Pathway to Japanese Literature

Preface This came into being—or rather, there was no other way. However, I wish to inform readers that this work is neither a commentary on Shakespeare’s *Hamlet* nor by any means a book offering 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, it has not the slightest academic or political significance. A confined psychological experiment.

One might say I wrote a typification of a group of youths from a certain past era. I wrote about the events of just three days within one family—or, to be precise, two families—revolving around that troublesome young man. It seems there are psychological nuances that are easy to overlook with just one reading—but if you were to say, “Who has time to read it two or three times?” then that would be the end of it. To readers who have the time—if possible—please try rereading it. Moreover, readers who find themselves with too much time on their hands might make even more interesting discoveries if they take this opportunity to reread Shakespeare’s *Hamlet* and compare it with this *Shin Hamlet*.

In writing this work, I too read through only Dr. Tsubouchi's translation of *Hamlet* and Mr. Uraguchi Bunji's *New Annotated Hamlet* once. Since Mr. Uraguchi’s *New Annotated Hamlet* included the entire original text, I read through it with great effort, dictionary in hand. I felt I had gained various new insights, but there was no need to report each and every one of them here. Additionally, while there are a few lines in the second section that seem to lightly tease Dr. Tsubouchi’s translation, since I wrote them in a lighthearted spirit, the doctor’s disciples must not take offense. Having now read through Dr. Tsubouchi’s translation of *Hamlet* in its entirety, I couldn’t help feeling that plays like Shakespeare’s *Hamlet* must indeed be rendered in an antiquated kabuki style as the doctor did—as there was no alternative.

When reading Shakespeare’s *Hamlet*, one cannot help but sense the colossal genius at work. The blaze of passion is massive. The characters’ footsteps resound loudly. I thought it was quite something. This *Shin Hamlet* of mine is nothing more than faint chamber music.

Furthermore, the script for the reading drama in Section Seven of the work was crafted by the author through somewhat garishly embellishing Christina Rossetti’s *Time and Ghosts*. The author must also apologize to Rossetti’s spirit.

Finally, while this work’s form somewhat resembles a play/drama in style, I must clarify that I never intended it as such. The author is fundamentally a novelist. He knows almost nothing about playwriting techniques. I would ask you to regard this as what might be called a novel in the LESEDRAMA mode.

February, March, April, May. It took me four months to finally complete it. When I reread it, I feel a certain loneliness. But at present, I don’t seem capable of writing anything beyond this. The author’s ability extends no further than this. Even if I were to flail about in self-justification, it would be futile.

Showa 16, early summer.

Characters.

Claudius. (King of Denmark.)

Hamlet. (Son of the former king and nephew of the current king.)

Polonius. (Chamberlain.)

Laertes. (Polonius’s son.)

Horatio. (Hamlet’s school friend.)

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

Ophelia. (Polonius’s daughter.)

Others.

Location.

The capital of Denmark, Elsinore.

1. The Great Hall within Elsinore Castle

King. Queen. Hamlet. Chamberlain Polonius. His son Laertes. In addition, numerous attendants.

King.

“Everyone must be tired. “You’ve worked hard. “The former king passed away so suddenly, and before our tears could dry, someone like me succeeded to the throne—and then held this wedding ceremony with Gertrude—though it was awkward for me too—all for Denmark’s sake. “Since we thoroughly consulted everyone and settled matters properly, I believe my brother beneath the earth—the former king—will forgive us through your selfless patriotic devotion. “Denmark has indeed been at odds with Norway of late—war could erupt any moment—and we couldn’t leave the throne vacant even a day. “Though Prince Hamlet’s youth led you all to urge me to ascend instead—I lack my brother’s skill or virtue—as you see—my presence hardly befits a blood brother—such an inept younger sibling—I agonized over bearing this burden and avoiding foreign scorn—until Gertrude’s renowned virtue made her resolve to stand by me lifelong and lend her strength for Denmark. “You’ve all worked hard. “Two months have passed since my brother’s death—yet everything still feels dreamlike. “But through your wise counsel—I’ve managed thus far without grave error. “As I remain unseasoned—I ask you continue loyal service from today onward—to ease my mind. “Ah—I nearly forgot. “Laertes mentioned having some request? “What was it?”

Leya.

“Yes. “To tell the truth, I humbly wish to request permission to go to France once more to pursue my studies.”

King. “As for that matter, I have no objection. “I’ve had you work quite hard these past two months as well. “Now that things here have settled for the time being, take your time and study.”

Leya.

“I am deeply obliged.”

King. “You’ve consulted your father about this already, I presume.” “Polonius, what do you say?”

“Poro.” “Yes. “Since he was so persistent in his pleas, last night I finally relented and instructed him to try appealing to Your Majesty instead.” “Heh heh. It seems young people find the allure of France rather hard to forget.”

King.

“It’s only natural. “Laertes, for a child, their father’s permission matters more than the king’s approval. “Family harmony is loyalty to the king. “If your father has given his consent, that suffices. “Don’t overdo it—go and enjoy yourself. “When you’re young, even play has its vigor—I envy that. “Hamlet seems rather listless lately—do you also wish to go to France?”

Ham. “Me?” “Don’t mock me.” “I’m heading to hell.”

King.

“What are you sulking about? “Ah, right. “You said you wanted to go back to Wittenberg University again, didn’t you?” “But please refrain from that.” “I ask this of you.” “You are the one who must soon succeed to the throne of Denmark.” “As the nation is currently in troubled times, I have temporarily assumed the throne, but once this crisis passes and the people’s hearts settle, I intend to have you succeed me and finally take a proper rest.” “Therefore, you must stay by my side from now on and strive to learn the ways of governance.” “No—I want you to help me.” “Please give up on going to university.” “This is also a wish from me as your father.” “If you were gone, even the Queen would feel lonely.” “You also appear to have been harming your health lately.”

Ham. "Laertes—"

“Laertes—” Leya. “Yes.”

Ham. “You’re fortunate to have such a good father.”

Queen. “Hamlet, what in the world are you talking about?” “To me, you seem to be doing nothing but sulking.” “Quit that snide, affected attitude.” “If you have grievances, speak them plainly like a man.” “I detest that manner of speech.”

Ham. “Shall I say it clearly?”

King. “I understand. “I want to take this opportunity to speak with you alone at length. “The Queen needn’t be so angry either. “Young people ought to have their own valid perspectives. “It seems I still have many things to reflect upon myself. “Hamlet, you needn’t cry.”

Queen.

“What? Look at those tears. You’ve always been good at fake tears since you were little. Don’t coddle him—give him a proper scolding.”

King.

“Gertrude, watch your words. Hamlet is not your child alone. Hamlet is the Prince of Denmark.”

Queen.

“That’s precisely why I’m saying this.” “Hamlet is already twenty-three.” “How much longer will he keep acting spoiled?” “As his birth mother, I am ashamed of this child.” “Look here.” “Today is the king’s first audience ceremony, yet this child alone insists on wearing ominous mourning clothes—likely fancying himself tragic—but he doesn’t even consider how much this torments us.” “There’s nothing about what this child is thinking that I don’t understand.” “Even this mourning attire is meant to harass us.” “He’s trying to imply we’ve already forgotten the late king’s death.” “No one has forgotten.” “In their hearts, everyone grieves deeply, but we cannot dwell solely on that grief now.” “We must think of Denmark as a nation.” “We must think of Denmark’s people.” “We aren’t even free to grieve.” “Our bodies may be our own, but they do not belong to us.” “Hamlet doesn’t understand that at all.”

King. “No, that’s too harsh. You mustn’t speak in such a cornering manner. It only serves to hurt people needlessly. The Queen, secure in her role as a birth mother, relies too heavily on that affection—but for the young, explicit words hold greater weight than unspoken affection. I remember it well myself. Through words, one feels as though their entire being is defined. The Queen is acting strangely today too. I see no issue with Hamlet wearing mourning clothes. Youth’s sentimentality is pure. To forcibly assimilate that into our lives would be sinful. We must cherish it. We ourselves may need to learn from this youth’s purity. Even when we think we understand, there are times we lose something precious before realizing it. In any case, I wish to speak with Hamlet alone at length—everyone please withdraw for now.”

“Queen.” “Very well, I shall take my leave.” “I may have spoken too harshly myself, but you, bound by obligation, seem excessively gentle with this child.” “If this continues, no matter how much time passes, this child will never become respectable.” “Even if the late king were here, he would surely be furious at this child’s attitude today and would have struck him.”

“Ham.” “Then hit me.”

The Queen. “What are you saying now? Be more forthright.”

King. “Hamlet.”

King. “Hamlet, please have a seat here. If you don’t want to, you can stay as you are. I’ll stand as well while we talk. Hamlet, you’ve grown up. You’re already about the same height as me. You’ll keep growing into adulthood from here on out. But you need to put on a bit more weight. You’ve gotten quite thin. Your complexion hasn’t been looking well lately. You must show some restraint. Please consider your grave future responsibilities. Today, let’s take our time to talk here—just the two of us. I’ve been waiting for an opportunity for us to be alone together for some time now. I will speak my thoughts openly and without reservation, so you too must speak frankly—hold nothing back. Even when people love each other deeply, if they don’t put it into words, there are cases in this world where they remain unaware of each other’s love. The philosopher’s view that humans are creatures of words—I think I can understand that. Today, let’s talk properly—just the two of us. I too have been busy these past two months and haven’t had a chance to speak with you properly. I truly had no time for that.”

“Please forgive me.” “You too—for some reason—kept avoiding meeting me.” “Whenever I entered a room, you’d slip right out.” “How lonely that made me each time.” “Hamlet!” “Look up.” “Then answer my questions clearly and seriously.” “I have something to ask you.” “Do you dislike me?” “I am your father now.” “Do you despise me as your father?” “Do you hate me?” “Come—answer me plainly.” “One word will do.” “Let me hear it.”

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

The King. "What did you say?" "I didn’t quite catch that." "Stop fooling around." "I’m asking this seriously." "Don’t answer with clever wordplay." "Life isn’t some theatrical performance."

Ham.

“I should have made myself clear.” “Uncle!” “You were a good uncle, but—”

King. “Are you saying I’m a father you despise?”

Ham. “Real feelings never fade, you know.”

King.

“No, thank you very much.” “You’ve put it well.” “I wish you would always speak that clearly.” “When it comes to truthful words, I will never get angry.” “To tell the truth, I too have the exact same feeling as you.” “There’s no need for you to change your complexion so drastically and glare at me like that.” “Your expressions are a bit exaggerated.” “When one is young, everyone is like that—but you, while saying quite harsh things to others yourself, fly into a rage and make a scene if someone says even a single word to you.” “Just as you find it painful to be told things by others, others too feel just as pained when you speak to them so bluntly—yet you never even consider such a thing.”

Ham. “No—that’s not—absolutely not—absurd.” “I’m always cornered and speaking in anguish.” “I don’t remember ever being so blunt.”

“That’s precisely why I say it isn’t just you,” said the King. “We too always speak out of desperation. We live straining every nerve. To you, we may seem filled with reserves of strength and confidence—but it’s no different from yourselves. Nearly identical, in fact. These days, if we manage to survive a single day in peace, we heave sighs of relief and offer thanks to God. Moreover, I am a man born of the Hamlet royal bloodline. As you well know, indecisiveness and weakness flow through the veins of Hamlet’s house. Both the late king and I were crybabies from childhood. When foreign envoys saw us playing in the gardens, they mistook us for girls. Both sickly from birth. Even the court physicians doubted we’d develop properly. Yet through self-cultivation, the late king became such a splendid wise monarch. I now believe destiny can be reshaped by willpower—the late king proved it possible. I strive with all my might now. To become Denmark’s unshakable pillar. Truly giving my all.” His voice lowered. “But what torments me most now—do you know?—is you.”

“You said earlier that real feelings cannot be denied—well, I too cannot think of you as my own child.” “Let me speak more plainly.” “You were a dear nephew.” “I have loved you sincerely as a clever nephew.” “You too, when the late king was still here, clung to this Uncle Goat.” “The one who first noticed my goat-like face was my dear nephew.” “Uncle too gladly became Uncle Goat.” “Those days were sweet.” “Now you and I are parent and child.” “And so our hearts lie a thousand miles—ten thousand miles—apart.” “The love we once shared has turned wholly to hatred.” “Our becoming parent and child was the root of misfortune.” “But we cannot let this stand.” “Hamlet, I have one request.” “Deceive them.” “At least before the subjects’ eyes, deceive your true feelings.” “Pretend to be on good terms with me.” “It must be repulsive.” “It’s agonizing.” “But there is no other way.”

“The royal family’s discord loses the trust of the subjects, darkens the hearts of the people, and will ultimately invite foreign scorn.” “As the Queen mentioned earlier, our bodies belong to us yet are not our own.” “For Denmark’s sake—for our ancestral land—we must cast aside our personal sentiments.” “Denmark’s soil, seas, and people will soon rest in your palms.” “We must unite now.” “I do not ask you to love me.” “Since even I cannot summon—to speak plainly—the heartfelt affection to embrace you as my own child, I cannot demand that you alone force yourself to love me.” “Merely before others suffices.” “That is our shared bitter duty.” “I believe this is heaven’s will.” “We must submit to it.” “I hold that God rejoices more in dutiful obedience than in immaculate love.” “Moreover, even if our gestures of affection begin as hollow courtesies, I believe true love may yet seep and rise from them.”

Ham. “I understand.” “I’m well aware of that much.” “I find it all so tedious.” “Please let me play a little longer.” “Uncle, I have one request.” “Please let me return to Wittenberg University.”

King. “When it’s just the two of us, you may call me Uncle, but in the presence of the Queen or subjects, you must promise to address me as Father.” “To nitpick over such trivial matters is painful and humiliating for me, but such minor formalities can even influence the fate of Denmark.” “I have been entreating you about this all along.”

Ham. “Is that so.” “Thanks.”

King. "Why must you be this way? Whenever I show even the slightest earnestness in speaking, you immediately bristle, give such a flippant reply, and evade my words."

“Ham.” “Uncle—no, the King—is the one dodging my request.” “I want to go to Wittenberg.” “That’s all there is.”

“Is that true? “I believe that’s a lie. “That’s why I pretended not to hear. “Your wish to return to university isn’t your true intent. “It’s nothing but an excuse. “You’re just saying this to test your rebellion against me. “Even I know this. “The wings of youthful arrogance simply want to flap without purpose. “To thrash about recklessly. “I consider this animal instinct. “You moan while attaching ideals and righteous logic to that instinct. “I can state definitively: “Even were the former king alive now, you’d surely rebel against him. “Disdain him, hate him, gossip about his unreasonableness—give him endless trouble. “That’s your age speaking. “Your rebellion is physical. “Not mental. “Were you to go to Wittenberg now, I foresee the outcome: “Your university friends would welcome you as a hero.”

“Having rebelled against antiquated family traditions, fought a stubborn and cruel stepfather, and returned to university in pursuit of freedom—you’d be showered with kisses and toasts as their true friend, the righteous, unblemished prince.” “But what is this abnormal fervor?” “I would call it physiological sentimentality.” “It resembles a dog frantically rubbing itself against the lawn.” “That was excessive.” “I don’t mean to wholly deny that youthful passion.” “It’s a season ordained by God.” “A sea of fire we must all cross.” “Yet one must crawl out of it swiftly.” “That’s only natural.” “Go mad thoroughly, burn out completely—then awaken posthaste.” “That is the optimal path.” “Even I—as you know—was never wise.” “No—I was an utter fool.” “Even now, I can’t claim full wakefulness.” “But I won’t let *you* fail.” “Have you ever scrutinized the essence of your classmates’ fleeting cheers?” “They’re relief at finding a debauched upperclassman.” “They glorify vice and adventure together—only to drag each other down into becoming grimy, inept dotards.” “I tell you this from my own foolish experience.”

“I spent years living a dissolute university life.” “And what remains now?” “Nothing.” “Only sordid memories.” “Nothing but groaning remorse.” “The sensuality of inertia.” “Those vices overwhelmed me.” “Even now I still suffer from their aftermath.” “Laertes’s case is different.” “He has the hope of advancement.” “People don’t fall into decadence while that hope remains.” “You have no such hope.” “Only a passion to plummet.” “You’ve already spent three years at university.” “That’s enough.” “Repeating that fervor with old friends might bring irreparable consequences.” “The dishonorable wounds of youth heal amid laughter, but a twenty-three-year-old man’s blunders leave foul stains no cloth can wipe clean.” “Exercise restraint.” “University students will only entice you with irresponsible vehemence.” “I know this well.”

“Earlier before the subjects, I stopped your return to university for other reasons—no, what I stated then was indeed important—but more than that, I feared your current wings of arrogance.” “I feared where those wings’ passion might lead.” “What I declared before the subjects—heed this too: stay by me and learn true governance. Yet beyond politics, as your father—no, as a foolish senior’s duty—I meant to warn against your recklessness.” “True, I may lack a father’s love—but duty stands apart.” “I wish to aid you.” “Through my follies’ lessons, I’d shield you.” “I’m resolved to mold you into greatness.” “Doubt this not.” “You’re Denmark’s prince.” “Your station’s unmatched.” “Grow more self-aware.” “Never measure yourself by Laertes.” “Laertes is but your subject.” “France serves only to gild his standing.” “Hence shrewd Polonius permitted it.” “You’ve no such need.” “Abandon Wittenberg.” “This transcends request.” “It’s command.” “My duty’s forging you into a king.”

“Let us have you remain in this royal castle and soon welcome a fine princess, Hamlet.”

Ham.

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

King.

“There, there—I understand. “You’ve been wanting to meet your old school friends again. “There must be things you couldn’t even confess to me. “Then there’s no longer any need to go all the way to Wittenberg. “Horatio—I’ve had him summoned.”

Ham. “Horatio!”

King.

“You look happy.” “He was your closest friend, wasn’t he?” “I also highly value his sincere character.” “He must have already departed from Wittenberg.”

Ham.

“Thank you.”

King.

“Then let’s shake hands. “Once we talk it through, it’s nothing. “From now on, we’ll gradually grow closer. “I spoke disrespectfully to you today, but please don’t take it the wrong way. “The cannon signaling the banquet is firing. “Everyone must be growing impatient. “Let us proceed together.”

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

Hamlet alone.

Ham.

Ugh, I was bored. He just kept droning on and on about the same things. Lately he’d suddenly put on this sanctimonious face and started spouting all these solemn platitudes—but nothing he said mattered anymore. He was just making excuses for himself. It all came down to the Goat Uncle. He used to drink himself stupid and get chewed out by my father all the time—didn’t he? Wasn’t it that Goat Uncle who had incited me and taken me out to play with women beyond the castle? The woman there had called Uncle a pig demon. A goat would at least have been a classy name. He wasn’t even that. He wasn’t even that. It was almost pitiful. He wasn’t qualified. He wasn’t qualified to be king. A Goat King—the very notion struck me as laughably absurd. But Uncle couldn’t be underestimated. He had seen right through me. He had known all along that I never really intended to go to Wittenberg or anywhere like that. He couldn’t be underestimated. The serpent’s path—was it truly a serpent?

Ah, I want to see Horatio. Anyone will do. I want to meet my old friends. There’s something I need to tell someone. There’s something I must discuss! Calling Horatio here was quite the masterstroke from the Goat Uncle. Those who indulge in dissipation do possess an uncanny intuition. Just how much does that damned goat actually know? Ah, I’ve fallen into depravity. I’ve fallen into depravity. Ever since Father died, my life’s been utter chaos. Mother has sided with Goat Uncle over me and become a complete stranger—I’ve gone mad. I am a man of great pride. When I think about my own shameless behavior lately, it’s unbearable. I’ve become someone who can’t speak ill of anyone anymore. Despicable. I grow nervous whenever meeting anyone. Ah—what should I do? Horatio. Father dead—Mother stolen—and on top of it all that goat specter keeps pompously lecturing me.

Disgusting. Filthy. Ah, but more than that—I had something of even more painful, searing anguish within me. No—it was everything. Everything was painful. All sorts of things assaulted me in a tangled mess these past two months. I hadn’t known so many painful things could happen all at once, one after another like this. Suffering begets suffering, sorrow begets sorrow, sighs multiply sighs. Suicide. "That’s the only way out."

II. A Room in Polonius’s Residence

Laertes. Ophelia.

Leya. “You could’ve at least packed my things for me.” “Ah, I’m so busy.” “The ship’s already waiting with its sails filled with wind.” “Hey, bring me that philosophy pocket dictionary.” “Forgetting this would be disastrous.” “French noblewomen are fond of philosophical-sounding words.” “Hey, sprinkle some perfume inside this trunk for me.” “That’s the noble mindset of a gentleman.” There, now the packing was done. It was time to depart. “Ophelia, make sure to take good care of Father while I’m away.” “What are you spacing out for?” “Lately you’ve been making nothing but sleepy faces—I suppose adolescence must be a drowsy affair.” “There’s a little song about someone who snores through nights thinking ‘I’ve got my own troubles too,’ and you’re the spitting image of that.” “Quit dozing off all the time and send word to your brother in France once in a while.”

“Oph.” “Did you think I wouldn’t apologize?”

“Leya.”

“What’s that supposed to be? “Strange wording.” “It’s getting annoying.”

“Oph.” “But Mr. Tsubouchi said—”

“Leya.” “Oh, right. Mr. Tsubouchi may be the greatest scholar in the East, but he slightly overdoes his language. ‘Did you think I wouldn’t apologize?’ Now that’s just terrible! You’re sucking up! No, no—it’s not just Mr. Tsubouchi’s fault. You yourself have been acting rather unsavory lately. Be careful. Your brother understands everything. Slathering your lips with such bright red lipstick—aren’t you just sucking up? Disgusting. What’s with you, acting all coquettish like that?”

Oph. “I’m sorry.”

“Leya.” “Tsk! Crying already? Your brother knows everything.” “I’ve been pretending not to notice until now—still tried hinting you should reflect—but you ignore it completely.” “You’re getting carried away beyond help.” “I never wanted to meddle in this nonsense.” “Disgusting.” “But today—worried what might happen while I’m gone—I brought it up anyway. Now that we’re here, better lay it all out.” “Listen. Give up on him.” “It’s absurd.” “Crystal clear.” “Just think what standing he holds—you’d understand.” “Impossible.” “I oppose this resolutely.” “Let me state it plainly—” “As your only brother—as our late mother’s substitute—I absolutely refuse consent.” “Father’s clueless in his complacency—but imagine if he found out?” “He’d have to resign his post from duty.” “My future goes pitch black.” “You’ll wind up a beggar clutching some fatherless brat.”

“Listen. Tell that person this: ‘If you make Laertes’s sister your plaything, I’ll show no mercy to anyone—no matter their station, I won’t let them live.’ Say that Laertes swore this to the gods and demons.”

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

Leya.

