← Journeys

The Danish Mirror

Amleth — the First Hamlet

The original Hamlet, four centuries before Shakespeare — told by the Danish historian Saxo Grammaticus around 1200, and the atlas's first window onto the Latin tradition that ran alongside the Norse sagas. When the prince Amleth's uncle murders his father and marries his mother, Amleth feigns idiocy to survive, hiding a deadly purpose behind riddling, half-mad speech until the moment comes for a complete and terrible revenge. A tale of patience, disguised wit, and vengeance that crossed from Denmark into Saxo's Latin, into a French retelling, and at last onto the English stage.
1

A history in Latin

Everything in this atlas so far has come from the Norse: the Icelandic sagas, the Eddas, the kings' sagas. But the Norse world had neighbours who wrote of the same heroes and gods in other tongues — and the greatest of these is Saxo Grammaticus, a Danish cleric who, around the year 1200, composed a vast history of the Danes, the Gesta Danorum, in elaborate Latin. Its first nine books are not sober history but a treasury of legend: the same mythic and heroic matter the Icelanders preserved, told from the Danish side and in the learned language of Christian Europe.

Saxo matters enormously to this corpus, because he is an independent witness. Where a story appears in both Saxo's Latin and the Norse sources, we can see two traditions remembering the same thing differently — the mark of genuinely old material. And where a story survives only in Saxo, he preserves legends the Norse texts lost. His tale of Amleth is the supreme example of the second kind: a Danish prince's revenge that exists nowhere in the Icelandic record, kept alive by Saxo alone — and destined, through a long chain of retellings, to become the most famous play ever written.

The source text · 1
[1] Amleth
He had now passed three years in valiant deeds of war; and, in order to win higher rank in Rorik's favour, he assigned to him the best trophies and the pick of the plunder. His friendship with Rorik enabled him to woo and will in marriage his daughter Gerutha, who bore him a son Amleth.— gesta danorum

Saxo introduces Amleth, son of Horwendil and Gerutha (Elton 1894).

2

Murder in the family

The setup is the one the whole world now knows from Shakespeare. Amleth's father, Horwendil, a valiant governor of Jutland who had won fame by slaying the king of Norway in single combat, is murdered by his own jealous brother Feng.[1] Feng seizes the throne and — compounding the crime — marries his dead brother's widow, Amleth's mother Gerutha, dressing up the fratricide with smooth justifications.

Every essential element of Hamlet is already here in Saxo, around 1200: the murdered father, the usurping uncle, the hasty incestuous marriage to the mother, and the son left alive and watchful in a poisoned court. What Saxo gives that Shakespeare transformed is the raw, archaic shape of it — a blood-feud revenge story, in which a son's plain duty is to avenge his father, and the only question is how a lone young man can do it against a king who holds all the power and is watching him for any sign of danger. Amleth's answer is one of the cleverest stratagems in all of legend.

The source text · 1
[1] Feng
Such great good fortune stung Feng with jealousy, so that he resolved treacherously to waylay his brother, thus showing that goodness is not safe even from those of a man's own house. And behold, when a chance came to murder him, his bloody hand sated the deadly passion of his soul. Then he took the wife of the brother he had butchered, capping unnatural murder with incest. For whoso yields to one iniquity, speedily falls an easier victim to the next, the first being an incentive to the second. Also, the man veiled the monstrosity of his deed with such hardihood of cunning, that he made up a mock pretence of goodwill to excuse his crime, and glossed over fratricide with a show of righteousness. Gerutha, said he, though so gentle that she would do no man the slightest hurt, had been visited with her husband's extremest hate; and it was all to save her that he had slain his brother; for he thought it shameful that a lady so meek and unrancorous should suffer the heavy disdain of her husband. Nor did his smooth words fail in their intent; for at courts, where fools are sometimes favoured and backbiters preferred, a lie lacks not credit. Nor did Feng keep from shameful embraces the hands that had slain a brother; pursuing with equal guilt both of his wicked and impious deeds.— gesta danorum

Feng murders his brother Horwendil and weds Gerutha (Elton 1894).

3

The feigned madness

Amleth's stroke of genius is to make himself seem harmless. Knowing that any sign of cunning would make Feng kill him, he feigns idiocy — dirties himself, gibbers, behaves like a witless fool, so that the usurper will think him no threat worth the trouble of murdering.[1] But his madness is a mask with a blade behind it: his apparent nonsense is full of riddles and double meanings, true things hidden in a fool's mouth.

