The Temporal Train

So this is my first history theme (that I turned in about a month ago) of junior year!!! YAY! Sorry this is so late but I have had a concussion for the past 3 weeks. Oh and guess what? I edited this theme with a concussion and still got an A. 

The Temporal Train

During the time leading up to the Protestant Reformation, the Renaissance popes’ influence in politics fluctuated as the Italian Renaissance movement secularized Europe. Embracing the secular attitude of the Renaissance, politics turned away from focusing on religion. In order to regain their wealth and power after the Babylonian Captivity, the papacy became secular and involved in politics. The popes during the Babylonian Captivity had lost their good reputation, wealth and omnipotent authority, falling from their height during the Great Schism. Then, with the influence of the Italian Renaissance, the Renaissance popes increased their secular influence in politics, neglecting their papal duties but regaining their wealth and power. 

During the time leading up to the Italian Renaissance the papacy was at its height of unrivaled political influence and wealth. Then the states of England and France, under the rule of Edward the I and Philip the Fair, attempted to tax land belonging to the church. This resulted in pope Boniface VIII issuing the papal bull, the Unum Sanctum, declaring that the church held the most power. Boniface attacked the state, clarifying that the church held power over the state, in an attempt to assert papal authority. Instead of showing the omnipotent power of the church, Boniface’s plan backfired. He was captured and shortly afterwards, killed. Then a new French pope was elected that remained under the state’s power and abide in Avignon. Under the heavy influence of the French state, papal authority diminished and their respect was lost. This led to a seventy year span of the popes remaining at Avignon, referred to as the Babylonian Captivity (Papacy in the Renaissance, 4), which is the cause of The Great Schism and the deterioration of the church’s prestige. 

Despite the oncoming “Great Schism”, the papacy’s wealth had never been greater. “The papal court at Avignon surpassed the courts of kings in splendor... Papal revenues mounted, and new papal taxes were devised” (Palmer, Colton, Kramer, 53). Despite the appearance of wealth and security, there were whispers of disapproval. Many people refused to acknowledge the pope in Avignon as the secularization of the church became unmistakable. Many lower class citizens were appalled by the church’s outward presentation of wealth when countless were left poor and destitute. The College of Cardinals met in hopes of remedying the distrust that resulted from the Babylonian Captivity, but instead worsened the situation. This left the Catholic church with two separate papacies, which split the church and its followers. In 1409 the Council of Pisa met and worsened the Schism even further by electing a third pope. Eventually in 1414 the Council of Constance met and ended of The Great Schism by forcing the three popes to step down, replacing them with Martin V and devising ways to rebuild papal trust. Attempts at reforming the church and the formation of  regular general councils were made to help balance out the popes authority. Despite the councils, the pope’s power prevailed, and the papacy’s authority started to rise again under the era the Renaissance popes. 

The attempts made by the Council of Constance to eliminate the corruption and secularization of the church were forgotten with the Renaissance popes because of the Italian Renaissance. “This multi-faceted project coincided with what is known as the Renaissance papacy and led to a series of abuses that eventually resulted in an even greater schism in the church- the Reformation” (Papacy in the Renaissance, 5). Often characterized by their secular and corrupt nature, the Renaissance popes were the reason the church’s authority did not completely disappear. Rarely attending to their papal duties, the Renaissance Popes’s concern with the secular world were what helped secure the church’s authoritative position and wealth. Their overt concern with worldly affairs were brought about by the new Italian Renaissance worldview. Europe was picking itself back up and a new way of life appeared. Machiavelli’s book The Prince was the first completely secular, political book, reshaping politics. The focus had shifted from the heavenly realm to the tangible world. This shift became apparent everywhere in Europe, especially in the papacy and the state. Before, the church was considered above the state, ruling over everything with Petrine Supremacy, but then the church had taken a different approach. “Religion was closely interwoven with politics during most of the Renaissance, making popes - as well as other church leaders, such as cardinals and bishops - key players in both religion and politics” (Papacy in the Renaissance,1-2). Instead of controlling the state’s affairs by ruling over it, the church, headed by the Renaissance Popes, became interwoven with the worldly affairs of politics in hopes of gaining power and wealth. The papacy had once considered themselves above being involved closely with the state affairs. This changed during the Italian Renaissance and the church gained authority, influence and wealth by mixing with political and other secular affairs. The first of these Renaissance Popes was Pope Nicholas V, who began construction on the Vatican. He also sponsored other architectural endeavors and was a patron of the arts, starting the rebuilding of St. Peter’s Basilica. He expanded the papacy’s authority, “removing mercenaries from the Papal States, renewing allegiance of other Italian cities to the Papal States, and restoring order to Rome” (Pope Nicholas V, 1). He also passes the Concordat of Vienna, which pulled Germany under papal authority (Pope Nicholas V, 1). The first of the Renaissance Popes, Nicholas V greatly expanded the power of the papacy and as the Renaissance Popes continued, they became further interlocked with the state’s politics and secularization. 

Alexander VI further drove the church into the Italian Renaissance’s secularization. He was the first pope to acknowledge his children, and was involved in simony and nepotism (Alexander VI, 1-2). “He disregarded celibacy and preferred political machinations to spiritual leadership” (Alexander VI, 1). He had his daughter married three times, all for political reasons (Alexander VI, 2). Alexander VI created political alliances for the benefit of his own family and “ one of Alexander’s political acts was issuing a papal bull, or decree, titles Inter caetera in 1493, dividing possessions of the recently discovered Western Hemisphere between Portugal and Spain, that greatly favored Spain” (Papacy in the Renaissance, 6). 

With the popes of the Renaissance becoming increasingly involved in temporal politics, they also had an interest in war. Julius II, after being elected pope, immediately focused on the expansion of territory: “His immediate goal was to restore to papal control the regions of Romagna, Perugia, and Bologna in central Italy after they had been seized by Venice, one of the wealthiest city-states” (Papacy in the Renaissance, 6). He also organized other alliances and leagues for the express purpose of expanding his territory. What once were political duties fulfilled by kings and princes were being taken over and adopted by the church. The Renaissance Popes had become a major political influence, controlling and participating in the political sphere. They were now forming alliances, creating political marriages, leading wars, expanding territories, becoming patrons of the arts and altogether dismissing their spiritual duties. Spiritual obligations had been traded out for political and Renaissance pleasures. Though the papacy was at the height of its wealth and influence, they were setting themselves up for the downfall of the Catholic church and the loss of their political influence. 

Pope Leo X, was the second son of Lorenzo di Medici, became pope in 1513. (Papacy in the Renaissance, 7). Leo X was notorious for his selling of indulgences in an attempt to raise money for the construction of St. Peter’s Basilica. He was, first and foremost, a Renaissance man, worldly and focused on pleasure and politics. Yet compared to what many of the other popes during the Renaissance had done, Leo X would not have stood out as being one of the terrible Renaissance Popes. Had it not been for Tetzel, who decided to exploit the use of indulgence and take advantage of uneducated laymen by telling them they could essentially “buy God’s grace and forgiveness”, Pope Leo X would not have stood out. (Papacy in the Renaissance, 7). Other than the selling of indulgences to raise money to build St. Peter’s, Leo X was “normal”. Thanks to Martin Luther, Pope Leo would go down in history. Many people started to notice the secularization of the church and the abuse of its authority, but until Martin Luther, no one had spoken out and gotten such an explosive reaction. (PCK 82-83). After the nailing of the 95 Theses, the papal prestige fell from its comfortable place of power. Leo X excommunicated Martin Luther in 1521 but the damage had already been done. (Papacy in the Renaissance, 7). Luther had set off a chain reaction that eventually caused the Reformation and the church’s loss of it’s political leverage. 