“Idiot. You’re still spouting that nonsense. Disgusting. In that case, I’ll spell it out more clearly for you. My opposition isn’t solely because of that person’s status. I dislike that person. I hate him. He’s a nihilist. A hedonist. I’ve been his playmate since I was little—I know him well. He was very clever. Precocious. He quickly mastered everything he tried. Archery, swordsmanship, horsemanship—even poetry and plays—he excelled at all of them to an almost uncanny degree. But there’s not an ounce of passion. Once he’d mastered something to a passable degree, he’d immediately abandon it. He’s fickle. I can’t stand people with that kind of personality. He’s quick to see through people’s hidden thoughts and smirks with a self-satisfied look as if he alone understands everything. He’s a detestable person.”

“He’s laughing at our earnest efforts.” “That’s what they call a frivolous genius.” “He puts on such affected airs.” “Yet when the King or Queen reprimands him, he snivels before crowds without hesitation.” “A rotten woman of a man.” “Ophelia, you understand nothing.” “But I know.” “That person can’t be relied upon at all.” “Denmark has men more numerous than forest leaves.” “I’ll find you the strongest, kindest, most sincere, handsomest youth among them—just trust me.” “Haven’t you always believed your brother?” “And have I ever deceived you?” “Right? You understand now?” “I beg you—abandon that person from today.” “Should he pester you again, tell him Laertes swore to gods he won’t let him live.” “That coward will pale and tremble.” “You understand?” “If—though unthinkable—you commit some shameless folly in my absence, I won’t spare either of you.” “You know how fearsome I become when angered?” “Now then—smile as we part.”

“I do trust you, really.” Oph. “Farewell.” “Brother, you take care too.”

Leya.

“Thank you. I’m counting on you while I’m away.” “Somehow I’m worried.” “Right—one thing: swear to me before God.” “I’m truly uneasy about this.”

Oph.

“Brother, do you still doubt me?”

Leya.

“No, that’s not what I meant...” “Well, fine then.” “You’ll be all right, won’t you?” “Can I rest assured?” “I don’t want to keep meddling in this sort of matter.” “It’s undignified for me as your brother.”

Polonius. Laertes. Ophelia.

Poro.

“What? You’re still here?” “Since you came to bid farewell earlier, I’d assumed you’d left long ago.” “Come now—off you go.” “Ah, wait—hold on.” “Before we part, let me instruct you once more on the principles for your studies abroad.”

Leya.

“Ah, that—I’ve already been told that three times, no, definitely four times, though.”

Poro.

“It doesn’t matter how many times! “Even repeating it ten times wouldn’t be excessive. “Listen well—first and foremost, do not concern yourself with school grades. “If you have fifty classmates, ranking around fortieth is most commendable. “Under no circumstances should you even consider aiming for first place. “A child of Polonius has no business being that intelligent. “Know the limits of your abilities, resign yourself to them, and study with humility. “That’s the first principle. “Next: do not fail. “Even if you cheat, that’s fine—but just don’t fail. “Failing will leave a lifelong scar on you. “When you’re old and finally attain some respectable position—they’ll forget your youthful cheating but never your failures—people will meddle and pull at your sleeves, pointing fingers behind your back to mock you. “Schools are fundamentally designed to prevent students from failing. “Failing that is invariably the result of students themselves forcefully and willingly volunteering for it. “Sentimentality. “That’s rebellion against teachers. “It’s vanity. “It’s a pointless sense of justice. “There are students who take pride in failing and make their parents weep, but they’ll regret it when they’re old and on the brink of success. “In their student days, they believe cheating is the greatest disgrace and failing the act of a hero—but when they enter the real world, they realize it’s the opposite.”

“Cheating is no disgrace—consider failure itself the root of defeat.” “Oh, once you’ve left school, try reminiscing with your classmates about old times.” “They’re all cheating anyway.” “Even if they confess to each other, they’ll just clap shoulders, laugh it off, and leave it at that.” “It won’t leave lasting scars.” “But failing’s different.” “Confess that, and people won’t just innocently chuckle and let it slide.” “You’ll end up despised somehow.” “An obstacle to advancement—the very foundation of servility.” “Thinking life exists solely in student days? Grave mistake.” “Be meticulous—act without oversight.” “You’re Polonius’s child, are you not?” “Next: choosing friends.” “This too matters greatly.” “Befriend one student a grade above you.” “To learn exam tactics.” “They’ll tell you examiners’ grading quirks.” “Then bond with one top student in your year.” “To borrow their notes and seat them beside you during tests.” “Two classmates suffice.”

“Unnecessary friendships are unnecessary expenses.” "Now, next—regarding money." “This requires particular attention.” “You must never engage in any lending or borrowing of money.” “Borrowing is inherently improper, and you must never lend either.” “Even if you starve to death, do not take on debt.” “The world is structured to prevent people from starving to death.” “People of this fleeting world may forget having sent their daughters off to marry, but they never forget lending someone even a single ryo.” “Even if someone repays one ryo as ten, they still never forget the single ryo they lent.” “This too becomes a lasting obstacle to advancement.” “A man who harbors great ambitions does not incur even a speck of debt.” “You must never lend either.” “The man who borrows from you will surely speak ill of you.” “When they’ve borrowed from you and feel ashamed—resentful toward you—they’ll inevitably badmouth you somewhere.” “In other words, the seed of future discord.” “Since it would be regrettable for anything to harm our mutual friendship, unless one is a man who can clearly refuse such requests by stating, ‘I deliberately won’t lend to you,’ achieving great success in the future will be nearly impossible.” “Do you understand?” “Be careful with how you handle money.” “Borrowing is out of the question.” “Lending is out of the question.”

“Next, drinking.” “Drink in moderation.” “But never drink alone.” “Drinking alone breeds delusions and hastens melancholy.” “No matter how much you drink, your spirits won’t lift.” “Once a week, drink with classmates.” “And never be the one to propose it.” “When others invite you, make a show of reluctant acceptance—that’s the clever man’s way.” “Eager agreement marks a rash fool.” “Drinking etiquette is treacherous.” “Never drink to vomiting drunkenness.” “All will scorn you.” “Shouting and picking fights indiscriminately will only earn you avoidance—no good comes of it.” “Ideally, sit humbly, listen intently to debates, and nod earnestly at each point—that’s the model demeanor. But once you’ve overdrunk, even this becomes impossible.” “In such moments, leap up and roar your university anthem as if to rend your throat.” “When finished, smile warmly and resume drinking.” “If someone badgers you into argument, stiffen, stare them down, then quietly say: ‘You’re a lonely soul, aren’t you?’” “Even the keenest debater will crumble.” “Yet better still to smile and let it pass like wind through willows.” “If revelry turns riotous, cultivate the habit of rising without hesitation and slipping back to your lodgings.”

“A man lacking resolve who keeps dawdling at banquets thinking something good might happen has no hope of rising in the world. When leaving, do not forget to select a reliable classmate and hand them a sufficient fee. If the fee were three ryo, make it five. If the fee were five ryo, leave ten and promptly withdraw—that’s what makes a good man. Without harming others or being harmed yourself—thus your reputation will naturally rise. Ah, and there is another matter requiring the utmost caution in drinking. That is—at drinking gatherings, refrain from making any promises. If you aren’t extremely careful, something terrible will happen. Drinking stirs passion and elevates the spirit. In the heat of the moment, you’ll thoughtlessly take on tasks beyond your capabilities, and by the time you sober up and turn pale with regret, it’ll be too late. This is the first step to ruin. Do not make promises while drunk. Next, women. This too cannot be helped. However—above all else—guard against self-conceit. You are Polonius’s son. Like your father, you’re not cut out to be loved by women. You must not forget that you’ve been a loud snorer since childhood. With such loud snoring, any woman other than your wife will surely be put off. When you encounter a woman’s temptation, make sure to remember that loud snoring.”

“Do you understand? Even if you’re disliked in France, there’s a beautiful girl in Denmark who insists it must be you—so leave that to me. Over there, you shouldn’t get too conceited. When you engage in womanizing in your youth, it’s not about purchasing women but showing off your manliness—so consider self-conceit your greatest enemy. Now, next—”

Reya.

“Gambling.” “Lose only 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 an inconspicuous jacket.”

“Polo.” “Next is—”

Reya. “Do not forget to bring a souvenir for the inn’s landlady. You must not become too friendly.”

“Polo.”

“Next is—”

Reya.

“Keeping a diary, buying hardtack to stock up, 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 proper letter.” “Ophelia, goodbye—don’t forget what your brother told you earlier.”

Polo. “Ah, he’s already gone.” “What a hasty one.” “But well, I suppose that’s enough said.” “I forgot to mention the remittance limits—ah, and neglected to emphasize the need for strolls. Well, I’ll write it all in a letter later.” “Oh, Ophelia, your complexion looks poor.” “Your brother made some unreasonable demand of you, didn’t he?” “I know.” “He badgered you for pocket money, yes?” “Because what you receive from Father alone proves insufficient, he threatened and ordered you to keep sending monthly sums secretly from now on.” “No, that’s precisely it.” “He’s a bad one.”

Off.

“No, Father, that’s not it.” “Brother isn’t such a trivial person.” “It’s all right.” “Even if you don’t give such detailed advice now, Brother already knows all of it.”

Polo.

“Well, that’s right.” “That goes without saying.” “What good is he at twenty-three if he doesn’t even know that much?” “Even at the same age, compared to someone like Lord Hamlet, he’s three times more mature.” “Laertes is a child who will surpass this old man.” “But all that nagging and nitpicking I do—it’s a carefully considered tactic of mine.” “Even if that child finds me bothersome, knowing there’s someone who fusses over him gives him something to live for.” “If he comes to know there’s one person here who’s deeply worried about his future, I’d be satisfied with that.” “I gave him all sorts of annoying advice, but really, it’s all nonsense.” “They’re all just trivial matters.” “Laertes has Laertes’s own way of life.” “Times have changed too, I suppose.” “Laertes is free to live as he pleases.” “All I want is for him to know just this one fact—that I’m worried and anxious.” “As long as he remembers that, he will never fall into depravity.” “I’ve been worrying for two people—myself and your late mother.” “I wanted that child to know that.” “As long as that child remembers that—as long as he keeps it in mind—ah, I’m just repeating myself.” “This is what they call an old man’s ramblings.” “I’ve grown old before I knew it.”

“Ophelia, sit here. Come, let’s sit together with Father.” “There, that’s good.” “Well, just listen to your father’s grumbling a little longer.” “You’ve been looking more and more like your mother lately.” “I somehow feel like I’m talking to your mother.” “Mother must be rejoicing beyond the grave as well.” “Laertes has grown up sturdy, and you’re gentle and obedient—taking good care of me in my daily life.” “I hear even people outside the castle sing your praises.” “Outrageous that such a handsome child could come from a parent like me—but never mind. I’ve heard such rumors myself.” “Truly, Father should be happy now.” “There shouldn’t be a single thing lacking... yet Ophelia, listen—Father has lately found himself suddenly feeling uneasy at times.” “Is Father going to die soon?” “No need for alarm.” “I don’t mean I’m trying to force myself to die.” “Father had always earnestly thought—no, seriously intended—to somehow live to a hundred... no, a hundred and nine years old.” “I wanted to see Laertes achieve greatness—praise him lavishly—declare myself at ease—then die.” “Such greedy thoughts.” “But Father earnestly wished for that.” “I have no personal enjoyments left now.” “It’s just... Father thought he had to keep living for your sakes.”

“You likely don’t understand how endearing motherless children can be—not even Laertes or you.” “I’d endure any hardship for my children.” “Father here had even contemplated such matters.” “To put it plainly: life demands one final praiser.” “Take Laertes—he’ll strive for others’ approval soon enough. But when the world showers him with hollow praise, I alone shall withhold mine.” “Early praise breeds swift complacency.” “I’ll maintain this stern visage eternally.” “Better yet—I’ll insult him.” “Yet ultimately, I shall praise him without fail.” “I mean to become the supreme praiser.” “Praise him extravagantly.” “Praise him till heaven itself hears!” “Then he’ll deem his struggles worthwhile.” “Then he’ll thank God for life itself.” “All these years I’ve fought to live till a hundred and nine—no, a hundred and eight would suffice—just to become that thundering final praise. But now it feels absurd.” “Withholding praise to nag hurts like stifled rage.” “None but Father would shoulder such torment.” “They call this doting folly.” “Parental avarice.” “Father sought to make Laertes magnificent through this painful duty—yet finds himself growing lonely.”

“No, I’ll keep scolding you all just as much from now on.” “Just now, I gave Laertes such a stern scolding.” “But afterward, I suddenly feel uneasy.” “You see, education isn’t merely about these mental stratagems I’d imagined—I’ve come to vaguely realize that.” “Children eventually see through their parents’ ploys without realizing it.” “What do you think? Quite the revelation for someone like me, no?” “Laertes may be dependable, but being a man, he still has his simple side.” “There are moments when he gets caught up in my clever schemes and throws himself into efforts with reckless zeal.” “That’s his virtue.” “Knowing this, I occasionally employ these tactics with him—and succeed.” “When I loudly admonished him earlier, though he found it tiresome, he ultimately sensed my concern and left with true purpose burning in his heart.” “But Ophelia—Ophelia—come closer here.” “Do you understand what I’ve been trying to say all this time?”

Oph. “You’re scolding me.” Polo.

“That’s it.” “Right.” “You know—that’s why I’m afraid of you.” “Lately… I’ve grown terrified.” “My tactics don’t work on you.” “You see through them instantly.” “It wasn’t always like this.” “Ophelia.” “Exactly.” “All this time… you were only speaking about yourself.” “Every word was filled with concern for yourself.” “You aren’t scolding me.” “Not scolding—but why won’t you speak plainly?” “That loneliness… it eats at you.” “Laertes? I don’t fret over him.” “Shout at him once and he snaps upright.”

“However, Ophelia, I haven’t been able to scold you lately.” “I can’t even speak to you in a strong tone.” “That’s why Father suddenly feels uneasy.” “That’s why I’ve come to hate the idea of living until a hundred and nine.” “That’s why I’ve come to realize education isn’t about mental maneuvering.” “That’s why the idea of being the ultimate praiser has come to seem foolish.” “Even this feeling that I might die soon—Ophelia, it’s all for your sake.” “Ophelia, there’s no need to cry.” “Come now, tell Father everything that’s troubling you.” “From the start, Father has been waiting for you to speak up any moment now.” “So I went on and on with all those meaningless, grumbling things to make it easier for you to speak up casually too, but really, Father’s still got too much maneuvering in him. It’s no good.” “I’m sorry.” “Father is sly and no good.” “Come now, Father won’t scheme anymore—so trust me and just say what’s on your mind.” “Now, where do you think you’re going?” “You don’t need to run away.” “Come on, have a seat.” “Then I’ll tell you myself.” “Ophelia, it seems you were harshly scolded by your brother earlier.” “It wasn’t just about the remittance, was it?”

Oph.

“Father, that’s cruel.” “I’ve had enough.”

“Polo.”

“Alright, I understand.” “Ophelia!” “You’re such a fool.” “It’s no wonder Laertes got angry.” “This morning I received some unpleasant counsel from a subordinate.” “The advice came as a bolt from the blue, but considering your despondent state lately, I thought perhaps...” “I wanted to believe otherwise, but regardless resolved to gently inquire without wounding you.” “I meant to ask with all possible care and consideration, exactly as promised.” “Yet you stubbornly kept silent—even tried to flee.” “But now I see clearly.” “Ophelia, this love affair of yours reeks of cowardice.” “Not a shred of innocence remains.” “It’s tainted.” “Why must you hide it from us so desperately?” “The gentleman’s conduct is truly commendable.” “Brazenly cloaked in mourning garb while shelving his own sins, he directs barbs at the King and Queen instead.” “Is this what passes for romance among youths today?” “Love him if you must.” “The difference in station exists—but such matters aren’t enforced as strictly now as once they were.” “Why couldn’t you have confided in me openly?”

“Lord Claudius is not an unreasonable man.” “Even I made mistakes when I was young.” “I didn’t mean any harm.” “But it’s too late now.” “Now that rumors have spread this far, it’s problematic.” “Fool.” “You’re all fools.” “It’s no use, you know.” “No matter how much you cry, it’s no use, you know.” Even Father was exasperated. So?

“Does Laertes know everything?”

Oph.

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

Polo. “That’s right. That’s exactly what Laertes would say. Well, I’ll keep it quiet from Laertes. If he shows up now, it’ll really be trouble. Nasty business. This is exactly why I can’t stand girls. Hmph, Ophelia. You failed to seize the Queen’s crown.”

III The Terrace

Hamlet.

Horatio.

Ham.

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

Hor. “It’s cold here, isn’t it?” “It smells of the seashore.” “The wind blows straight in from the sea—it’s unbearable.” “Is it this cold here every night?”

Ham. “Nah, it’s actually on the warmer side tonight. For a time it was cold, though. It’ll only get warmer from now on. Denmark too will soon see spring. By the way, how’s everyone doing?” Hor. “Prince. Rather than us, how are you?”

“Ham.”

“You’re phrasing things oddly.” “Is there some bad rumor circulating about me?” “Wittenberg’s got loose lips, you see.” “Horatio.” “You’re acting strange.” “You feel distant somehow.”

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

“Prince,’ huh.” “That wasn’t how it was supposed to be.” “Hey—call me Hamlet like before.” “We’ve turned into complete strangers.” “What did you come to Elsinore for anyway?”

Hor.

“Sorry, sorry. You’re still the same Prince Hamlet as ever, aren’t you? You flare up so quickly. Yet you seem unexpectedly well. You appear alright.”

Ham. “What an unpleasant way to put it. “You must’ve heard some bad rumors. “What is it? “What kind of rumors? Go on, tell me. “Uncle must’ve told you some unnecessary things. “That’s definitely it. “He doesn’t know a damn thing, yet he spouts off nothing but unnecessary crap.”

Hor. “No, Your Majesty’s letter was heartfelt.” “It said that since the Prince was bored, I should come keep him company—written with such excessively polite phrasing it felt almost wasteful.” “It was a most gracious letter.”

Ham. “Don’t lie.” “Something else must have been written in that letter.” “I thought you were the one man who wouldn’t lie, but...”

Hor.

“Prince Hamlet. “Horatio remains your friend of old. “I don’t deal in half-truths. “Very well—I’ll tell you everything I heard at Wittenberg exactly as it came to me. “It’s freezing here. “Let’s go back inside. “Why drag me out to this godforsaken place? “You haul me into this icy darkness without a word, greet me with ‘Ah, been a while,’ and expect me not to grow suspicious?”

Ham. “What do you suspect?” “I see.” “I think I’ve mostly got the gist of it.” “But that’s... I’m quite surprised!”

Hor. “Have you understood? “Anyway, let’s return to the room.” “I didn’t bring a jacket.” Ham. “No, talk to me here. “There’s also something I very much want you to hear about that.” “There’s a mountain of them.” “I can’t let other people hear this.” “This place should be safe.” “It must be cold, but bear with it.”

Once people started keeping secrets, they began to feel like the walls really did have ears. “I’ve grown a bit more suspicious myself lately.” Hor. “I can well imagine.” “I can well imagine your profound grief during this time.” “As for the late king, I had the honor of meeting him a few times, but—”

Ham. “I’m past that point.” “My grief’s blazing up now.” “Well, anyway, why don’t you start by telling me what you heard in Wittenberg?” “If you’re cold, look—I’ll give you my coat.” “Spending too long studying in civilized countries seems to make even your skin refined, huh?”

Hor. “Much obliged.” “My apologies for not bringing a jacket.” “Then I’ll gratefully borrow your coat.” “Ah, I’m fine now.” “I’ve gotten much warmer.” “Thank you very much.”

Ham. “Why don’t you hurry up and tell me? You seem to have come to Denmark just to shiver.”

Hor.

“It’s truly cold.” “I must apologize for my rudeness.” “Lord Hamlet.”

“Well then, I shall begin.” “Oh—I feel there might be someone standing in that patch of darkness over there.”

Ham.

“What are you saying? That’s a willow tree, isn’t it? Beneath it—faintly glowing white—is a stream. The river’s narrow but a bit deep. It was frozen until just the other day, but now it’s thawed and flowing swiftly. You’re even more cowardly than I am. Spending too long in civilized countries seems to—”

Hor. “It seems my senses have also become refined. “Then, no one’s listening, are they?” “No matter how grave a matter I bring up, you won’t mind, will you?”

Ham.

“You’re putting on airs like a damn fool. Haven’t I been telling you from the start that this place is absolutely safe? That’s why I dragged you here.”

Hor. “Well then, I shall begin.” “Do not be surprised.” “Lord Hamlet.” “The people at the university are gossiping about your supposed madness.”

Ham.

“Madness? “That’s absurd again. “I thought it was some love scandal or something. “Ridiculous. “You can tell just by looking at me. “Where would such a rumor even come from? “Ah, I see now. “Uncle’s propaganda, isn’t it?”

Hor.

“There you go again with such talk.” “Why would His Majesty engage in such trivial propaganda?” “It’s absolutely not true.” Ham.

“You’re awfully quick to deny it.” “That Goat Uncle of mine is quite the romanticist, you know.” “Once we became parent and child, our hearts grew a thousand miles apart—love turned to hatred—and there he goes brooding alone over his tragic role. Now he’s changed tactics entirely: ‘The former king dies, Crown Prince Hamlet cracks under grief into melancholy and madness.’” “None other than Claudius—the new king who boldly shoulders this family’s misfortunes.” “It’d make for a fine play.” “That’s Uncle’s propaganda.” “Because he wants to prop himself up and win popularity, he’s been treating me like an idiot lately.” “Putting on such strained airs.” “It’s almost pitiful to watch.” “But spreading rumors I’m insane—don’t you think that’s crossing a line?” “How cruel.” “Uncle’s a wicked man.”

Hor.

“I must repeat—this is not His Majesty the King’s propaganda.” “Lord Hamlet.” “How unfortunate.” “You are unaware of anything, are you not?” “The rumors circulating at the university are not such mild 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, right?” “To urge me to reflect on myself, or something like that.” “That’s how it is, right?”

Hor. “I repeat—in His Majesty the King’s letter, it stated only that I should keep him company. I am certain His Majesty the King never once imagined I might bring such dreadful rumors to you.”

Ham. “Do you really think so? “Well, maybe that’s how it is. “If Uncle had spread such rumors at the university, he wouldn’t do something as risky as summoning you to me. “If you came here, everything would get exposed. “If it’s not Uncle, then who’s behind this? “It’s getting hard to tell. “Anyway, to say that I’ve gone mad—how cruel. “Of course, there are things so painful for me now that I almost think it’d be a blessing if I did lose my mind. “Well, I’ll save that for later. “Horatio. “Is that all there is to the rumors? “Doesn’t it seem like there’s more to this? “Go on, say it. “I’m fine. “I’m fine.”