Saxo delights in these riddling answers — Amleth saying things that sound like lunacy but are exactly, cuttingly true, so that 'none could open the secret lock of the young man's wisdom.'[2] When he sees a wolf and is told it is a young horse, he remarks there are too few of that kind in Feng's herd — a sly dig at the scarcity of honest men. The feigned-madness ploy is ancient and deep: the powerless survivor who hides his strength behind seeming weakness, biding his time. It is the same patience the sagas prize — Þrándr of the Faroes outlasting his betters, the cool head waiting for its moment — raised here to a high art, a prince playing the fool for years to keep himself alive until he can strike.

The source text · 2
[1] Amleth
Amleth beheld all this, but feared lest too shrewd a behaviour might make his uncle suspect him. So he chose to feign dulness, and pretend an utter lack of wits. This cunning course not only concealed his intelligence but ensured his safety. Every day he remained in his mother's house utterly listless and unclean, flinging himself on the ground and bespattering his person with foul and filthy dirt. His discoloured face and visage smutched with slime denoted foolish and grotesque madness. All he said was of a piece with these follies; all he did savoured of utter lethargy. In a word, you would not have thought him a man at all, but some absurd abortion due to a mad fit of destiny. He used at times to sit over the fire, and, raking up the embers with his hands, to fashion wooden crooks, and harden them in the fire, shaping at their lips certain barbs, to make them hold more tightly to their fastenings. When asked what he was about, he said that he was preparing sharp javelins to avenge his father. This answer was not a little scoffed at, all men deriding his idle and ridiculous pursuit; but the thing helped his purpose afterwards. Now it was his craft in this matter that first awakened in the deeper observers a suspicion of his cunning. For his skill in a trifling art betokened the hidden talent of the craftsman; nor could they believe the spirit dull where the hand had acquired so cunning a workmanship. Lastly, he always watched with the most punctual care over his pile of stakes that he had pointed in the fire. Some people, therefore, declared that his mind was quick enough, and fancied that he only played the simpleton in order to hide his understanding, and veiled some deep purpose under a cunning feint. His wiliness (said these) would be most readily detected, if a fair woman were put in his way in some secluded place, who should provoke his mind to the temptations of love; all men's natural temper being too blindly amorous to be artfully dissembled, and this passion being also too impetuous to be checked by cunning. Therefore, if his lethargy were feigned, he would seize the opportunity, and yield straightway to violent delights. So men were commissioned to draw the young man in his rides into a remote part of the forest, and there assail him with a temptation of this nature. Among these chanced to be a foster-brother of Amleth, who had not ceased to have regard to their common nurture; and who esteemed his present orders less than the memory of their past fellowship. He attended Amleth among his appointed train, being anxious not to entrap, but to warn him; and was persuaded that he would suffer the worst if he showed the slightest glimpse of sound reason, and above all if he did the act of love openly. This was also plain enough to Amleth himself. For when he was bidden mount his horse, he deliberately set himself in such a fashion that he turned his back to the neck and faced about, fronting the tail; which he proceeded to encompass with the reins, just as if on that side he would check the horse in its furious pace. By this cunning thought he eluded the trick, and overcame the treachery of his uncle. The reinless steed galloping on, with rider directing its tail, was ludicrous enough to behold.— gesta danorum

Amleth feigns idiocy so Feng will not suspect him (Elton 1894).

