to do when we argued as children.
"You know that is a foolish question. Our father will decide whom you will marry and when. Or I will, when he grows infirm."
I did not dare to argue with Laertes further, lest he trap me into admitting my love for Hamlet. But I would not grant his point.
"You cannot control me," I said, crossing my arms and determining to stay silent.
Then my brother changed his manner and began to plead with me.
"Dear Ophelia, my reputation is also at stake in this matter. Consider the loss to your honor—and to our family's name—if you believe Hamlet's songs of love and open your chaste treasure to him."
Were spirits and spies the witnesses while Hamlet and I made love on the battlement? No, for if we had been seen, Laertes would know his warning came too late. With my finger I prodded his chest.
"You, dear brother, take this advice of me. Tend to your own honor, and I will tend to mine. Do not show me the steep and thorny way to virtue, while you take the primrose path of ease."
He laughed in derision. I wanted to throw myself at him and scratch his face. Why should men be allowed freedoms that were deemed sinful for women to take?
At that moment, our father stumbled into the room, waving his arms to hasten Laertes' departure. He flung out all his favored maxims as if strewing flowers after my brother.
"This above all, be true to yourself, and then you cannot be false to any man," he cried to Laertes' departing back.
What empty words these were coming from my father, a man so used to fitting his form to the mold of power that he had no true shape of his own! I noticed for the first time how his back was becoming bent with age and the hair on his head was wispy. I saw him dab at his eyes and sigh like a fond father as Laertes finally disappeared. Had he ever shed any tears for me? Had he loved my mother and wept when she died? Would he have been different had she lived? I longed to ask him these questions, but I had not the courage.
"Ophelia, what did Laertes say to you?"
"Something touching on the Lord Hamlet," I said lightly. "It was nothing important."
"I hear that you have been most free and bounteous, giving your private time to him. What is between you?" His brows were pulled together in a single line, his eyes intent upon my face.
Did Laertes and my father conspire against me? What my brother knew, my father must also know. I would speak the truth and not provoke him further.
"Prince Hamlet has bestowed on me some signs of love," I said, choosing my words with care. I dared to hope that because he had loved my mother, perhaps he could be made to understand my love.
"What signs? Tell me now," he said, as if he were coaxing candy from my fist.
"Letters, tokens, and true promises," I said, bringing my hands to my heart in the hope that my evident joy would move him.
"And you believe his tenders of affection?" he said with scorn. In his presence I felt small and insecure. Doubts began to prick me that Hamlet was sincere.
"I do not know, my lord, what I should believe," I said, my voice trembling from the effort to control it. I felt the familiar vexation at my father rise within me.
"Then listen to me. Set your price much higher. In short, tender yourself more dearly, or you'll tender me a fool!" He held his forearms in imitation of a mother cradling a baby.
I gasped, shocked by my father's rude mockery of my virtue.
"He has pledged his love to me in most honorable fashion," I said, drawing my dignity about me like a torn cloak. Tears began to sting my eyes.
"Do not believe his vows! They are traps to catch a woodcock!" he fairly shouted at me.
My effort at mildness failed utterly. I was unable to contain my anger and hurt, which spilled out uncontrollably.
"I trust Hamlet!" I cried. "Why do you not trust me? I am not a child, a green girl as you seem to think. Look at me!" I thrust myself upon him, tapping my breast violently, then turning my palms upward, demanding his
"You know that is a foolish question. Our father will decide whom you will marry and when. Or I will, when he grows infirm."
I did not dare to argue with Laertes further, lest he trap me into admitting my love for Hamlet. But I would not grant his point.
"You cannot control me," I said, crossing my arms and determining to stay silent.
Then my brother changed his manner and began to plead with me.
"Dear Ophelia, my reputation is also at stake in this matter. Consider the loss to your honor—and to our family's name—if you believe Hamlet's songs of love and open your chaste treasure to him."
Were spirits and spies the witnesses while Hamlet and I made love on the battlement? No, for if we had been seen, Laertes would know his warning came too late. With my finger I prodded his chest.
"You, dear brother, take this advice of me. Tend to your own honor, and I will tend to mine. Do not show me the steep and thorny way to virtue, while you take the primrose path of ease."
He laughed in derision. I wanted to throw myself at him and scratch his face. Why should men be allowed freedoms that were deemed sinful for women to take?
At that moment, our father stumbled into the room, waving his arms to hasten Laertes' departure. He flung out all his favored maxims as if strewing flowers after my brother.
"This above all, be true to yourself, and then you cannot be false to any man," he cried to Laertes' departing back.
What empty words these were coming from my father, a man so used to fitting his form to the mold of power that he had no true shape of his own! I noticed for the first time how his back was becoming bent with age and the hair on his head was wispy. I saw him dab at his eyes and sigh like a fond father as Laertes finally disappeared. Had he ever shed any tears for me? Had he loved my mother and wept when she died? Would he have been different had she lived? I longed to ask him these questions, but I had not the courage.
"Ophelia, what did Laertes say to you?"
"Something touching on the Lord Hamlet," I said lightly. "It was nothing important."
"I hear that you have been most free and bounteous, giving your private time to him. What is between you?" His brows were pulled together in a single line, his eyes intent upon my face.
Did Laertes and my father conspire against me? What my brother knew, my father must also know. I would speak the truth and not provoke him further.
"Prince Hamlet has bestowed on me some signs of love," I said, choosing my words with care. I dared to hope that because he had loved my mother, perhaps he could be made to understand my love.
"What signs? Tell me now," he said, as if he were coaxing candy from my fist.
"Letters, tokens, and true promises," I said, bringing my hands to my heart in the hope that my evident joy would move him.
"And you believe his tenders of affection?" he said with scorn. In his presence I felt small and insecure. Doubts began to prick me that Hamlet was sincere.
"I do not know, my lord, what I should believe," I said, my voice trembling from the effort to control it. I felt the familiar vexation at my father rise within me.
"Then listen to me. Set your price much higher. In short, tender yourself more dearly, or you'll tender me a fool!" He held his forearms in imitation of a mother cradling a baby.
I gasped, shocked by my father's rude mockery of my virtue.
"He has pledged his love to me in most honorable fashion," I said, drawing my dignity about me like a torn cloak. Tears began to sting my eyes.
"Do not believe his vows! They are traps to catch a woodcock!" he fairly shouted at me.
My effort at mildness failed utterly. I was unable to contain my anger and hurt, which spilled out uncontrollably.
"I trust Hamlet!" I cried. "Why do you not trust me? I am not a child, a green girl as you seem to think. Look at me!" I thrust myself upon him, tapping my breast violently, then turning my palms upward, demanding his
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