Hor. “Must I truly speak of it?”

Ham “Cut it out.” “You’re the one who brought it up yourself, and now you’re trying to back out in such a cowardly way?” “Is that the kind of groaning, affected line that’s popular at Wittenberg these days?” Hor “In that case, I shall tell you.” “If you insist on insulting Horatio’s sincerity so thoroughly, then I shall speak.” “Truly, I beg you to take it in stride.” “They’re trivial, worthless rumors.” “Your servant Horatio does not, of course, believe such outrageous rumors.”

“Ham.”

“I don’t care about such things.” I grew irritated. “Never knew you could sound so stiff and formal either.”

Hor.

“I must tell you. The rumor is that a ghost has been appearing at Elsinore Castle lately—”

“That’s really something—how dreadful! Horatio, are you serious? I burst out laughing. Ridiculous. Wittenberg University has really fallen, hasn’t it? What happened to that unique scientific spirit? Though I hear they’ve been focusing heavily on drama studies lately—maybe one of their dimwitted graduate students cooked up such a clumsy plot. Even so—a ghost? What feeble imagination. That they’d make such a fuss over this nonsense—the university’s standards have truly plummeted. A ghost and Hamlet’s madness—that’s a title fit for some cheap melodrama. Uncle told me to quit the university because it’s pointless, and he was right. Uncle’s far smarter. If I associated with those fools and got dragged into their ghost stories, even Uncle would be utterly exasperated this time. Can’t they at least invent a more clever rumor?”

Hor.

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

“Ham.” “Silence!” “You’re the exception.” “Uncle praised only you.” “He called you an honest man.” “Said there was no need for me to go to Wittenberg—that summoning Horatio alone would suffice.” “Truthfully, I never wanted university—but I did want to see you.”

Hor. “I swear my loyalty.” “Yet I must protest—this strange rumor did not spring from our Wittenberg University.” “This I must declare for my alma mater’s honor.” “The rumor arose in Elsinore’s town below, spread through Denmark’s realm, and at last reached even scholars at foreign universities.” “Being so insolent and unspeakable a tale, Horatio himself has grown deeply troubled of late.” “My lord Hamlet—had you truly known nothing until today?”

Ham. “I don’t know about such absurd nonsense. Even so, it seems to have spread pretty far and wide. If it spreads too much, you can’t just laugh it off as ridiculous anymore, you know. I wonder if Uncle and Polonius and his lot know about it. Where on earth do those people keep their ears? Even if they can hear it, are they pretending not to? They’re scheming through and through, those people. Horatio, just what kind of ghost is it? I’ve started to get a little curious.”

Hor.

“Before we proceed, there’s something I must clarify with you.” “Do I have your permission?”

Ham.

“Horatio, I’ve started to find you frightening. Hurry up and tell me. Just say it already, whatever it is. If you keep putting on such airs, I might just want to break off our friendship.” “Hor.”

“I will tell you. “Once I’ve told you, it might amount to nothing. “Surely you’ll have another good laugh over it, and that will settle everything. “Somehow even I’ve started feeling this strange cheerfulness. “Still—if I may ask one thing to be certain—Lord Hamlet, you do of course trust in His Majesty the King’s character?”

Ham.

“That’s an unexpected question. “That’s a bit of a tough one.” “This is tricky.” “What am I supposed to say… I wonder.” “It’s tough.” “What’s wrong with that?” “What does it matter?” Hor. “No, that won’t do.” “Unless I get this clarified now, I cannot tell you anything.”

Ham. “You’re being harsh. “You’ve changed. “You’ve gotten ridiculously stubborn. “You weren’t like this before. “Ah, never mind. “I’ll give you an answer. “Why ask me that now of all times? “Uncle has his sloppy moments, but he isn’t such a bad person. “But if you ask whether I trust his character—well, I’m at a loss. “Is there some nasty rumor about Uncle going around? “People will say all sorts of things. “Either way, this time it was a bit of a mess. “But of course Uncle didn’t decide that alone. “Such things can’t be done single-handedly. “It was settled through deliberations by Polonius and the ministers. “I’m not the sort who could ascend the throne right now anyway. “Denmark’s in a difficult spot these days. “With Norway too—you never know when war might break out. “I still don’t have any confidence.”

“With Uncle having taken the throne, I’ve actually felt more at ease.” “It’s true.” “I want to keep freely joking around and playing with you all for a while longer.” “It’s nothing.” “It’s fundamentally an uncle and nephew relationship, isn’t it?” “The closest blood relative.” “Well, I do say all sorts of selfish things to Uncle.” “There are times when I’ll say things just to annoy him.” “I’ll even scorn him at times.” “There are plenty of times when I deliberately sulk and don’t even give a proper reply.” “But that’s just between uncle and nephew.” I might be acting spoiled. But I think even Uncle understands that much. I still have parts where I rely on Uncle, you know. He’s a good uncle. He’s weak-willed. His political skills aren’t anything impressive either, and when you get down to it, he’s the Goat Uncle after all—I end up disappointed. He seems to be making all sorts of efforts, but he’s just not cut out for it in the first place. He’s pitiable. They tell me to call him Father, but I can’t do it.

Mother had done something ill-advised too. To solidify the Hamlet royal family’s foundation—everyone said that was best—Mother seemed convinced by it all, but I wondered. Those two were getting on in years anyway; they probably married thinking they’d make tea-drinking companions or such. Still felt embarrassing somehow. But I tried not to dwell too deeply on such things. What could you do? For a child of man, prying basely into every parental matter was an unforgivable vice. Such base children couldn’t join human company. Right? There’d been times of unbearable loneliness, but now I avoided thinking about it. The world didn’t revolve around my personal loves and hates anyway—best leave those people to their own devices. “How’s that?” “Let my answer rest there.” “It’s complicated.” “But Uncle isn’t bad.” “That much holds true.” “A petty schemer perhaps—but no grand villain.” “What could he possibly do?”

There.

“Thank you, Prince Hamlet. Hearing that has put my mind completely at ease. Please continue to believe in His Majesty without wavering. I too hold His Majesty in high regard. He is a man of culture. I believe him to be deeply compassionate. Your current stance has given me a hundredfold courage. For that, I offer my deepest gratitude. Prince Hamlet, you remain as clear-minded as ever. Your pure judgment remains unclouded. How wonderful! This truly gladdens my heart.”

“Ham.” “Don’t flatter me.” “You’ve suddenly cheered up, haven’t you?” “What a self-absorbed fellow.” “Horatio, you’re still the same scatterbrain as ever.” “So? What’s this rumor about?” “I went mad, a ghost appeared, and then what came next?” “Did a mouse pop out or something?”

“There.” “Far from a mouse—no, it’s truly base.” “Unspeakable.” “Disgraceful.” “Denmark’s shame.” “Prince Hamlet, let me explain.” “No—utterly insolent! Bizarre beyond measure! Vulgar to the core!”

“Ham.”

“Enough already—I’ve had enough of you listing all these clumsy adjectives.” “Did you join Wittenberg’s drama club too?”

“There.” “Well, that’s about it.” “I just wanted to try playing the role of a patriotic poet.” “Truthfully, I’ve already been put at ease.” “After hearing such a clear judgment from you earlier, Prince Hamlet, my mind found room for playfulness.” “Prince Hamlet, you mustn’t laugh—there’s an utterly absurd rumor circulating.” “You’re certain to find it amusing.” “But this has spread across all Denmark and even reached us at foreign universities, so we can’t simply laugh it away.” “It requires urgent containment.” “You mustn’t laugh.” “Honestly, even I feel foolish saying this now.” “They claim the late king’s ghost appears nightly, begging you, Prince Hamlet, to avenge him.”

Ham. “Me?” “That’s strange.”

“There.” “Honestly—it hasn’t happened. What’s more, it’s absurd—there’s even more to it. So says the ghost: ‘I was murdered by Claudius! Claudius, who lusted after my queen—’” “Ham.” “That’s awful. Lust is awful. My mother’s got a full set of dentures.” “There.”

“So I told you not to laugh, didn’t I? Now listen carefully. There’s more to the tale. ‘In his scheme to steal the queen and claim the throne, he crept upon me as I napped, waited for my guard to drop, and poured vile poison into my ear’—quite the theatrical plot, wouldn’t you agree? ‘Hark, Hamlet! Should filial devotion stir thy heart, let not this grievance fester unavenged,’ so it declares.”

“Ham.” “Enough! Even if it’s a ghost, stop this reckless imitation of my father’s voice and mannerisms.” “Let the matter of the dead rest in solemn quiet.” “I might have taken the jokes too far.”

“There.”

“I’m sorry.” “I carelessly got carried away.” “By no means have I forgotten the late king’s virtuous legacy.” “The story was so absurd that I ended up taking the jokes too far.” “I’m sorry.” “I’ve inadvertently touched upon the subject of your grief.” “Honestly, Horatio is too scatterbrained for his own good.”

Ham. “No, it’s nothing. I’m the one who was rude, shouting like that. I’m just being selfish. Don’t worry about it. And then, what becomes of that ghost? Tell me. Isn’t that absurd?” There.

“Yes—they say that ghost stands nightly by your pillow to make its plea, and that you, torn between terror, suspicion, and anguish, have at last been driven to madness. A baseless rumor, of course.”

Ham. “It’s possible.” There.

“Huh?”

Ham. “That could happen.” “Horatio, I feel... unwell.” “They’re spreading such vile rumors.”

“There.” “After all, perhaps I should not have told you.”

Ham.

“No, I’m glad you told me.” “If thou hast filial devotion,’ eh?” “Hah, Horatio—that rumor’s true.” “I was too naive.” There. “What are you saying.” “That’s precisely what being contrary means.” “It’s nothing more than the vulgar rumors of the common people.” “What basis is there for that?” Ham.

“You wouldn’t understand.” “I’m frustrated.” “You wouldn’t get it.” “Just think—which is more humiliating? Being insulted over baseless nonsense, or having rumors spread about you with clear justification?” “I will definitely find that evidence.” “Every member of the House of Hamlet—Father, Uncle, Mother, even me—being mocked so mercilessly by the people over utterly baseless matters is something I cannot endure as myself.” “There must be some basis for it.” “Since it’s being passed around so convincingly, maybe there really could be some truth to it after all.” “If there were some basis for it, I’d actually feel better.” “Baseless and unjust insults—I can’t endure them.” “The House of Hamlet was mocked by the people.” “Poor Uncle.” “Even though he’s working so hard, having such rumors spread just ruins everything.” “It’s too cruel.” “It’s revolting.” “I’ll go ask Uncle directly.” “I have to get to the bottom of this. I won’t rest until I do.” “Horatio, you’ll help me, right?”

There.

“In that case, the responsibility lies with me.” “Ah.” “Could you leave this to me?” “Lord Hamlet, forgive me for saying so, but you’re being rather petulant.” “I can only perceive that you’re sulking in the worst way.” “You were laughing so heartily just a moment ago, weren’t you?” “It is, of course, a completely baseless and outrageous rumor.” “It’s unthinkable to impertinently question the King like that.” “You would only pointlessly distress the King.” “I want to trust your earlier clear judgment to the very end.” “Have you already forgotten?” “Didn’t you say you trusted the King?” “Was that all a lie?”

Ham.

“There are limits.” “There are limits to insults.” “Do you think my father was the kind of man who’d become a ghost and spout such filthy, ignorant nonsense?” “Ah, everything’s absurd.” “In that case, maybe I should just really go mad.” “They’d be pleased.” “Horatio, I sulked.” “I’ll sulk properly.” “I don’t understand—you wouldn’t understand.” *There.*

“I would like to consult with you at length later.” “Your servant Horatio has committed a blunder of monumental proportions.” “I had never imagined you would become so agitated.” “You remain unchanged as ever, Lord Hamlet.”

Ham.

“Ah, I’m still the same. “Still the same old moody guy. “I’ll take being the scatterbrain. “I lack self-cultivation. “I’m not some great man who can keep smiling even after being ridiculed this much. “Horatio, give me back that cloak. “Now I’m the one who’s cold.”

There.

“I will return it. Lord Hamlet, I would like to discuss this thoroughly with you tomorrow at some point.”

Ham.

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

*There.*

“I would like us to defer this until tomorrow, after we’ve both settled.” “Please excuse me tonight.” “I too want to consider it thoroughly.” “After all, I’m not wearing a jacket.”

Ham.

“Do as you please, then. That’s your problem—you don’t believe in the purity of people’s excitement. Well, sleep tight. Horatio, I’m an unhappy child, aren’t I?”

*There.* “I am aware.” “Horatio is always on your side.”

IV. The Queen’s Chamber

Queen. Horatio.

Queen. “It was I who requested the King to summon you from Wittenberg.” “You met Hamlet last night already, did you not?” “How was it?” “Utterly hopeless, was it not?” “Why has he suddenly become thus?” “His words lack all coherence—one moment he flares up in anger, the next bursts into senseless laughter; then before crowds of courtiers he stages pitiful sobs, or blurts irrelevancies and challenges the King with them.” “For that child alone, I cannot express how much anguish I suffer.” “Even before, he was a timid child with something cowed about him—but never to this degree.” “When in humor, he would invent such outlandish antics to amuse us.” “He possessed an innocent side too.” “Being my late father’s child born in his old age—my father doted on him excessively, and I, having only this precious child, indulged his every whim in raising him. Yet this seems to have ill-served him.” “Truly, children born to aged parents appear deficient.” “He cannot cling forever to parental indulgence.” “That child so adored his late father that even after entering university, on returning to the castle for holidays he would sequester himself in Father’s chambers from dawn till dusk.” “In childhood it was worse—if Father vanished from sight but a moment, he would sulk and badger everyone about his whereabouts until they were driven to distraction.” “When that father perished so suddenly from an unforeseen heart condition, the child must have been utterly bereft of direction.” “After the former king’s passing, he abruptly faded from prominence.” “And then my marriage to Lord Claudius—though unbecoming to admit—entered into nominally for Denmark’s sake, must have shocked him profoundly. I believe it plunged his spirits into darkness.” “Considering all this, I cannot but pity that child.”

“I suppose it can’t be helped. But even that child is Prince Hamlet of Denmark. He must eventually succeed to the throne. If he keeps weeping and sulking forever over his parents suddenly leaving his side—first and foremost, his subjects will scorn him. This is a critical juncture. Though I’ve married Lord Claudius, I’m not moving to some distant castle—I’ll remain here as always, living with Hamlet as his true mother. Moreover, the current king isn’t some stranger—he’s Hamlet’s own uncle who was once so dear to him. If only Hamlet would recover slightly from this resentful mood of late, I believe everything would proceed harmoniously and peacefully. Lord Claudius has restrained his former frivolous ways and now strives earnestly to achieve deeds rivaling the former king’s. He’s deeply concerned about Hamlet too. Given their duty-bound relationship, there must be mutual reservations. I’m forever on tenterhooks caught between them. Hamlet utterly mocks Uncle now, I tell you. This won’t do. Now that they stand as father and son, Hamlet must learn greater decorum. He’s no longer that Goat Uncle of old, you know. Denmark stands in perilous times now. They say Norway has even deployed troops along our borders—haven’t you heard? What misfortune to face such turmoil at this crucial hour! If only Hamlet would warmly reconcile with us, the hearts within Elsinore Castle would settle, and the King could fortify his resolve to focus on foreign affairs. What a foolish child. He lacks all awareness of being Denmark’s prince.”

“At twenty-three years old, he still clings to the late king and his mother like a girl. Horatio, how old are you now?”

[Hor.] “Yes, thanks to your kindness, I have turned twenty-two.”

Queen. “I thought so. “Hamlet was supposed to be one year older than you.” “It’s completely the opposite.” “You look a full five years older than him.” “You seem to be in robust health, your academic performance is said to be excellent, and above all, your demeanor remains composed.” “Are both your father and mother still in good health?”

Hor. “I am deeply grateful.” “They continue to live peacefully in 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 exemplary child.” “But compared to that—given how Hamlet carries himself now—I see no future prospects for him.” “He becomes distraught over trifling sorrows—weeping and sulking and—”

Hor. “I must beg to differ—Lord Hamlet—no, the Prince—no, Lord Hamlet is by no means such an inferior person. He is the only one I hold in esteem. It is I who am a trivial, scatterbrained fool. I am always being scolded by Lord Hamlet. I love Lord Hamlet. That’s why I always become flustered and tongue-tied when standing before him. Lord Hamlet is so intelligent he knows what I mean to say before I even speak. It’s utterly unbearable.”

Queen.

“That is no virtue of that child.” “I understand your wish to defend your friend, but there’s no need to specially list and praise his flaws.” “That child has been swift at reading faces since infancy.” “That rather proves a stunted disposition.” “Something an exemplary man needs not.”

Hor. “I must beg to differ, but I believe it is wrong for you to speak ill of Lord Hamlet at every turn.” “My mother never once retired to her bedroom before I did.” “She stayed awake until I went to bed.” “Even if I told her to go to bed first, she’d say, ‘You’re not just my child alone—you’re someone who must become a splendid retainer of the King.’” “‘I have been entrusted with you by the King, and there must be no discourtesy,’ she would say, and she never went to bed before me.” “Even a child like me with no merits—when someone respects and cares for me that sincerely—well, then I start wanting to do my best.” “Your Majesty speaks too ill of Lord Hamlet.” “Then Lord Hamlet will have no ground to stand on.” “Didn’t Your Majesty yourself state as much earlier?” “Have you forgotten that you yourself said, ‘Lord Hamlet is the Prince of Denmark’?” “Lord Hamlet is the Prince of Denmark.” “He is not Your Majesty’s child alone.” “He is also the Lord to whom we must dedicate our lives in service and protection.” “Please take better care of Lord Hamlet.”

Queen. “My, my. Being petitioned thus by you was unforeseen.” “I recognize your undivided loyalty to Hamlet, but you remain a child nonetheless.” “Henceforth I shall not countenance such presumptuous turns of phrase.” “The true sentiments between parent and child often lie beyond outsiders’ grasp.” “You must never presume to interfere.” “Your mother does indeed seem a paragon of maternal wisdom, though her methods differ from mine—yet even I must refrain from commentary on such matters.” “Parental affairs are best left to parents.” “The circumstances of retainers and royalty differ profoundly—I will no longer brook impertinent counsel born of transient zeal.” “Incidentally—did Hamlet confide anything in you?”

Hor. “Well, nothing in particular—”

Queen. “There’s no need to suddenly stiffen up like that.” “What became of that spiritedness you showed earlier?” “People say you take after Hamlet, you know.” “A boy ought to behave like a man—when scolded, answer clearly without shrinking.” “Hamlet was again speaking ill of us, wasn’t he?” “Wasn’t he?” Hor. “I must beg to differ—no, I mean—to oppose—to oppose—”

Queen. “What are you saying? For men, cowering too much is also unbecoming. Aside from reckless orders, I’ll forgive any defiance or anything else, so speak more clearly, like a man. What did Hamlet say about us?” Hor. “He said it was pitiable and expressed his sympathy.”

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

Hor. “No—I must beg to differ—but Lord Hamlet would never do something as cowardly as making someone swear to secrecy.” “Lord Hamlet would never say behind someone’s back what he cannot say to their face.” “When he has something to say, he always says it directly to the person’s face.” “That was the case during his university days, and it still is now.” “Therefore, Lord Hamlet is always acting thus.”

Queen. “You immediately purse your lips so sharply and raise your voice when it comes to Hamlet—it seems you get along extremely well. Hamlet forgets his status and, being by nature someone who doesn’t know restraint, he seems quite popular with those beneath him.”

Hor.

“Your Majesty.” “What more can I say?” “I shall answer no further.”

Queen. “I wasn’t talking about you.” “Aren’t you Hamlet’s closest friend?” “Not only Hamlet—I too depend on you.” “As I listen to you speak this way, various things are becoming clear to me.” “You’re exactly like Hamlet in how quickly you flare up.” “Young people these days all share certain similarities.” “Don’t look so pale—open up and tell me everything properly.” “That Hamlet doesn’t gossip about others behind their backs—I only learned that from you.” “If that’s true, I would be glad too.” “That child might have had some unexpectedly decent qualities after all.”

Hor. “So, I was just now—”

Queen. “That’s enough. “I will not permit orders that exceed your station. “You people are too quick to get worked up—it’s unacceptable. “Hamlet is again saying something sanctimonious like how pitiable we are or whatever, isn’t he? “It’s not like him at all, is it? “I wonder if that’s true.” Hor. “Your Majesty. “Even I feel sorry for Your Majesty.”

Queen. “Again with such talk.” “Mocking your elders is a bad habit of you all.” “Why should I be pitiable?” “Go on—say it plainly.” “I detest such insinuating ways of speaking.”

Hor.

“I will speak plainly,” said Horatio. “Your Majesty knows nothing of Lord Hamlet’s true feelings.” He straightened his posture before continuing. “Last night Lord Hamlet told me with deep sincerity: ‘Being so young and inexperienced, I must often trouble both His Majesty and Mother—it pains me greatly.’ He added earnestly: ‘I cannot express my relief that His Majesty has ascended the throne.’ Lord Hamlet truly believes in our king’s affection.” Horatio’s voice softened with conviction. “Even when he acts willfully or causes inconvenience, it stems from feeling secure in their uncle-nephew bond.” Recalling Hamlet’s exact words made him gesture emphatically: “‘Aren’t we closest kin? Perhaps I’m being childish—but couldn’t His Majesty understand? It’s absurd how he sulks alone imagining love turned to hatred.’” A reverent pause followed before he concluded: “Lord Hamlet even confessed ‘I genuinely care for Uncle.’” Hearing this account brought tears of joy to Horatio’s eyes. He mentally cheered “Long live Denmark!” before resuming his defense: “Lord Hamlet remains an exemplary prince—never suspecting others without cause.” His hands spread wide as if encompassing fields below Elsinore’s towers. “His discernment flows warm and clear like spring winds through wheat fields—utterly unclouded.” Turning directly toward Gertrude now: “Regarding Your Majesty specifically—he speaks with absolute trust and pride befitting his birth mother.” Finally leaning forward with solemn intensity: “Concerning your recent marriage too—he declares any crude criticism from fellow humans constitutes supreme vice! Such critics forfeit their place among civilized people.”

Queen. “Who?” “Who cannot be counted among humanity?” “Say it plainly once more.”

Hor. “I believe I have stated it clearly.” “It means that lowly wretches who, as human beings, indulge in vile imaginings about Your Majesty’s marriage would be better off dead.” “Lord Hamlet’s character is noble.” “He is clear.” “It is as clear as a mountain lake.” “Horatio received numerous invaluable lessons from Lord Hamlet last night.” “Lord Hamlet is the model for all of us classmates.”