[2] Amleth
Thus all were worsted, and none could open the secret lock of the young man's wisdom. But a friend of Feng, gifted more with assurance than judgment, declared that the unfathomable cunning of such a mind could not be detected by any vulgar plot, for the man's obstinacy was so great that it ought not to be assailed with any mild measures; there were many sides to his wiliness, and it ought not to be entrapped by any one method. Accordingly, said he, his own profounder acuteness had hit on a more delicate way, which was well fitted to be put in practice, and would effectually discover what they desired to know. Feng was purposely to absent himself, pretending affairs of great import. Amleth should be closeted alone with his mother in her chamber; but a man should first be commissioned to place himself in a concealed part of the room and listen heedfully to what they talked about. For if the son had any wits at all he would not hesitate to speak out in the hearing of his mother, or fear to trust himself to the fidelity of her who bore him. The speaker, loth to seem readier to devise than to carry out the plot, zealously proffered himself as the agent of the eavesdropping. Feng rejoiced at the scheme, and departed on pretence of a long journey. Now he who had given this counsel repaired privily to the room where Amleth was shut up with his mother, and lay flown skulking in the straw. But Amleth had his antidote for the treachery. Afraid of being overheard by some eavesdropper, he at first resorted to his usual imbecile ways, and crowed like a noisy cock, beating his arms together to mimic the flapping of wings. Then he mounted the straw and began to swing his body and jump again and again, wishing to try if aught lurked there in hiding. Feeling a lump beneath his feet, he drove his sword into the spot, and impaled him who lay hid. Then he dragged him from his concealment and slew him. Then, cutting his body into morsels, he seethed it in boiling water, and flung it through the mouth of an open sewer for the swine to eat, bestrewing the stinking mire with his hapless limbs. Having in this wise eluded the snare, he went back to the room. Then his mother set up a great wailing, and began to lament her son's folly to his face; but he said: "Most infamous of women; dost thou seek with such lying lamentations to hide thy most heavy guilt? Wantoning like a harlot, thou hast entered a wicked and abominable state of wedlock, embracing with incestuous bosom thy husband's slayer, and wheedling with filthy lures of blandishment him who had slain the father of thy son. This, forsooth, is the way that the mares couple with the vanquishers of their mates; for brute beasts are naturally incited to pair indiscriminately; and it would seem that thou, like them, hast clean forgot thy first husband. As for me, not idly do I wear the mask of folly; for I doubt not that he who destroyed his brother will riot as ruthlessly in the blood of his kindred. Therefore it is better to choose the garb of dulness than that of sense, and to borrow some protection from a show of utter frenzy. Yet the passion to avenge my father still burns in my heart; but I am watching the chances, I await the fitting hour. There is a place for all things; against so merciless and dark spirit must be used the deeper devices of the mind. And thou, who hadst been better employed in lamenting thine own disgrace, know it is superfluity to bewail my witlessness; thou shouldst weep for the blemish in thine own mind, not for that in another's. On the rest see thou keep silence." With such reproaches he rent the heart of his mother and redeemed her to walk in the ways of virtue; teaching her to set the fires of the past above the seductions of the present.— gesta danorum

none could open the secret lock of his wisdom — riddling speech (Elton 1894).

4

Tested, and sent to England

Feng is not wholly fooled; he keeps testing whether Amleth's madness is real. Amleth passes every trap — including one in which a friend secretly warns him he is being spied on, so that he detects and outwits the eavesdropper.[1] Unable to prove his stepson dangerous yet unwilling to murder him openly (for fear of Gerutha and her father King Rorik), Feng resorts to a trick: he sends Amleth to the King of Britain bearing a sealed letter that secretly asks the British king to put him to death.[2]

This too Amleth turns. On the voyage he finds and reads the secret letter, and alters it — so that it now asks the British king to execute Amleth's two escort-companions instead, and to give Amleth his daughter in marriage. The British king, amazed at the young man's uncanny shrewdness — his ability to read hidden truths, like flaws in bread or the taste of the sea in ale — comes to 'adore the wisdom of Amleth as though it were inspired', and gives him his daughter.[3] The doomed errand becomes a triumph. Every element here — the sealed death-warrant, the switch, the companions sent to their deaths in his place — Shakespeare kept, transposed to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

