When Hamlet is born, there is some question as to the name her father chooses – his own name. It is more traditional to name a princess for her mother, but King Hamlet will not be moved, and the Queen, when she is churched, supports him in this as in all other things.
Prince Claudius laughs into his sleeve, and toasts his new niece with a smile that sits sideways on his face, seeming almost false.
(Prince Claudius is played by Aidan Gillan; King Hamlet is played by Liam Neeson; Queen Gertrude is played by Dervla Kirwan.)
The princess grows up. She is not joined in the royal nursery by any princes.
When she goes away to university – madness! A wildness unheard of, and encouraged by her doting father, who indulges her so she will not question his constant warmongering! – she comes home with two things. One is a pair of hose. The other is a fine young man by the name of Horatio, a native of Elsinore but the son of a house of such low standing that he would never have been part of the princess’ household.
He is now, though. They are rarely seen apart, often accompanied by the princess’ childhood companion, fair Lady Ophelia, daughter of Counsellor Polonius.
(Princess Hamlet is played by Aoibhinn McGinnity; Horatio is played by Domhnall Gleeson; Ophelia is played by Aoibhín Garrihy.)
This is all quite acceptable. It is assumed that Princess Hamlet and Sir Horatio will wed, and that Lady Ophelia is acting as their chaperone – no one has any objections to this. The princess is wearing hose instead of skirts, and that must change, but she will wed a perfectly suitable young Dane, so she will do for now.
But then she begins leaving tokens for the lady Ophelia. Flowers appear wherever the lady is likely to find them, asters and bellflowers, primroses and forget-me-nots, deep purple violets tied with bright orange honeysuckles.
Surely the flowers cannot mean what everyone says they do? And if they are love tokens, surely they cannot really be from the princess to the lady?
Sir Horatio weaves honeysuckles into the princess’ long dark hair, and daisies both white and red into the lady’s fair curls. Laughing, always laughing together, the princess and the lady crown him with blue violets and spiny yellow gorse and fennel, and call him their strength.
The maids whisper of finding the three curled together in the princess’ private study. Prince Claudius whispers of separating them, but not to the King or Queen. Not yet.
There is a war against Norway, and King Hamlet returns victorious with old King Fortinbras’ head on a pike. The old man left behind a son, also by the name of Fortinbras, and he would make a fine husband for Old Hamlet’s girl, and in doing so would unite the realms-
Ah, but look at her, under that skinny boy’s arm, holding Polonius’ girl by the hand. He has indulged her thus far, and will indulge her further – no harm has yet come of it.
Princess Hamlet adores her father without reserve. This will be important, later. For now, she is only thrilled to have him home safe from the front, and is all a-twitter with nerves over introducing him to her beau.
Her belle he already knows, after all, and laughs when she tells him so.
The Queen knows, of course. Fair Ophelia knelt before the Queen and wept, begging her forgiveness for the love she bore for the Queen’s daughter, and Gertrude laid her hand on Ophelia’s hair – then woven through with rue and broom and a thread of stinging nettle, which pricked so sharply under the Queen’s palm – and offered her forgiveness.
The Queen knows. The Queen counselled fair Ophelia to be honest, and has seen her daughter’s joy grow every day since. Young Hamlet has loved Ophelia since they were girls together under Gertrude’s careful watch, in the clumsy way of children and then in the shy way of young women, and clever, considering Horatio has helped them come together. Gertrude loves her daughter, and wishes only for her happiness.
The King is slightly more practical than that. The princess will wed the boy, and keep the lady as a bosom companion (he chuckles at that despite himself). Stranger arrangements have been accommodated, after all.
But Prince Claudius drips poison wherever he goes. In a tavern here, suggesting that the princess is an unnatural creature. In the stands there, whispering that it is wrong that she ride astride and wear her hose.
In his brother’s ear.
The Princess is inconsolable, at first. She wears all black, with marigolds in her hair, and can tolerate only Horatio and Ophelia near her.
But then her uncle is crowned king, with the assembly fretting over her youth, her sex, her lovers, and denying her the crown that is hers.
But then her mother becomes queen a second time, and whispers abound of her faithlessness – Hamlet cannot believe it, cannot believe that her mother would have ever betrayed her father, but she has remarried so quickly, and to Claudius of all men! It is enough to make even the strongest faith waver.
But then her uncle attempts to send away Horatio and Ophelia. This is a fool’s errand, of course. Horatio is a guest of Hamlet’s household, and cannot be sent away without her word – they make their betrothal official, to safeguard his place at court, and must hope that it is enough. Ophelia at least has her father’s protection, but Polonius is more loyal to the crown than to whomsoever wears it, so there is no trusting in that, not really.
But then her uncle sends blustering, misunderstanding Polonius away to Norway to offer her to mighty Fortinbras. Hamlet knows the advantages of wedding her enemy, but she cannot sign herself away, not when there are other means of making peace – not when she knows such a marriage would serve only to keep her from Elsinore, to secure Claudius’ reign?
But then, her father’s ghost appears atop the walls, and everything changes. She does not cast off the appearance of mourning, but the act of it? What point is there in that, when there is something rotten in the state of Denmark?
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