Queen. “How trying. “If you praise Hamlet so extravagantly, even I will blush. “The child you revere isn’t that boy here, but some other splendid youth named Hamlet from who-knows-where. “I simply cannot believe that child could speak in such manly tones. “Why do you keep dressing things up? “No one knows a child’s nature—no, their weaknesses—as thoroughly as the mother who bore them. “Because those weaknesses are inherently her own. “I’m not some flawless human being either. “My failings as a person have regrettably been transmitted to that child. “When it comes to him, I know even the blackened edge of the little toenail on his right foot. “However cleverly you try to deceive me, it won’t work. “Tell me more frankly. “You’re hiding something. “If Hamlet were truly as reasonable and obedient as you describe, I wouldn’t be concerned either. “But I cannot believe it. “I don’t think you’re lying outright. “You’re an innocent soul unskilled at falsehoods. “Moreover, I’ve long been aware that child does possess the straightforward aspect you mention. “Last night, he showed you that better side too, I suppose.”

“But you are hiding something else.” “Even observing that child’s recent behavior makes it clear his true feelings aren’t nearly as cloudless and resolute as your words suggest.” “Yet I simply cannot believe he’s merely clinging to family ties and throwing spoiled tantrums.” “Horatio, what say you?” “Tell me the truth.” “A mother’s love breeds suspicion.” “That you defend Hamlet so earnestly gladdens my heart.” “What cause have I for displeasure?” “Hamlet’s fortunate in his friends.” “But my fears run deeper.” “Here I fret alone—if some trouble weighs on him, why won’t he confide in his own mother? Yet Hamlet evades and dissembles.” “How I yearn to plunge into his struggles and resolve them unseen!” “Do you understand?” “Mothers are foolish creatures.” “These spiteful words I’ve hurled at you—they spring not from hatred.” “This shameful obviousness—that child remains my world’s dearest love.” “Hamlet, always Hamlet.” “I love him beyond measure.” “I cannot endure watching him writhe alone.” “I implore you.”

“Horatio, become my strength.” “What is Hamlet suffering from?” “There’s no reason you wouldn’t know.”

Horatio.

“Your Majesty.” “I do not know, Your Majesty.”

Queen. “Still—that—”

“Horatio.” “No, unfortunately, I truly do not know. Last night—the truth is—I committed a grave blunder. Certainly Prince Hamlet did seem to harbor special inner anguish, exactly as Your Majesty described. He appeared most eager to confide in me, but lacking a jacket, I was too cold to properly attend. I am a fool. Utterly useless. Worse than useless—last night I actually committed sin. Your Majesty, something dreadful has occurred. It was as if I came from Wittenberg expressly to set fires. Last night I lay groaning in bed. Couldn’t sleep a wink. All responsibility rests with me. This mess—I’ll resolve it without fail. Today I mean to have thorough discussions with Prince Hamlet.”

“Queen.” “What on earth are you talking about?” “I don’t understand any of this.” “Everything you people say is utterly incomprehensible—like Laius dropping from the clouds—and I haven’t the faintest clue what’s happening.” “What does that even mean?” “Did you quarrel with Hamlet?” “If so, I could mediate for you.” “It’s nothing serious—you’ve just started some philosophical debate or other.” “There’s no need to fret so much.”

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

The Queen.

“A fine young man suddenly weeping like that is disgraceful.” “What am I to do?” “Do you people always entertain yourselves with these theatrical exaggerations—Judas setting fires and such nonsense—crying and laughing as if life were a play?” “What a splendid game.” “How utterly dependable.” “Horatio, step aside.” “I’ll let it go today, but mind yourself from now on.”

King. Queen. Horatio.

King.

“So here you were.” “I’ve been searching everywhere.” “Ah, Horatio too.” “Perfect timing.” “When you came to greet me this morning, I was too busy to properly speak with you, but there were also various matters I wished to discuss.” “You don’t seem well.” “Is something wrong?”

Queen.

“Horatio, you may step down now. Judas setting fires and whatnot—a grown man putting on a show of tears. You’re of no use at all.”

King.

“Judas set a fire? “That’s news to me. “There must be some reason behind it. “You mustn’t anger the Queen so easily. “Horatio is a serious person. “Let’s discuss this properly later.”

Horatio. “My apologies. “I was truly remiss. “Having received Your Majesty’s heartfelt words as a mother, my heart swelled, and I ended up saying things I shouldn’t have. “I humbly beg your forgiveness. “I have made a disgraceful spectacle of myself before you.”

King.

“Horatio, wait.” “You need not leave.” “Stay here.” “There’s something I want you to hear as well.” “Come closer.” “It’s not something I can say loudly.” “Gertrude, I was surprised.” “I understand now.” “I finally understand the reason for Hamlet’s irritation.” The Queen.

“Yes.” “So it’s about us after all?”

Horatio. "No, all responsibility lies with me." "I will surely—" King.

“What are you two talking about? Now then, let’s all calm down. I’ll sit here too. Horatio, take a seat. I want your counsel as well. What I just heard from Polonius shocked me—utterly unforeseen. He’s submitted his resignation. I’ve agreed to hold it for now, but Queen—don’t be alarmed. Listen calmly. This is grave business. Ophelia has—”

The Queen. “Ophelia has—?” “I see.” “Once I too had my doubts about it.” King. “Now don’t stand there, Gertrude. Sit down.” “Sit calmly and take your time to consider this.” “Horatio—as you’ve heard, this is a disgraceful matter.”

Horatio.

“So it was true. “So there really was a culprit after all.” “Speaking of Ophelia—she’s Lord Polonius’s daughter, isn’t she?” “That someone with such beauty would fabricate groundless, insolent slander against the peaceful House of Hamlet—spreading rumors across all Denmark and even to Wittenberg University—this demands our utmost vigilance.” “What could possibly be the motive? “Resentment from unrequited love, perhaps—or maybe—”

The Queen. “Horatio, you must still leave.” “You don’t understand anything.” “You’re saying nothing but fanciful things.” “Ophelia is said to be pregnant.”

The King. “My Queen! “Restrain yourself.” “I haven’t gone that far yet.” “As a man, it was difficult for me to bring up.” “To state it plainly would be cruel.”

The Queen.

“Women are acutely aware of their own bodies.” “Anyone who’s seen Ophelia’s recent state of discomfort would at least suspect it once.” “Ridiculous.” “Horatio, have you woken up yet?” Horatio. “It feels like a dream.”

King. “It’s no wonder. Even I feel like it’s a dream. But I can’t just keep sighing and watching this unfold. So, Horatio, I have a request for you. You’re supposed to be Hamlet’s closest friend. Until now, you two have confided everything in each other.”

Horatio. "Yes, until yesterday I had maintained that intention, but now I've lost all confidence."

King. “There’s no need to look so dejected.” “When you consider it calmly, this isn’t such an unexpected major incident.” “These past two months—with the late king’s funeral, my succession celebrations, and the wedding—the castle has been thrown into utter chaos.” “Amid that turmoil, Hamlet alone, unable to bear his grief over the late king’s death, sought tender words of comfort from someone.” “Ophelia.” “I believe grief and love became twisted together.” “Even Hamlet—what feelings he holds toward Ophelia now remain unclear.” “I suspect they may have already begun cooling.” “If that’s true, the solution is simple.” “Should Ophelia withdraw to the countryside temporarily, all matters would resolve themselves.” “Rumors seem to have spread through the castle already—Polonius was deeply apologetic about it—but even the vilest gossip fades after six months.” “Polonius will handle Ophelia’s affairs skillfully, and I myself intend to assist however possible.” “You may entrust this matter to us.” “We would never commit such blunders as to ruin Ophelia’s life.” “Rest assured on that count.” “At any rate, could you speak thoroughly with Hamlet yourself?” “Listen carefully to the unfeigned depths of his heart.” “I mean no harm whatsoever.”

The Queen.

“Horatio, what an unpleasant role you’ve been given.” “If it were me, I would refuse.” “Since it’s something Hamlet did, they should have him take responsibility and just let that boy handle everything alone.” "The King seems excessively understanding toward Hamlet." "The feelings the King had when indulging in his youthful amusements and the feelings of boys these days also have their differences, you know."

The King. "Come now, men's feelings haven't changed from past to present. Hamlet will soon bow to me from the bottom of his heart. Horatio, what do you think?"

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

King.

“Oh, that’s excellent. Thoroughly discern his true feelings and calmly convey our intentions as well. I’m counting on you for this. Hamlet is supposed to welcome a princess from England, you see.”

The Queen. “I have something I want to ask Ophelia.”

Five　Corridor

Polonius. Hamlet.

Pol. “Lord Hamlet!”

Ham. “Ah! You startled me.” “Oh, it’s just Polonius.” “What are you doing standing in such a dim place?”

Pol. "I have been waiting for you. Lord Hamlet!"

Ham.

“What is it?” “Creepy.” “Let me go.” “I’m looking for Horatio right now.” “Don’t you know where Horatio is?”

Pol. “Please stop this talk of other matters.” “Lord Hamlet.” “I submitted my resignation this morning.”

Ham.

“Your resignation? Why? Did something happen? That’s reckless of you. You’re indispensable to Elsinore Castle as it stands now.” Pol. “What are you saying? Until now, Polonius has been deceived by that innocent face of yours. I finally heard those regrettable castle rumors yesterday.”

Ham. “Rumors? “Oh, that’s what this is about?” “But that’s serious.” “I wasn’t deceiving you either.” “Hearing such an awful rumor and still pretending ignorance—I couldn’t possibly do that.” “Truly, I didn’t know either.” “In fact, I only heard it from someone last night myself—quite a shock.” “But I’m surprised you remained unaware until now.” “Doesn’t seem like your usual sharp self.” “Rather careless, wouldn’t you say?” “Did you truly not know?” “That can’t be right.” “If you genuinely didn’t know, we’d have a resignation scandal on our hands—but a man of your stature must’ve known.”

Pol. “Lord Hamlet, if I may ask—are you in your right mind?” Ham. “What are you saying? Don’t mock me.” “Can’t you see that just by looking?” “Surely even you aren’t believing that rumor now.”

Pol.

“Liar extraordinaire! How dare you spout such transparent lies! Lord Hamlet, please stop this shallow deception. If you’re young, act your age. How about speaking more honestly? It’s not something you can possibly conceal. I heard it directly from the person himself yesterday.”

Ham. “What on earth are you talking about? “Polonius, aren’t you going too far with your words? “I’m not claiming to be your master or anything of the sort, but your words can’t be laughed off even between close friends. “I am, as you surmised, an undisciplined coward and hedonist. “I can’t be of any help to any of you. “But I too am prepared to sacrifice my life for Denmark at any time. “I must also be giving thought to the future of the Hamlet royal family. “Polonius, your words go too far. “What are you so angry about, making such a frightening face? “That’s rude of you.”

Pol. “That’s beyond belief. “I can’t even shed tears. “Is this the child I’ve nurtured with my own hands for twenty years? “Lord Hamlet, Polonius feels as though he’s in a dream.” Ham. “This is troublesome. “Polonius, you too seem to have been outwitted. “If even the wise man of yesteryear has come to believe in my madness, then it’s all over.”

Pol. “Madness? “That’s right—you have indeed gone mad.” “The Lord Hamlet of old would never have fallen this far, by any measure.”

Ham. “You’re all conspiring to make me out as truly insane.” “So Polonius, even you believe that entire rumor in full?”

Pol. “What’s there to believe?” “What are you saying now?” “Enough—stop that cowardly way of speaking.”

Ham. “Cowardly, you say? “What’s cowardly about that? “How am I cowardly? “Aren’t you the one being utterly disrespectful here? “There are things I must apologize to you for, and I’ve been holding back quite a bit with you until now. “Even now, I’ve had to suppress the urge to strike you multiple times just to keep talking with you. “So you keep looking down on me and spout this stream of unforgivable insults. “I will no longer show mercy. “Polonius, I will speak plainly. “You are a disloyal subject. “You believe the rumors of Uncle’s misdeeds, mock Mother, and are trying to make me out as truly insane. “You are a dreadful traitor to the Hamlet royal family. “You don’t even need to submit a resignation. “I want you gone immediately.”

Pol. “I see. There are all sorts of tactics.” “That you would resort to such methods was something even the wise Polonius could not have anticipated.” “Polonius too appears to have aged, just as your words suggest.” “Indeed, there was another unpleasant rumor.” “At this critical moment, you make a great fuss about that matter alone while pushing your own improper rumors into obscurity.” “Not wanting your own misdeeds discussed, you wildly exaggerate others’ rumors into major scandals—playing the troubled soul wracking his brains. Ah yes, such clever statesmanship!” “You’d shift scandal’s winds just slightly.” “It’s Lord Claudius who suffers true inconvenience here.” “Ow!” “Lord Hamlet—how dreadful! What are you doing?” “You struck me!” “Ah! That hurts!” “I can’t contend with a madman!”

Ham.

“Should I strike your other cheek? Your cheeks are parched dry—makes them satisfying to hit. I’ve no desire to continue this conversation with you.”

Pol. “Wait.” “Even if you try to flee, I won’t let you escape.” “Lord Hamlet, you are cowardly.” “Thanks to you, my household lies in ruins.” “I must retreat to the countryside and live out my days as a destitute peasant.” “Poor Laertes too.” “Though he rushed off to France, we must needs recall him.” “That child’s future sinks into blackest night.” “And then—well—”

Ham. “Ophelia will marry me. You needn’t worry. Polonius, if you despise me to such an extent, then I too shall 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 stand by me. There was something I needed to apologize to you for. Regarding that matter, I had intended to discuss it with you thoroughly at some point. I had wanted to ask for your help. As you know, I am now troubled because I simply cannot get along with Uncle or Mother. It’s not like I’m deliberately trying to make things awkward with them, but somehow I just can’t help it. I feel this stubbornness. It just doesn’t sit right. I could not bring myself to confide my painful secret to them and was left tormented alone to the point of sleepless nights. No matter what, I cannot bring myself to trust them. If I confide and consult with them, I feel it would lead to a terribly bad result instead, so lately I’ve even started avoiding meeting them. I’m scared. Somehow, I feel this very dark, unpleasant sensation. When I meet them face-to-face, I just end up fidgeting nervously.”

“I just can’t say anything anymore.” “They aren’t bad people either.” “They’re always worrying about me.” “I know that.” “They might deeply love me, but I just can’t stand it.” “I hate discussing it.” “Polonius, I had been relying on you as my last hope.” “When I was at my wit’s end, I thought I would confess everything to you, beg your forgiveness, and consult with you about what to do next.” “You would surely forgive us—I don’t know why, but I had this feeling.” “When you called out to me earlier, I felt a chill.” “It’s here, I thought.” “It was the perfect opportunity—I steeled myself to confess everything to you first—but when I saw your deathly pale, utterly distraught face, I suddenly felt repulsed and tried to flee. Then you grabbed my arm, started talking about submitting resignation letters and such momentous things, so I thought maybe another incident had occurred. When I asked you, you mentioned ‘the castle rumors,’ and I went, ‘Ah, that,’ jumping to conclusions. That’s how it happened.” “I absolutely did not evade it intentionally.” “I am not a cowardly man.”

Polonius. “Your eloquence is refreshing. You’re quite skilled at evasion. But Polonius will not be deceived any longer. There’s no need for you to bring up King Claudius and Her Majesty the Queen so abruptly now, is there? You’re using that as a tool to hide your embarrassment. That’s a stretch. As I thought—you’re still trying to dodge the issue somehow. I would like to inquire more clearly about the immediate issue.”

“Ham.” “You’re so suspicious.” “When you press me this relentlessly, even I get defiant and want to blurt out the brutally honest truth.” “Until yesterday, I only had one worry.” “Ophelia.” “That’s all.” “But last night I heard another utterly unpleasant story.” “If I say it’s no longer just about Ophelia—you’ll immediately sneer that I’m shifting the scandal’s winds—using it as a diversion—but that’s absolutely not the case.” “I suffered last night.” “I was lonely.” “Unbearably lonely.” “I cried in bed.” “Everything felt absurd—infuriating—utterly unbearable.” “The two problems have become bizarrely intertwined—impossible to address.” “To say ‘it’s beyond Ophelia’... I haven’t been able to put her out of my mind either—then this terrifying new suspicion came crashing down—storm clouds boiling up—swirling—piling high until my anguish swelled threefold—fivefold—and last night I truly couldn’t sleep a wink.” “If I were to go mad—it’d be a relief.” “Polonius—do you understand?” “When you mentioned ‘the unfortunate rumor’... did I think it was about Ophelia?” “I did consider both possibilities—but for me—the other rumor felt far more pressing—so I ended up steering there—but I swear it wasn’t evasion.” “When you say things like ‘Was that necessary?’... I find it utterly unpleasant.”

“Hitting you was my blunder.” “I’m sorry.” “I just flew into a rage.” “But you too—from now on, stop speaking in such unpleasant ways.” “You needn’t 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 confessing our situation to the King and Queen and obtaining their forgiveness.” “The thought of pleading with them—I can’t bear it.” “I should just die.” “And having heard that rumor last night made confession even more agonizing.” “I must get to the root of that rumor.” “There’s something there.” “There’s definitely something.” “I feel it.” “If it proves baseless—how happy I’d be.” “This could even become my chance—to apologize properly for my usual rudeness and share an honest laugh with them.” “Either way, I must pursue that rumor’s truth.”

“Everything comes after that.” “Polonius, do you understand?” “Please leave Ophelia alone for now.” “I won’t act irresponsibly.” “Ah, Polonius—I’ve found some strange courage.” “Starting today, I’ll become a man of bravery.” “When you fall to suffering’s inescapable depths, that’s when people find new courage—don’t you think?”

Poro. “Hard to say—it’s a dangerous thing.” “Prince Hamlet, you are young.” “Somehow, I can’t bring myself to trust what you people say.” “You speak of new courage, but courage alone won’t make things go smoothly.” “Moreover, those who babble about gaining courage and such—spouting shallow grandiosity from momentary excitement—have always been lazy pretenders since ancient times.” “Affected phrases like ‘It’s painful,’ ‘I’m lonely,’ ‘Storm clouds churning’ aren’t spoken by men of promise.” “These aren’t words one can take seriously.” “You’ve stubble on your face now—how shameful.” “How long will you wallow in complacent fantasies?” “You must compose yourself.” “From your words just now, I at least understand you never meant to make Ophelia a passing amusement.” “You pain me to behold.” “Yet the true trial lies ahead.” “Though my power is limited, I Polonius shall lend my aid—but you too must steel yourself.” “I earnestly beg this of you.” “Henceforth avoid saying things like ‘storm clouds churning thickly’ or such.” “I simply cannot listen to this nonsense seriously.” “What appalling things you keep uttering!” “You’ll soon be a father yourself, you know.”

Ham. “That’s why—that’s precisely why I’m suffering.” “When I’m in pain, can’t I say I’m in pain?” “Why?” “I always say exactly what I think.” “I speak plainly.” “I say I’m lonely because I truly am lonely.” “I say I’ve gained courage because I have gained courage.” “There’s no scheming, no pretense.” “These words come straight from my heart.” “That phrase about ‘storm clouds looming’ might sound like clumsy exaggeration to you, but to me it’s as real as anything I see before me.” “A truth felt in my flesh.” “You could call it the absolute truth.” “Because I still love you through my blood ties to Ophelia, I thought I could safely speak my mind.” “Tch!” “I really do trust people too much.” “Get too swept up in love.”

Polonius.

“What does it matter, Prince Hamlet? The world isn’t some philosophy classroom, and with all due disrespect, you’ve no intention of becoming some sage or saint. While you’re busy aping wise men with this talk of love and truth and storm clouds, Ophelia’s belly swells larger by the minute. That much at least is plain for all to see. Even if you profess love for me now, even if this reassures you—I feel not a shred of gratitude. It’s nothing but a nuisance from you. Right now, it’s simply Ophelia’s matter that—”

Ham. “That’s why—no, that’s precisely why—ah, you don’t understand. You’ll never understand.” “You may keep your reassurance—that’s perfectly fine.” “But my anguish—”

Poro. “Let’s do away with this word ‘suffering’.” A chill ran down his spine. “You’ve uttered that word a hundred times already.” “You’re not the only one suffering.” “My family too lies in ruins because of you.” “I’ve already tendered my resignation.” “I must depart this royal castle by tomorrow.” “The situation grows dire.” “Lord Hamlet, I beseech your aid.” “First for your sake, then for House Polonius—there remains but one course.” “I lay awake all last night pondering.” “I’ve devised necessary measures.” “Lord Hamlet, I beseech your aid.”

Ham.

“Polonius, suddenly getting all formal—what’s wrong? The idea that a greenhorn like me could be any help to you is preposterous. Don’t mock me. Aren’t you the one who’s dreaming?” Poro. “Dream? Yes, it might be a dream. But this is precisely a last-resort measure. Prince Hamlet, do you believe in Polonius’s loyalty? No, that doesn’t matter at all. That was a pointless thing to say. Prince Hamlet, do you love justice?”

“Poro.” “Creepy.” “You’ve suddenly turned into a romanticist, have you?” “It’s like we’ve completely switched places.” “Now 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 with you?” “You’re hanging your head so low—what’s wrong?” “What are you thinking?”

Poro. “Prince Hamlet, I’m a terrible person, aren’t I? “I was thinking something terrible. “For my daughter’s happiness, I’m the sort of man who would even betray the King. “I will confess everything to you. “Oh no—Horatio’s coming.”

Horatio.

Hamlet. Polonius.

Hore.

“Prince Hamlet, this is outrageous! Outrageous!” “I’ve been utterly humiliated!” “Your silence is cruel.” “Though admittedly, I too was at fault last night.” “I kept prattling on about trivial matters, and what with the cold, I failed to properly heed your words—that was my undoing.” “But now I understand.” “Lord Polonius, this recent affair has been quite the calamity, hasn’t it?” “You must be deeply troubled.” “Well?” “What exactly are Lord Hamlet’s intentions?” “At this juncture, Lord Hamlet’s intentions are what truly matter.”

Ham.

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

Hore. “No, no. “Playing dumb won’t work.” “I’ve just heard everything from the King now, I’m telling you.” “No, this is no laughing matter.” “This is something we must consider carefully.”

“Ham.” “You’re the one smirking like an idiot, aren’t you?” “Stop messing with me.” “What the hell did you even go and hear?”

Hore. “What’s this? You’re blushing crimson yet still feigning ignorance! If anything, I’m the one so mortified and flustered I can’t help laughing.”

Ham. “You bastard! “You’ve finally seen through me, have you?” “You bastard! Here I come!” Hore. “Alright, bring it on! If it’s a grapple you want, I won’t lose.” “Come on, try me!” “Take this!”

Ham. “It’s fine, it’s fine.” “You bastard! One twist!” “Scatterbrain—when I constrict this throat of yours like so, it makes a funny little ping. Strange, isn’t it?”