The papacy in the Renaissance lived a life of luxury, power and unrivaled authority. Deeply involved in politics, they had grown accustomed to having control. Before the Renaissance, the papacy’s prestige was slipping and they had lost their trust because of the Babylonian Captivity. Then the Italian Renaissance happened, changing how the world was viewed. The Renaissance popes took advantage of this opportunity and involved themselves in politics, secularizing the papacy but regaining control and authority. The papacy fell from the height of their power during The Great Schism, but used the Italian Renaissance to their advantage, regaining their position of power. Up until the 95 Theses, the Renaissance Popes had been living a life of luxury, without worrying about losing anything. They had set themselves up for the Reformation, peaking just before the ultimate division of the church.       

Everything is not as it Seems in Hamlet

So here it is. My FINAL draft of my Hamlet appearance and reality theme with a works cited page. This is the theme I have revised the most, ever. So yeah, lots of revisions! Woop! Anyway, I'm super glad I'm done with it.   

Shannon Smith

Mr.  Nathan Raley

Modern European Literature G block

October 16, 2012

Everything is not as it Seems 

In Hamlet, written by William Shakespeare, there is a fine line between how a thing is portrayed and its true nature. For example, Hamlet at times appears insane but then other times seems to be in his right mind, raising the question: Is Hamlet merely depicting himself as insane to society or is he truly insane? Other characters, along with Hamlet, portray their emotions to society in a different way, and thus do not reveal their true nature. In Shakespeare’s Hamlet the characters manipulate the way society perceives their inner emotions, creating a mask for their true inner character.

Hamlet’s emotions and character are often covered with a facade, disguising his true emotions about loving Ophelia. He acts insane, masking his true sanity from most of his family and friends. When he is around most of his society, namely his family and the people in the castle, they wonder if Hamlet is out of his mind. Hamlet even hides his true nature from his mother. An example of this is when Gertrude calls Hamlet into her room to talk and then reports to the King, Claudius, that he is “Mad as the sea and wind when both contend” (4.2.7). The only person Hamlet trusts enough to reveal his sanity to is Horatio. He is the only person with whom Hamlet acts normal, allowing the audience to know that he is simply feigning insanity. Even more evidence of Hamlet’s sanity is his decision to go insane. After Hamlet sees his father’s ghost, Hamlet knows he must avenge his father’s untimely murder by killing the culprit, Claudius. So Hamlet devises a plan to go insane. “How strange or odd some’er I bear myself (As I perchance hereafter shall think meet to put an antic disposition on)” (1.5.170-172). Hamlet’s decision to go insane is a calculated move to benefit his plot of revenge – not something accidental – but a mask for his true character. Hamlet is not truly insane, as seen by his ability to switch between madness and normalcy, his decision to act insane and his sanity around Horatio. 

Hamlet even veils his true love for Ophelia from society. He professes his love for Ophelia by sending her tokens of his affection and spending time with her. Then when Ophelia confronts Hamlet, he claims to never have loved her.  When Ophelia tries to give Hamlet the letters back he insists; “No, not I, I never gave you ought” (3.1.95-96). Then in the same conversation he declares “I did love you once” (3.1.115). and then takes it back and says “I loved you not” (3.1.119). Hamlet changes his appearance many times in this one conversation but by the end Hamlet convinces Ophelia that he has never loved her despite his true love for her. Convincing Ophelia that he never really loved her is his way of protecting her. Many times he tells her to “Get thee to a nunnery” (3.1.121). for her own benefit. Though he says these things, there is still evidence that Hamlet truly loves Ophelia.  His reaction to her death is proof as he cries; “I love Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers could not with all their quantity of love make up my sum” (5.1.271-273).  Though he truly loves Ophelia, it is necessary for him to convince others in his society, and more importantly Ophelia herself, in order to protect her. 

Another false mask in Hamlet is the relationship between Hamlet and Claudius. Claudius’s relationship with Hamlet is forced – simply a charade put on for the benefit of Hamlet’s mother, Gertrude. Claudius appears to claim Hamlet as his son and tries to become his father around Gertrude. Yet while he is speaking to Hamlet, even in front of Gertrude, he subtly insults him showing that he does not regard him as a son. Then, when Claudius is convinced of Hamlet’s madness, he plans to send him to England to have him killed, not displaying the unconditional love of a true father. Claudius was playing the role of a father for society, all the while never truly loving Hamlet. 

Another one of Claudius’s masks is his pretense of innocence. He appears poised and innocent for the society of Denmark all the while his true guilt of murder eats at his conscience. When Ophelia and Polonius are talking, before Ophelia’s meeting with Hamlet, they want to have Ophelia holding a prayer book, to make her look innocent and pure. This pulls a reaction from the King; “How smart a lash that speech doth give my conscience!/ The harlot’s cheek, beautied with plast’ring art,/ is not more ugly than the thing that helps it then is my deed to my most painted word” (3.1.49-53). This is the first appearance of Claudius’s conscience. His guilt makes another appearance when Hamlet sets up the play as trap to catch the King’s conscience. Hamlet’s plan is to get the King to reveal that he is guilty of Hamlet Sr.’s murder. By staging the play similarly to the real murder, Hamlet hopes to strike a chord with the conscience of Claudius. Hamlet’s plan works. The King feels so guilty that he stands up and leaves before the show is even over. Before this Claudius manages to act innocent, keeping his guilt on the inside, but eventually his shame starts to get the better of him. His mask of innocence starts to show flaws. After he leaves the play, Claudius goes to the church and starts to repent; “My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent” (3.3.40). Even though he starts to feel and even show his increasing guilt, he manages to appear innocent enough and never truly confesses his guilt.  

Gertrude also felt guilt over her lack of grief and of marrying Claudius so soon after Hamlet Sr.’s death. When Hamlet tells his mother that she is not being faithful to her husband and never truly loved him only appeared to, it strikes at her guilt and she cries; “O Hamlet, speak no more/ thou turn’st mine eyes into my very soul,/ and there I see such black and grained spots/ as will not leave their tinct” (3.4.89-92). She has managed to put up a wall of innocence and avoid the truth that she is not devoted to her late husband. Even before Hamlet Sr. has passed, she manages to convince her society that they have a happy marriage. Despite the appearance of their happy marriage Hamlet Sr. is able to see through it after his death and when Hamlet Sr.’s  ghost is talking to Hamlet the ghost describes her as a “seeming-virtuous queen” (1.5.47).  Her appearance of loyalty and respectability is starting to crack revealing her true character. In reality, she is far from loyal to her first husband, quickly remarrying Claudius after Hamlet Sr.’s passing. Gertrude is also only able to grieve in a way that satisfied the appearance that society demands of her. She wears her black clothing and puts on her show but never truly feels the emotions her mask wore. Gertrude does not want to face the truth of what she has done, so she puts up her act and manages to believe that it it true. Not only has she managed to put on a mask of piety and grief for her society, but also for herself. 

