in a smile, though the rest of his face was dark.
"No, I am lost, and you are found. For at the center of this twisting path, I have discovered . . . you." He began to fumble for his words. "You, Ophelia, whom I would love. If you . . . could love me."
Because they did not roll from his tongue like they had been practiced, I believed Hamlet's words. I wanted them to be true. And my own reply was spoken in utter truth.
"I have never loved before," I confessed. "I fear to lose what little I possess."
He understood that I meant my virtue, my only wealth, for he replied, "Ophelia, I know you are most honest and virtuous. I pledge to serve you truly and with honor."
I lifted my chin to better see his face, and his lips met mine. It was a brief kiss, but his mouth, though mild, seemed to draw up all my strength and leave me weak. His arms about my waist held me up. A second kiss he offered me, and I took a third one from him. Still I wanted more, for the touch of his lips on mine was pure delight. But I would not seem greedy or immodest, so I turned aside my face. Then Hamlet kissed my ear, and his breath tickled me to the very base of my spine.
"I must be gone now," I whispered. "Though I would stay."
Himself reluctant, Hamlet loosened his hold and led me to where the maze opened onto the garden. Then he took something wrapped in paper from his pocket and pressed it into my hand. After granting him one final kiss, I dashed through the dewy grass back to the castle. I had completely forgotten the lavender I had picked for Gertrude.
Alone in my chamber, I fairly trembled with excitement. How could it be that I, who had never been kissed before, had kissed the Prince of Denmark himself, not once but many times? Did he really speak to me of love? It was beyond belief that I, humble Ophelia, should be wooed by Prince Hamlet. Surely I had imagined it. Then I remembered Hamlet's gift, which I had thrust into my pocket as I ran. I took it out, unwrapped it, and found a framed miniature suspended on a chain. The painting depicted the god Janus with two faces, one masked like a comic player, the other wearing a tragic look. I puzzled over its meaning. Did the masks signify the disguises Hamlet spoke of wearing? Did the gift promise a new beginning of love, as the month of January heralds the beginning of a new year?
Sleep eluded me as my brain turned over these questions. Finally I arose in the darkest hours of the night intending to mix a draught of barley water and poppy seeds to calm my whirling thoughts. To my surprise, Cristiana was still skulking about. She sidled past and I smelled lavender. She fingered a fresh bouquet at her waist.
"You have disappointed the queen by not returning with the herbs, and now she has me to thank for the fragrance in her chamber." By the light of the moon that slanted into the dark corridor, I saw her eyes narrow. "Lavender makes a soft bed for love to he on, does it not?"
I snatched at her skirt and saw that the hem was soiled and damp.
"Whose spy are you?" I whispered, scorn barely masking my fear. Had she followed me into the garden like a sly serpent? Did she only guess that I had met someone there, or had she seen us, despite the dark?
Chapter 9
Hamlet and I conducted our furtive courtship as if we guarded some secret business of the state. In the company of others, we exchanged only formal courtesies, arranging private meetings with our looks and with letters passed between us. We preferred to meet in the open air, for the dark recesses of Elsinore could hide spies as well as lovers. The willow tree overhanging the brook shielded us from all eyes, and the maze kept our secrets. No one but Horatio knew of our meetings. He was both our messenger and our guard. His watchfulness saved us from discovery many times.
One day, however, even Horatio's vigilance was not enough to shield us. Hamlet and I were walking in the king's orchard, where he often strolled with his advisers. We believed
"No, I am lost, and you are found. For at the center of this twisting path, I have discovered . . . you." He began to fumble for his words. "You, Ophelia, whom I would love. If you . . . could love me."
Because they did not roll from his tongue like they had been practiced, I believed Hamlet's words. I wanted them to be true. And my own reply was spoken in utter truth.
"I have never loved before," I confessed. "I fear to lose what little I possess."
He understood that I meant my virtue, my only wealth, for he replied, "Ophelia, I know you are most honest and virtuous. I pledge to serve you truly and with honor."
I lifted my chin to better see his face, and his lips met mine. It was a brief kiss, but his mouth, though mild, seemed to draw up all my strength and leave me weak. His arms about my waist held me up. A second kiss he offered me, and I took a third one from him. Still I wanted more, for the touch of his lips on mine was pure delight. But I would not seem greedy or immodest, so I turned aside my face. Then Hamlet kissed my ear, and his breath tickled me to the very base of my spine.
"I must be gone now," I whispered. "Though I would stay."
Himself reluctant, Hamlet loosened his hold and led me to where the maze opened onto the garden. Then he took something wrapped in paper from his pocket and pressed it into my hand. After granting him one final kiss, I dashed through the dewy grass back to the castle. I had completely forgotten the lavender I had picked for Gertrude.
Alone in my chamber, I fairly trembled with excitement. How could it be that I, who had never been kissed before, had kissed the Prince of Denmark himself, not once but many times? Did he really speak to me of love? It was beyond belief that I, humble Ophelia, should be wooed by Prince Hamlet. Surely I had imagined it. Then I remembered Hamlet's gift, which I had thrust into my pocket as I ran. I took it out, unwrapped it, and found a framed miniature suspended on a chain. The painting depicted the god Janus with two faces, one masked like a comic player, the other wearing a tragic look. I puzzled over its meaning. Did the masks signify the disguises Hamlet spoke of wearing? Did the gift promise a new beginning of love, as the month of January heralds the beginning of a new year?
Sleep eluded me as my brain turned over these questions. Finally I arose in the darkest hours of the night intending to mix a draught of barley water and poppy seeds to calm my whirling thoughts. To my surprise, Cristiana was still skulking about. She sidled past and I smelled lavender. She fingered a fresh bouquet at her waist.
"You have disappointed the queen by not returning with the herbs, and now she has me to thank for the fragrance in her chamber." By the light of the moon that slanted into the dark corridor, I saw her eyes narrow. "Lavender makes a soft bed for love to he on, does it not?"
I snatched at her skirt and saw that the hem was soiled and damp.
"Whose spy are you?" I whispered, scorn barely masking my fear. Had she followed me into the garden like a sly serpent? Did she only guess that I had met someone there, or had she seen us, despite the dark?
Chapter 9
Hamlet and I conducted our furtive courtship as if we guarded some secret business of the state. In the company of others, we exchanged only formal courtesies, arranging private meetings with our looks and with letters passed between us. We preferred to meet in the open air, for the dark recesses of Elsinore could hide spies as well as lovers. The willow tree overhanging the brook shielded us from all eyes, and the maze kept our secrets. No one but Horatio knew of our meetings. He was both our messenger and our guard. His watchfulness saved us from discovery many times.
One day, however, even Horatio's vigilance was not enough to shield us. Hamlet and I were walking in the king's orchard, where he often strolled with his advisers. We believed
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