Poro.

“Stop it, stop it! What is this? Starting a scuffle so suddenly in this hallway—isn’t that rather uncouth? Both of you, cease this foolishness at once. I cannot make sense of it. What in God’s name are you two doing, cackling and tussling like this? Desist immediately! This is no moment for such juvenile antics. Let us all maintain some semblance of dignity. Enough now—that’s quite sufficient! Lord Horatio, what madness has possessed you? This is not some university common room.”

“Ham.”

“Polonius, you wouldn’t understand. “When we’re mortifyingly embarrassed, we make it a habit to do reckless grappling like this. “If we don’t do this, things won’t settle down, will they?”

Hor. “Absolutely,” “I was thoroughly deceived, you know.” “Lord Hamlet, that’s cruel.” Ham. “Not at all.” “There are... various circumstances behind this, you see.” “Heh heh.” Poro. “Oh, what is the meaning of this vulgar laughter?” “There’s no reason or anything behind it.” “The situation is perfectly straightforward.” “Lord Horatio, do come closer.” “Good heavens, the hem of your coat is torn!” “You must cease this roughness at once.” “Our Laertes may be somewhat unruly, but never to this degree.” “Now, Lord Hamlet, compose yourself.” “This is a critical juncture.” “This is no time for laughter and jesting.” “Lord Horatio, you too must now lend your strength to our cause.”

“From now on, I would like the three of us to consult together on various matters.” “So?” “Lord Horatio, what exactly did you learn from His Majesty just now?” “Please tell me.” “Since I am now on Lord Hamlet’s side, trust me and inform me of everything.” “What did His Majesty say to you?” Hor. “He was astonished. ‘It was like a dream,’ His Majesty said.”

Ham. “And then, he probably bad-mouthed me too.”

Hor.

“Don’t jump to conclusions.” “His Majesty understands quite well.” “Well… I’m not so sure?” “In any case—His Majesty was astonished.”

Poro. “This makes no sense. “Speak more clearly. “What does His Majesty think?”

Hor. “Well, it’s... um... well, it’s really outdated. “Preposterous.” "I was appalled." “I understand Lord Hamlet’s feelings.” "But His Majesty is under a terrible misapprehension, so I was appalled." “I withdrew with all due reverence, but... oh, how dreadful.” Ham.

“I get it.” “He said it’s utterly unforgivable, didn’t he?” “He’s saying we should bring a princess from England, isn’t he?” “I know.”

Hor. “Exactly. No, it’s even worse. His Majesty said he believes Lord Hamlet’s feelings should have cooled by now. So he’ll have Ophelia secluded in the countryside for a time and thereby settle everything. As for the rumors—two months, five months, or was it six months? In any case, that was the general nature of His Majesty’s opinion. He says he won’t mistreat her. His Majesty isn’t speaking out of malice, you know. At least don’t misunderstand that part. But His Majesty is simply under a misapprehension, you see. In any case, I was simply ordered to convey His Majesty’s gracious intentions to Lord Hamlet.” Her Majesty the Queen was laughing to herself. She appeared to thoroughly understand Lord Hamlet’s feelings. Therefore she was by no means in despair. At this juncture, they should turn to Her Majesty the Queen.

His Majesty the King was hopeless. He was fundamentally unsuited.

“In other words—it comes down to him being old-fashioned?”

Ham. “Horatio, stop saying such half-hearted things.” “It’s not a matter of old versus new.” “Worldly people are always like that.” “Uncle believes in worldly happiness.” “That’s only natural coming from Uncle.” “I knew that much from the very beginning.” “That’s exactly the problem.” “That’s where it hurts.” “Endure? Escape? Fight honorably? Or perhaps a false compromise? Deception? Appeasement? To be, or not to be—which is better? I don’t know.” “It’s painful because I don’t know.”

Poro.

“Twice! You said ‘painful’ twice.” “You immediately spout such overblown philosophical drivel, spew meaningless sighs, and make faces like some third-rate actor’s parody—utterly disgraceful.” “I’d prepared myself for His Majesty’s words.” “You mustn’t lose composure over such trifles.” Polonius had comprehended His Majesty’s arrangements. That’s why he too had tendered his resignation. “Now Lord Hamlet—you alone remain our hope.” “I have my own designs.” “Lord Horatio, your assistance too.” “All of this serves Lord Hamlet.” “Now Lord Horatio, swear.” “Swear never to breathe a word of what I’ll disclose.”

Hor. “What’s wrong?” “Lord Polonius, you’ve suddenly turned all stiff and formal, haven’t you?”

Pol. “It is for Lord Hamlet.” “Do you find the oath disagreeable?”

“Hor.” “I swear, I swear. It’s just—this all feels as abrupt as grafting bamboo onto a tree, so I’m rather flustered.” “I do swear.” “For Lord Hamlet’s sake, I would do any unpleasant thing.” “Pol.” “I trust you.” “Then I shall speak.” “Lord Hamlet, earlier I began to say something but stopped when Lord Horatio arrived. However, the truth is—Polonius believes that other dark rumor currently circulating through the castle.”

Ham. “What? “You actually believe it?” “You fool!” “You’re the one who’s gone mad.” “Otherwise, you’re the one scheming to threaten the King with vile rumors and forcibly push Ophelia on me as my consort—a despicable, base scheme.” “Filthy. Filthy.” “Polonius—you said it yourself earlier, didn’t you?” “You muttered, ‘I am a man who would even betray the King for my daughter’s happiness—I am a wicked man,’ didn’t you?” “At that time, I had no idea what was going on—but now I clearly understand.” “Polonius, you are a terrifying man.”

Pol. “No! That’s not it!” “My feelings have changed.” “I shall tell you everything from the beginning.” “It was only very recently that I heard rumors of the late king’s ghost.” “I considered it a troubling matter.” “I had intended to consult His Majesty in due course and implement appropriate measures, but lately, when observing the King’s demeanor, there seems to be a shadow over him.” “I hesitated to consult him.” “For some reason, it proved difficult to consult him.” “Let me state this clearly.” “I had gradually come to suspect His Majesty.” “Even while thinking ‘It couldn’t be…,’ as I observed His Majesty’s bearing, this unpleasant darkness began swelling within me.” “I kept those feelings sealed within my heart until now, waiting for the day they might resolve themselves with clarity.” “I secretly prayed it might prove an unfounded fear.” “But just now—seeing my daughter’s pitiable state—I suddenly conceived a terrible scheme.” “I did contemplate the vile stratagem you mentioned moments ago, Lord Hamlet.” “But Polonius is no disloyal subject.” “You must believe this.” “I merely entertained the thought for an instant.” “That claim about lying awake all night pondering it was false.”

“I got carried away and uttered insincere embellishments.” “Despite my age, when it comes to my child’s affairs, even I find myself wanting to use grandiose words like Lord Hamlet does.” “For an instant—a mere instant—I considered it, then shuddered at its baseness. This time, conversely, I came to fiercely adore the very soul of justice.” “I fell helplessly in love with it.” “Rather than Ophelia’s situation, I must first verify the truth of that ominous rumor.” “I realized this act constitutes not merely a subject’s duty—no, it is humanity’s obligation.” “Lord Hamlet, I am now your ally.” “From today onward, I intend to join your company of youth.” “The justice of youth.” “In this world, that alone remains trustworthy.”

Ham. “How strange.” “I’m getting flustered.” “It’s kind of... strange.” “Horatio, life is nothing but one unexpected thing after another.”

Hor.

“I believe.” “Thank you, Lord Polonius.” “I do believe.” “I’m touched.” “But somehow... this feels off.” “Too sudden.”

“Polo.”

“There’s nothing strange about it. You’re the cowards here. I might be past caring altogether. No—that’s not it. Justice. Justice! What a splendid word! I’ll charge forth! Lend me your strength. Let us three first assay the King. Rude though it may be—all for justice’s sake. Let us scrutinize His Majesty’s countenance. Let us secure irrefutable proof. What say you? I’ve conceived one sound scheme. Advise me. All of this serves justice. The path I must tread lies solely there.”

Hor. “Justice itself would blush at your antics. “Polonius, you’re out of your mind. “A man your age acting so shamefully—it’s pathetic. “Get a grip. “Are you truly swallowing that absurd rumor? “It’s lies, isn’t it? “I sense some scheme festering beneath this.” Polo. “How pitiful you sound. “Lord Hamlet, you poor deluded boy. “You understand nothing of consequence.”

Horatio. “Ah, this won’t do. “Lord Polonius, please stop. “The King is a good man. “Lord Hamlet, deep down, truly admires His Majesty the King. “Please don’t say such eerie things now.” No good, no good. Ah, I’m getting cold again. I shiver. "My whole body shivers."

“Ham.”

“Polonius, this is a grave matter. Refrain from frivolous words and actions. Do you truly have credible grounds for this?”

“Polo.” “Regrettably... there is.”

“Ham.”

“Hah, Horatio. When we were toying with doubts as a jest, it turns out to be true after all. What absurdity.” “I could laugh myself sick over this.”

6. Garden

Queen.

Ophelia.

Queen.

“It’s grown warmer hasn't it?” “This year I feel spring may arrive earlier than usual.” “The lawn too seems to have taken on a slightly pale green hue don't you think?” “If only spring would come quickly.” “I've had enough of winter.” “Look—the stream's ice has melted too.” “Willow buds are such soft and truly lovely things aren't they?” “When those buds grow long enough to flutter their white undersides in the wind all manner of wildflowers will bloom across this entire area.” “Buttercups nettles daisies and then orchids—those orchids what do common folk call them Ophelia? Do you know?” “Seeing your blush like that seems you do know.” “How I envy those who can casually utter any indecent words they please!” “Ophelia—what name does your kind give those orchid flowers?” “Surely you don't use that vulgar name could you?”

Ophelia.

“No, Your Majesty. Even we still use that same term,” “Since we innocently grew accustomed to calling it that in childhood, it still slips out now.” “Not just me—all other young ladies say that vulgar name without hesitation and keep straight faces.”

Queen. “Oh my, is that so. “I’m astonished by the bluntness of today’s young ladies. “That might actually be more guiltless and refreshing, though.”

Ophelia.

“No. But in front of men, we’re careful and call them by such names as dead man’s fingers.”

Queen. "I see. That must be how it is." "It's amusing they can't say it before men." "But 'dead man's fingers'—what an inventive name." "Dead man's fingers." "I see." I couldn't deny feeling that impression myself. Poor flowers. Dead man's fingers adorned with golden rings. Oh—tears came despite no sadness. What a fool I am, weeping over flowers at my age. Women always crave indulgence regardless of years. There must be inherent triviality unique to women. No helping that, I suppose. Even now, I secretly cherish a single daisy more than all Denmark. Women are hopeless. No—not just women. Lately I've found humanity itself unreliable. Even seemingly respectable men—their true hearts tremble uniformly, living in fear of others' opinions—this I've finally understood. Human beings are wretched, pitiful creatures. Is this why we were born—to strain ourselves over successes and failures, cleverness and stupidity, victories and defeats; to sweat and rush from dawn till dusk, aging all the while?

"It’s no different from insects. How absurd. No matter what sadness or pain I faced, I lived striving until today without forgetting 'for Denmark’s sake'—but I was a fool. Deceived. Deceived by the former king, the current king, even Hamlet—by everyone. That phrase 'for Denmark’s sake' seemed so grand and noble. I endured every hardship and sorrow thinking only of Denmark. Because I took pride in doing God’s sacred work, I could bear even the loneliest times. My silent endurance came from believing myself specially chosen by God for this heavy duty—how absurd that seems now. With these weak arms, what could I ever achieve? People ignore my secret resolve, frittering days away on petty concerns of victory and defeat, then stir up vile incidents that alter fates around them. Afterwards comes the tiresome blame-shifting. Even if I strain alone for Denmark or Hamlet’s royal house, I’m straw in a muddy torrent—swept away. Truly absurd. Ophelia."

“How are you feeling?”

Ophelia. “Huh?” “Not really.”

Queen.

“There’s no need to hide it.” “I already know.” “Rest assured.” “I too cherish you as Hamlet’s mother.” “Your complexion looks better today.” “Have those spells of feeling unwell stopped?”

Ophelia.

“Yes. Your Majesty, I have no words to express my gratitude. To tell the truth, when I woke up this morning, a weight lifted from my chest, and even the smells no longer bothered me. Until yesterday, the smell of my own body—the bedding, undergarments, everything—was like garlic chives. No matter how much perfume I sprayed, I couldn’t stand it and cried alone. But this morning—as if waking from a bad dream—my body suddenly felt lighter, and the soup tasted truly delicious for the first time in days. I’m still a bit worried that some trigger might send me back into that hellish mood from yesterday. I feel like my body is something fragile—I’m on edge. Even now, I’m proceeding tentatively, breathing as quietly as possible while gingerly stepping onto the lawn one step at a time. Am I really okay now? I don’t want to go through such pain again.”

“Queen.”

“Yes, you’ll be perfectly fine now. “From now on, your appetite will only keep increasing.” “Truly, you know nothing at all.” “No wonder.” “From now on, I could be someone you can talk to.” “Because you’ve been speaking your mind honestly about everything since earlier, I’ve grown fond of you.” “I like people who boldly speak their mind without hesitation.”

Ophelia. “No, Your Majesty. “I was doing nothing but lying until yesterday.” “There’s no hell as painful and agonizing as deceiving others.” “But I no longer need to lie.” “Everyone has found out.” “My physical condition has fortunately felt so refreshed since this morning, and from now on, I’ll become the tomboyish Ophelia I used to be, without shrinking back.” “Truly, these two months—every single day—nothing but unexpected events kept happening. It feels like a dream.”

“Your Majesty.” “Oh, this dream-like feeling isn’t yours alone. Everyone has felt as if they’ve been trapped in a dreadful dream these past two months. The peace during the late king’s reign now feels almost like a lie when I think back on it. An era when both the castle and all of Denmark were filled with hope as we lived each day—such a time will never return again. Though no one is at fault in any way, everything has turned utterly gloomy and murky—I feel that nothing but sighs and spiteful whispers now fill Elsinore Castle and all of Denmark. I feel an ominous premonition—that something terrible will happen, something catastrophic will occur.” “If only Hamlet alone would stay composed—but he’s half-mad over you, and the rest are too busy fretting over their own status and reputations to do anything but scurry about—they’re completely unreliable.” “Women may be shallow, but men aren’t exactly clever either.” “You probably don’t realize this yet, but men—it’s almost pitiable—are constantly thinking about us.” “You mustn’t laugh like that.” “It’s true.” “I’m not saying this out of vanity.” “Men go on about this and that with such grand words, but in truth, they’re really living just to fret over what their beloved wives think.” “Advancement, success, victory—they all spring from the desire to please one’s dear wife alone.” “They come up with all sorts of reasons and strive hard, but really—it’s all just to be praised by a lovely woman.” “What a pitiful state of affairs.” “It’s downright pitiable.” “I’ve only recently noticed it, and it startled me.” “No, I was disappointed.”

“I have always revered the world of men.” “I used to believe they dwelled in lofty ideals far beyond our understanding—arduous aspirations we women could never grasp.” “Though unworthy, we strove to support them from behind the scenes—tending to trivial needs, offering humble assistance. How absurd! To discover that we caretakers in the shadows were the very purpose for which those men lived—it’s pure farce.” “When we try to discreetly place a mantle upon their shoulders from behind, they whirl around to face us—leaving us flustered and undone.” “They posture about ideals and philosophy and anguish—gazing nobly at distant skies—yet in truth fret over nothing but women’s opinions.” “Every gesture seeks praise and affection.” “Lately I find men utterly contemptible.” “This truth remains beyond Ophelia’s comprehension.” “To your eyes, I suppose Hamlet still shines as the paragon of manhood.” “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 applause from friends and you alike—then weeps alone when consequences arise that he cannot manage.” “Yet secretly he relies on us.” “He sulks while waiting for us to tidy his messes.” “He spouts pretentious philosophical drivel to impress Horatio’s set irresponsibly—then behind closed doors clings like a child begging sweets from us rather than behaving as any true philosopher would.” “A spoiled brat.” “From dawn till dusk he craves the doting praise of everyone around him.” “Hungry for fleeting adulation, he constantly devises shallow stratagems.”

“With that haphazard way of living, what on earth will become of him?” “Your brother Laertes—though the same age as Hamlet—already properly grasps how society operates.”

“Ophelia.”

“No, that is precisely my brother’s flaw.” “Your Majesty just now declared that even the most respectable-looking men are uniformly timid at heart, living only to fret over others’ opinions—yet immediately after those very words, you turn around to praise Laertes. How absurd.” “Even my brother’s true feelings are likely no different.” “While my brother may be somewhat rough-hewn compared to Prince Hamlet, and even have his steadfast qualities, those who live too decisively with such unclouded emotions only end up making us feel all the more desolate.” “I don’t hate my brother by any means, but I don’t feel close enough to confide everything in him.” “The same goes for my father.” “I may be a bad daughter—an unfit sister.” “It simply can’t be helped.” “I feel no closeness to my family—on the contrary—”

“Your Majesty.” “So you’re saying you only feel close to Hamlet.” “How trivial.” “That’s enough.” “When someone is consumed by love, they come to hate their own father and brother.” “Isn’t that perfectly natural?” “Truly, if I were to take your words seriously, I’d be made a fool.” “What nonsense are you spouting now?”

“Oh... “No, Your Majesty. “I am not infatuated. “I have long wished to say this—long before any of this came to pass. “No, not Prince Hamlet—I have long wished to say this to Your Majesty in secret, with all my heart. “In time, I found myself entangled with Prince Hamlet through joys and pains and unexpected turns—but what brought me greater happiness than anything was this faint hope that I might be allowed, if I may be so bold, to call Your Majesty ‘Mother’ and seek your affection. “Please believe me. “Your Majesty could never fathom how deeply I have revered you since childhood—how utterly I adored you beyond measure. “Until now, in my gestures, in my manner of speech—in everything—I have done nothing but imitate Your Majesty. “I’m sorry. “Not because of Your Majesty’s station, but simply as a woman of charm, a good person, a splendid person—oh, how can I express it? Your Majesty, please laugh at me. “I am a foolish girl. “If Prince Hamlet were not Your Majesty’s child, I too would not have made such a mistake, I think. “I am not a woman of loose morals. “Since he is Your Majesty’s most precious child, I too thought to take good care of him.”

“Your Majesty.” “You do nothing but spout these charming little jokes.” “You all blurt out whatever words come to mind on a sudden whim, presenting them as solemn truths—it always leaves us utterly exasperated.” “If you have even the slightest affection for me, it’s still because of my status.” “Because my status glitters so brightly, you’ve been dazzled by it, gotten carried away, and now everything seems splendid to you beyond reason.” “I’m just a trivial old woman.” “The reason you couldn’t refuse Hamlet was also because of his status.” “This outlandish notion that you wanted to cherish him because he’s the Queen’s precious child—I alone might laugh it off and let it pass, even forgive you. But if you say such things to others, you’ll be branded a fool or a madwoman.” “You said with such apparent innocence that calling me ‘Mother’ and seeking affection was your greatest joy—but it’s perfectly obvious.” “That is nothing more than you expressing the joy of becoming the Prince of Denmark’s consort.” “For a girl born in Denmark, becoming the Prince’s consort and attaining the status to call the Queen ‘Mother’ should be the greatest joy possible.” “It’s only natural.” “You all skillfully disguise your vulgar ambitions with innocent, coquettish words—that’s why we can’t let our guard down.” “We’ll let our guard down and be deceived.” “The young people today, while pretending to know nothing and speaking in childish ways to amuse us, are in fact shrewdly pursuing their own vulgar self-interest—it’s utterly tiresome.” “They’re truly shrewd and cunning.”

“Ofu.” “That’s not true, Your Majesty.” “Why must you be so unkind and doubt me without end?” “I have no such audacious and shallow ambitions.” “I simply truly love Your Majesty.” “I love you so much it brings me to tears.” “My birth mother passed away when I was young, but even if she were alive now, I don’t believe she could compare to Your Majesty.” “Your Majesty has been kinder than my late mother and possesses a more wonderful charm.” “I would gladly die for Your Majesty at any time.” “I have always fantasized about living a modest life, calling someone like Your Majesty ‘Mother.’” “I have never once considered matters of status.” “I am a disloyal daughter.” “Perhaps it’s precisely because I have no mother that my feelings of admiration grew even stronger.” “I truly have no ambition at all.” “That’s such a cruel thing to say.” “I had even forgotten Prince Hamlet’s status.” “But the scent of Your Majesty’s milk lingered somewhere upon Prince Hamlet’s body, and so I found him unbearably dear—until at last I fell into this shameful state.” “I had not the slightest ulterior motive.” “I can swear that clearly before the Lord.” “To think of becoming Prince Hamlet’s consort and rising in status—such audacious ambition, truly, I have not even dreamed of.”

“I would be happy simply if I could feel even a distant connection to Your Majesty within myself.” “I have already given up on everything.” “Now, my only joy lies in safely delivering Your Majesty’s grandchild and raising them to be healthy.” “I consider myself a happy woman.” “Even if Prince Hamlet abandons me, I can live happily every day with my child.” “Your Majesty.” “Ophelia has Ophelia’s pride.” “As Polonius’s daughter, I possess wisdom that brings no shame and a will that does not yield.” “I am fully aware of everything.” “I was never so giddily infatuated with Prince Hamlet as to think him the most beautiful, perfect warrior in all the world.” “If I may be rude—his nose is too long.” “His eyes are small, and his eyebrows too thick.” “His teeth seem terribly bad too—he isn’t the least bit handsome.” “His legs are slightly bent, and he has such a pitifully severe hunchback.” “His character isn’t admirable either.” “Perhaps ‘effeminate’ is the word—he’s always fretting over others’ gossip and working himself into a frenzy.” “That night he said things so pathetically feeble they made me cringe—‘You’re the only one I can trust,’ ‘I’m just constantly deceived,’ ‘I’m such a pitiful child—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 hesitated even slightly to comfort him, he’d suddenly shout—‘Ah! I’m miserable! No one understands my suffering! The unhappiest man alive! So alone!’—tearing at his hair and moaning piteously.” “He seemed unable to rest unless he forcibly cast himself as tragedy’s protagonist.”

