Act Four
Act
Four Scene Seven
Sub
Scene Four
Tragedy
once more.
“Claudius,
are you there?” It was Gertrude who appeared. She saw him with Laertes at the
Library.
“There
you are. And …Laertes, you are here too.” Gertrude stopped in her walk. “When
did you arrive?”
“Just
the day, and …” Laertes explained his arrival.
“We
were talking here. I had not informed you as yet.” Claudius cut in. “Why do you
look so distressed?”
“I
brought deary news.” Gertrude approached Laertes. “One woe doth tread upon
another’s heel,
So fast they follow. Your sister’s drowned, Laertes.”
“Ophelia?
It can’t be.” Laertes was shocked. “I …”
“Please
remain calm. Ophelia drowned.”
“Drowned?
O, where?” Laertes's tears appeared on his cheeks.
“I
am unsure. I was told that she was at the brook. There is a willow grows askant
the brook That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream.” Gertrude knew
the place. It was a beautiful spot to relax.
“Therewith
fantastic garlands did she make of crowflowers, nettles, daisies, and long
purples; that liberal shepherds give a grosser name, but our cold maids do
“dead men’s fingers” call them.” Gertrude had heard names of the place
from others.
"Forget
them. Tell me of Ophelia.” Laertes said. “I need…”
“There
she was placing the garlands of flowers on the branches. Where she could not
reach, she climbed the tree onto its branches. She was cautioned on that
before, but paid no heed to it.” Gertrude sighed. “It was then she fell when
one of the branches broke. She dropped into the brook.”
“Her
clothes spread wide, and mermaid-like awhile they bore her up, which time she
chanted snatches of old lauds, as one incapable of her distress or like a
creature native and endued unto that element.” It was rumored that water nymphs
dwell there, and mischievous are they to call the innocents there.
“But
long it could not be till that her garments, heavy with their drink, pulled
the poor wretch from her melodious lay to muddy death.” Gertrude wept her
tears.
“Why
was there no one to help her? You said of seeing her fall.” Laertes looked at
Gertrude.
“I
was not. I heard the servants call out. I was in the courtyard. I went over but
was too late.” Gertrude told Laertes. “They tried to drag her out, but were not
to do so.”
“Alas,
then she is drowned.” Laertes sobbed his pain out. “My Ophelia.”
“Drowned,
drowned.” Gertrude joined in with the pain.
“Too
much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia,” Laertes rubbed away his tears. “And
therefore I forbid my tears. But yet …I had cautioned her of the …stay here.”
“It
is our trick; nature her custom holds, the pain will bring the tears to our
eyes. Let shame say what it will. When these are gone, the woman will be out.”
Laertes cleared his mind thus his pain.
“Adieu,
my lord. I have a speech o’ fire that fain would blaze our plan but that
this folly drowns it. I must leave now.” Laertes left the library.
Claudius knew it was fruitless to pursue the conversation with Laertes then.
“He
needs to be calmed.” Claudius looked at the lady. “Let’s follow, Gertrude.”
“Such
a sad day for him.” Gertrude leaned on her lover.
“How
much I had to do to calm his rage! Now fear I this will give it a start again.”
Claudius had the last words toward Gertrude. “Therefore, let’s follow the
course of the events. We are in its stream now.”
They
exit.
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