Gertrude’s grieving over her dead husband, Hamlet Sr. is only skin deep and satisfies the appearance of grief society expects from her. Though her appearance suggests inward grieving, Hamlet calls her out on her lack of emotion and shallow grieving saying “These indeed seem,/ for they are the actions that a man might play,/ but I have that within which passes show” (1.2.83-85). Hamlet suggests that his mother is acting, putting on a show of black clothing . Later in Hamlet’s monologue he specifically states that her mourning is barely over a month and far too short for her husband that she appeared to love. In this same scene Hamlet shows Gertrude that he is not acting – his grief over his father is real unlike his mother’s. 

Hamlet not only grieves over his father, but also over Ophelia’s death. When he accidentally stumbles upon Ophelia’s funeral, he yells at Laertes;  

“ ‘Swounds, show me what thou’t do.  

Woo’t weep? Woo’t fight? Woo’t fast? Woo’t tear thyself?

Woo’t drink up eisel? Eat a crocodile? 

I’ll do’t. Dost thou come here to whine?

To outface me me with leaping in her grave?” (5.1.276-280).

Hamlet is saying to Laertes that he could show his grieving by “leaping in her grave” or in any other way but his grief is just as real. Hamlet is willing to do whatever it takes for him to show his true grief to his family and society. 

Ophelia is a unique case in Hamlet because of her insanity. Her insanity makes it difficult to tell what is actually going on in her head, since it is not mentally or emotionally stable. Ophelia’s insanity is brought about by the death of her father; her mental instability is the product of “the poison of deep grief” (4.5.75). After she goes insane, the one topic that is constantly on her mind is death as she becomes completely consumed with her grief. Her appearance and outward emotions are deteriorating along with her sanity. Her outward character then starts mirroring how she truly feels on the inside, making her insanity unquestionably real in both appearance and inner emotion. There is no point where decides to go insane, like Hamlet does, and there is also not a point where her insanity falters, like Hamlet’s does when he is around Horatio. 

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, two of Hamlet’s “close friends” are seemingly there to help cheer up Hamlet and return to his normal self. As the play progresses it becomes increasingly apparent that they are truly there for another reason. In one scene Hamlet starts questioning them, repeatedly asking them to play upon a flute and again and again they say they cannot. Hamlet then responds; “It is as easy as lying” (3.2.365). They still say that they cannot play and Hamlet responds, saying “You would play upon me; you/ would seem to know my stops... ‘Sblood, do you think I am easier to be played than a pipe?” (3.2.372-373, 377-378). It does not take Hamlet long to figure out that they are lying to him and merely acting like his friends. At this time though, Hamlet simply knows that they are lying but not what they are lying about. It does not take him much longer to put the pieces together, however. Hamlet calls them a sponge “that soaks up the King’s countenance,/ his rewards, his authorities... When he needs what you have/ gleaned, it is but squeezing you and, sponge,/ you shall be dry again” (4.2.15-16, 19-21). Ronsencrantz and Guildenstern are there only because the King has told them to be there and are playing the part of Hamlet’s friends at the Kings command. They are acting like a friend to Hamlet but are really only with him because of the King and Queen. 

From insanity to grief and friendship, each character depicts their inner emotions to society one way but behind their facade hides their true, inner character and emotions. In some cases, such as Ophelia’s madness, their emotions are exposed.  Often for their own benefit, the characters in Hamlet mask their feelings and manipulate how they were portrayed to society. 

Works Cited

1. Shakespeare, William. Hamlet. Ed. Sylvan Barnet. New York, NY: Signet Classics, Penguin Group, 1998. Print. 

Rough Draft: Everything is not as it Seems; Reality and Appearance in Hamlet

Okay, so I have put a whole lot of work into this rough draft. It still needs some stuff, like, oh I don't know a conclusion paragraph? But whatever, that's what final draft are for! For some reason I am having a lot of trouble writing this theme, but it's finally rough draft post worthy! My final draft will be up by Wednesday! Whoop! So here is my ROUGH draft:

Everything is not as it Seems; Reality and Appearance in Hamlet

In Hamlet, written by William Shakespeare, there is a fine line between how a thing is portrayed and its true nature. For example, Hamlet at times appears insane but then other times seems to be in his right state of mind, raising the question: Is Hamlet merely depicting himself as insane to society or is he truly insane? Other characters, along with Hamlet, portray their emotions to society in a different way, not revealing their true nature. In Shakespeare’s Hamlet the characters manipulate the way society perceives their inner emotions, often contrasting with how they really feel.

Hamlet’s emotions and character are often covered with his facade, disguising his true emotions about loving Ophelia. He acts insane, masking his true sanity from most of his family and friends. When he is around most of his society, namely his family and the people in the castle, they wonder if Hamlet is out of his right mind. Hamlet even hides his true nature from his mother. An example of this is when Gertrude calls Hamlet into her room to talk to him and then afterwards she reports to the King, Claudius, that he is “Mad as the sea and wind when both contend” (4.2.7). The only person Hamlet trusts enough to reveal his sanity to is Horatio. He is the only person Hamlet acts normal around, showing that he is simply feigning insanity. Even more evidence of Hamlet’s sanity is his decision to go insane. After Hamlet sees his father’s ghost, Hamlet knows he must seek revenge for his father’s untimely murder committed by Claudius. So Hamlet devises a plan to go insane. “How strange or odd some’er I bear myself (As I perchance hereafter shall think meet to put an antic disposition on)” (1.5.170-172). Hamlet’s decision to go insane is a calculated move to benefit his plot of revenge–not something accidental–but a mask for his true character. Judging from Hamlet’s ability to switch between madness and normalcy and his decision to act insane, it is unlikely that he is truly insane for he is far too aware and deliberate of what he is doing to have truly lost his mind. 

Hamlet’s true love for Ophelia is another inner emotion that he veils from society. He professes his love for Ophelia by sending her tokens of his affection and spending time with her. Then when Ophelia confronts Hamlet, he claims to never have loved her.  When Ophelia tries to give Hamlet the letters back he says; “No, not I, I never gave you ought” (3.1.95-96). Then in the same conversation he says “I did love you once” (3.1.115). and then takes it back and says “I loved you not” (3.1.119). Hamlet changes his appearance many times in this one conversation but by the end Hamlet convinces Ophelia that he has never loved her when in reality he truly does. Convincing Ophelia that he never really loved her is his way of protecting her. Many times he tells her to “Get thee to a nunnery” (3.1.121). for her own benefit. Though he says these things, there is still evidence that Hamlet truly loves Ophelia.  His reaction to her death is proof as he says; “I love Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers could not with all their quantity of love make up my sum” (5.1.271-273).  Though he truly loved Ophelia, it is necessary for him to convince others in his society, and more importantly Ophelia herself, in order to protect her. Another false mask in Hamlet is the relationship between Hamlet and Claudius. 