The source text · 3
[1] Feng
Thus all were worsted, and none could open the secret lock of the young man's wisdom. But a friend of Feng, gifted more with assurance than judgment, declared that the unfathomable cunning of such a mind could not be detected by any vulgar plot, for the man's obstinacy was so great that it ought not to be assailed with any mild measures; there were many sides to his wiliness, and it ought not to be entrapped by any one method. Accordingly, said he, his own profounder acuteness had hit on a more delicate way, which was well fitted to be put in practice, and would effectually discover what they desired to know. Feng was purposely to absent himself, pretending affairs of great import. Amleth should be closeted alone with his mother in her chamber; but a man should first be commissioned to place himself in a concealed part of the room and listen heedfully to what they talked about. For if the son had any wits at all he would not hesitate to speak out in the hearing of his mother, or fear to trust himself to the fidelity of her who bore him. The speaker, loth to seem readier to devise than to carry out the plot, zealously proffered himself as the agent of the eavesdropping. Feng rejoiced at the scheme, and departed on pretence of a long journey. Now he who had given this counsel repaired privily to the room where Amleth was shut up with his mother, and lay flown skulking in the straw. But Amleth had his antidote for the treachery. Afraid of being overheard by some eavesdropper, he at first resorted to his usual imbecile ways, and crowed like a noisy cock, beating his arms together to mimic the flapping of wings. Then he mounted the straw and began to swing his body and jump again and again, wishing to try if aught lurked there in hiding. Feeling a lump beneath his feet, he drove his sword into the spot, and impaled him who lay hid. Then he dragged him from his concealment and slew him. Then, cutting his body into morsels, he seethed it in boiling water, and flung it through the mouth of an open sewer for the swine to eat, bestrewing the stinking mire with his hapless limbs. Having in this wise eluded the snare, he went back to the room. Then his mother set up a great wailing, and began to lament her son's folly to his face; but he said: "Most infamous of women; dost thou seek with such lying lamentations to hide thy most heavy guilt? Wantoning like a harlot, thou hast entered a wicked and abominable state of wedlock, embracing with incestuous bosom thy husband's slayer, and wheedling with filthy lures of blandishment him who had slain the father of thy son. This, forsooth, is the way that the mares couple with the vanquishers of their mates; for brute beasts are naturally incited to pair indiscriminately; and it would seem that thou, like them, hast clean forgot thy first husband. As for me, not idly do I wear the mask of folly; for I doubt not that he who destroyed his brother will riot as ruthlessly in the blood of his kindred. Therefore it is better to choose the garb of dulness than that of sense, and to borrow some protection from a show of utter frenzy. Yet the passion to avenge my father still burns in my heart; but I am watching the chances, I await the fitting hour. There is a place for all things; against so merciless and dark spirit must be used the deeper devices of the mind. And thou, who hadst been better employed in lamenting thine own disgrace, know it is superfluity to bewail my witlessness; thou shouldst weep for the blemish in thine own mind, not for that in another's. On the rest see thou keep silence." With such reproaches he rent the heart of his mother and redeemed her to walk in the ways of virtue; teaching her to set the fires of the past above the seductions of the present.— gesta danorum

Feng's tests and the eavesdropper Amleth detects (Elton 1894).

[2] Amleth
Now when they had reached Britain, the envoys went to the king, and proffered him the letter which they supposed was an implement of destruction to another, but which really betokened death to themselves. The king dissembled the truth, and entreated them hospitably and kindly. Then Amleth scouted all the splendour of the royal banquet like vulgar viands, and abstaining very strangely, rejected that plenteous feast, refraining from the drink even as from the banquet. All marvelled that a youth and a foreigner should disdain the carefully cooked dainties of the royal board and the luxurious banquet provided, as if it were some peasant's relish. So, when the revel broke up, and the king was dismissing his friends to rest, he had a man sent into the sleeping-room to listen secretly, in order that he might hear the midnight conversation of his guests. Now, when Amleth's companions asked him why he had refrained from the feast of yestereve, as if it were poison, he answered that the bread was flecked with blood and tainted; that there was a tang of iron in the liquor; while the meats of the feast reeked of the stench of a human carcase, and were infected by a kind of smack of the odour of the charnel. He further said that the king had the eyes of a slave, and that the queen had in three ways shown the behaviour of a bondmaid. Thus he reviled with insulting invective not so much the feast as its givers. And presently his companions, taunting him with his old defect of wits, began to flout him with many saucy jeers, because he blamed and cavilled at seemly and worthy things, and because he attacked thus ignobly an illustrious king and a lady of so refined a behaviour, bespattering with the shamefullest abuse those who merited all praise.— gesta danorum

Amleth sent to Britain bearing the sealed letter ordering his death (Elton 1894).

[3] Amleth
Then the king adored the wisdom of Amleth as though it were inspired, and gave him his daughter to wife; accepting his bare word as though it were a witness from the skies. Moreover, in order to fulfil the bidding of his friend, he hanged Amleth's companions on the morrow. Amleth, feigning offence, treated this piece of kindness as a grievance, and received from the king, as compensation, some gold, which he afterwards melted in the fire, and secretly caused to be poured into some hollowed sticks.— gesta danorum

the British king adores Amleth's wisdom and gives him his daughter (Elton 1894).

