"May I lie in your lap?"
"My lord?" I stammered. A witty retort, I know.
"With my head in your lap, I mean." His wide eyes blinked in perfect innocence. "It is how I have always taken in a play."
"Of course, my lord."
As he arranged himself, I wondered if this should be taken as an intimacy, or mere royal entitlement. A prince was trained from birth to see every attendant as his property, to use as he saw fit. He might indeed lie thus with anybody--heavy head pillowed just so between his companion's thighs, and hotly breathing. I tried not to think too much of it.
Instead, I craned my neck to look down on the groundlings. How strange and small their pointed caps appeared! The play had not attracted much of an audience; I counted only a few dozen standing around waiting for the actors to begin. A selection of bored, heavily painted prostitutes reclined against the stage. It was not until an unexpected moustache sharpened my gaze on one of them that I realized these were not women, but unemployed boy-actors hanging about, advertising their talents in tattered gowns of taffeta. It was one of these underfed anonymous players that the prince would have to impersonate, when we began rehearsals for the baron's comedy.
"What is the play?" I asked as the trumpets were sounded.
"A classic tale," he whispered back. "The Passionate Friendship of Damon and Pythias."
I was familiar with the story, of course, of the two gentlemen of Syracuse so famously devoted to one another. It had been several years since I had read it, however, and I could not immediately recall which of the two men was condemned to death, and which the one that took his place, pledging his own life against his friend's timely return.
As the prologue began, I soon became engrossed in an intricate backstory involving the drunken tyrant Dionysius, whose recent overthrow of his brother had led to the arrest of that deposed king's most faithful sergeant-at-arms, Pythias.
The actor playing Pythias was too old for the role by half, his gray hair dyed a garish yellow. He had an annoying habit of drilling into his lengthy speeches an unnatural rhythm, quite removed from the meaning of the lines, accompanied by broad gestures--as if his hand were a hacksaw with which he hoped to fell the audience. I frowned, trying to cast him in my comedy--perhaps he could play the courtly Fool?
Damon was a well-built youth with chestnut hair cut blunt across his jaw, and a face that could only ever play a younger brother. He did well enough in his role, I thought--you might believe, as he embraced his friend through iron bars of painted wood, that he actually thought the old ham was beautiful. I made a note to speak to him about the lover's part.
Then Pythias began another endless monologue comparing the deposed and Jove-like king to the tyrant who had so recently dismantled him. The prince shifted his weight upon my lap, rolling on his back to look up at me.
"Have we such perfect amity?" he asked. "Would you be such a friend as Damon dear, and pledge your life for mine, and keep my place, if I had such a need?"
"I would." Even as I spoke, I shocked myself. Not with the answer, but by how quickly it had been decided--without a moment's hesitation, or even conscious thought. It rattled me, as a scientist, to know something so absolutely, instinctively, without examination or trials in proof.
"Swear it!" Hamlet's eyes stared wells into mine. I put my hand to my heart, having naught else to swear by.
"Hic et Ubique." I made the oath, as is the custom, in the scholars' tongue. Here and Everywhere.
At once, I felt my universe shift. My heart leaped from my chest, and when it returned again, it beat at odds. My mind was trued to Hamlet's truth, aligned with Hamlet's mind in such a perfect marriage, it seemed the most natural conclusion in the world when he rose up to seal the vow with a kiss.
In fact, it was not until much later--after the devoted friends had been reunited and pardoned and the players were gathering to take their bows--that it even occurred to me to ask: "Would you return for me, as Pythias?"
"With my head in your lap, I mean." His wide eyes blinked in perfect innocence. "It is how I have always taken in a play."
"Of course, my lord."
As he arranged himself, I wondered if this should be taken as an intimacy, or mere royal entitlement. A prince was trained from birth to see every attendant as his property, to use as he saw fit. He might indeed lie thus with anybody--heavy head pillowed just so between his companion's thighs, and hotly breathing. I tried not to think too much of it.
Instead, I craned my neck to look down on the groundlings. How strange and small their pointed caps appeared! The play had not attracted much of an audience; I counted only a few dozen standing around waiting for the actors to begin. A selection of bored, heavily painted prostitutes reclined against the stage. It was not until an unexpected moustache sharpened my gaze on one of them that I realized these were not women, but unemployed boy-actors hanging about, advertising their talents in tattered gowns of taffeta. It was one of these underfed anonymous players that the prince would have to impersonate, when we began rehearsals for the baron's comedy.
