Caden aka William Shakespeare

Hamlet Research Paper

To My Spitefully Unsanctified Contemporaries,

    The sod hath won my gaze this day, for I have beheld man’s sightless nature, incapable of discernment past the given surface, espying the door but dismissing the contents beyond. These self-appointed polymaths mistake fault for misinterpretation, scorning my epics because the intent is lost on them. No doubt the same sin that betook Joseph's brethren festers in the hearts of these critics, for the very gift that eludes their possession remains with I. Vain ambition whispers in the ear, provoking protest in the face of contest. Dread not ye wretched creatures, for I will wipe the glaze from thine eye and deliver thee from thy stupor. Hearken unto my words as they will cause the embers of thy soul to burst forth as a glorious inferno, expelling the shade that clouds thy senses, and enlightening the mind to the philosophical. The tragedy of Prince Hamlet hath particularly stirred up misplaced judgment, as with any tale of vengeance. It is within the ink of this very address that I amend a pair of tiresome concerns arising from this spectacle; I stand as the voice of my speechless creations.

    To whom does the greater evil fall, on the devil or his servants? Surely the villain himself does not sully his hands in the filth, but entices his agents to plunge knee deep, begging the question, who stands blemished in the end? Such is the case with the blubbering Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, of whose fate pundits ponder the justice. They question the Prince’s eagerness to send the couple to slaughter, yet hand stayed the wicked king. O the tendency of man to view the world as rational, and to presume that humans behave accordingly. Hamlet was conceived to be a flawed role, acting impulsively, as with the fatal acts against Polonius and the aforementioned duo; It is with premeditation that the young noble finds pause (Kiernan).

Although the Danish Prince’s mortal signature sprung from rash ire, the foolish victims of wit were by no means spotless. Advocates for Rosencrantz and Guildenstern will plead ignorance as to the letter's command, nevertheless that two-headed viper did the knave's bidding, collecting their 30 silver pieces whilst kissing their brother’s cheek. That brace of lemmings wouldst have picked up arms against the Prince himself, should cunning Claudius had called, for Guildenstern said, “We are little men.”(Gross). Though the wolf be woolly, the fangs be in sight, and fear renders the flock unknowing, spite one creature, adorned in black, taunting the beast. Two sheep deny the tusks, bowing to the feral howls, siding opposite their kin. “For one may smile, and smile,” but the heart does not lie, and the late Rosencrantz and Guildenstern beheld the king’s to be black (Shakespeare 34).

 The query still lingers, was the punishment fit? This be the orthodox folly, to pose the most infantile inquiries, for the greater personage ask, “was the Prince ever noble?” Whether the foolish pair warranted their destruction it mattereth not, for Hamlet’s plot served its design, divulging the moral grayness of the titular persona. From a surrogate approach the nephew and uncle trod the same path, the trail of the shrewd killer with an intimate vendetta, for the hero and villain thrive in the eye of the beholder. Once approached by the faithful Horatio, the princeling endorsed his kill order saying, “Why, man, they did make love to this employment; they are not near my conscience; their defeat does by their own insinuation grow.” (Shakespeare 140).These are not the words of a benevolent being, but the justifications of a wroth soul. Those that note fault falsely suppose this a story of good and evil, but in this tale there be no good men in Denmark. Wo unto the departed souls of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, slain by dim notions of a black and white world.

    My name hath been yoked to heaps of obscenities, but none leaden my spirits more than that of “prejudiced.” Adversaries censure the presentation of the feminine leads within Hamlet, accusing my person of misogyny (Williams). I marvel at these charges, and feel the burden to vindicate this characterization. The bulk of my belittlers are of the aesthetic gender, condemning the risque illustration of the only two female parts, one being an incestuous queen, the other a flirtatiously naive maiden. A male chauvinist they call I! Nevermind Gertrude’s fortitude, or Ophelia’s compassion! Was not Juliet as valued as Romeo? Was not Titania revered by man and deity? Was not Lady Macbeth a manipulator of men’s will? Did not the Lamb reveal himself to Mary Magdalene before all else? (Britannica). God elected the weaker sex as mortals better half, for if devices be left to men, this land would be desolate. Their volume for love matches our capacity for hate, for Eve partook of the fruit, not out of weakness but for longing. It is at this time I lift this pen, and look to my spouse, the mother of my children, a necessity in my being.

 It is not to say that the queen’s bearing is any indication of the represented sex, but merely attributes of the head. It is true, Gertrude did “live In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed, stew'd in corruption, honeying and making love over the nasty sty!” (Shakespeare 94). But what of this sings women? For the king lay in the same sty. Detractors shout of the Queen’s hasty matrimony, painting a visage of selfish greed, as opposed to the inclusion of a fervent matriarchal figure. In heeding this demand, the work would forfeit the Prince’s semblance of a lone man on an undertaking, for Hamlet alone beholds the foe. Much contention hath ensued on Ophelia’s behalf as well, feeling that the fair maiden was under men’s longing influence. Had independence been granted the young woman, Ophelia might have wandered too close to the Prince, distracting from his vengeance, extinguishing his primary source of rage, ending the crusade and leaving justice unfulfilled. The Tale of the Danish Prince, being originally composed as a tragedy, follows a sorrowful individual on his quest for retribution, leaving little aperture for supportive female roles. In such a dark fable, good women would radiate too brightly.

    I write this address beneath the shade of a designated oak tree along the River Avon; the water’s symphony settles the nerves (Biography.com). This was a missive I had never hoped to write in my day, but one can only bring the ox to the river bed, drinking comes by his own admission. I would that my rhetoric hath turned the hearts of these my critics, as to an understanding of my beloved Hamlet, but again the stiff necks never cease. My only prayer is that thy will putteth forth greater contemplation before addressing a stern review to my person, but who am I to hope for such a thing? It was this very day many years ago that my only son passed the veil, it was his memory that drove construction of Hamlet, no other work moveth my soul as the spiel of the grieving Prince (Biography.com). It was my crucible, the moment that birthed a new tempest within my spirit.

 O joy, a prize so easily lost but seldom found, for I had beheld Joy’s ruddy complexion, his smiling innocence. He left as soon as he came, turning his back to me, and I did likewise. My Hamnet’s grave lay at my feet, and I bid him deliver me, for this fleshy prison hath nothing to proffer (Biography.com). The day will come when I shall walk with Joy again, striding this very riverbank, but it is not this day. I instead find myself writing this message, defending this loathsome narrative; the story of Hamnet, Prince of my peace. Part wishes I never witnessed Joy, for how can one mourn whom they never knew? The thought always follows, it is better to feel pain than nothing at all. The best 11 years of my existence passed in one glorious moment, and the whole mattereth not. It is the kind of Job that populate the innermost circle of celestial glory, and it is they that are enlightened; the downtrodden. I would that every being see Hamlet for what it was, yet another testament of Joy’s flight. 

Caden had to write a paper in Shakespearean language and he did an amazing job.  His teacher wrote on the end of the paper that it was the best one he had read in ten years and he showed several teachers.  He has a bit of the Morgan in him!