“Thanks very much!” said Robina Lester. “I’m only trying to back up your own feeble efforts to be funny.”
“The parts in the workmen’s play are meant to be crudely acted,” said her son David, who was Lion.
“Let’s take it through once more,” said Brian Yorke, “and, Susan darling, you fall across Pyramus when you kill yourself. You don’t just lie down in a graceful manner two yards away from him.”
“I should prefer to be further off still,” said Susan.
“And I don’t want that Two-Ton Tessie knocking all the breath out of me,” said Rinkley. “I’ve got a tender stomach.”
“As Mr Bradley found out, bless his heart,” said Robina viciously.
“Anyway, I’ve got a much better idea for that bit,” said Rinkley, ignoring her. “When Thisbe comes in and finds I’ve stabbed myself—incidentally, when are ‘props’ going to produce that sword? We need practice with it.”
“It will be available from tomorrow, I think. It won’t actually be a sword, but a dagger with a retractable blade,” said Marcus Lynn. “It’s very realistic, but quite harmless, of course. It’s a nice-looking thing, an exact replica of a sixteenth-century stiletto.”
“But do we want anything realistic in that particular scene?” asked Susan Hythe. “I thought it had to be completely farcical. What’s wrong with sticking the sword under our armpits? That’s the way it’s always done, I thought.”
“The audience like to see the dagger actually sticking in someone’s chest,” said David Lester.
“Yes, in tragedy plays, but not in comedy.”
“Well, anyway, I hope we can soon have the ‘props’ to practise with,” said Rinkley. “The costumes are one thing, but the ‘props’ are quite another.”
“There is the same objection to handing out either,” said Yorke, “before at least the last rehearsal but one. People play about with them and lose them or damage them. Marcus is spending a lot of money on the show as it is. We can’t let him in for replacements. Look, darlings, let’s just try the scene again, shall we?”
“We could do with a bit more sparkle from the court party,” said Rinkley. “Perhaps, Brian, you could suggest that their interjections as they watch our bucolic antics are supposed to be a facetious bandying of wit, not a serious criticism of our efforts.”
“Don’t he talk lovely!” said Tom Woolidge. “You leave it to Brian to instruct us, if you don’t mind, Rinkley. We want a balanced performance, not a one-man band consisting of you.”
“Sorry! Sorry! No intention of hurting your tender feelings. To go back to what I wanted to say, what about trying out a bit of business I thought up for where Thisbe comes in and finds me dead? You know the bit where she says, ‘A tomb must cover thy sweet eyes’—”
“I wish it would!” muttered Susan Hythe.
“—well, I think it would be much funnier if she paused at that point and Quince and Lion came on with a stretcher and carried me off on it before she finished the speech and killed herself.”
“But how would I do it if the dagger was still sticking in your chest?” asked Susan.
“Oh, good Lord! You’d have pulled it out, of course, the way we’ve rehearsed it without the dagger.” He turned to Yorke. “Now you see what I mean about having the ‘props’. This dumb young cluck hasn’t visualised the scene at all.”
“How can I visualise this change you’re suggesting, when we haven’t even tried it out?” demanded Susan angrily.
“So Quince and Lion pretend to stagger under my weight—” went on Rinkley, ignoring her as before.
“It wouldn’t be pretence,” murmured David.
“—and make a nice bit of business for themselves. We’ve got to get laughs somehow.”
“That’s all very well, but haven’t you forgotten that after Pyramus has stabbed himself and is supposed to be lying dead on the stage, he suddenly sits up and corrects something Theseus has said? That is what gets the laughs. It’s quite the funniest moment in the scene. It doesn’t need any embroidering. Besides, it’s been classic stuff ever since Aristophanes invented it,” said the director.
“So the Greeks had a word for it, had they?”
“As for most things. In The Frogs it comes when the corpse which is being carried down to the river Styx suddenly sits up and starts belly-aching about the two obols which have to be paid to the ferryman. It’s become a stock comedy situation and you must exploit it to the full.”
“If it’s as ‘stock’ as all that, it’s time it was improved upon a bit. Listen here: after I’m supposed to be dead, Thisbe comes in and finds me and makes her oration. Right?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Ending with: ‘So farewell, friends. Thus Thisbe ends. Adieu, adieu, adieu.’ ”
“Quite correct. And then she stabs herself with the dagger she pulls out of your body.”
“Then Theseus and Demetrius make their feeble little wisecracks—”
“And that’s your cue to sit up and correct them.”
“No. I’ve got a far better idea. When I die, Thisbe comes in and finds me. Well, now, instead of making her moan all in one speech, I want it cut at ‘a tomb must cover thy sweet eyes’, as I said. That’s the cue for Prologue and Lion, the only two men available, to come in with a stretcher and carry me off. Then Thisbe finishes the speech and, instead of my sitting up and correcting the court lot, I come rushing back on stage to do it, pursued by Prologue and he by the lion. What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s never done that way.”
“I don’t call that much of an argument. Ideas change.”
“There’s no exit line for Pyramus. Thisbe makes her speech either standing or kneeling beside the body, and then she pulls out the dagger and—”
“Well, at least let’s try it my way and see how it goes.”
“It’s not a bad idea,” said David Lester. “Gives me a bit more roaring to do and people do like to see somebody chasing somebody else. Look at all those car chases on TV. But instead of Quince as Prologue chasing Pyramus back on stage, I think he ought to come straight back after we’ve carried Pyramus off, or else he’ll be too puffed out to say that bit about a burgomask dance between two of our company. Then I chase Pyramus back on.”
“I don’t get puffed out by running a dozen yards across a lawn,” said Marcus Lynn indignantly. “I do my morning jogging like anybody else.”
“Sorry, sir. No offence,” said young David Lester. “I’ll tell you another thing which always goes down well. Remember Robertson Hare and his trousers? Well, how would it be if, as he runs, Pyramus drops his Greek tunic and displays broadly-striped short pants? Bound to raise mirth. Always does.”
“Especially if you could manage to get a hefty kick at the pants,” said Robina Lester nastily. Rinkley looked at her evilly, but said nothing.
“Well, that’s everything set up for the dress rehearsal, Jon,” said Brian Yorke some weeks later. “Hope you haven’t been too fussed with having the lighting and amplifier experts all over the place, and the noise, and all that.”
“Not a bit,” replied Jonathan. “As you know, Valerie very kindly took the kids off our hands while all the work was going on. We thought Rinkley would still be with you, but she phoned to say he had gone and that Yolanda was looking forward to having our two to play with.”
“Did Valerie tell you why Rinkley left our house?”
“No.”
“I had to kick him out. He made himself a nuisance. Got far too familiar with our kid. Nothing really wrong, you know, but I didn’t like it. He may be a very good actor, but I’ll see to it that he doesn’t get a part in our next production. Talk about abusing my hospitality! Anyhow, he knows what I think of him, and I expect he’ll watch his step from now on. One thing: we can trust the signora to keep an eye on the small fry. She’s a veritable dragon.”