Denmark while his schoolfriends go sailing on.’
‘What happens to them?’
‘Chopped.’
‘Ah!’
‘Oh!’
‘Finish it, Nick.’
‘This is where I come in. Literally. I come in and I say what’s happened to the schoolfriends at the end. But before my appearance one or two other things have occurred – entailing the complete destruction of the Danish royal court.’
‘Get on with it. I don’t mean the story.’
‘Nearly at the end – don’t think I can hang on for you to turn round this time – in brief – Hamlet returns – the son of the councillor he killed is revenge-mad – will do anything – specially since his sister who Hamlet fancied – has gone round the bend – because of old man’s death – King Claudius sets up duel between Hamlet and this Laertes – to make sure nothing goes wrong he – he – oh Nell – Laertes puts poison on the tip of his sword – sword – sword – Jesus, that’s good – and the King drops poison – into goblet of wine – Hamlet’s meant to drink out of – all goes wrong – Jesus yes – Queen drinks out of goblet – drops down dead – Laertes gets stabbed own sword – but Hamlet stabbed too – before Hamlet drop dead he kill King poison sword poison goblet poetic justice all wrapped up very neat – ohNellohyesNell . . .’
‘Oh Nick.’
‘Nell.’
‘But you haven’t come yet, come on, I mean.’
‘Oh that. I forgot that for an instant. You are a lovely oblivion. Let me get my breath back. That’s better. But I do appear at the last moment, see, and almost the final words in the play belong to me. As the ambassador from England I stride on stage, diplomatically but confidently, to tell Claudius that his commandment has been fulfilled to the letter. The young men bearing the warrant are dead. Hamlet, you see, switched their names for his while they were on the boat. All this doesn’t make such an impression because at my feet are a dead King, a dead Queen, a dead Laertes and of course a dead Hamlet. “The sight is dismal”.’
‘That’s nice, Nick.’
‘It’s a grim story.’
‘Your arm round me like this.’
‘Funny thing is the spectators are cheerful enough when it’s all finished and we are in the Company, too. I’ve noticed before, people’s spirits are often lifted by a tragedy – while our comedies can leave them thoughtful, even disgruntled.’
Nell grunted something herself but she was already halfway to sleep. Hard day for her too. I wondered how many clients she’d entertained, and, as usual, struggled to stifle the thought. With her snuggled into me, and the evening light slanting on the panelled wood above my bed, I was glad to have some time to myself. I went over the afternoon in the playhouse again, like someone savouring a meal in retrospect. Naturally, I could not claim the lion’s share of anything in the way of lines, attention, applause. Rather than being the lion, I was the whelp. Still, the whelp remembers, and dreams of the day when he will take his rightful place at the feast.
While I was waiting in the tiring-house, much earlier than necessary, I’d seen our author dressed as the Ghost, that is, wearing armour – for Hamlet’s father’s spirit is in arms to signify that there is something rotten in the state of Denmark. I had it in mind to thank him again for saving me from the boatman that morning but he looked at me vaguely as if he were already making his transition to an incorporeal state. I went back to studying my lines for
A City Pleasure
: here I had a part of substance (at least eighty lines) as a man about town, and I was grateful that there’d be a rehearsal the next morning for we had to play the very next afternoon. Jobbing actors have frequently to step into sick or absent men’s shoes, and their first acquaintance with the play might be when they find themselves in front of three hundred groundlings impatient for the Company clown or tragedian.
So, to taste again my