Claudius’s relationship with Hamlet is forced – simply a charade put on for the benefit of Hamlet’s mother, Gertrude. Claudius appears to claim Hamlet as his son and tries to become his father around Gertrude. Yet while he is speaking to Hamlet, even in front of Gertrude, he subtly insults him showing that he does not regard him as a son. Then, when Claudius is convinced of Hamlet’s madness, he plans to send him to England to have him killed, not displaying the unconditional love of a true father. 

Another one of Claudius’s masks is his pretense of innocence. He appears poised and innocent for the society of Denmark all the while having his true guilt of murder eating at his conscience. When Ophelia and Polonius are talking, before Ophelia’s meeting with Hamlet, they want to have Ophelia holding a prayer book, making her look innocent and pure. This pulls out a reaction from the King; “How smart a lash that speech doth give my conscience!/ The harlot’s cheek, beautied with plast’ring art,/ is not more ugly than the thing that helps it then is my deed to my most painted word” (3.1.49-53). This is the first appearance of Claudius’s conscience. His guilt makes another appearance when Hamlet sets up the play as trap to catch the King’s conscience. Hamlet’s plan is to get the King to act like he is guilty of Hamlet Sr.’s murder by setting up a play similarly to the way the real murder played out. Hamlet’s plan works. The King feels so guilty that he stands up and leaves before the show is even over. Before this Claudius manages to act innocent, keeping his guilt on the inside, but eventually his shame starts to get the better of him and his mask of innocence starts to show flaws. After he leaves the play, Claudius goes to the church and starts to pray, trying to repent saying; “My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent” (3.3.40). Even though he starts to feel and even show his increasing guilt, he manages to appear innocent enough and never truly confesses his guilt.  

Gertrude also felt guilt over her lack of grief and of marrying Claudius so soon after Hamlet Sr.’s death. When Hamlet tells his mother that she is not being faithful to her husband and never truly loved him only appeared to, it strikes at her guilt and she cries; “O Hamlet, speak no more/ thou turn’st mine eyes into my very soul,/ and there I see such black and grained spots/ as will not leave their tinct” (3.4.89-92). She has managed to put up a wall of innocence and avoid the truth that she is not devoted to her late husband. Even before Hamlet Sr. had passed, she managed to convince her society that they had a happy marriage. Despite the appearance of their happy marriage Hamlet Sr. is able to see through it after his death and when Hamlet Sr.’s  ghost is talking to Hamlet the ghost describes her as a “seeming-virtuous queen” (1.5.47).  Her appearance of loyalty and respectability is starting to crack revealing her true character. In reality, she is far from loyal to her first husband, quickly remarrying Claudius after Hamlet Sr.’s passing. Gertrude is also only able to grieve in a way that satisfied the appearance that society demands of her. She wears her black clothing and puts on her show but never truly feels the emotions her mask wore. Gertrude does not want to face the truth of what she has done, so she puts up her act and manages to believe that it it true. Not only has she managed to put on a mask of piety and grief for her society, but also for herself. 

Gertrude’s grieving over her dead husband, Hamlet Sr. is only skin deep and satisfies the appearance of grief society expects from her. Though her appearance suggests inward grieving, Hamlet calls her out on her lack of emotion and shallow grieving saying “These indeed seem,/ for they are the actions that a man might play,/ but I have that within which passes show” (1.2.83-85). Hamlet suggests that his mother is acting, putting on a show of black clothing . Later in Hamlet’s monologue he specifically states that her mourning is barely over a month and far too short for her husband that she appeared to love. In this same scene Hamlet shows Gertrude that he is not acting – his grief over his father is real unlike his mother’s. 

Hamlet not only grieves over his father, but also over Ophelia’s death. When he accidentally stumbles upon Ophelia’s funeral, he yells at Laertes;  

“ ‘Swounds, show me what thou’t do.  

Woo’t weep? Woo’t fight? Woo’t fast? Woo’t tear thyself?

Woo’t drink up eisel? Eat a crocodile? 

I’ll do’t. Dost thou come here to whine?

To outface me me with leaping in her grave?” (5.1.276-280).

Hamlet is saying to Laertes that he could show his grieving by “leaping in her grave” or in any other way but his grief is just as real. Hamlet is willing to do whatever it takes for him to show his true grief to his family and society. 

Ophelia is a unique case in Hamlet because of her insanity. Her insanity makes it difficult to tell what is actually going on in her head, since it is not mentally or emotionally stable. Ophelia’s insanity is brought about by the death of her father; her mental instability is the product of “the poison of deep grief” (4.5.75). After she goes insane, the one topic that is constantly on her mind is death as she becomes completely consumed with her grief. Her appearance and outward emotions are deteriorating along with her sanity. Her outward character then starts mirroring how she truly feels on the inside, making her insanity unquestionably real in both appearance and inner emotion. There is no point where decides to go insane, like Hamlet does, and there is also not a point where her insanity falters, like Hamlet’s does when he is around Horatio. 

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, two of Hamlet’s “close friends” are seemingly there to help cheer up Hamlet and return to his normal self. As the play progresses it becomes increasingly apparent that they are truly there for another reason. In one scene Hamlet starts questioning them, repeatedly asking them to play upon a flute and again and again they say they cannot. Hamlet then responds; “It is as easy as lying” (3.2.365). They still say that they cannot play and Hamlet responds, saying “You would play upon me; you/ would seem to know my stops... ‘Sblood, do you think I am easier to be played than a pipe?” (3.2.372-373, 377-378). It does not take Hamlet long to figure out that they are lying to him and merely acting like his friends. At this time though, Hamlet simply knows that they are lying but not what they are lying about. It does not take him much longer to put the pieces together, however. Hamlet calls them a sponge “that soaks up the King’s countenance,/ his rewards, his authorities... When he needs what you have/ gleaned, it is but squeezing you and, sponge,/ you shall be dry again” (4.2.15-16, 19-21). Ronsencrantz and Guildenstern are there only because the King has told them to be there and are playing the part of Hamlet’s friends at the Kings command. They are acting like a friend to Hamlet but are really only with him because of the King and Queen. 

From insanity to grief and friendship, each character depicts their inner emotions to society one way but behind their facade hides their true, inner character and emotions. In some cases, such as Ophelia’s madness, their emotions are exposed.  Often for their own benefit, the characters in Hamlet mask their feelings and manipulate how they were portrayed to society.  

In-Class Essay Revisions (not that great...:P)

YAY! I finally have something to post for junior year! Unfortunately it's just revisions from an in-class essay and honestly the prompt wasn't that good and neither was my paper, but don't worry! I'll have a bunch more stuff to post soon! Get ready for my Hamlet theme! Woot! 

Love and Reason

In his play, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Shakespeare characterizes love as unstable and rarely rational. When the lovers run off into the woods, Puck is able to easily manipulate who loved whom and causes chaos. Though the original plan was to make Demetrius fall in love with Helena, Robin Goodfellow mistook Lysander for Demetrius and true love is turned into chaos. Puck does not feel sorry for the mistake but blames it on fate saying that “A Million fail, confounding oath on oath” (Act 3 line 95). Love is not stable- not even the lovers who truly love each other- and by the end of the play, all four are dependent on the love juice. 

