Lawrence Firethorn did not believe in treating the text of a play as holy writ. He was compelled to modify and refine at every turn. Adjustment was a continuous process. The Loyal Subject would not reach its finished version until the day of performance.
The person who suffered most as a result of all this was Edmund Hoode. He became more and more embattled. While accepting that a new work could always be improved, he rejected Firethorn's glib assertion that daily tinkering with a play kept it fresh and alive. It merely kept Hoode busy when he should have been devoting his energies to the playing of Marsilius, the decrepit old judge in the opening scene.
Firethorn would not relent. As the two men dined together one day, therefore, Hoode braced himself for the inevitable. The actor-manager waited until they had eaten their meal before he broached the subject. Poets responded best on a full stomach.
'Did you enjoy the Westphalian ham?' he asked.
'I will not change the trial scene again,' said Hoode.
'Nobody is suggesting that you should, dear fellow.'
'As long as that is understood, Lawrence.'
'Perfectly.'
'I regard the trial scene as sacrosanct now,' affirmed the poet. 'We have altered it so many times that I have no heart left for further changes.'
'I would not amend a single word of it, Edmund.'
'I am relieved to hear it.'
'However...'
Feeling that he needed liquid fortification, Hoode reached for his cup and drained it. He suspected another veiled attack.
'However,' repeated Firethorn, 'We must always be looking to extract the full dramatic value out of each scene. A performance at Court is a special occasion. Nothing less than our best will suffice. We must bear that in mind.'
'Come to the point, Lawrence.'
'My soliloquy in prison.'
'I feared as much!' groaned Hoode.
'It is a truly magnificent speech,' praised Firethorn, 'but I believe we can add to its lustre.'
'We have added to its lustre almost every day.'
'This is my final comment.'
'I pray that it is!'
Firethorn leaned across the table with a knowing smile.
'Lorenzo must have more passion.'
'Passion?' Hoode was taken aback.
'Yes, Edmund.'
'On the eve of his execution?'
'You misunderstand me, sir,' explained Firethorn. 'I wish to introduce a more personal note into the speech. Lorenzo bewails his fate and then extols the virtue of loyalty. He talks about honour, duty and patriotism.' The smile returned. 'He should also talk about love.'
'For whom? For what?'
'For his sovereign and for his country. The two should be wedded together in his mind. He would not dare to betray either because it would be an act of infidelity. A lover being unfaithful to his lady.' Firethorn sat back in his chair. 'Six lines will be enough. Eight, at most. Show Lorenzo in a more passionate vein.'
'I will try, Lawrence.'
'Pursue that theme. A loyalty that is rooted in a deep love. Let him woo the Duchess in choice phrases. Ten lines are all that I require. A dozen would make that speech eternally memorable.
'Leave it with me,' sighed the other.
'I knew that you would listen to reason, Edmund.'
'Is that what I did?'
The reckoning was paid and the two men rose to go.
'One thing more,' said Firethorn easily.
'Yes?'
'The execution.'
'What about it?'
'It will now take place on stage.'
Hoode gulped. 'But thai is impossible!'
'Theatre is the art of the impossible,' reminded Firethorn.
'An execution... in full view of the audience?'
'Why not, sir? It will be far more effective than the present device, where the executioner appears with Lorenzo's gory head in his hand. I will perish before their eyes.'
'How?'
'Nicholas has the way of it. Let him explain it to you.'
Respect for the book holder at least made Hoode consider the idea properly, but he could not imagine how the effect would be achieved. He shrugged his shoulders.
'I am prepared to try it,' he conceded.
'It is not a question of trying it,' said Firethorn seriously. ' That is the way it will be done during the performance. I am resolved upon it.'
*
Samuel Ruff was as pleased as anybody that Richard Honeydew had secured the female lead in the play. He was genuinely fond of the boy and appreciative of his talent. He was both hurt and puzzled, therefore, when things began to go wrong. Richard's attitude slowly changed. His eagerness faded and he became almost timid. He faltered badly. The apprentice was clearly unhappy.
Ruff took the opportunity of a private word with him. 'What is it, lad?' he asked solicitously.
'It is nothing, Master Ruff.'
'I am not blind, Dick. Something ails you.'
'It will pass, sir.'
'Is it the other boys?'
Richard gave a noncommittal grunt.
Martin Yeo was annoyed that he had not been offered the role of the Duchess of Milan but he had done nothing beyond some mild verbal sniping at Richard. Stephen Judd and John Tallis likewise mocked their young colleague without taking any mote drastic action against him.
'I watched you rehearsing just now,' said Ruff with concern. 'You stumbled over lines that you knew well a few days ago.'
'My mind becomes a blank.'
'Let me help.'
'You cannot, sir.'
'But I could teach you your part.'
'That is not the help I need.'
'Then what is, lad?'
Richard tried to tell him but the words would not come. He was evidently in some distress. Biting his lip, he turned on his heel and ran out of the room. Samuel Ruff was mystified. He took his problem to Nicholas who was poring over a sketch with one of the carpenters. Ruff spoke of his anxiety about the boy.
'Leave him be,' suggested Nicholas.
'What has happened to him? Why has he lost his way?'
'It is not his way that he has lost, Sam.'
'How so?'
'The lad is scared. He has lost his nerve.'
'With such an opportunity before him?'
