Horatio: The Loyal Friend of Prince Hamlet

By Richard W. Coan

In Shakespeares Hamlet, Horatio is a trusted friend who serves as a sounding board for the prince. But who is Horatio? How did he meet the prince? How does he view the people and events in the royal household? And what does he seek for himself in life?

The events in Shakespeares play take on fresh meaning when seen from the perspective of characters other than the prince himself. In this novel, Horatio has a life of his own. We see him as a sensitive, scholarly man who dreams, falls in love, struggles with fear, and pursues his own course of action. What he sees and does affects life in the castle, but he knows that his own destiny lies elsewhere.

The son of a Danish cloth merchant, he has grown up in Copenhagen. He goes to the University of Paris to pursue his interest in philosophy. Some stormy exchanges leave him disenchanted, and he moves to the University of Wittenberg, where he develops a friendship with Hamlet and Marcellus. Learning of the death of his father, Hamlet returns to Elsinore. Knowing he must also return soon, Marcellus urges Horatio to come with him.

Sharing quarters in the city with two royal guards, Horatio spends much time at the castle. A young lady catches his eye, and a passionate romance begins to flourish. But he also has a succession of encounters with a shrewd and devious courtier, whom he suspects of seeking to manipulate events in the royal household. Ultimately faced with dire events he cannot control, he looks forward to a better life far from the castle.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 10, 2006
• ISBN: 9781425946289

Richard W. Coan

Richard W. Coan is a Professor Emeritus of Psychology. As a Professor at the University of Arizona, he specialized in personality theory and did research with both children and adults. Throughout his life, he has pursued interests in Jungian theory, the psychology of religion, Eastern thought, mythology, and archetypal symbolism. In addition to writings in psychology, he has composed music and written poetry and novels.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Paris

Prince Hamlet asked me, as he lay dying, to speak of the events that I now set forth. He was my dearest friend. Yet I cannot tell the story as he would. I can speak only of the events I observed, and there remain mysteries that lie beyond my grasp. I say this with much regret. Had I understood what was to happen and why, I might have prevented the tragic fate of my friend. Furthermore, there is little I crave more than knowledge. Above all, I am a student, and I struggle to comprehend the world in which I find myself. I have little taste for bold action, but give me a few books and manuscripts, and I will devote many hours to a vigorous quest for truth. Some of the truth eludes me now. Nonetheless, it is only fitting that I seek to convey what I have seen and heard and what I surmise from such observations.

For me, the tale must begin in Paris, a year before I met the prince. I went to Paris to attend the university, and it was there that I first encountered someone with close ties to the royal court of Denmark. In that city I began to witness events that might have helped me foresee the disaster that ultimately occurred in Elsinore.

When I first arrived there, I secured lodgings in the Latin Quarter. My room was a tiny cubicle at the top of a narrow staircase in a building that housed several of my fellow students. When I was not engaged in study or sleep, I would descend to the street and explore my surroundings. The place aroused many feelings in me. I was eager to sample the exotic cultural landscape and see people of various lands and cultures, but I felt timid in the face of the bustling crowds. Men and women dashed in all directions on the cobblestones. There were usually a few horse-drawn carts laden with produce or other wares and occasionally a mounted soldier.

A few vendors on my street had set up stalls where they sold fruits, vegetables, eggs, and fresh meat. If I stood near these stalls and closed my eyes, I could imagine I was near my home in Denmark. Best of all was the heart-warming aroma of fresh bread that wafted from a nearby bakery. I could expect a new array of sights and smells if I ventured down other streets or strolled along the bank of the Seine. Everywhere I was surrounded by people of varied attire speaking a number of tongues, for I was in the most cosmopolitan city in the world. Still I felt out of place, and no matter what I saw and heard in Paris I was left with an overwhelming feeling of loneliness.

The only remedy—or escape—I could envision lay in books. I was eager to commence my studies. Having traveled to a number of countries, I knew that the University of Paris was widely regarded as the greatest university in all of Europe. Just imagine my excitement when I faced the prospect of studying there. As soon as I could make the necessary arrangements, I began to attend lectures. Fortunately I had already achieved a fair command of Latin. All the lectures, discussions, and books were in Latin, the universal language of European universities. Students were even expected to converse in Latin outside their classes.

