Act 2.2
(The king sits in his bed. Christian goes to him and sits at the edge of the bed just behind the king)
King:
In the middle of the darkest night, I cannot tell who’s where. Who I am, and when I am, and so I reach despair. Am I my father king, or yet still am I the child? In the end, am I myself? These questions drive me wild.
Christian:
The Hamlet who was your father king is now long since dead, in the grave and at his peace. The child called Hamlet’s in Wittenberg where he studies there to please. And here, Lord Hamlet, you remain to rule us in your majesty.
King:
Such a king as I am that thing each night becomes a travesty. In these nights I cannot find all three or even one. I am lost out here in Denmark’s cold of night, and there’s nothing to be done.
Christian:
I am here, as I have been, night for dreary night. I hold you near away from fear until the clearing light. Sleep is sparse in this regard, but we have long travailed. With our shared heart, when you’re torn apart, your soul, at last, prevails.
King:
(Lies back on Christian and looks up) Are you my Christian stranger to whom I can tell all? Is their forgiveness somewhere there even in this darkest pall?
Christian:
I can’t hear your story as your priest. It comes not as confession. You suffered long and keep it hard under a great repression. You seek and need release.
King:
I had a father and was his son, but in the end I killed him. He haunts me still and seeks revenge and my pain somehow it thrills him. He wants my death as I made his, and in the making he undid me. It’s taken years of building fears and now I wish for death. Forgive me.
Christian:
You have all the forgiveness I can muster in my sinful being. Nothing is just what it is, and will be in our dreaming. You father was so gravely ill, his death was thus impending. He suffered much from madness too, and all that needed ending.
King:
Are you the angel of which I’ve heard?
Christian:
I am but your humble servant, sire, and that is my true word.
King:
Death comes as a servant, too, and brings the final remedy. Are you the angel that comes as death and finally sets me free?
Christian:
I can hold you in my arms until death it softly comes, but I cannot make such an end to fate. We must wait—God’s will be done.
King:
I cannot wait. I have a fate. That fate I cannot permit be done. For if not stopped so I cannot, I will kill the Hamlet called my son. I fear him now, and I fear just how he will come and take my power. I know this is mad, but however sad, I am driven to this hour. I must be stopped and by death’s clock or my madness will just flower.
You comfort me and shrive me, but still you must forgive me, for I am in need of something more than this. Call my brother Claudius. That son won’t be remiss. He can serve where you cannot for all your good will and your prayers. Tell him to come. I now insist. He will not feel unawares.
Christian:
(Gets up gently) I will do what you have bidden, my liege and my dear lord.
King:
Take not your time for that is mine, and it’s loss I can’t afford.
(Christian exits)