlet over there and tend to his wound.” “Perhaps the excitement of war has driven him mad.” “What a spineless coward.” “Oh, Horatio! What is the matter?” Horatio. The King. Hamlet. Many attendants.

Hore.

“Forgive my disheveled appearance! “Ah, Her Majesty the Queen—in the garden’s stream—” The King. “Did she jump in?” Horatio. “It was too late.” “It appears to have been Her Majesty’s resolved end.” “Her Majesty was wearing mourning clothes and tightly clutching a small silver cross in her right palm.”

The King. “She was weak.” “The one meant to aid me chose foolish selfishness at this crucial hour.” “This is no fault of mine!” “Her weakness doomed her.” “She yielded to others’ machinations.” “How pitiful.” “What?!” “There exist men who endure life steeped in disgrace.” “Death is the refuge of the selfish.” “I shall not die.” “I will live to fulfill my ordained fate.” “God must love a solitary man such as myself.” “Grow strong!”

Claudius. “Forget love.” “Forget vanity.” “Fight for Denmark’s honor—that supreme banner!” “Hamlet, there’s a man weeping more profoundly within than you.”

Ham.

“I can’t believe it.” “My doubts will stay with me until I die.”

(Published by Bungeishunju Ltd., July 1941)