Sunday, March 8, 2015

The Prince of Denmark-Chapter 9: The Serpent That Wears His Crown

The feeling of unease instantly hit the ebony prince as he landed on the ground below Elsinore's ramparts, and it grew exponentially as the ghost led him farther away from the castle and into the forest behind it.

Increasingly becoming terrified of the apparition once more, Hamlet came to a halt. Trembling, he inquired, "Where are you taking me? Speak. I will go no further."

The ghost then turned to face the prince, as he replied, "Mark me."

The onyx hedgehog flinched upon hearing the ghost's deathly, guttural voice, but he replied as steadily as he could, "I will."

"My hour is almost come," the spectre continued, "when I to sulfurous and tormenting flames must render up myself."

"Alas, poor ghost!" Hamlet cried.

"Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing to what I shall unfold."

"Speak. I am bound to hear you."

"So art thou to revenge when thou shalt hear."

"What?"

"I am thy father's spirit, doomed for a certain term to walk the night and for the day confined to fast in fires, till the foul crimes done in my days of nature are burnt and purged away.

"But that I am forbid to tell the secrets of my prison house. I could a tale unfold whose lightest word would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres, thy knotted and combined locks to part, and each particular quill to stand on end, like those upon the fearful *porpentine."

The ebony prince had begun to tremble once again, yet the spectre continued, "But this eternal blazon must not be to ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O, list! If thou didst ever thy dear father love-"

"Oh God!" the prince exclaimed, whose senses were getting extremely overwhelmed.

"Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder," the ghost stated simply.

"M-murder?"

"Murder most foul, as in the best it is. But this most foul, strange and unnatural."

"Then I ask you to make haste and tell me about it, so that I, with wings swift as medication or thoughts of love, may be able to extract vengeance," the hedgehog replied, finally steadying himself and glaring in determination.

"I find thee apt," the apparition replied, with what looked like a ghost of a smile creeping onto its face, "And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed that roots itself in ease on **Lethe wharf, wouldst thou not stir in this.

"Now, Hamlet, hear. 'Tis given out that, sleeping in my orchard, a serpent stung me," the apparition resumed his deep scowl once more, "So the whole ear of Denmark is by a forged process of my death rankly abused. But know, thou noble youth, the serpent that did sting thy father's life now wears his crown."

"O my prophetic soul! My uncle?" Hamlet cried, his worst fears and greatest suspicions seemingly confirmed.

"Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast," the ghost spat out venomously, "with witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts-O wicked wits and gifts, that have the power so to seduce-won to his shameful lust the will of my most seeming-virtuous queen.

"O Hamlet, what a falling off was there!" it continued, its voice now filled with anguish, "From me, whose love was of that dignity that it went hand in hand even with the vow I made to her in marriage, and to decline upon a wretch whose natural gifts were poor to those of mine.

"But virtue," it continued, at once filled with sorrow and anger, "as it never will be moved, though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven, so lust, though to a radiant angel linked, will sate itself in a celestial bed and prey on garbage.

"But soft! Methinks I scent the morning air. Brief let me be," the apparition cocked its head to the east, and sure enough, a smudge of lighter blue was creeping from the horizon.

The spectre turned to face the ebony hedgehog and began again, now with more urgency, "Sleeping in my orchard, my custom always of the afternoon, upon my secure hour thy uncle stole with juice of cursed ^hebenon in a vial, and in the porches of my ears did pour the leperous distilment, whose effect holds such an enmity with blood of man that, swift as quicksilver it courses through the natural gates and alleys of the body, and with a sudden vigor doth posset and curd, like eager droppings into milk, the thin and wholesome blood.

"So did it mine," the ghost said, anger seeping into its voice once more, "And a most instant tetter barked about, most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust all my smooth body. Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand, of life, of crown, of queen at once dispatched, cut off even in the blossoms of my sin, unhouseled, disappointed, unaneled. No reckoning made, but sent to my account with all my imperfections on my head. Oh, horrible, oh, horrible, most horrible!

"If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not," Hamlet flinched as he felt the apparition's voice suddenly reek of despair, it was practically begging, "Let not the royal bed of Denmark be a couch for luxury and damned incest. But howsoever thou pursuest this act, taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive against thy mother aught. Leave her to heaven, and to those thorns that in her bosom lodge to prick and sting her."

Hamlet flinched once again as he saw the apparition's eyes grow wide, "Fare thee well at once. The glowworm shows the matin to be near, and 'gins to pale his ineffectual fire. Adieu, adieu, adieu! Remember me!" it cried, bidding the hedgehog one last anguished farewell before it faded into nothingness.

It was then that the inky blackness of night was broken once again by the fiery luminescence of day, banishing shadows far and wide.

A/N: I guess I should put a disclaimer here so I don't get shot at or kidnapped by The Copyright SWAT team or something. I own not a single cell of any of the Sonic characters used in this story, SEGA and/or Archie Comics do. Also, the story of Hamlet is not owned by me either, although no one really knows who owns it and therefore can take credit for being the original author because Shakespeare's scripts of it are but his own stage adaptation of an ancient story/stories whose origins and credibility are still being debated today.

*Porcupine.
**A river in the Underworld that induces forgetfulness, according to Ancient Greek mythology.
^The actual identity of the plant/poison that Shakespeare meant to use as a poison in Hamlet has been debated for centuries, though the most common theories of its identity include yew (as most parts of a yew tree are toxic, as well as for the symptoms described as being similar to those detailed by Edmund Spenser, an English poet from before Shakespeare was born), henbane (another toxic plant), and ebony (as it was commonly spelled with an "h" during the time "Hamlet" was being written).