Shakespeare continues to mock love in the fairy world with Titania and Bottom. Oberon intended to make a fool of Titania, of possibly even wished her to be killed, by making her fall in love with some wild animal. Instead she falls in love with the transformed and translated Bottom, and the couple is absurd. Titania is a regal fairy queen but she has fallen in love with an uneducated, working class man with the head of a donkey. If Titania had been in her right senses she would have never even spoken to such a creature, but she is under a spell that clouds her judgement. Shakespeare even went so far as to have Bottom say; “And yet to say the truth, reason and love keep little company together nowadays” (Act 3 lines 145-146). The love juice, even for the lovers, causes their love to override everything else, leaving little room for reason.

When Titania falls in love with Bottom, her language is flowery and she speaks in rhyming verse while Bottom speaks in prose.  Poetry is often used for showing love and affections, but in this case, it is used to show the extreme difference between Titania and Bottom. Titania is regal and well educated while Bottom is an obviously uneducated working man. The two of them paired together is something that would have never happened if it was not for the love juice. Shakespeare uses their language to show the differences and ridiculousness of their match. 

Lilies and Dragons (Arthurian Legend FINAL DRAFT)

Well, I definitely thought that I posted this a while ago... oops, well here is my final draft! Enjoy!       

        The soft glow of the candlelight wavered in the foggy glass window of the Dining Hall. The Knights of King Arthur’s Court were celebrating their latest success as the jovial cheers and infectious laughter spread throughout the hall. It all fell quiet and King Arthur stood up, wavering on unstable, drunken legs. He raised his glass and the noble men and ladies followed suit. 

A shadow moved, unbeknownst to the celebrating court, into the wavering light outside one of the lofty windows. A cloak disguised her appearance, shadowing her face and distorting her features. A small knife, glinting with malice, hung uncovered at her side.  A hand stretched out from under the folds of the deep purple covering, palm upwards. A glowing blue orb appeared, resting inches from the open hand, showing an image of the feast that lay inside the castle. Soft whispers emanated from under the cloak, nearly visible in the stagnant fog covering Camelot. The ball of light pulsated, changing from blue to red, mirroring the harvest moon, then shattered, leaving nothing behind. With a quiet gathering of the deep purple fabric, the shadow left, leaving the knife behind. In the reflection of the glinting knife, the stars and moon hung perpetually suspended, waiting.

Inside the hall, the air was warmer and less sinister than that of the outside world, where the uninvited shadow stood whispering in the cold fog, mere yards from the King himself. King Arthur stood up, raising his ornate glass in a visibly shaken hand, undoubtedly drunker than half the hall. 

“Here we go,” mumbled Lancelot, bringing his full wine glass to his lips and tipping it far back before bringing it up with the rest of the Dining Hall. 

“I would like to make a toasht,” said the King, attempting to over-enunciate his words to compensate for his underlying drunken slur, “to shuccess and to onshe again driving out the evil forshez from Camelot,” he said, with an unmistakable glance out the window, “I am immenshely proud of eash and every one of my knightsh. To my equalsh of the Round Table.”

“To the Round Table,” echoed throughout the hall, their voices falling flat.

“And let us hope that our gracious King will fall over drunk and spare us from further ‘toashts’,” said Sir Nathen, laughing heartily. 

“Excuse me a moment,” muttered Lancelot, picking up his goblet and weaving his way to King Arthur.

“Ah, Lancelot!” he said, over-enthusiastic about Lancelot’s appearance, “How are you?”

“I am well my king, but there is a dire matter that I must discuss with you tonight.”

“What is it? Speak Lancelot, the night is old and the morning is pressing in,” King Arthur said, sobered by the severity in Lancelot’s voice.

“Not here, my lord, but now. Outside this hall.”

“Of course.”

Arthur in turn, picked up his own wine glass and quietly made his way out of the hall, following Lancelot into the hall between the room containing the Round Table and the Dining Hall. 

“Speak quickly and silently,” murmured King Arthur, his tone lowered so as not to be overheard, “for the night is cool and the Dining Hall calls me with its warmth and festivities.”

“Yes indeed Arthur, it is cool in the night, and it has been for quite some time. And that is exactly what I wish to speak to you about,” Lancelot grabbed onto Arthur’s arm, “this weather has not been getting better, it as been getting worse and you and I both know why.”

“The very idea is absurd,” King Arthur said, roughly shaking Lancelot’s arm off his own and heading back into the Dining Hall, “And it would fare you well to forget that this conversation ever happened.”

Lancelot turned and walked into the hall, rejoining the celebration. He turned and downed the entire glass of wine, gazing out the window. He was about to walk away, when a shine caught his eye. He looked out the window again and saw a small blade, lying outside on the ground. He turned and swept his gaze around the room, making sure he was not being watched as he slipped out the doors and into the foggy, late night air. 

The lovely Queen Guinevere wept, her shoulders shaking violently and nothing could be done or said to cease the crying. Her maids offered her hot tea and crumpets but nothing could console the distraught Queen. 

“It was real!” she cried, her voice cracking, “He was dead. He killed him.”

Guinevere picked up the tray of food and drink and threw it across her room, the hand-painted China tea set, a wedding gift, shattered. Guinevere threw herself back onto her bed, weeping uncontrollably. 

“Who was dead, my Lady?” asked Lancelot as he walked through her doorway and sat on the bed beside her. 

“You,” she whispered, “You traitor!” she screamed, throwing the nearest pillow into his face. 

“I never want to see you again,” Guinevere said, meeting his gaze. 

“Arthur, may I have a word with you,” said Sir Lancelot, his face carefully blank. 

“Again? My dear Lancelot, what a lot of thinking you have been doing as of lately. Something must truly be amiss in your life,” Arthur said, once again his former self after the absence of wine. 

“Well, maybe not so much my life,” Lancelot began, choking on his next words, “but, well, perhaps your life, my dear King.” Lancelot explained his encounter with Guinevere and the story that her maidservants had related to him. 

“So you can understand why I am concerned, not for me, pillows are not very lethal weapons, but for the Lady Guinevere,” Lancelot said, concern in his eyes, “something is terribly wrong. I believe that no one has ever seen her like this.”

“Well then, it is best we keep it that way, is it not?” said Arthur, his manner growing cool, “I trust 

you never to speak of this to anyone.” 

“Do you not think that something must be done about it? Do you not care?” furiously whispered Lancelot. 

“Keep your boundaries, Sir Lancelot and do not ever question my loyalty to my wife and Queen,” Arthur said, his tone icy as he walked away. He paused and turned back around. 

“And just to make things very clear, “your boundaries” do not include my wife’s bedchamber. Do not go questioning loyalties, Sir Lancelot.”  

The fog had grown heavier, resting on Camelot like a thick blanket, suffocating the crops and weighing heavily on Sir Lancelot’s heart. He paced his bedchamber, his boots tapping on the cold, stone floors. With an outraged cry, he picked up a vase of pure white lilies and threw them at the wall. He walked over to the fragmented vase and kicked aside the sharp pieces of tinted blue glass. Lancelot strode over to his bed and slid his hand under the cool pillow. His fingers latched around the knife, pulling it out from it’s hiding place. 