5

The burning of Feng's hall

Amleth returns to Denmark in time for his own funeral feast — for Feng, believing him dead in Britain, is holding a wake. Amleth walks in, once more playing the fool, and plies the whole court with drink until they all lie senseless and asleep.[1] Then he strikes. He brings down the great hangings of the hall over the drunken sleepers and pins them fast with the very stakes he had whittled (long ago, in his madness) and kept; he sets the hall ablaze, burning the household; and he goes to Feng's chamber and kills the usurper with his own sword.[2]

It is the complete, patient revenge the whole tale has been building toward — and it pays off a detail Saxo planted chapters earlier: those sharpened stakes the 'mad' Amleth had idly made, which everyone had laughed at, were the tools of this exact moment. The feigned madness was never aimless; every piece of it was preparation. After years of playing the harmless fool, Amleth destroys his father's murderer and the whole corrupt court in a single night — the long game won, the blood-debt paid in full and in fire.

The source text · 2
[1] Amleth
When he had passed a whole year with the king he obtained leave to make a journey, and returned to his own land, carrying away of all his princely wealth and state only the sticks which held the gold. On reaching Jutland, he exchanged his present attire for his ancient demeanour, which he had adopted for righteous ends, purposely assuming an aspect of absurdity. Covered with filth, he entered the banquet-room where his own obsequies were being held, and struck all men utterly aghast, rumour having falsely noised abroad his death. At last terror melted into mirth, and the guests jeered and taunted one another, that he whose last rites they were celebrating as through he were dead, should appear in the flesh. When he was asked concerning his comrades, he pointed to the sticks he was carrying, and said, "Here is both the one and the other." This he observed with equal truth and pleasantry; for his speech, though most thought it idle, yet departed not from the truth; for it pointed at the weregild of the slain as though it were themselves. Thereon, wishing to bring the company into a gayer mood, he jollied the cupbearers, and diligently did the office of plying the drink. Then, to prevent his loose dress hampering his walk, he girdled his sword upon his side, and purposely drawing it several times, pricked his fingers with its point. The bystanders accordingly had both sword and scabbard riveted across with all iron nail. Then, to smooth the way more safely to his plot, he went to the lords and plied them heavily with draught upon draught, and drenched them all so deep in wine, that their feet were made feeble with drunkenness, and they turned to rest within the palace, making their bed where they had revelled. Then he saw they were in a fit state for his plots, and thought that here was a chance offered to do his purpose. So he took out of his bosom the stakes he has long ago prepared, and went into the building, where the ground lay covered with the bodies of the nobles wheezing off their sleep and their debauch. Then, cutting away its support, he brought down the hanging his mother had knitted, which covered the inner as well as the outer walls of the hall. This he flung upon the snorers, and then applying the crooked stakes, he knotted and bound them up in such insoluble intricacy, that not one of the men beneath, however hard he might struggle, could contrive to rise. After this he set fire to the palace. The flames spread, scattering the conflagration far and wide. It enveloped the whole dwelling, destroyed the palace, and burnt them all while they were either buried in deep sleep or vainly striving to arise. Then he went to the chamber of Feng, who had before this been conducted by his train into his pavilion; plucked up a sword that chanced to be hanging to the bed, and planted his own in its place. Then, awakening his uncle, he told him that his nobles were perishing in the flames, and that Amleth was here, armed with his crooks to help him, and thirsting to exact the vengeance, now long overdue, for his father's murder. Feng, on hearing this, leapt from his couch, but was cut down while deprived of his own sword, and as he strove in vain to draw the strange one. O valiant Amleth, and worthy of immortal fame, who being shrewdly armed with a feint of folly, covered a wisdom too high for human wit under a marvellous disguise of silliness! And not only found in his subtlety means to protect his own safety, but also by its guidance found opportunity to avenge his father. By this skilful defence of himself, and strenuous revenge for his parent, he has left it doubtful whether we are to think more of his wit or his bravery. (3)— gesta danorum

Amleth returns to his own wake and makes the court drunk (Elton 1894).

[2] Amleth's revenge on Feng
Amleth, when he had accomplished the slaughter of his stepfather, feared to expose his deed to the fickle judgment of his countrymen, and thought it well to lie in hiding till he had learnt what way the mob of the uncouth populace was tending. So the whole neighbourhood, who had watched the blaze during the night, and in the morning desired to know the cause of the fire they had seen, perceived the royal palace fallen in ashes; and, on searching through its ruins, which were yet warm, found only some shapeless remains of burnt corpses. For the devouring flame had consumed everything so utterly that not a single token was left to inform them of the cause of such a disaster. Also they saw the body of Feng lying pierced by the sword, amid his blood-stained raiment. Some were seized with open anger, others with grief, and some with secret delight. One party bewailed the death of their leader, the other gave thanks that the tyranny of the fratricide was now laid at rest. Thus the occurrence of the king's slaughter was greeted by the beholders with diverse minds.— gesta danorum

Amleth burns the hall and slays Feng — the revenge accomplished (Elton 1894).

