I’m always interested in depictions of Ophelia, Hamlet’s ill-fated lover.

In Shakespeare’s play, Ophelia goes mad after Hamlet kills her father. She commits suicide by drowning herself. I haven’t revisited Shakespeare since college so my memories of the play are dim.

But the Ophelia character is always of interest, and frequently appears in nineteenth century art and modern pop culture.

Ophelia’s malady was mysterious and in that way she was probably very relatable to women in the 1800s. At that time, nearly all problems affecting women were shrouded in mystery and classified under the vague title of “nervous complaint.”

Ophelia is still relatable to those with an artistic temperament: the fragile nature, the impetuousness, the beauty and the hopelessness.

Some very successful artists have painted Ophelia many times. You get the feeling they feel like they couldn’t get it exactly right.

She’s fascinating because she’s supposed to be the ideal woman (though wasn’t she a girl of 13? Am I remembering that right?) But there she was, beautiful and sweet, and then she goes mad.

And this represents the problem with depicting Ophelia. Women can be beautiful or mad. Often we are neither but seldom are we both.

I can think of a few notable exceptions. I believe Vivian Leigh, the English actress, had mental troubles—and she was certainly beautiful.

Some would say Marilyn Monroe fits the criteria but I would not call her mad. Another example of a mad and beautiful woman would be Virginia Oldoïni, the Countess Verasis of Castiglione. She had bouts of madness but was renowned for her beauty, which is evident in this picture, even with most of her face covered.

But we were talking about Ophelia, weren’t we? The problem with Ophelia is, it’s difficult to give her the appropriate expression that is tragic and hopeless and lost but stops short of veering into exaggeration or silliness. The default Ophelia depiction features a pretty girl with an absurd expression on her face.

And with that, I give you today’s Ophelia, complete with the Library of Congress’ description beneath it.

Now what is your verdict? Does this version of Ophelia hit the mark?