"What is the play?" I asked as the trumpets were sounded.
"A classic tale," he whispered back. "The Passionate Friendship of Damon and Pythias."
I was familiar with the story, of course, of the two gentlemen of Syracuse so famously devoted to one another. It had been several years since I had read it, however, and I could not immediately recall which of the two men was condemned to death, and which the one that took his place, pledging his own life against his friend's timely return.
As the prologue began, I soon became engrossed in an intricate backstory involving the drunken tyrant Dionysius, whose recent overthrow of his brother had led to the arrest of that deposed king's most faithful sergeant-at-arms, Pythias.
The actor playing Pythias was too old for the role by half, his gray hair dyed a garish yellow. He had an annoying habit of drilling into his lengthy speeches an unnatural rhythm, quite removed from the meaning of the lines, accompanied by broad gestures--as if his hand were a hacksaw with which he hoped to fell the audience. I frowned, trying to cast him in my comedy--perhaps he could play the courtly Fool?
Damon was a well-built youth with chestnut hair cut blunt across his jaw, and a face that could only ever play a younger brother. He did well enough in his role, I thought--you might believe, as he embraced his friend through iron bars of painted wood, that he actually thought the old ham was beautiful. I made a note to speak to him about the lover's part.
Then Pythias began another endless monologue comparing the deposed and Jove-like king to the tyrant who had so recently dismantled him. The prince shifted his weight upon my lap, rolling on his back to look up at me.
"Have we such perfect amity?" he asked. "Would you be such a friend as Damon dear, and pledge your life for mine, and keep my place, if I had such a need?"
"I would." Even as I spoke, I shocked myself. Not with the answer, but by how quickly it had been decided--without a moment's hesitation, or even conscious thought. It rattled me, as a scientist, to know something so absolutely, instinctively, without examination or trials in proof.
"Swear it!" Hamlet's eyes stared wells into mine. I put my hand to my heart, having naught else to swear by.
"Hic et Ubique." I made the oath, as is the custom, in the scholars' tongue. Here and Everywhere.
At once, I felt my universe shift. My heart leaped from my chest, and when it returned again, it beat at odds. My mind was trued to Hamlet's truth, aligned with Hamlet's mind in such a perfect marriage, it seemed the most natural conclusion in the world when he rose up to seal the vow with a kiss.
But I see no
w, the word kiss is insufficient for the fatal impact of his lips on mine. Rather, it has too many meanings--diverse contexts, dense sensual and spiritual connotations. Lovers kiss, but so do brothers. A father may kiss his son; the sun, the meadow; the wind, the sails of a ship; the sea, the shore; and some there be that shadows kiss. A supplicant may kiss the mantle of his king; a pilgrim, his holy relic; a ball, its neighbor on the billiards table. A kiss may seal an indenture, bless a child, bid greeting or farewell, reveal, deceive. It may be public, private, holy, unholy, righteous, unauthorized. And all of these were here invoked. It was not because Hamlet's kiss was specific to any of these meanings, but precisely because it was so ambiguous, that I found myself utterly gobsmacked by it.
w, the word kiss is insufficient for the fatal impact of his lips on mine. Rather, it has too many meanings--diverse contexts, dense sensual and spiritual connotations. Lovers kiss, but so do brothers. A father may kiss his son; the sun, the meadow; the wind, the sails of a ship; the sea, the shore; and some there be that shadows kiss. A supplicant may kiss the mantle of his king; a pilgrim, his holy relic; a ball, its neighbor on the billiards table. A kiss may seal an indenture, bless a child, bid greeting or farewell, reveal, deceive. It may be public, private, holy, unholy, righteous, unauthorized. And all of these were here invoked. It was not because Hamlet's kiss was specific to any of these meanings, but precisely because it was so ambiguous, that I found myself utterly gobsmacked by it.In fact, it was not until much later--after the devoted friends had been reunited and pardoned and the players were gathering to take their bows--that it even occurred to me to ask: "Would you return for me, as Pythias?"
But in my lap, Hamlet had gone to sleep.
Excerpted from The Lunatic, the Lover, and the Poet by Myrlin A. Hermes. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced without written permission from:
HarperCollins Publishers
10 East 53rd Street,
New York, NY 10022
No part of this book may be used or reproduced without written permission from:
HarperCollins Publishers
10 East 53rd Street,
New York, NY 10022