“He’d suddenly stand up and hurl his coffee cup against the wall with a crash, shattering it to pieces.” “Then, in high spirits, he’d declare, ‘There’s no man in this world with a keener mind than mine! I’m a man like lightning! I understand everything! Not even the devil could deceive me! If I set my mind to it, I can do anything—succeed at any terrible adventure! 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, utterly bad-mouthing himself.” “I’m actually a braggart.” “A fraud.” “A fake.” “He’s been seen through by everyone and is being laughed at.” “The only one who doesn’t know is you.” “You’re such a fool.” “You’re being deceived.” “You’re being completely fooled by me.” “Ah, I’m such a wretched man too.” “Having been cast aside by everyone in the world, he now clings to just one fool like you and acts all high and mighty.” “He keeps shamelessly ridiculing himself—saying things like ‘How undisciplined I am’—so endlessly that listening to it makes me want to cry.” At other times, he’d stand in front of a mirror for an hour, distorting his face in various ways and gazing at it. “He seems bothered by his long nose—while looking at himself in the mirror, he’ll pinch it up now and then and such—so I can’t help but burst out laughing.” “But I love him.” “There’s no one like him anywhere in the world.” “Yet somehow, I feel there’s something truly remarkable about him.” “Even though he has all sorts of ridiculous flaws, there’s a scent reminiscent of the Son of God about him somewhere.” “I, too, am a woman of pride.”

“However, I do not engage in such things as overestimating men and becoming giddy.” “Even if his station were that of a prince, I would never thoughtlessly cling to Your Majesty.” “Prince Hamlet is the most tender-hearted soul in this world.” “It’s precisely because of that depth of feeling that he becomes overwhelmed—his heart and words spiraling into chaos.” “That must be so.” “Though Your Majesty herself knows Prince Hamlet’s virtues full well—”

Your Majesty.

“I can’t make heads or tails of what you’re saying—it’s utterly incoherent. “First you spout this nonsensical logic about liking Hamlet because you admire me—then turn around and viciously slander him—only to immediately declare from the same mouth that there’s no one better in this world than Hamlet, that he’s the Son of God—such shameful, wasteful blasphemy! “You seize upon an old woman like me and prattle such idiocy about me having marvelous charm—then pivot to declare with saintly airs that you’re not infatuated at all, that you’ve already resigned yourself! “I simply don’t know where to focus or how to listen anymore—it’s utterly confounding. “You’ve fallen under Hamlet’s influence too, haven’t you? “Shall I call you his star pupil? “I thought it was only Horatio, but it seems you’re quite the model disciple as well.”

“Ofu.” “When Your Majesty speaks to me like that, I grow despondent too.” “I believe I have expressed my feelings truthfully and without alteration.” “Everything I’ve told you is true.” “The contradictions must surely stem from my poor way of expressing myself.” “I’ve resolved never to lie to Your Majesty—and even if I tried deceit, Your Majesty would never be fooled by it. I grow frantic to convey every last thought and feeling within me, but my eagerness races ahead while my words stumble clumsily behind—so inept am I at expressing what truly lies in my heart.” “I swear to God—I am being honest.” “I wish to be truthful only with those I love.” “Because I care for Your Majesty, I strive not to utter a single falsehood—yet the harder I try, the more awkward my words become.” “When I consider how nothing sounds so absurd—so halting and nonsensical—as humanity’s honest words, I’m overcome with inexplicable sorrow.” “My speech may be muddled and incoherent, yet the thoughts within my heart follow perfect order.” “This perfectly round thing inside me—it’s somehow complex beyond words.” “So I try offering fragments of thought, hoping to piece them together into something whole for Your Majesty—but somehow, the more I speak, the more clumsily I falter.” “Perhaps I love too deeply.” “Or lack common sense.”

“Your Majesty.” “All these are just the excuses Hamlet taught you.” “Young people today are so adept at making excuses for themselves—I grow sick of it.” “Instead of using such pretentious language, why don’t you just say it like this:” “If you’d simply say, ‘I’ve become confused, my heart is full,’ we would understand you far better.” “When it comes to other matters, you speak boldly and clearly without hesitation—such a good girl—but with Hamlet, you spout nothing but strange excuses to hide your own embarrassment.” “You still haven’t even said ‘I’m sorry’ to me.”

“Oh. “Your Majesty, “Even when I feel truly sorry from the bottom of my heart, somehow those words refuse to leave my lips. “I do not believe our recent actions could ever be forgiven with a mere ‘I’m sorry.’ “I feel as though the words ‘I’m sorry’ are written all over my body in blue ink, packed so tightly there’s not a single gap—yet somehow I cannot bring myself to say ‘I’m sorry’ to Your Majesty. “It feels hollow. “Even if one has done terrible things, to think that merely saying ‘I’m sorry’ once would earn forgiveness is the act of a shameless person who remains oblivious to their own wrongdoing. “I simply cannot do it. “I believe Prince Hamlet, too, is suffering in the same way right now. “I believe he is rushing to make amends through some means. “Prince Hamlet and I have lately been thinking of nothing but the anguish of how to apologize to Your Majesty. “Your Majesty is now in such lonely circumstances that we ought to comfort you, yet we’ve ended up in this state—causing you even more concern—and words like ‘wrong’ or ‘foolish’ are utterly inadequate for such a thing. “There is suffering more painful than death. “I have truly adored Your Majesty since long ago. “That truly is the case. “All my life, I have strived in both manners and studies, yearning even once to be praised by Your Majesty—and yet, oh, what a fool I am. “In a moment of madness, I committed the most unforgivable act against Your Majesty. “Even Prince Hamlet is no less—no, even more than I—in his respect and affection for Your Majesty. “We pray that Your Majesty remains healthy and well forever. “There was even a night when I earnestly told Prince Hamlet that while you are alive, we would surely make amends and show you.”

“Your Majesty, Your Majesty—oh!”

The Queen.

“I’m sorry.” “Trying not to cry, I’ve been holding myself back since earlier and saying nothing but cruel things I didn’t truly mean.” “Ophelia—when you speak to me so tenderly and adore me this way—it rends my heart.” “This chest of mine felt ready to split apart.” “Ophelia, you’re a good child.” “You’re undoubtedly an honest girl.” “You may have sly aspects about you, but well—those innocent, unconscious lies shouldn’t be reproached.” “Such lies become beautiful instead.” “Ophelia—in this world, nothing compares to the beauty and delight of an innocent girl’s words.” “Set against that purity—we’re soiled.” “Repulsive.” “I’m exhausted.” “Hearing those words—that you still love me from your hearts’ core and pray I live forever—I couldn’t endure it.” “Ah—even if only for your sakes alone—I must keep living—Ophelia—forgive me.”

“Oh… ‘Your Majesty, what are you saying? ‘It’s all completely backward.’ ‘Your Majesty must have recalled some other sad matter.’ ‘Oh, perfect timing.’ ‘There is a bench here.’ ‘Come, please sit down and calm your mind.’ ‘Your Majesty, when you cry so much, even I feel like crying.’ ‘Come, let’s sit side by side like this.’ ‘Oh, Your Majesty.’ ‘This was the bench where the late king sat at his passing.’ ‘The late king was sitting on this bench in the garden sunbathing when suddenly his condition worsened. By the time we rushed over, he had already taken on a sorrowful appearance.’ ‘That was the day I first tried on my new red dress that morning—but what with feeling both sad and frustrated, I couldn’t help seeing my own red dress as green.’ ‘When one is extremely sad, red appears green.’”

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

“Oh…”

“Your Majesty, I do not quite understand your words.” “But regarding myself, there’s no need for concern anymore.” “I will raise Prince Hamlet’s child.”

Seven: A Room in the Castle

Hamlet alone.

Ham.

"Idiot! I'm an idiot. I'm an idiot. I'm a complete and utter fool. What on earth am I living for? In the morning I get up, eat meals, wander about, and when night comes, sleep. And all the while, I only think about having fun. I mastered three foreign languages—but that too was just to read foreign obscene poetry. The stomach of my imagination is five times wider and ten times greedier than others'. It knows no satiety. It craves stronger and stronger stimulation. But since I'm a cowardly slacker, I usually end up just yearning for stimulation. A metaphysical speculator. An adventurer confined to my inner world. A voyager within my study. In other words—a worthless dreamer. I walk around seeking all sorts of stimulation only to get tangled with someone like Ophelia—and that's as far as I go. Seems I've been completely defeated by Ophelia. What a disgraceful mess. Pretending to be Don Juan, I set out on a journey of self-cultivation—first as practice barely sweet-talking some girl—only to find parting so agonizing I settled there for life. A laughable tale. First planning to start with trial runs—deceiving country girls to study feminine hearts—then solemnly embark on my Don Juan training journey... But the joke's on me: I spent all seventy years of my life researching just one country girl."

I maintained a grave expression yet was the hero of a comedy. I might actually have had a knack for being a clown. Lately my world overflowed with laughable tales. I had idly entertained suspicions and joked around only for someone to deadpan something terrifyingly sober like “We have concrete evidence,” giving me goosebumps. This was what they meant when jokes took serious turns. That my denture-wearing mother became someone’s illicit crush made for fine comedy. Polonius suddenly posing as some earnest champion of justice proved equally ridiculous. The notion of me becoming a father seemed preposterous—no, tonight’s reading play truly took the crown. Polonius had clearly gone mad. Rejuvenating thirty years overnight then prancing about proposing reading plays—utter lunacy. He dredged up some cloyingly sentimental relic by an English poetess and insisted we three perform it—appalling. His casting as bride defied all reason. Admittedly that poem’s content might have stung Uncle and Mother somewhat. His scheme involved inviting Their Majesties to gauge their reactions mid-performance—sheer idiocy. Even paling faces proved nothing. Calm laughter didn’t confirm innocence either. You could judge their sensory acuity but never guilt. The man lost all reason. Though recognizing its folly I played along. Not wanting to offend Ophelia’s father I praised his plan strong-armed Horatio into agreement and by noon we rehearsed.

Horatio had initially made such reluctant remarks, but once rehearsals began he suddenly grew animated, projecting his shrill voice with that peculiar line delivery born of his Wittenberg drama club training. That guy was truly an honest man. He expressed his emotions in words and actions without the slightest alteration. No matter how clumsily he blundered there was something beautiful about it. He was utterly without guile. A man truly humble who knew resignation. Compared to that—ah—what a fool I was. A complete and utter fool. I didn't know how to give up. My desires knew no bounds. I was the kind of fool who nonchalantly fantasized about absurdities like making every single woman in the world mine at least once. I wanted all people in the world to genuinely admire me—to occasionally flash my keen intellect and exceptional skills—leaving everyone awestruck as I sat there dreamily pondering such things with my cheek resting on my hand. But in reality I could do nothing. Far from all women in the world I couldn't even handle the girl next door and was suffering to death. Far from having exceptional skills I didn't understand a thing about national politics. Far from being admired I was constantly deceived by people. I was always afraid of people. I was always revering people. Even when people bowed with mere formality I convinced myself those gestures were sincere—immediately grew ecstatic to near frenzy—believing I must meet their expectations by putting on heroic airs I didn't feel until landing in irreparable situations that left me ridiculed by everyone. Even when people spoke ill of me I failed to notice their hostility—convinced they forced themselves to voice harsh truths for my own good—gratefully inscribing their names as benefactors in my mental ledger while vowing future repayment. Even when despised by others I mistook it for respect or affection—only realizing five years later through sudden midnight clarity that it had been contempt all along—Damn it!

I think—no, truly, what a blessing! Just when you think that’s all, there’s another side to me—this strong calculating streak. I act kindly toward my friends, but in some corner of my heart, I’m always secretly thinking things like "kindness ultimately serves oneself." I’m such an insufferable man. An unfathomable fool—that’s me. Fundamentally, I can’t even clearly distinguish what makes someone great or what makes someone evil. Someone with a lonely face somehow ends up looking self-important. Ah, how pitiable. Humans are pitiable. I’m pitiable, and so is Horatio. Polonius, Ophelia, Uncle, Mother—everyone, everyone is pitiable. I have never, from the start, had contempt or hatred, anger or jealousy—none of it. I was merely imitating others, making a show of hating and despising. In actuality, I don’t understand a thing. What does it mean to hate someone—what kind of feeling is that? To look down on others, to feel jealousy—what does that feel like? I don’t understand any of it. There is only one emotion I can truly feel surging in my chest like crashing waves—this overwhelming sense of pity. I have lived these twenty-three years with this single emotion alone. Beyond that, I understand nothing. But even as I think them pitiable, there’s nothing I can do. However, even if I think that way, I can’t even express it well in words—and when it comes to actions, only phenomena contrary to what’s in my heart appear. It’s nothing but this—I’m a lazy, utter fool. I’m of no use at all.

Ah, how pitiable. Truly, this is no laughing matter. Horatio, Uncle, Mother, Polonius—everyone is pitiable. If my life could be of use, I'd give it to anyone. Lately I can't help but find humans more and more pitiable. Even when we wring out our meager wisdom and strive desperately, doesn't everything just keep getting worse?"

Polonius. Hamlet.

Poro. “Ah, I’m busy.” “Oh, Prince Hamlet—you’ve already come here?” “What do you think? This makes quite a stage, doesn’t it?” “I brought rugs and empty crates into this room earlier to build this.” “Well now—this scale suffices perfectly.” “Being a reading play, it needs neither curtain nor backdrop.” “Don’t you agree?” “But emptiness felt too bleak, so I placed this cycad pot here.” “See how this single planter elevates the stage’s presence?”

“Ham.” “You’re pitiable.”

Poro.

“What did you say?” “What’s pitiable?” “Are you saying we shouldn’t put the cycad pot here?” “Then shall we place it further back onstage?” “Now that you mention it, having it at the edge makes even the cycad pot seem pitiable.” “It looks ready to tumble off the stage any moment.” Ham. “Polonius—you’re the pitiable one.” “No, not just you. Uncle, Mother—everyone’s pitiable.” “All living humans are pitiable.” “We endure life with all our strength, yet lack even one night of joyful laughter.”

“Poro.” “What are you saying now, of all times?” “That’s an ill omen to speak of!” “You’re always saying things that throw cold water on people’s hard-earned plans and dampen the mood.” “I merely planned this childish scheme for your sake.” “I resonated with your sense of righteous integrity and was granted participation in this fellowship of truth-seekers.” “I have no other ambitions.” “With this reading play, we’ll present it to you and test just how much of those unsavory rumors from this incident are actually true—”

“Ham.”

“Alright, alright.” “Polonius, you truly are a champion of justice.” “Most admirable.” “But one’s own sense of justice can utterly shatter another’s peaceful family life.” “It’s not that either side is particularly wrong.” “From the very beginning, humans were made with such ill timing.” “What would change even if we obtained evidence Uncle did something wrong?” “Wouldn’t we all just become even more pitiable than before?”

Poro. “No, Prince Hamlet—with all due respect, you’re still young.” “If through this attempt we ascertain that His Majesty has nothing to hide, then we Danes will naturally breathe a collective sigh of relief, and happy smiles will fill the castle.” “Justice isn’t always about listing people’s faults to condemn them—sometimes it means proving someone’s innocence to save them.” Polonius was even expecting that one in ten thousand happy outcome. “One in ten thousand!” “If one in ten thousand—if such an outcome occurs, ah, that would border on miraculous—no, but well, let’s try it anyway.” “Leave what comes after to Polonius.” “I won’t do anything bad.”

Ham. “Polonius, you’re working so hard.” “How pitiable.” “I understand everyone.” Oh, I can’t stand this. What does it matter even if Uncle was doing something? Uncle’s just surviving with all his might in his own way. My feelings seem to have turned completely around. Until this morning I’d been speaking so ill of Uncle and making such a fuss about needing to uncover the root of those vile rumors—but Polonius, perhaps that was all meant to shift the scandal’s course, as if you’d skillfully steered it with one sharp thrust. After all, it might have just been a tool to hide embarrassment. Just now when you told me there was unfortunately solid evidence—I suddenly felt pity for Uncle. He’s pitiable. Uncle’s doing his best. Uncle isn’t the kind of person who could do such foolish bad things. Uncle’s a weaker person than I am. He’s striving with all his might. Ah—I’m such a fool. To have even jokingly suspected Uncle for a moment—I’m such a rash shameless fool. Polonius—let’s stop playing this game of justice. When I think of what terrible consequences this frivolous game will bring—ah—considering those dreadful outcomes—I feel I can’t go on living.”

Poro.

“You really must stop being so overdramatic. “This morning it was a relentless stream of ‘painful’ words; now you’re firing off ‘pitiable’ like a mantra. “Where did you learn to keep repeating that word like a mantra? “The world is not just a matter of emotion. “It is justice and will. “To live splendidly to the end, you must strictly avoid pity and reflection. “You need only concern yourself with Ophelia. “Compared to Prince Hamlet, Lord Horatio lives simply and innocently—truly immersed in youthful, uncomplicated dreams. “You should at least take some example from him. “Lord Horatio seems to have completely forgotten the true intent behind this reading play and has been so earnestly rehearsing, utterly carried away by the sheer joy of performing. “That’s fine as it is. “Have you sufficiently practiced your lines? “The guests will be arriving here shortly. “Lord Horatio has gone to invite all the guests now. “He’s really going all out, isn’t he? “Deep down, he seems to have wanted to play the bride’s role, 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 inviting us this evening. Since Horatio will grace us with his Wittenberg-honed eloquence, I’ve brought everyone here to listen. How delightful to hold such gatherings among close kin alone. Family communion may well be life’s greatest happiness after all. Yet I myself have found little joy of late. Life seems naught but oppressive burdens. Truly, thank you for tonight. Hamlet appears in better spirits today too. Playing with his dear friend Horatio evidently improves his humor. We ought to host such events periodically henceforth—Hamlet’s mood might yet clear entirely.”

Polonius: “Yes indeed—I too resolved to cast aside my years and join this youth theater troupe.” “First, to celebrate Your Majesty’s recent coronation and royal marriage; second, to lift Prince Hamlet’s spirits; and lastly, to showcase Lord Horatio’s foreign-trained vocal technique—a method of truly exceptional brilliance.” Horatio. “Please stop mocking me.” “If you keep harping on about vocal techniques, I’ll lose my voice entirely.” “Now then, Your Majesty—this way please.” “The audience seating is over here.” “Do take your seat.”

Queen.

“Like a bird taking flight from under one’s feet—why did you decide to start this reading play? Whether it’s Hamlet’s whim or Polonius’s scheming—Horatio seems to have been coaxed into playing along half-heartedly—none of this adds up to me.”

King. “Gertrude. “Theater connoisseurs would never state such obvious things.” “Now, everyone, sit down.” “Hmm, the stage is quite well constructed.” “Polonius’s handiwork?” “He’s unexpectedly skilled.” “Even so, everyone has their merits.”

Polonius.

“Indeed.” “In due time, I shall show you even greater skill.” “Now then, Prince Hamlet, let us take the stage.” “Lord Horatio, please join us as well.” Ham. “It feels higher than the Alps.” “Shall I ascend the guillotine... hup!” Hor. “During premieres, everyone feels dizzy from the stage height.” “This being my third time, I’ll manage.” “Ah!” “My foot slipped.” Polonius. “Lord Horatio, do take care.” “We cobbled this together from empty crates—uneven spots abound.” “Now then, everyone—” “We three hereby declare ourselves the Justice Theater Company!” “Tonight we shall perform *Welcome Fire*—a dramatic poem by an English authoress of renown.” “Our troupe includes an unpracticed old man; we beg indulgence for any unsightliness.” “First, let Lord Horatio—our foreign-trained star actor—deliver his address.”

Hor. “Huh? “I... well—no—this isn’t working. “I just want to play the flower groom’s role.”

Polonius.

“I, your humble servant, shall perform the role of the bride.”

Queen.

“It’s creepy.” “Lord Polonius seems to be drunk.”

King. “He’s not just drunk.” “It’s far worse.” “Look at that gaze.” Hamlet. “I’m supposed to be the ghost.” “Polonius, why don’t you hurry up and start?” “The audience are calling it a drunken troupe, you know.”

Polonius. "What? The only one not drunk here is me." "This is absurd，but let’s begin." "Now then，everyone."

Bride. (Polonius.)

“Beloved.” “You kind soul.” “Please hold me tight.” “That person is trying to take me away.”

“Ah, it’s cold.” The eerie sound of wind through the pines. “This cold north wind freezes my body.”

In the distant far,

In the distant far,

From the shadow of the forest emerged a small flickering light. "That is my welcoming fire."

“Flower Groom.” (Horatio.) “Oh, I’ll hold you tight, my little dove.”

Over by the distant forest, only stars were twinkling. There was no one suspicious anywhere.

On nights when the north wind blows fierce, even starlight turns sharp. Ghost. (Hamlet.) If, If.

“Bride.”

“Come with me. Surely you haven’t forgotten me?” “My voice is the wintry wind. My new home lies beneath the mud.” “Come with me.” “Come to the icy bed.” “The one calling you is me. Surely you couldn’t have forgotten.” If someone had just said “Come here” long ago, the budding rose would have shyly nestled close. Now an anemone blooms heavy with splendor, Beautiful liar.

“Come.”

Bride. (Polonius.)

“You.” “Hold me tighter!”

"That person—a shadow from the past—has come to torment me."

"That person is grabbing my wrist with cold fingers. Oh, you... ‘Hold me tighter!’ ‘My body might slip free from your arms and drift away to that forest cemetery.’"

That wind through the pines was a human voice. From a fleeting moment of doubt, it ceaselessly whispered of a long-ago vow made. It whispered in hushed tones.

“Hold me tighter!”

Ah, foolish mistakes of the past.

“I’m no good.”

“Flower Groom.” (Horatio.) “I am here.” “Fearing those who are gone now amounts to nothing but needless guilt.”

I am here.

There was no one suspicious anywhere.

If you’re frightened by the sound of the wind, cover your ears for a while.

Ghost. (Hamlet.)

“Come.” “Even if you cover your ears or shut your eyes—my voice should be heard, my form should be seen.”

“Let us go.”

“Now, let us go.”

“As promised long ago, I intend to protect you properly.”

“I’ve even prepared your bed.” “A fine bed that grants a sweet slumber from which you’ll never awaken.”

“Now，come.” My new home lies beneath the mud. In any case，it was the end of a path reached through single-minded，unwavering steps. “Come，let us go.” “We shall fulfill our ancient vow.”

Bride. (Polonius.) You.

“There’s no need to hold me anymore.” “It’s no good.” “That person with a voice like winter wind is forcibly taking me away.” “Farewell.” “Even if I’m gone, don’t lose heart—drink plenty of wine.” “And make sure to bask in the sun as well.” “Ah, just a little more.” “One more word.”

“Not a parting word, nor a lock of hair, nor a kiss—I’ll leave you nothing as I’m taken away.” “I can’t go on anymore.” “Please do not forget me.” Ghost. (Hamlet.) “It’s futile.” “Such pathetic words are in vain.” “You do not know that flower groom’s heart.” “That knight you love will surely forget you on the third day after you leave.” “Beautiful, and therefore fragile, sinful woman.”

“You will soon taste in the afterlife the same suffering I have suffered until today.”

“Jealousy.”

"That is the harvest you reaped from desperately yearning to be loved."

"That is truly a splendid harvest."