This renowned university seemed the ideal place to pursue my interest in philosophy. The university comprised four faculties—in arts, canon law, medicine, and theology. Though it was not the largest, the theology faculty was considered predominant and exercised some authority over the other faculties. It was the curriculum of the arts faculty that drew me to Paris, however, for it offered an opportunity to study philosophy, science, and the Roman classics.

Most of the lectures I attended were held in a large room that opened onto a busy street. One day I went to hear a lecture by Darius, a young man with curly brown hair. A master of the arts faculty, he was to present a section from Aristotle’s Metaphysics. Thirty students were assembled for this session. It seemed odd that Maximus, whom I recognized as a master of the theology faculty, was also there standing at the side of the room. He was an older man with grey hair and a beard, and I was surprised to see that he was fully attired in priestly garb. Not only was he dressed in a full-length white linen tunic, but over this he wore a chasuble normally reserved for the celebration of mass. This was a wide circular garment with a hole for the head, and it was richly embroidered with gold thread around the neck and the outer edge. Thus attired, he seemed formidable, and he bore a stern expression that kept drawing my attention and left me uncomfortable.

The lecture was concerned with the process of change, and one of the central ideas was that nothing can arise unless something already exists from which it can be created. Aristotle’s thesis seemed simple and rather obvious, but it had implications that I wished to discuss, and I waited for Darius to complete his presentation.

When I had an opportunity to speak, I said Aristotle contended that a thing cannot be created from nothing. I noted that he also believed time and motion are eternal—there was no moment at which they began. Does it not follow, I asked, that the earth and the various bodies in the heavens have always existed more or less as they do now?

Yes, said Darius, I believe that is Aristotle’s view.

At this point Maximus, appearing agitated, spoke up. Are you two gentlemen suggesting that the world was not created at a moment in time? And what of the rest of creation—the creation of the various animals and of man?

"Elsewhere in his Metaphysics, I said, Aristotle argues that a complete being cannot come into existence from nothing, that men and women must exist prior to the seeds that become men and women. In other words, beings with human qualities can only come from prior beings with those qualities. It seems to follow from Aristotle’s premises that the world and people have always existed. I believe that is the position to which reason leads."

Surely you cannot believe that, Maximus retorted. Such a denial of creation is rank heresy. I strongly advise you to amend your thinking.

I felt intimidated by this overbearing priest, but I also felt increasingly annoyed. Was he really hearing what I was saying? But if we cannot know the truth with certainty, is not reason our best guide, the means most likely to lead us to the truth?

Certainly not. Young man, you utter the words of an ignorant savage. The truth is revealed to us in the sacred scriptures. In the curriculum offered by the arts faculty, you study the writings of Aristotle so that you may learn to employ reason more efficiently. But the proper function of reason in the university is to elucidate the truths revealed by faith, not to undermine them. May I ask your name, sir?

Horatio, I replied.

Well, Horatio, let us see whether any of your fellow students entertain such heretical ideas. He turned to a strapping youth, who identified himself as Laertes, and demanded to know his views.

I certainly agree with you, said Laertes. I would never question the truth of the creation story of the scriptures. Reason can only lead us far afield from the truth unless we accept the facts of the Biblical account as our basic premises. He spoke with dispassion and maintained an expressionless face, as if he were stating a truth so obvious that it needed no defense.

I am glad to know that the minds of our youths have not all been corrupted by the study of Aristotle. I must warn you, Darius, that if heretical ideas are permitted to flourish in the arts curriculum, I shall see that corrective action is taken. And you, Horatio, had better learn to control your tongue and reshape your mind in the light of true Christian beliefs, for if you persist in spewing dangerous falsehoods that can lead others astray, I shall see that you are severely punished.

Perhaps Maximus had attended this session in order to deliver these pronouncements. In any case, he had made his point and said nothing further, nor did I. The remainder of the discussion dealt with safer topics, and I sat pondering my decision to come to Paris. In the course of my travels I had met farmers, merchants, and sailors. I had spoken with Arabs and Jews, and I had discovered that there were many ways of viewing the world. Now I had come to the greatest university of Europe, and while I was encouraged to exercise reason, I was not free to think my own thoughts. I was being told what I might think and what I might not.