6

From Saxo to the stage

Saxo's Amleth, unlike Shakespeare's, survives his revenge. The morning after, he addresses the people of Jutland with a great speech justifying what he has done — defending the burning and the killing as righteous vengeance for his father — and they accept him and make him king.[1] He goes on to further adventures, more marriages, and at last falls in battle, his luck running out: a hero's full arc, not a tragedy cut short. The brooding, doomed melancholy of Shakespeare's prince is a later invention; Saxo's Amleth is a triumphant trickster-avenger in the old heroic mould.

The journey of the story itself is the real marvel. Saxo set it down in Latin around 1200; a French writer, Belleforest, retold it in the 1500s; and from that retelling came the English play. Shakespeare's Hamlet keeps Saxo's bones almost intact — the murdered father, the usurping uncle, the o'erhasty marriage, the feigned madness, the sea-voyage to England with the switched death-warrant, the companions sent to die — and transmutes the archaic revenge-hero into the modern figure of doubt and conscience. For this atlas, Amleth is the perfect emblem of what the Saxo tier adds: a legend the Norse sources never preserved, kept alive in Danish Latin, proving that the world of these stories reached far beyond Iceland — all the way, in the end, to the Globe Theatre and every stage since.

The source text · 1
[1] Amleth
"Nobles! Let not any who are troubled by the piteous end of Horwendil be worried by the sight of this disaster before you; be not ye, I say, distressed, who have remained loyal to your king and duteous to your father. Behold the corpse, not of a prince, but of a fratricide. Indeed, it was a sorrier sight when ye saw our prince lying lamentably butchered by a most infamous fratricide-brother, let me not call him. With your own compassionating eyes ye have beheld the mangled limbs of Horwendil; they have seen his body done to death with many wounds. Surely that most abominable butcher only deprived his king of life that he might despoil his country of freedom! The hand that slew him made you slaves. Who then so mad as to choose Feng the cruel before Horwendil the righteous? Remember how benignantly Horwendil fostered you, how justly he dealt with you, how kindly he loved you. Remember how you lost the mildest of princes and the justest of fathers, while in his place was put a tyrant and an assassin set up; how your rights were confiscated; how everything was plague-stricken; how the country was stained with infamies; how the yoke was planted on your necks, and how, your free will was forfeited! And now all this is over; for ye see the criminal stifled in his own crimes, the slayer of his kin punished for his misdoings. What man of but ordinary wit, beholding it, would account this kindness a wrong? What sane man could be sorry that the crime has recoiled upon the culprit? Who could lament the killing of a most savage executioner? Or bewail the righteous death of a most cruel despot? Ye behold the doer of the deed; he is before you. Yea, I own that I have taken vengeance for my country and my father. Your hands were equally bound to the task which mine fulfilled. What it would have beseemed you to accomplish with me, I achieved alone. Nor had I any partner in so glorious a deed, or the service of any man to help me. Not that I forget that you would have helped this work, had I asked you; for doubtless you have remained loyal to your king and loving to your prince. But I chose that the wicked should be punished without imperilling you; I thought that others need not set their shoulders to the burden when I deemed mine strong enough to bear it. Therefore I consumed all the others to ashes, and left only the trunk of Feng for your hands to burn, so that on this at least you may wreak all your longing for a righteous vengeance. Now haste up speedily, heap the pyre, burn up the body of the wicked, consume away his guilty limbs, scatter his sinful ashes, strew broadcast his ruthless dust; let no urn or barrow enclose the abominable remnants of his bones. Let no trace of his fratricide remain; let there be no spot in his own land for his tainted limbs; let no neighbourhood suck infection from him; let not sea nor soil be defiled by harboring his accursed carcase. I have done the rest; this one loyal duty is left for you. These must be the tyrant's obsequies, this the funeral procession of the fratricide. It is not seemly that he who stripped his country of her freedom should have his ashes covered by his country's earth.— gesta danorum

Amleth's speech to the people justifying his revenge; he is made king (Elton 1894).

4 connection questions mark the end of this journey — and earn its keepable artifact.

More journeys → Follow a thread →