“Before long, a younger, more deeply modest little woman than you will sit in that bride’s chair in the exact same posture as yours, make the flower groom swear various new vows, and eventually bear a child.”

"In this world, the more frivolous one is, the more they are loved by all forever—and happy." "Now, let us go."

“Only you and I—”

Battered by rain and wind, Flying about, weeping and wailing, dashing everywhere!

Queen.

“Stop this!” “Hamlet, that’s enough—stop this at once.” “What on earth is this monkey-witted scheme?” “It’s too absurd—I can’t bear to watch.” “If you’re determined to harass me, at least do it with something more clever.” “You are all cowards.” “This is vulgar.”

“I will take my leave now.” “I felt sick to my stomach.”

King.

“There’s not the slightest reason for anger.” “It’s quite entertaining.” “It seems there’s more to this.” “Polonius’s bride was quite the success.” “The part where you desperately pleaded, ‘Hold me tighter,’ was excellent—and when you said ‘I can’t’ and drooped your head like that, it truly captured a maiden’s essence.” “A fine performance indeed.” Poro. “I am honored by your praise.” King. “Polonius, I’d like you to come to my chambers later. “Hamlet was even saying lines not in the script, wasn’t he?” “But somehow, it lacked intensity.” “His expression was dismissive.”

Queen.

“I will take my leave.” “I’ll pass on such a clumsy play.” “For Polonius’s bride, only a sea monster groom would make a suitable match.” “Now, I shall take my leave.”

King. “Now, wait a moment. Hamlet, has this play already ended?”

Ham. “Ah, it’s finished. “There’s more to come, but it doesn’t matter. “Let’s stop here. “Because performing the play wasn’t the true purpose. “Now, everyone, please leave. “I do hope you were bored stiff tonight.”

King. “I had thought it would come to this.” “Now then, Gertrude—I shall take my leave as well.” “Well, it was rather entertaining.” “Horatio, your Wittenberg-trained eloquence seems to have found its distinctive flair in all that stammering.” Hore. “I’ve subjected your ears to such vulgar tones.” “All in all, I was somewhat miscast in this reading play.”

King. “Polonius—my chambers later.” “Well then, I must take my leave.”

Polonius. Hamlet. Horatio. Poro. “This won’t be settled with simple tricks.” Hore.

“It seems nothing much came of it.”

“Ham.”

“Of course.” The Queen was furious; the King laughed. “Even if we’ve learned that much, how could that serve as any kind of key? Polonius, you are a fool.” “It seems you’ve gotten a bit carried away by Ophelia’s charm.” “Only you and I will keep darting about, wailing and dashing around, battered by wind and rain!”

Poro. “Well，the incident will take a sudden turn from here． Well，just wait and see．”

VIII The King’s Chambers King. Polonius. King.

“You’ve betrayed me, Polonius. “You incited the children to start that utterly pointless reading play—what were you thinking?” “Have you lost your mind?” “Exercise some restraint.” “I’ve figured most of it out.” “You’ve done such an absurd thing to frighten us and plot to have your daughter’s misconduct forgiven, haven’t you?” “Polonius, you’re just another doting fool after all.” “Why didn’t you consult me directly?” “If you bear resentment, you ought to lay it bare frankly.” “You are dishonest.” “You are underhanded.” “You’re stuck tinkering with trivial little schemes, utterly incapable of orchestrating a bold, all-or-nothing grand conspiracy.” “Polonius, you should feel at least some shame.” “What on earth were you thinking, teaming up with those green-beaked fledglings Hamlet and Horatio to recite such teeth-gratingly saccharine, pretentious lines?” “What a farce this reading play is!” “When they recited ‘Far away, far away’ twice with those puckered little mouths, I broke out in goosebumps all over.” “That was dreadful.” “I was so embarrassed watching it that tears came to my eyes.” “You’ve always had delicate nerves—which has been your virtue—attentive to every direction, fretting over even distant futures and advising me so thoroughly that I’ve been greatly aided. I’ve felt genuine gratitude, thinking no one but you could do this. Yet this same trait is your flaw: lacking open-hearted forthrightness, fussing over trivialities, prone to grumbling, never speaking your mind plainly but sugarcoating it in some absurd gentlemanly affectation.” “Or perhaps I should call it a poetic temperament?”

“You’re far too gloomy.” “Because you always seem to harbor resentment in your heart, even those in the castle find you off-putting and hardly seem to like you, do they?” “Even though you’re incapable of any real wrongdoing, you somehow come off as underhanded.” “Your character is spineless.” “It’s tainted.”

Poro.

“As they say—like king, like retainer.” “Polonius’s spinelessness must be Your Majesty’s gracious influence.” Claudius: “Have you lost your mind? What are you saying?” “You’re being rude.” “What are you saying?” “That puffed-up face of yours makes you look like a completely different person.”

“Polonius, are you truly out of your mind? Earlier, you performed that distasteful bride role with such an unnervingly shrill voice—though given your naturally delicate nerves and volatile moods that swing between moping and rejoicing, I suppose you just got excited over some trivial incident and forgot your station and age, prancing about like a fool. But even that has its limits! You and I have lived under practically the same roof for thirty years, yet never before have you disgraced yourself to this degree tonight. There must be some profound reason behind this. I summoned you here intending to calmly get to the bottom of it, but look at this absurdity! Not only did you not offer a single word of apology, but you changed your expression and lashed out at me.” “Polonius!” “Now, calm down and answer clearly.” “What on earth possessed you to start such a saccharine play—the kind even a nursemaid would laugh at—at your age?” “Anyway, that play—no, reading play—that absurd reading play must have been your idea.” “I know perfectly well.” “Even Hamlet or Horatio would pick a more polished script.” “Such a grandiose, shudder-inducingly antiquated script—no one but you would have chosen it.” “Everything is your doing.” “Now, Polonius, answer me.” “Why on earth would you pull such an impudent, foolish stunt?”

Poro.

“Since Your Majesty is so wise, I am certain you have already discerned everything—even without Polonius answering.”

King. “Now you’re being absurdly deferential and saying something disagreeable again.” “Are you sulking?” “Polonius, quit making such an affected expression.” “You’re the spitting image of Hamlet.” “So you’ve become one of Hamlet’s disciples too?” “I heard from Her Majesty earlier that Hamlet’s disciples have been popping up everywhere lately.” “Horatio has long been infatuated with Hamlet—even mimicking how he twists his mouth—but lately, it seems he’s also gained a young female disciple.” “And now, it appears even an old man has become a disciple.” “Hamlet must feel reassured to have gained such splendid successors in quick succession.” “Polonius, at your age, you shouldn’t sulk so much.” “If you have complaints, why not lay them out plainly?” “If it’s about Ophelia, I’ve already steeled myself.”

Poro. “With all due respect, the issue does not concern Ophelia.” “Her fate has already been decided.” “She’ll sneak off to a country castle and quietly get rid of her pregnancy—that’s all there is to it.” “And then I will resign from my position, and Laertes’s study abroad will be discontinued.” “Our family is ruined.” “That has already been decided.” Polonius had resigned himself. Prince Hamlet still had to take a princess from England. It was a matter concerning the safety and peril of the nation. Ophelia was indeed pitiable, but her plight could not alter the fate of the nation. The Polonius family intended to endure any misfortune and continue living, so please rest assured on that point. “Now, the problem is not Ophelia.” “The problem is justice.”

Claudius: “Justice? “You say such strange things.”

Poro. “Justice. “The justice of youth.” Polonius had assumed the guise of resonating with it. “Your Majesty, at this very moment Polonius will lay bare everything without reserve.”

King. “Somehow this feels like I’m being forced to sit through another act of that reading play.” “Haven’t you gotten strangely theatrical and carried away?”

Poro.

“Your Majesty, Polonius is being serious.” “Your Majesty, rather than maintaining this dismissive attitude, I must ask you to listen earnestly.” “First and foremost, there is a matter I wish to formally inquire about.” “Your Majesty, how do you regard the utterly vile rumors that have been spreading through the castle of late?”

King: "I don't quite grasp what you're referring to, but if this concerns Ophelia, I only came to know of it this morning through you—it had never once entered my thoughts before then."

Poro. “Your Majesty must not play dumb.” “Ophelia’s matter is not the issue at hand.” “That has already been practically resolved.” “What I now inquire about is a far greater, more terrifying, and exceedingly difficult problem to resolve.” “Your Majesty—are you truly unaware of anything?” “Does nothing come to mind?” “There’s no way that’s true.” “That can’t be—”

King.

“I know. Everyone knows. I’m aware that vile speculations are being whispered about the former king’s death. Rather than anger, I felt shame for my own lack of virtue. That such outlandish rumors spread so convincingly only proves my inadequacy as a ruler. I feel unbearably lonely. Yet these rumors keep growing—they’ve even reached foreign ears now. If I keep wallowing in self-reproach, they’ll gain unstoppable momentum, pushing us toward irreversible disaster. That’s why I wanted to consult you about containing them. I myself endure well enough, but the Queen—being a woman—has grown so distressed she scarcely sleeps these nights. If we let time slip away like this, she’ll waste away and die. These youths spout their shallow jabs and bitter remarks without understanding our hardships, turning earnest lives into playthings. Just when I thought it pitiful enough, now you—for reasons beyond my grasp—lead their mad dance. Polonius, surely even you don’t believe that rumor?”

Polo. “I do believe it.”

King.

“What?”

Polo. “No, I do not believe it. However, I intend to keep pretending that I do believe it. This is Polonius’s parting gift of loyalty. Your Majesty—no, Lord Claudius. For over thirty years, not only I, your servant Polonius, but even my family members have received your gracious favor and generous protection. Due to Ophelia’s regrettable misstep this time, having to take my leave now, various emotions come and go within Polonius’s heart. Before offering my painful farewells, I wished to repay even a ten-thousandth part of Your Majesty’s immense kindness with a parting gift of loyalty—and so since this morning, I have taken what I believed to be the best measures regarding the young people. The young people initially treated that rumor like a joke, exaggeratedly making a fuss in jest—but I didn’t deny their commotion. Instead, I taught them that the rumor has grounds, that it’s true.”

King. “Polonius!” “What kind of loyalty is this?” “You incite the youth and spread slanderous rumors—this shows neither loyalty nor gratitude.” “Polonius, your crime cannot be atoned for by mere resignation.” “I misjudged you.” “I never imagined you were such a worthless man.”

Polo.

“I would ask that you save your anger for later.” “If Polonius’s methods this time were mistaken, I will humbly accept any form of execution.” “Lord Claudius, with all due respect, this strange rumor has spread far more widely than anticipated. The harder we tried to suppress it, the more fiercely its flames grew—so much so that I judged ordinary measures could never contain it. Thus, I resorted to a desperate gambit: I myself stirred up reckless commotion to disillusion the young people and engineer sympathy for Your Majesty. And indeed, Prince Hamlet and Horatio are now so exasperated by my fanatical cries of ‘Justice! Justice!’ that they’ve even begun advocating in Your Majesty’s defense.” “This trend, arising from the depths of the castle, will soon ripple outward in all directions and extinguish the flames of rumor entirely—and I doubt this lies in the distant future.” “Everything seems to have gone well.” “Rumors are such that if you try to suppress them, they only spread further—but if you fan them vigorously instead, people grow disillusioned and they naturally die out.” “Even I, at my age, had to mingle with the young people, spouting teeth-gratingly pretentious things like ‘justice’ and ‘ideals,’ until I was finally forced to play that bride’s role—it was quite an ordeal.” “Even now when I think about it, cold sweat wells up.” “I humbly beg you to understand my sincere intentions.”

King. “Well said! A splendid defense indeed.” “But Polonius, I am no child.” “How could I believe such an absurd excuse?” “Even if I tried, it’s too ridiculous—I can’t help but laugh.” “Claiming you fanned rumors *to extinguish them*? What childish nonsense! Feed this drivel to Hamlet and he might applaud your wit. To me, it reeks of farce.” “What a loyal retainer you are.” “Polonius, silence!” “This absurdity is beyond endurance.” “Let me spell it out.” “You’ve long nursed a peculiar sentiment toward Gertrude.” “When the late king died suddenly and she drowned in grief, your ‘comforting’ words dripped with unseemly sincerity—I saw through you then.” “Insolent wretch.” “A pitiable man—from that moment, I kept watch on you.” “Polonius, you remain blind to your own frenzy—cowering over Ophelia’s misstep one breath, then bellowing ‘justice’ to rally youths against us the next. Posturing as a sudden loyalist! This Ophelia debacle unmasked you—a ludicrous eruption of emotions long pent-up.” “You’d never notice.” “You’re so addled you’d hurl senile tantrums at anyone nearby—but Polonius, this feeling has a name, long defined.” “It surfaced in Hamlet’s lines during today’s reading play.” “Did you catch it?”

“It seems to be called jealousy, isn’t it?”

Polo. “Puh! Keep your delusions of grandeur in check.” “Love does seem to blind people.” “It is Your Majesty who seems unwell.” “When you yourself are in love, it seems everyone else appears lovestruck too.” “In any case, I must return that ‘jealousy’ remark to you.” “Though I’ve long lived as a widower, Polonius has never engaged in disgraceful affairs.” “Your Majesty is the one harboring strange jealousy.” “Truly, Your Majesty’s current state deserves to be called jealousy.” “Your long-hidden feelings reached their object—naturally you should rejoice. Yet to feel jealous even of a boorish old man like me leads Polonius to infer your own affairs fare poorly. What say you?”

King.

“Shut up! Polonius, have you lost your mind? Who do you think you’re talking to? From your daughter’s blunder, you appear to have become utterly reckless. Your current insolent remarks alone are sufficient to warrant the crimes of dismissal and imprisonment. Filthy, base conjectures are what I detest most. Polonius—construction takes ages, but collapse happens in an instant. Your thirty years of loyal service have vanished without a trace due to tonight’s insolence. Fleeting, isn’t it? Human destiny is something you can’t predict even a step ahead, isn’t it? What will become of things? I have absolutely no idea. I had believed until now that fate could be controlled by human will, but it seems there is such a thing as divine providence somewhere after all. Polonius—I had intended to forgive you until just a moment ago. As for Ophelia as well, I had prepared for the worst-case scenario. When Hamlet was truly devoted to Ophelia and seemed unlikely to heed our advice, I had no choice—I intended to abandon plans with the princess of England and permit his marriage to Ophelia. The Queen has now become Ophelia’s ally. The Queen knelt before me in tears this evening and pleaded. Gertrude, who until today had been sneering at me, for the first time abandoned her pride and pleaded. Even I had no choice but to steel myself.”

“Bringing a princess from England was indeed one of our most crucial policies, but I lack the courage to pursue it at the cost of my household’s harmony.” “I am weak!” “It seems I’m no good statesman.” “I cherish my family’s peace more than Denmark’s fate.” “If I could simply be a decent husband and father, that would content me.” “Perhaps I’m unworthy of kingship.” “I meant to forgive you all.” “We’re fellow weaklings.” “Just when I resolved we’d support each other moving forward—Polonius, what an utter fool you are.” “Acting alone in your resentment—convinced your house faces ruin—you plunged into reckless despair, needling the Queen with spiteful jabs through failed romance’s vengeance and absurd reading plays. Then toward me—first pretending these were loyal retainer’s desperate ploys—but caught red-handed, you turned brazen, spewing insolent threats like some base slanderer.” “Polonius, I’ve grown weary of pardoning you.” “You’re a fool.” “Transparent.” “I can forgive human wickedness, but never human stupidity.” “Dullness is the gravest sin.” “Polonius—this time—resignation won’t suffice.” “You grasp this, yes?”

Polonius: “Lies! Lies! Everything Your Majesty says is a lie. To claim you ever intended to permit Prince Hamlet’s marriage to Ophelia—that’s not just a lie—it’s an outright falsehood! ‘Oh, you’re weak?’ ‘Aren’t you a good politician?’ ‘Do you love the peace of your household more than Denmark?’ It’s all lies. Politicians as strong and of such exceptional skill as Your Majesty are few even in Europe.” Polonius had long been secretly astonished. “Your Majesty, you must not hide it. In this room—it’s just Your Majesty and Polonius alone; there’s no one else here.” The hour was already past midnight. The people within the castle—naturally—along with the small birds nesting under the eaves and the rats in the attic, were all fast asleep. There was no one listening. “Go on, say it. Polonius is fully aware of everything. Your Majesty has no doubt been secretly aiming for an opportunity to bring about Polonius’s downfall these past two months.”

“King.”

“You’re spouting nothing but trivial falsehoods.” “What does it matter that it’s past midnight?” “Without an ounce of shame, you rattle off these theatrical adjectives—what on earth are you ranting and raving about?” “Disgraceful.” “Withdraw at once, Polonius.” “I will issue further instructions in due course.”

Polo.

“Let me receive your judgment immediately.” Polonius was prepared. He had resigned himself to there being no escape. “For these past two months, I have been targeted by Your Majesty.” “You scrutinized me with hawklike eyes, searching for any slip-up.” “Knowing this, I took utmost care not to oppose Your Majesty’s will in any matter—until yesterday, I believed I had fulfilled my duties without significant error.” “Sending my son Laertes to study in France was partly to let him escape Your Majesty’s terrifying scrutiny.” “Even if I committed no blunders, Laertes might still cause mishaps through youthful recklessness.” “Had he made even the slightest misstep, Your Majesty would have seized the chance to punish and bury my family—clearer than day. So I sent Laertes fleeing to France with every precaution. No sooner had I begun to relax than—unthinkably—yesterday I learned Ophelia, whom I trusted most, had committed an unthinkable blunder. The ground crumbled beneath my feet—I knew all was lost.” “Now clinging to the faintest hope for Ophelia’s happiness, I went to consult Prince Hamlet this morning. Yet with all respect—His Highness remains young—he babbled about billowing black clouds and looming storm clouds, spouting nonsense that proved utterly unreliable.” “When pressed further, Prince Hamlet—now more obsessed with those dreadful rumors about the former king’s death than Ophelia—declared he’d trace their source. If we let these reckless youths act unchecked, disaster might strike like a snake from bushes. Thus I resolved this was my life’s great scheme—a parting gift of loyalty—to support their suspicions unhesitatingly, rush ahead championing justice, propose that cloying reading play so thoroughly even they grew disillusioned. Yet as I explained before—Your Majesty refused to believe it.” “In my heart’s depths—Ophelia’s plight still moved me—part of me prayed she alone might find happiness.” “It wasn’t that I didn’t scheme for her sake—to dispel Hamlet’s suspicions swiftly so he’d fight for her with all his might.” “But that wasn’t all.” “Your Majesty—please believe me!” “Humans have an instinct to do good.” “We live craving others’ gratitude.” “Polonius believes today—for Your Majesty’s sake, Her Majesty’s sake, Prince Hamlet’s sake—he made a splendid parting gift of loyalty.” When deserving praise alone—you mocked me with talk of foolish excuses and desperation—even tried pinning baseless jealousy on me—so Polonius lost patience and uttered discourtesies. Polonius had already resigned himself.

The king had spent the past two months eagerly awaiting this moment when Polonius would fall into such dire straits. This must be what he’d been waiting for. Polonius truly was a fool. Denmark’s greatest fool. Even though he’d known all along how this would end, his insistence on making those unnecessary shows of loyalty—that ridiculous “parting gift of devotion”—had only backed him further into a corner. The punishment would undoubtedly be far more severe now. “I’ve dug my own grave.”

“King.” “Ah, I was asleep. “Caught up in your theatrical delivery, I must say. “Aren’t you clinging on rather pathetically, Polonius? “Listing complaints now serves no purpose. “Withdraw. “My decision stands firm.”

“Polonius.” “You wicked person. Your Majesty, you are a wicked person. I hate you. Shall I spell it out? Do you think I don’t know about that matter? I saw it. With these very eyes, I saw it clearly. Two months ago—just because I caught a glimpse of that—misfortune has followed me without end. Your Majesty noticed that I had seen it, and then turned hawk-eyed in your efforts to oust me. I have been disliked by Your Majesty. I had prepared myself for the inevitable—that I would surely be driven into a corner and expelled from this royal castle. Ah, I shouldn’t have seen it. 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 justice from the depths of my being!”

“King.”

“Step back! You speak unforgivable things.” “Just because you want your own mistakes forgiven, you’re even spouting something akin to threats.” “You filthy old wretch.” “Step back!” Polo. “No, I won’t step back.” “I saw it.” “Two months ago—that day I’ll never forget. The morning was bitterly cold, but around noon, the sun broke through and warmed everything pleasantly. The former king emerged into the garden… That was the moment—that very moment.”

Claudius:

“You’ve lost your mind!” “I’ll mete out your punishment this instant.”

“Polo.”

“I’ll take the punishment.” “I saw it.” “Because I saw it, I’ll take the punishment.” “Ah!” “Damn you!” “A dagger as punishment?!”

The king. “Forgive me. “I didn’t intend to kill you, but the blade slipped out and stabbed.” Your earlier insolent remarks—these too sprang from a father’s frantic love—I endured them, thinking you a pitiable old man. But as you grew ever more brazen, finally screaming such bizarre and terrifying things as if utterly mad, I drew my dagger without regard for consequence and stabbed. “Forgive me. “Your words went too far as well. “If it’s about Ophelia, don’t worry. “Polonius, do you understand what I’m saying? “Do you recognize my face?”

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

The king.

"Tears." "Even from eyes like mine, tears flow this freely." If only these tears could cleanse my sins. Polonius... What exactly did you see? Your suspicion wasn't unfounded. Ah! "Who's there!" "Who stands there!" "Don't flee." "Wait!" "Oh... Gertrude."

Nine. The Castle’s Great Hall

Hamlet.

Ophelia.

Ham.

“I see.” “Has Polonius not shown himself since last night?” “That’s a bit strange.” But well—it was probably nothing serious. Adults had their own adult world. They knew full well their transparent schemes had been seen through yet put on solemn faces—huddled in whispers here sneaking glances there nodding gravely or exchanging meaningful looks Though trivial at its core they couldn't resist their strategic gestures' sheer delight recklessly gathering to stage idiotic little meetings called consultation. Uncle and Polonius both seemed quite fond of petty scheming—they might've huddled together last night starting some new ploy. Even last night's reading play had Polonius's careful scheming behind it. If not that person must've lost his mind. There was some flawless cunning little scheme at play. I could usually guess. They were quite the schemers those two. To be sure schemers were generally shallow tedious creatures obsessed with miserly calculations—pitiful base existences But even seeing through them if you scorned them carefree you'd end up in dire straits. Let your guard down and they'd take you out. Such loathsome creatures I wanted to ignore—no scorn outright—but couldn't drop vigilance. At first I'd thought Polonius's reading play was just mad fatherly love driving him to vent at king and queen But reconsidering last night there seemed more. Everything those people did was psychological maneuvering start to finish—cunning despicable fraud sickening. Last night I finally understood—and froze. They were terrifying. Not one could be trusted.