He examined the intricate handle, the precious gems forming a dragon wrapping itself around the hilt. Lancelot felt his body grow warm and his heart cold. Arthur, it was all because of Arthur, hissed the blade, gleaming, reflecting Lancelot’s green eyes. Instead of placing it back under his pillow, he concealed it under his shirt. Lancelot swung open the door to his bedchamber and left in search of King Arthur, crushing the white lilies with the heel of his boot. 

Sir Lancelot found King Arthur in Round Table room, standing with his hands braced on the table. He looked up as Lancelot entered, waiting for him to speak. 

“My Lord,” said Lancelot bowing, his eyes never leaving King Arthur’s, “the fog is getting denser. Do you not think something ought to be done about it? It is your duty as King,” challenged Lancelot, 

his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“What do you suggest I do about this, Lancelot?” King Arthur said, his own voice as cold as the weather outside the castle. Without waiting for an answer from Lancelot, he continued; “That is right, Sir Lancelot. Nothing can be done to remedy this situation.” Arthur strode over and stood in front of Lancelot, staring at him. 

“The witch, Morgause,” said Lancelot, noticing how Arthur flinched at her very name,  “placed the spell on you; as long as you are alive, Camelot will die,” he whispered, “You know that this grieves me more than you, but it is the truth, my Lord.”

“Camelot would die...” King Arthur began. 

“Camelot is dying Arthur!” yelled Lancelot, “Can you not see that? The crops are dead and the townspeople are starving. The water has dried up, there is nothing left of your kingdom.”

“Do you think I not know that?” retorted Arthur, his anger rising up his throat, itching to escape, “Do you think I do not care for my kingdom? Do you not know who the King of this kingdom is? It is me, Sir Lancelot, not you, and it would do you well to never forget again,” he said, his voice harsh. 

“You are not the King Arthur I know,” Sir Lancelot murmured, speaking the very words that had been weighing on his heart. 

“Lancelot... do you truly believe Camelot would be better off without me? I have no heir, there would be no one to take over and then my kingdom would fall into ruin,” despaired Arthur. 

“What are you talking about? You have a fine young man that would make an excellent king. You have been training him since he was a lad for this very time,” Lancelot said, his brow knit together. 

“I only know of one other person besides my son that has such strikingly green eyes,” whispered King Arthur, staring down at Lancelot.  

“What are you suggesting, Arthur?” Sir Lancelot said defensively. 

“I have no son.” 

Sir Lancelot drew his sword, nights of anger and rage boiling over, pressing it up against King Arthur. Arthur shoved him backward, drawing Excalibur and circling around to face him. 

“You forget your place, Sir Lancelot,” snapped Arthur, holding his sword in front of him. 

“You have forgotten you kingdom, your friendship,” he said, striking against Arthur with each accusation, “and your wife,” Lancelot finished, pressing him up against the Round Table. 

Lancelot pulled out the dagger, the dragon pulsating with an energy that seemed almost alive. He struck Arthur’s fighting hand, forcing him to drop Excalibur. Arthur struggled against Lancelot’s grip, but it was no use. Anger and the magic of the knife allowed Lancelot to hold King Arthur in his death grip. 

“How I have longed for this moment. You speak of justice, well this is your justice. How many have died for you! How many have you killed and been killed in your name! Too many,” hissed Lancelot, his eyes gleaming with malice.

“What has done this to you? Lancelot, I do not know what you are speaking of!” King Arthur yelled, fearful for his life. Only too late did he see the dragon on the knife. 

“Morgause...” whispered Arthur, his face bleached of color, “No, no the witch has taken hold of you, you do not know what you are doing, Lancelot! Listen to me, please my friend,” the King said, begging for his life. 

“Oh but I do know what I am doing. I am saving this kingdom,” he said, leaning in, “And let us hope that my son will be a better king than you have ever been,” he finished, driving the knife into Arthur. Lancelot stepped back, letting Arthur crumple to the ground. He yanked the knife out of him, letting the blood flow freely from his open wound. 

Arthur looked up into the eyes of his friend, pain lacing his voice as he uttered his final breath; 

“You are forgiven.” 

Lancelot wiped the stained blade with the cloak of the dead King’s robe and strode out of the room. He walked up to the bell tower and pulled the chord once, twice, three then four times. The whole kingdom knew that the king was dead. 

Guinevere sat on her bed, sitting motionless as tears spilled from her overflowing eyes. Her king, her husband was dead and she had known for days, but could not, did not try to save him. Now nearly all of her visions had come to pass as she had seen them. Her husband dead, his kingdom destroyed, her lover a killer. Herself, an adulterous betrayer. She fingered the lily on the hilt of the dagger, nothing like her corrupted heart. 

Only one vision remained and her life prevented it’s truth. She held the dagger, given to her for protection. She never thought it would be used to protect herself from herself. She held it up, examining her face in it’s reflection. 

She closed her eyes and brought the blade down into her stomach. She gasped but did not cry out, pulling the blade out, the blood flowing freely. She lay back onto her bed and held the flowers, the last gift from her beloved king, and held them to her chest. She felt her life seeping away, her breathing becoming shallow. Her eyes closed, knowing that no one would be there to close them for her, as she slipped away to find Arthur. 

Lancelot knocked on Guinevere’s door for the fifth time, his impatience growing as he paced in the hallway. He finally gave up and pushed the door open, stopping in the doorway. There lay Guinevere, his Guinevere, in her wedding dress, holding a bouquet of flowers surrounded by a pool of dark blood. The guilty blade lay on her bedside table, soaked with her royal blood. There was no 

one around, but there could only be one explanation; the lovely Guinevere had killed herself. Lancelot 

walked over to her bed and placed a hand onto her ashen face, cold as stone. 

The love of his life had killed herself from the sorrow of losing Arthur, and it was purely because 

of his own actions. He had killed the lovely Guinevere. 

“Oh my Guinevere what have I done. How much misery have I caused you?” Lancelot wailed, his heart breaking. 

He traced the intricate craftsmanship on the handle of the blade. He looked out the window, the sun streaming in, turning Guinevere’s hair to gold. He kissed her hair and he too held up the blade. Camelot had no hope, Lancelot had killed his best friend;his king, and now his love was dead. There was nothing left for Lancelot in this world. 

“Let me leave this world the way my loves did and my dear God let my son forgive me,” he said, striking his broken heart, severing his life’s chord.  He fell to the floor, the blade falling from his hand, clattering to the ground. 

The fog lifted from the valleys of the mighty kingdom of Camelot, drifting away from the castle where the fallen lay. The shadow walked into the Round Table room over to King Arthur. The hood was lifted and long black locks spilled out, revealing a beautiful woman. She took the crown off his head, gently placing the ring of gold onto the Round Table. She bent down and kissed the dead king, murmuring gentle words into his un-hearing ear; “Goodnight my son and rest well, for we shall meet again.” 

