Lovers Make Moan

“—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.”

“Rinkley needs a damn good hiding and he’ll get it if there’s any nonsense so far as I and mine are concerned. He doesn’t seem to be the only menace, though. Deb told me that Susan and Caroline have both had trouble with Bourton in that wood of ours. They are not in any of his scenes, but sometimes he’s off stage when they are. Add the time of evening and the pale moonlight and I suppose his sap rises and his hormones begin to function. Deb has the feeling that the girls were flattered at first and let him get away with situations which afterwards they regretted. They both hate his guts now.”