In this world, there really were villains after all. At my age, I had finally discovered that true evil exists among us. It was hardly an achievement—merely recognizing the obvious. I must have been profoundly stupid. How pathetically naive. To only now grasp such basic truths and still feel shocked—what a monumental fool I was. An unfathomably naive bastard indeed. That reading play last night—Uncle and Polonius had conspired on it from the start. This much was certain. Were I mistaken, I'd gladly let them gouge out my eyes. No more deception. Uncle had schemed with Polonius precisely to evade our suspicious gazes, devising that loathsome contraption to mislead us all. Those bastards mocked us openly. We'd danced perfectly to their piping. To lay it bare—Uncle moved first to obscure his guilt, commanding Polonius to manipulate us into testing the King through that idiotic reading play. When the King remained unshaken, our disappointment would naturally dispel those dreadful suspicions from our hearts. Soon enough, the castle folk would follow suit until every ominous whisper vanished—such was his shallow scheme. My judgment held no flaw. Uncle and Polonius had been collaborators from the beginning. Why hadn't I seen what now glared so plainly? Their methods reeked of underhanded depravity.

Do they really have to deceive us to such lengths? On our part—since we rely on them, feel close to them, even respect them—we’re always letting our guard down and smiling at them. Yet they never open up to us, remaining constantly on guard and scheming at every turn. It’s heartbreaking. What a farce. The two of them colluded—one playing prosecutor, the other defendant—putting on a half-hearted show of arguing with lies, then wrapping it up neatly with “insufficient evidence” and acquittal. Horatio and I, with solemn faces, helped that fake prosecutor and were feeling quite pleased with ourselves—so this will surely become a laughingstock for generations to come. What an honor. Yet their scheme had indeed succeeded—for the time being. Horatio was already saying things like, “With this, the King’s name is cleared—long live the Hamlet royal family! How shameful that we ever believed those rumors and doubted His Majesty, even temporarily. Let’s just hope we don’t get scolded later for putting on such an impertinent reading play.” He now fully trusted Uncle, even feeling apologetic about our own suspicions. Meanwhile, the people in the castle seemed to be regaining their respect for him as well. People’s hearts are such fickle things. Like reeds blown by the wind, they bend easily to the right or left. Even I—right after that reading play—had assumed Polonius had simply flown into a rage and lost his mind. I’d even felt so sorry for Uncle that I nearly went to the king’s chambers to apologize. But once I calmed down and thought it through, it hit me: this was no joke. We’d been completely duped. The realization chilled me to the bone. There is something there. That ominous rumor is not a lie! Uncle and Polonius are part of an evil faction. Right now, the two of them are desperately colluding to prevent their evil from being exposed. But I understand. My eyes can’t be fooled. Now that it has come to this, I too must steel my resolve. Those people are bad people. Even Polonius knew everything from the start.

They called it justice and camaraderie with the youth—deceived us with such talk and made us dance half-heartedly to their tune. What a brilliant ploy indeed. If that person were an ally of justice, heaven would be packed like a sushi roll while hell stood empty. No, my apologies. I got too carried away and forgot Polonius is your father. But I'm not specifically targeting just your father here—Uncle's no different. My anger is directed at adults in general. Let there be no misunderstanding about that.

“Oh, you’re crying.” “What’s wrong?” “Is it because you can’t see your father that you’re feeling uneasy?” “Still worried, aren’t you?” “You’ll be fine.” “By now, he’s no doubt engrossed in some urgent task under the King’s secret orders.” “What kind of work it is, even I don’t know—but whatever it is, it’s probably nothing good.”

“Ophelia.”

“I’m not crying at all.” “Because some dust got in my eye, I was wiping it with a handkerchief.” “Look, the dust is gone now.” “You don’t think I’m crying, do you?” “Lord Hamlet, you always perceive my feelings in such an exaggerated way that I sometimes can’t help but burst out laughing.” “When I’m simply gazing entranced at the sunset, thinking ‘How beautiful,’ you place your hand gently on my shoulder and say things like: ‘I understand—it must be painful. But you’re not alone in your suffering. The sorrow of sunset is clear to me too. Yet we must endure and keep living. Please, if only for my sake, stay alive a little longer. Tens of thousands—hundreds of thousands—of people in this world cling to life even while longing for death.’ As if I were contemplating dying myself! You speak in such a grave manner that I feel both amused and pained.” “There’s not a single sad thing for me right now.” “You always read too much into things and make a big fuss on your own, so I end up getting flustered.” “Women aren’t always thinking such deep things.” “We just drift through life.” “I am somewhat worried that Father hasn’t shown himself since last night, but I do believe in him.” “Father is not the kind of bad person you make him out to be.” “Since you’re so capricious—today you might speak harshly, only to lavish praise tomorrow—I’ve resolved not to dwell too much on your words. But when you cast suspicion on Father so recklessly and say such frightening things… even I want to cry.” “Father is a man of fragile resolve.” “He’s just prone to excitement.” “As for last night’s reading play, given my condition, I refrained from attending—but if Father started it in the name of justice, then I’m certain it was exactly that: an event born of his sense of justice.” “Father often tells little joke-like lies to trick us, but he never tells big, terrible ones.” “In that regard, he’s an earnest person.” “He’s scrupulous.” “He’s also a man of strong responsibility.”

“Yesterday, I’m sure Father—moved by Lord Hamlet and the others’ passion and losing all sense of discretion—must have initiated that reading play business.” “Please trust Father a little more.”

“Ham.”

“Well, well—what wind has blown in today to make those crimson lips present such a fiery spectacle?” “If you’d always stay in this form, it’d give me something to strive against—I’d be delighted.”

Ophelia.

“Because you immediately turn everything into a joke like that, I don’t feel like saying anything anymore.” “I’m being serious.” “Prince Hamlet.” “From today onward, I’ve decided to say everything I think exactly as it is.” “Even Prince Hamlet would praise me for this.” “Whenever I dawdled and hesitated or started to speak only to stop myself, you’d grow displeased and lecture me: ‘You mustn’t do this—it’s because you don’t trust me. Your love is too calculating—that’s why you stammer so.’” “For these past two months, I’d completely lost my confidence—I just sniveled and sighed endlessly without being able to say what I wanted.” “It wasn’t like this before—but ever since I came to hold this painful secret, I fell apart completely.” “But after receiving Her Majesty’s kind words yesterday, I regained my spirits entirely.” “My body’s felt remarkably better since yesterday too—as if I’d become a different person—and now my heart’s filled with nothing but the hope of bearing your child and raising them strong.” “I’m happy now.” “I’m just… so happy somehow.” “From now on, I’ll return to being the tomboyish Ophelia of old—hold my head high and blurt out whatever comes to mind.” “Prince Hamlet—you’re such a sophist.” “I’m sorry.” “Because everything you say feels like some kind of act.” “Cloying!” “I’m sorry.” “You always seem drunk.” “I’m sorry.”

“You’re putting on airs.” “Disgusting!” “Isn’t that what you’d call a habit of taking things too seriously?” “You always seem to insist on casting yourself as the tragic hero.” “I’m sorry.” “But that’s just how it is!” “Even His Majesty the King and my father Polonius are not at all the kind of bad, vulgar people you make them out to be.” “Because you’re acting resentful and sulking all by yourself, the King, my father, and even Her Majesty the Queen are all worn out.” “That’s all there is to it, I think.” “Lately, some unpleasant rumors seem to have spread through the castle, but no one truly believes them.” “My nursemaids and maids are casually saying things like, ‘Such plays seem popular in foreign countries these days,’ or ‘How cleverly constructed those plays are.’” “They don’t seem to have even dreamed that such rumors could be about His Majesty the King and Her Majesty the Queen of Denmark.” “Everyone peacefully respects and adores His Majesty the King and Her Majesty the Queen.” “I think that’s just fine.” “The only one in this Elsinore Castle who truly doubts and torments themselves is you.” “I hear Father put on that reading play last night out of a sense of justice, but what was that about?” “I don’t really understand either.” “Father must have gotten carried away.” “Because Father gets excited so easily.” “I have no right to scrutinize Father’s actions, and it’s only natural that girls can’t understand what their fathers do even if they try—so I can’t speak definitively, but still, I believe in Father.”

“And I trust His Majesty the King as well.” “Her Majesty the Queen has been my object of respect from the very beginning.” “There’s nothing to it.” “Prince Hamlet alone goes on about schemes and villains and political maneuvering—making it seem like swarms of wicked people surround us—you’re so tense about it all, but it’s ridiculous.” “I’m sorry.” “Because you’re conjuring up shadows of enemies where none exist with your imagination, then acting all grave about needing to stay vigilant or else you’ll be deceived.” “Even His Majesty the King and Her Majesty the Queen love you dearly—why can’t you understand that?” “There are no wicked people like that anywhere.” “Prince Hamlet.” “You might be the only wicked one.” “Because while everyone is living peacefully and harmoniously, you come along spouting convoluted logic, attacking everyone, tormenting them—and then in this world, only your love is pure and devoted—”

Ham.

“Ophelia, wait.” “Your sniveling tears are tiresome enough, but getting you all puffed up with that self-righteous bluster is just as bad.” “You’re not yourself today.” “You understand nothing.” Was that really it? Had she been seeing me this way all along? How disappointing. Women—explain things a thousand times and it still won’t take. Not a shred of comprehension. I’m too soft. Or maybe just drunk. Disgusting. Theatrical. Fine then. If that’s how it looks, so be it. But I’m certainly not getting cocky—not deluding myself that my love alone is pure while attacking others indiscriminately. If anything, the opposite’s true. I’m a dull man. A slovenly man. So ashamed of it I’m spinning in circles.

I knew my own inadequacy and vices so thoroughly that it sickened me, leaving me no place to stand. I was absolutely not a sophist. I was a realist. I knew everything with perfect accuracy. I knew my own foolishness and shamefulness with perfect accuracy. But that wasn’t all. I was sensitive to people’s hidden guilt. I detected people’s secrets quickly. This was a vulgar trait. There’s a saying that vice discovers vice—exactly true—the reason one can spot others’ vices swiftly is because one harbors those same vices oneself. When committing wrongdoing myself, I grew acutely aware of others’ transgressions. Far from being a point of pride, this was truly a shameful instinct. I unfortunately possessed that repulsive instinct. My suspicions had never once been wrong. “Ophelia, I’m an unfortunate child.” “You wouldn’t understand.” There was nothing noble about me. Just a slacker’s cowardice—nothing but a flood of excessive sensitivity. How was a wretch like me supposed to keep living? “Ophelia—when I speak ill of Uncle, Mother, or Polonius—it’s not because I despise or loathe them.”

I have no right to that. I am resentful. I resent always being betrayed and cast aside by them. Even though I trust them and even respect them in some corner of my heart, they view me with strange suspicion—treating me with timid, forced smiles as if touching something filthy—ah! Are they all such refined people? They betray me utterly every time. They’ve never once confided in me or sought my counsel. They’ve never once raised their voices to scold me. Why do they detest me so? I have always loved them. Loved them—loved them—loved them! I would give my life at any moment! Yet they avoid me—sneering behind my back with sighs of “What a nuisance… that young master”—all while putting on airs of refinement! I know full well! This isn’t paranoia! I simply know the precise truth! “Ophelia—have you grasped even a shred of this?” “Even you joining their ranks to offer half-baked advice… how pitiful.” “A philosopher once said ‘To know loneliness—fall in love.’ How true!” “Ah—I starve for love!” “Give me plain words of love!” “‘Hamlet—I love you!’”

“Is there no one who will shout it out loud and clear for me?”

Ophe.

“No.

“Ophelia will not back down this time either. Prince Hamlet, you are truly skilled at evasion. If I say one thing, you counter with another. When I mention enduring it, you turn around and declare, ‘There’s no man as wretched as I am.’ If you truly understand your own flaws so clearly, then instead of merely ridiculing and berating yourself, why don’t you quietly strive to correct them? There’s no meaning in merely mocking yourself. I’m sorry. You’re certainly a terrible poser. I’m truly at my wit’s end. Prince Hamlet, pull yourself together. Please refrain from saying girlishly sweet things like ‘I want words of love’ from now on. Everyone loves you. You are being a bit greedy. I’m sorry. For when one truly loves, words of love end up feeling forced and insincere—things one no longer wishes to utter. In those who love, there gradually comes to be a pride in loving. They hold a modest pride that even in silence, they will someday be understood. Yet you trample that small pride, trying to force them to tear open their mouths and scream declarations of love. Loving someone is an embarrassing thing. And being loved feels somehow embarrassing too.”

“That’s why, no matter how deeply people love each other, they can never easily say ‘I love you.’” “To force them to shout it out is cruel.” “It’s selfish.” “Prince Hamlet, even if you cannot believe my love, please at least trust in Her Majesty the Queen’s affection.” “Her Majesty the Queen is pitiable.” “She relies solely on you alone.” “Yesterday in the garden, Her Majesty took my hand and wept bitterly.”

Hamlet: “That’s unexpected.” “To hear you lecture on love’s philosophy—how unexpected.” “When did you become so knowledgeable?” “Enough already—you should quit while you’re ahead.” “A woman who learns petty logic will inevitably be abandoned by men.” “Paul says—” “‘Suffer not a woman to teach, nor to assume authority over a man, but to be in silence.’” “And it concludes: ‘If women abide in modesty, faith, love, and purity, they shall be saved through childbearing.’ Meaning: Don’t try to teach others or dominate men—just sit quietly and think of the child you’ll bear.” “Be a good girl and never spout that strange logic again.” “The world will grow dark.” “From what I can tell, Mother fed you some rotten wisdom that gave you this odd confidence.” “Mother’s quite the theorist beneath it all.” “You’ll face Paul’s punishment soon enough.” “Next time you see Mother, tell her this for me—” “‘There’s never been a single instance of wordless love since ancient times.’” “‘To stay silent while claiming true love is pure stubborn self-righteousness.’” “‘Saying “I love you” out loud is embarrassing.’” “‘That’s true for anyone.’” “‘But closing your eyes to that shame and shouting your love while plunging into raging waves—that’s where real affection lies.’”

“Being able to remain silent ultimately stems from shallow affection.” “It’s egoism.” “There’s some calculation at play.” “They’re just terrified of future responsibility.” “Can such a thing even be called love?” “To say you can’t speak up because you’re embarrassed—that’s just prioritizing yourself.” “They’re afraid to plunge into raging waves.” “If one truly loves, words of love will unconsciously emerge.” “Even stammering would suffice.” “A single word would do.” “Words forced out will emerge.” “Even cats and doves cry out, don’t they?” “Tell Mother there’s never been a wordless love throughout all ages and lands.” “Love is words.” “If words vanished, love too would disappear from this world.” “If you think love has substance beyond words, you’re gravely mistaken.” “It’s written in the Bible too.” “‘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.”

Ofu.

“No, I am by no means telling you this because Her Majesty the Queen instructed me to.” “I am simply expressing my thoughts to the fullest extent.” “Prince Hamlet, you say such terrible things.” “If love has no substance beyond words, then I think love is a trivial thing.” “Such a thing would be better off not existing at all.” “It only complicates the world.” “I simply cannot believe what Prince Hamlet says.” “God exists.” “God remains silent, yet loves everyone.” “God loves you!” “I would never shout such things.” “But God loves.” “He loves all equally in silence—the forests, the grass, the flowers, the rivers, the girls, the adults, even the wicked.”

Ham. “You’re spouting childish nonsense. “That thing you believe in—it’s an idol of heresy. “God does indeed possess words. “Just think. “What was it that first made us clearly aware of God’s existence? “It’s words, isn’t it? “Isn’t that the Gospel? “That’s why Christ— Oh! Uncle’s coming with a crowd of retainers, looking frantic. “Is there some ceremony happening in this grand hall today? “Since this room is rarely used normally—and I thought it suitable for meeting Ophelia secretly—I’d taken to summoning her here now and then… but with unexpected things like this happening, I can’t let my guard down. “Ophelia, quick—escape through that door there! “We’ll continue this discussion slowly next time. “From now on, I’ll teach you all sorts of things. “That’s right—that door! What a quick one you are. “She fled like the wind. “Love turns women into acrobats, they say—what a poor joke.”

The King. Many retainers.

Hamlet.

The King. “Ah, Hamlet. “It has begun.” “The war has begun.” “Laertes’s ship has been sacrificed.” “A report has just come in.” “When the ship carrying Laertes and his men approached the Kattegat Strait, Norwegian warships reportedly emerged from nowhere and opened fire without warning.” “Our merchant ships could not withstand it.” “However, Laertes was brave.” “He chided the cowering crew, rallied their spirits, stood on the upper deck himself with gun in hand, and fired bullets relentlessly as long as they lasted.” “The enemy’s cannonball struck our mast, and instantly the sail burst into fierce flames.” “Another shell struck the ship’s hull, exploded with a dull thud, and the vessel listed heavily, now beyond saving.” At this moment, Laertes finally gave orders to prepare the lifeboats, first helping four or five passengers aboard, then commanding crew members with wives and children to evacuate. He remained on the ship himself with five or six burly, fearless young sailors, each drawing their swords to await the enemy soldiers’ assault. Determined not to let even a single enemy soldier approach the homeland’s ship, Laertes resolved to die with a composure akin to Hercules, it is said. Those aboard the enemy warship also glimpsed this hero’s form; awed and terrified, they could only prowl around our vessel, left with no choice but to await its spontaneous burning and sinking. “Laertes tragically shared his fate with the ship.” “He was an invaluable man.” “He was a true loyal retainer unlike his father—no, a splendid warrior who brings no shame to his father’s name.” “We must repay Laertes’ sincerity.” “Now is the time for Denmark to rise.”

“The long-standing discord with Norway has finally erupted.” “I received that urgent report this morning and resolved immediately.” “God sides with justice.” “If we fight, Denmark will surely prevail.” “Well, we’ve been seeking this opportunity for some time.” “Laertes has made a noble sacrifice.” “Father and son together—no, I will ensure Laertes’s spirit is honored with the utmost reverence.” “That is my duty as king.”

Hamlet.

“Laertes.” “The same age as me—twenty-three.” “Childhood friend.” “A bit stubborn and quick-tempered—I found him hard to handle—but he was a good man.” “He’s dead?” If Ophelia heard this, she’d faint. It was fortunate she wasn’t here. Laertes. To gild his reputation, to prepare for his future advancement—just as he departed for study in France, disaster struck. In that moment, he cast aside his ambitions without hesitation and sacrificed himself to protect Denmark’s honor, showing no regret. I lost. Laertes. You hated me, didn’t you? I didn’t like you either. After what happened with Ophelia, I even feared you. We’d been fierce rivals since childhood. Worthy adversaries. We smiled at each other on the surface while nursing mutual hatred. You were in my way. But you were a great man after all.” “Father—”

The King. “You’ve called me Father for the first time.” “You truly are Denmark’s prince.” “For our nation’s fate, we must cast aside all personal feelings.” “Today I shall gather the ministers in this hall to make a grave proclamation.” “Hamlet, show us the bearing of a splendid general.”

Ham. “No, I’ll become a lowly foot soldier.” “I lost to Laertes.” “How is Polonius doing?” “There must be anguish in that person’s heart as well.”

“The King.”

“That is, of course, the case. “I fully intend to console him. “Well, what on earth has happened to the Queen? “She has not been seen since this morning. “I currently have Horatio searching for her, but have you seen her? “If the Queen is not in attendance at today’s proclamation ceremony, it will be problematic. “After all, it’s inconvenient not having Polonius at a time like this.”

Ham. “Then what of Polonius? Is he no longer in this castle? Has he left for somewhere? Uncle, why do you look so shaken?” The King. “It’s nothing. On this crucial dawn for Denmark’s rise or fall, Polonius’s personal circumstances are irrelevant. Isn’t that right? Let me state plainly: Polonius isn’t in this castle now. That man is a disloyal retainer. This isn’t the time for detailed explanations. When occasion permits, I’ll announce everything openly.”

Ham. Something had happened. Something had happened last night. Uncle's agitation didn't seem to stem solely from war fever. I too had carelessly gotten swept up in Laertes' heroic end and forgotten the surrounding strife. Uncle might have been trying to bury his shady dealings through this war. Perhaps this was—

The King.

“What are you muttering to yourself about?” “Hamlet!” “You’re an idiot! A complete and utter idiot!” “Enough of your fooling around!” “War is no joke or game.” “In all of Denmark right now, you alone are being insincere.” “If you insist on doubting me so thoroughly, I’ll answer you properly.” “Hamlet, those castle rumors are true.” “No—it’s wrong to say I poisoned the former king.” “I merely had one night when I resolved to do it—nothing more.” “The former king died suddenly of illness.” “Hamlet—even so—do you mean to punish me?” “For love.” “Hateful though it is—precisely that.” “Hamlet—there—I’ve said everything.” “Do you intend to punish me?”

“Ham.” “You should ask God.” “Ah, Father!” “No, Uncle—not you.” “I had my own father.” “Poor Father.” Amidst filthy traitors, Father lived ever-smiling. “Here’s to the traitors—like this!”

The King.

“Ah! Hamlet, have you gone mad?” Drawing his dagger and brandishing it, he slashed his own left cheek in the blink of an eye. He was a fool. That flowing blood was disgusting. What in the world was this performance? When I thought he would strike me, he swiftly turned the blade and wounded his own cheek instead. A rehearsal for suicide? Or some new form of blackmail? If this was about Ophelia, he needn’t have worried—what a fool he was. When you returned victorious, I fully intended to have someone accompany you. There was no need to cry. If war broke out, you too would be one of its commanders. If you kept crying like that, you’d lose your subordinates’ trust. Ah—the blood had even flowed down to his coat. Someone take Hamlet away and have him tended to. Perhaps the excitement of war had driven him mad. He was a spineless fool.

“Oh, Horatio, what’s the matter?”

Horatio.

The King. Hamlet. Many retainers. Hor.

“Forgive my disheveled appearance! “Ah, Her Majesty the Queen—in that garden stream—”

The King. “Did she jump in?!”

Hor.

“It was too late.” “Her end appeared to have been a resolute one.” “She was dressed in mourning clothes and was tightly clutching a small silver cross in her right palm.”

The King.

“Weak-willed. The one meant to support me chose to act so foolishly selfish at this critical hour. This isn’t my fault! She was weak. She yielded to others’ schemes. Pitiful. What! There exist men who endure disgrace yet persist in living. Those who die are selfish. I won’t die. I’ll live to fulfill my ordained fate. God must love a solitary man like me. Be strong! Claudius. Abandon love. Discard vanity. Fight for Denmark’s honor—that supreme banner!”

“Hamlet, there is a man who weeps more deeply than you within.”

Ham. “I can’t believe it.” “My doubts are something I’ll carry with me until I die.” (First published in July 1941 by Bungeishunju Ltd.)