Afterward, as I trudged back toward my lodging, I was aroused from my silent ruminations by the voice of Laertes, who began to walk beside me. You certainly placed yourself at great peril in there.

I was merely expressing my own views. I believe I have a right to seek truth as well as I can.

Of course you do. As a matter of fact, I think much as you do.

It didn’t seem so in our discussion. You agreed with the master of theology.

What I believe is one thing. What I say in public is another. Maximus is an ass, but it’s futile to argue with him. You can only get yourself in serious trouble without accomplishing anything. I prefer to keep some thoughts to myself and strike back at people in positions of authority when I know I can have an impact. I may just throw a rock through the window of that arrogant theologian in the dark of night. He will think you did it! He would never suspect a man of true faith like me. He burst out laughing. I was not amused by the fanciful scene he had conjured up and was glad when he abandoned it. Oh, but why waste a lot of time thinking and arguing about philosophy? I would rather enjoy the company of beautiful women and cultivate my fencing skill. But I have been meaning to ask you—from your manner of speaking, I assume you are not from France. Are you a Saxon?

No, a Dane. From Copenhagen.

Hearing this, Laertes abruptly stopped speaking Latin and responded in Danish. Then we are neighbors. I’m from Elsinore. Come with me. There is a nearby tavern where we can join some of our fellow students and celebrate our meeting over a few mugs of ale.

As we wended our way through a crowded street, Laertes suddenly said, Look! There’s a fruit vendor. Then he darted off to the side, snatched an apple from the vendor’s cart, and dashed back.

He clutched his loot to his chest in an effort to conceal it, but the vendor yelled, Somebody stop those two! They stole an apple from my cart.

Laertes started running down the street. Having been identified as an accomplice of the thief, I ran too. Perhaps I should have stayed and proclaimed my innocence, but I did not stop to consider this possibility. My new acquaintance was proving a bit too devious for my tastes. Compatriot or not, he did not seem the sort of fellow I could welcome as a trusted friend.

The vendor could not abandon his cart to chase us, and Laertes soon slowed to a leisurely pace. I caught up with him, and we entered the tavern, a large room with massive oak beams running across the ceiling and a heavy supporting post in the middle. A large log burning in a fireplace on one wall kept the room a little too warm for my tastes. We were soon seated at a table, sipping ale and exchanging our impressions of the university and our studies. Then we noticed an argument across the room between the tavern owner and a student. The two grew increasingly vociferous. From the bits I could hear, I gathered that the innkeeper was demanding payment for the ale that the student had consumed, while the student insisted he had already paid.

Laertes started to rise from his chair and said, That fat innkeeper is trying to cheat one of our fellow scholars.

How can you tell? I said. We don’t know which one is telling the truth. It may just be an innocent mistake.

I know the truth when I see it. That man thinks he has a right to step on students and take all their money just because he’s a big merchant who owns a lot of property. I’m going to tell him what I think of his greedy dealings.

As Laertes began to move away from our table, I said, I thought you preferred to keep such opinions to yourself and avoid risky confrontations.

The innkeeper is not a constable or a member of the theology faculty. He may be rich, but he has no power over us.

With no further delay, Laertes strode across the room and immediately intruded into the argument. He called the tavern owner a robber and a lazy scoundrel, then raised his arms and shoved the man against the wall. At this point, a couple of townsmen seated nearby rose and came to the aid of the tavern owner. They were followed by two or three young men who obviously sided with their fellow students. By now, the whole place was quite noisy, and I could see a number of blows being struck.

Was I duty-bound to ally myself with my fellow students in opposition to the local citizens? I did not think so. I thought the entire altercation absurd, and I had no clear idea as to who was really responsible for starting it. Nor did I believe I was obliged to come to the aid of my hot-headed companion Laertes. The original dispute might have been resolved quickly if he had not intervened. He was evidently rash and fearless and quite ready to strike a blow for any senseless cause