She walked up the stairs, her rich purple cloak trailing behind her. Morgause walked through the open door of the former Queen Guinevere’s bedchamber. She stepped over Lancelot and made her way to the lady. She removed the golden crown from Guinevere’s head and placed in onto her own, bending down to whisper into her ear; “Justice, my beauty, will come to all. For your justice is death and mine to serve.” 

She bent down to Lancelot and retrieved her knife from him, picking up the lady Guinevere’s dagger as well. The dragon and the lily. She fingered the intricate carvings, her eyes softening just the slightest bit. 

“All beauty fades and the mighty will always fall, for this is justice.” 

Of Lilies and Dragons; Arthurian Legend Rough Draft

So, I am super excited about this theme that we have been assigned. We get to write our

very own Arthurian Legend and get to show off our creative writing side. So, behold, my Rough

Draft;

The soft glow of the candlelight wavered in the foggy glass window of the Dining Hall. The Knights of King Arthur’s Court were celebrating their latest success as the jovial cheers and infectious laughter spread throughout the hall. It all fell quiet and King Arthur stood up, wavering on unstable, drunken legs. He raised his glass and the noble men and ladies followed suit. A toast, made to their latest successful hunt of , was given and the wine downed from the glasses.

A shadow moved, unbeknown to the celebrating court, into the wavering light outside one of the lofty windows. A cloak disguised his appearance, shadowing his face and distorting his features. A small knife, glinting with malice, hung uncovered at his side. A hand stretched out from under the folds of the deep purple covering, palm upwards. A glowing blue orb appeared, resting inches from the open hand, showing an image of the feat that lay inside the castle. Soft whispers emanated from under the cloak, nearly visible in the stagnate fog covering Camelot. The ball of light pulsated, changing from blue to red, mirroring the harvest moon, then shattered, leaving nothing behind. With a quiet gathering of the deep purple fabric, the shadow left, leaving the knife behind. In the reflection of the glinting knife, the stars and moon hung perpetually suspended, waiting.

Inside the hall, the air was warmer and less sinister than that of the outside world. King Arthur stood up, oblivious that an uninvited guest stood watching mere yards from where he stood, raising his ornate glass in a visibly shaken hand, undoubtedly drunker than half the hall.

“Here we go,” mumbled Lancelot, bringing his full wine glass to his lips and tipping it far back before bringing it up with the rest of the Dining Hall.

“I would like to make a toasht,” said the King, over-enunciating his words to compensate for his underlying drunken slur, “to shuccess and to onshe again driving out the evil forshez from Camelot,” he said, with an unmistakable glance out the window, “I am immenshely proud of eash and every one of my knightsh. To my equalsh of the Round Table.”

“To the Round Table,” echoed throughout the hall, their voices falling flat.

“What is that tonight, Sir Mikael?” asked Sir Nathen.

“Five. Let us hope that our gracious King will fall over drunk and spare us from further toasts,” said Sir Nathen, laughing heartily.

“Excuse me a moment,” muttered Lancelot, picking up his goblet and weaving his way to King Arthur.

“Ah, Lancelot!” he said, over-enthusiastic about Lancelot’s appearance, “How are you?”

“I am well my king, but there is a dire matter that I must discuss with you tonight.”

“What is it? Speak Lancelot, the night is old and the morning is pressing in,” King Arthur said, sobered by the severity in Lancelot’s voice.

“Not here, my lord, but now. Outside this hall.”

“Of course.”

Arthur in turn, picked up his own wine glass and quietly made his way out of the hall, following Lancelot into the chamber in between the room containing the Round Table and the Dining Hall.

“Speak quickly and silently,” murmured King Arthur, his tone lowered so as not to be overheard, “for the night is cool and the Dining Hall calls me with its warmth and festivities. I must also say that your own cool manner pushes me away yet draws my attention.”

“Yes indeed Arthur, it is cool in the night, and it has been for quite some time. And that is exactly what I wish to speak to you about,” Lancelot grabbed onto Arthur’s arm, “this weather has not been getting better, it as been getting worse and you and I both know why.”

“The very idea is absurd,” King Arthur said, roughly shaking Lancelot’s arm off his own and heading back into the Dining Hall, “And it would fare you well to forget that this conversation ever happened.”

Lancelot turned and walked into the hall, rejoining the celebration. He turned and downed the entire glass of wine, gazing out the window. He was about to walk away, when a shine caught his eye. He looked out the window again and saw a small blade, lying outside on the ground. He turned around and swept his gaze around the room, making sure he was not being watched as he slipped out the doors and into the foggy, late night air.

☙♰☙

The lovely Queen Guinevere wept, her shoulders shaking violently and nothing could be done or said to cease the crying. Her maids offered her hot tea and crumpets but nothing could console the distraught Queen.

“It was real!” she cried, her voice cracking, “He was dead. He killed him.”

Guinevere picked up the tray of food and drink and threw it across her room, the hand-painted China tea set, a wedding gift, shattered. Guinevere threw herself back onto her bed, weeping uncontrollably.

“Do you want...” muttered a maidservant, her hands twisting themselves into knots.

“No! Do you not understand me? Can you not hear me? He was dead!” This sent her into another bout of sobbing.

“Who was dead, my Lady?” asked Lancelot as he walked through her doorway and sat on the bed beside her.

“You,” she whispered, “You traitor!” she screamed, throwing the nearest pillow into his face.

“I never want to see you again,” she said, meeting his gaze.

☙♰☙

“Arthur, may I have a word with you,” said Sir Lancelot, his face carefully blank.

“Again. My dear Lancelot, what a lot of thinking you have been doing as of lately. Something must truly be amiss in your life,” Arthur said, once again his former self after the absence of wine.

“Well, maybe not so much my life,” Lancelot began, chocking on his next words, “but, well, perhaps your life, my dear King.” Lancelot explained his encounter with Guinevere and the story that her maidservants had related to him.

“So you can understand why I am concerned, not for me, pillows are not very lethal weapons, but for the Lady Guinevere,” Lancelot said, concern in his eyes, “something is terribly wrong. I believe that no one has ever seen her like this.”

“Well then, it is best we keep it that way, is it not?” said Arthur, his manner growing cool, “I trust you never to speak of this to anyone.”

“Do you not think that something must be done about it? Do you not care?” furiously whispered Lancelot.

“Keep your boundaries, Sir Lancelot and do not ever question my loyalty to my wife and Queen,” Arthur said, his tone icy as he walked away. He paused and turned back around.

“And just to make things very clear, “your boundaries” do not include my wife’s bedchamber. Do not go questioning loyalties Sir Lancelot.”

The fog had grown heavier, resting on Camelot like a thick blanket, suffocating the crops and weighing heavily on Sir Lancelot’s heart. He paced his bedchamber, his boots tapping on the cold, stone floors. With an outraged cry, he picked up a vase of pure white lilies and threw them at the wall. He walked over to the fragmented vase and kicked aside the sharp pieces of tinted blue glass. Lancelot strode over to his bed and slid his hand under the cool pillow. His fingers latched around the knife, pulling it out from it’s hiding place.

He examine the intricate handle, the precious gems forming a dragon wrapping itself around the hilt. The blade itself gleamed, reflecting Lancelot’s green eyes. Instead of placing it back under his pillow, he concealed it under his shirt. Lancelot swung open the door to his bedchamber and left in search of King Arthur, crushing the white lilies with the heel of his boot.

Sir Lancelot found King Arthur in Round Table room, standing with his hands braced on the table. He looked up as Lancelot entered, waiting for him to speak.

“My Lord,” said Lancelot bowing, his eyes never leaving King Arthur’s, “the fog is getting denser. Do you not think that something ought to be done about it? It is your duty, as king,” challenged Lancelot, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“What do you suggest I do about this, Lancelot?” King Arthur said, his own voice as cold as the weather outside the castle. Without waiting for an answer from Lancelot, he continued; “That is right, Sir Lancelot. Nothing can be done to remedy this situation.” Arthur strode over and stood in front of Lancelot, staring at him.

“The witch placed the spell on you; as long as you are alive, Camelot will die,” he whispered, “You know that this grieves me more than you, but it is the truth, my Lord.”

“Camelot would die...” King Arthur began.

“Camelot is dying Arthur!” yelled Lancelot, “Can you not see that? The crops are dead and the townspeople are starving. The water has dried up, there is nothing left of your kingdom.”

“Do you think I not know that?” retorted Arthur, his anger rising up his throat, itching to escape, “Do you think I do not care for my kingdom? Do you not know who the King of this kingdom? It is me, Sir Lancelot, not you, and it would do you well to never forget again,” he said, his voice harsh.

“You are not the King Arthur I know. You are not the King that I love,” Sir Lancelot murmured, speaking the very words that had been weighing on his heart.

Arthur stared at his friend, his blue eyes betraying his hurt.

“Lancelot... Do you really believe that Camelot would be better off without me? I have no heir, there would be no one to take over and then my kingdom would truly fall into ruin,” despaired the King, his head dropping.

“What are you talking about? You have a fine young man that would make an excellent king. You have been training him since he was a lad for this very time,” Lancelot said, his brow knit together.

“I only know of one other person besides my son that has such strikingly green eyes,” whispered King Arthur, staring down at Lancelot.

“What are you suggesting, Arthur?” Sir Lancelot said defensively.

“I have no son.”

Sir Lancelot drew his sword, nights of anger and rage boiling over, pressing it up against King Arthur. Arthur shoved him backward, drawing Excalibur and circling around to face him.

“You forget your place, Sir Lancelot,” snapped Arthur, holding his sword in front of him.

“You have forgotten you kingdom, your friendship,” he said, striking against Arthur with each accusation, “and your wife,” Lancelot finished, pressing him up against the Round Table.

Lancelot pulled out the dagger, the dragon pulsating with an energy that seemed almost alive. He struck Arthur’s fighting hand, forcing him to drop Excalibur. Arthur struggled against Lancelot’s grip, but it was no use. Anger and the magic of the knife allowed Lancelot to hold King Arthur in his death grip.

“How I have longed for this moment. You speak of justice, well this is your justice. How many have died for you! How many have you killed and been killed in your name! Too many,” hissed Lancelot, his eyes gleaming with malice, “My mother, my sister...”

“What has done this to you? Lancelot, I do not know what you are speaking of!” King Arthur yelled, fearful for his life. Only too late did he see the dragon on the knife.

“No, no the witch has taken hold of you, you do not know what you are doing, Lancelot! Listen to me, please my friend,” the King said, begging for his life.

“Oh but I do know what I am doing. I am saving this kingdom,” he said, leaning in, “And let us hope that my son will be a better king than you have ever been,” he finished, driving the knife into Arthur. Lancelot stepped back, letting Arthur crumple to the ground. He yanked the knife out of him, letting the blood flow freely from his open wound.

Arthur looked up into the eyes of his friend, pain lacing his voice as he uttered his final breath; “You are forgiven.”

Lancelot wiped the stained blade with the cloak of the dead King’s robe and strode out of the room. He walked up to the bell tower and pulled the chord once, twice, three and four times. The whole kingdom knew that the king was dead.

Guinevere sat on her bed, no longer able to weep, but only sit motionless as tears spilled from her overflowing eyes. Her king, her husband was dead and she had known for days, but could not, did not try to save him. She knew of the curse but did not believe it was a viable threat. Now nearly all of her visions had come to pass as she had seen them. Her husband dead, his kingdom destroyed, her lover a killer. Only one vision remained and her life prevented it’s truth. She held the dagger, given to her for protection. She never once thought it was to be used to protect herself. She held it up, examining her face in it’s reflection.

She closed her eyes and brought the blade down into her stomach. She gasped but did not cry out, pulling the blade out, the blood flowing freely. She lay back onto her bed and held the flowers, the last gift from her beloved king, and held them to her chest. She felt her life seeping away, her breathing becoming shallow. Her eyes closed, knowing that no one would be there to close them for her, as she slipped away to find Arthur.

Lancelot knocked on Guinevere’s door for the fifth time, his impatience growing as he paced in the hallway. He finally gave up and pushed the door open, stopping in the doorway. There lay Guinevere, his Guinevere, in her wedding dress, holding a bouquet of flowers surrounded by a pool of dark blood. The guilty blade lay on her bedside table, soaked with her royal blood. There was no one around, but there could only be one explanation. The lovely Guinevere had killed herself. He walked over the the knife, looking closer only to realize that it was the dagger he had given her for protection. He staggered backwards, falling to his knees. He had killed her. Lancelot had killed her husband, and because of the grief she had taken her own life with a blade that he had given her.

The love of his life had killed herself for another man, and it was purely because of his own actions. He had killed the lovely Guinevere.

“Oh my Guinevere what have I done. How much misery have I caused you?” Lancelot wailed, his heart breaking.

He traced the intricate craftsmanship on the handle of the blade. A lily was etched into the hilt and his hand wrapped around it as he picked it up. He looked out the window, the sun streaming in, turning Guinevere’s hair to gold. He kissed her hair and he too held up the blade. Camelot had no hope, Lancelot had killed his best friend and king and his love was dead for another man. There was nothing left for Lancelot in this world.

“Let me leave this world the way my loves did as well and my dear God let my son forgive me,” he said, striking his broken heart, severing his life’s chord. He fell to the floor, the blade falling from his hand, clattering to the floor.

The fog lifted from the valleys of the mighty kingdom of Camelot, drifting away from the castle where the fallen lay. The shadow walked into the Round Table room over to King Arthur. The hood was lifted and long black locks spilled out, revealing a beautiful woman. She bent down and kissed the dead king, taking the crown from his head, a small smile on her lips.

She walked up the stairs, her rich purple cloak trailing behind her. She walked through the open door of the former Queen Guinevere’s bedchamber. She stepped over Lancelot and made her way to the lady. She removed the golden crown from Guinevere’s head and placed in on her own, bending down to whisper into her ear; “Justice, my beauty, will come to all.”

She bent down to Lancelot and retrieved her knife from him, picking up the lady Guinevere’s dagger as well. The dragon and the lily.

“All beauty fades and the mighty will always fall, for this is justice.”