Chapter 49
Through the tunnels of his madness, Hamlet had held the audience captive.
The indecisive youth, kept prisoner of his own words, contemplated the murder of his uncle but hesitated, while he rode the passion of his young age.
Terry navigated through every single feeling with superb control and grace.
Candy already knew the story of Hamlet but having Terry in the lead role had made it feel intensely personal. The kind of kiss they had shared a few days back while he had been in Hamlet's clothes added to that illusion. For those few hours, reality including Christian melted away, having left only her witnessing the story that was unfolding in front of her eyes but feeling at the same time being a part of it.
Was she Ophelia in Terry's Hamlet? Ophelia was part of a rich family and so was she. Even if it was by adoption. Despite keeping the surname, Pony had given her when they discovered her as a baby abandoned at the orphanage yard, and not using the Ardleys surname, she hadn't continued to dissolve the adoption. Albert's last wish was for her to remain part of the family. The only family he had left together with George.
Her relationship with Hamlet wasn't a straight forward one. No love was spoken in clear terms. Hamlet, though he wooed her with the honey of his words, confused her with his actions. Hadn't Terry been like that? Fear, fear held her back. The hurt she had suffered before she had survived with everything she got. If she was to surrender her heart to him...and things wasn't to work out, how and where would she find the strength again to get over him for a second time...
When Laertes cautioned Ophelia about Hamlet's advances, Candy gasped.
Perhaps he loves you now,
And now no soil nor cautel doth besmirch
The virtue of his will;
but you must fear,
His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own;
For he himself is subject to his birth:
He may not, as unvalued persons do,
Carve for himself; for on his choice depends
The safety and health of this whole state;
And therefore must his choice be circumscribed
Unto the voice and yielding of that body
Whereof he is the head. Then if he says he loves you,
It fits your wisdom so far to believe it
As he in his particular act and place
May give his saying deed; which is no further
Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal.
Tears threatened to blur Candy's eyesight but she fought them back. She couldn't afford to shed them now. The ghost of the late king haunted the dark fort. Having been seen by Hamlet's trusted friends, Hamlet became eager to see for himself. The moment it appeared before his eyes, none of his friends' hands could hold his body going forth.
HAMLET (struggles to free himself as his friends are holding him back)
My fate cries out
And makes each petty artire in this body
As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve.
[Ghost beckons.] Asks for Hamlet to come close.
Still am I call'd. Unhand me, gentlemen.
By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me!-
I say, away!- Go on. I'll follow thee.
The spirit of his father speaks of murderous acts, the murderer wearing the crown of Denmark. Asks Hamlet of revenge.
GHOST
A serpent stung me. So the whole ear of Denmark
Is by a forged process of my death
Rankly abus'd. But know, thou noble youth,
The serpent that did sting thy father's life
Now wears his crown.
HAMLET (he walks closer, and then turns away, trying to stead his breath, by the enormity of the truth he hears the ghost to speak)
O my prophetic soul! My uncle!
Deep down, Hamlet knew it was family that had betrayed his father and himself. The spirit continued its story. Claudius, his brother, that incestuous, adulterate beast, with the witchcraft of his charming ways and the gifts, hath the power to seduce - his lust won over the seemingly virtuous queen Gertrude. His father's love born of dignity, was hand in hand with the marriage vows, but it was to decline by a wretched person whose natural gifts were poor compared to the late King's.
Ghost
Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven,
So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd,
Will sate itself in a celestial bed
And prey on garbage.
But soft! methinks I scent the morning air.
Brief let me be.
While sleeping one afternoon, the drops of the poison dripped inside his ear, made by the hand of his treacherous brother. His blood thinned like water, died a horrible death. Through the sleep, Hamlet's father lost life, crown and queen at once.
Hamlet is beyond distraught. He falls to the ground. Grabs the earth between his fingers. His worst fears having turned true. Having been robbed of a father, his mother seduced in the foul lust of the incestuous union of his murderous uncle. The ghost asks him of revenge.
Let not the royal bed of Denmark be
A couch for luxury and damned incest.
But leave his mother unharmed. Let the heavens punish her, the thorns of her conscience to prick her bosom. And kill the one who took his father's life away.
Hamlet turns to the audience. He is confused, hurt but most he swims into a sea of rage.
And shall I couple hell?
Hold, hold, my heart!
And you, my sinews, grow not instant old, But bear me stiffly up. Remember thee?
Yea, from the table of my memory, I'll wipe away all trivial fond records,
All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past, that youth and observation copied there,
And thy commandment all alone shall live, Within the book and volume of my brain,
Unmix'd with baser matter.
Yes, by heaven!
O most pernicious woman!
O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain!
My tables! Meet it is I set it down
That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain;
At least I am sure it may be so in Denmark. [Writes.]
So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word:
It is 'Adieu, adieu! Remember me.'
I have sworn't.
The wheels have turned and Hamlet is sinking inside his mind, plotting how to take the revenge he sworn to the spirit of his father. Ophelia runs to her father, full of fright. Hamlet had come to her room, with looks so dishevelled and haggard they commanded pity, as if he had been let loose out of hell, speaking of horrors, death. He had stood in front of her and that's what she told her father.
POLONIUS (asks his daughter)
Mad for thy love?
OPHELIA (She looks around, scared if they're heard)
My lord, I do not know,
But truly I do fear it.
POLONIUS
What said he?
Ophelia's description...painted Candy's memory bright inside her mind. The one time Terry had caught her in his room. Her heart raced at the scene. Hamlet's face feeling more and more of Terry's. She bit her lip with anguish at Ophelia's frightened words, her eyes wide as saucers.
Ophelia
He took me by the wrist and held me hard;
Then goes he to the length of all his arm,
And, with his other hand thus o'er his brow,
He falls to such perusal of my face
As he would draw it. Long stay'd he so.
At last, a little shaking of mine arm,
And thrice his head thus waving up and down,
He rais'd a sigh so piteous and profound
As it did seem to shatter all his bulk
And end his being.
That done, he lets me go,
And with his head over his shoulder turn'd
He seem'd to find his way without his eyes,
For out o' doors he went without their help
And to the last bended their light on me.
Polonius is certain. This is the ecstasy of love, and Hamlet has turned crazed with love for Ophelia.
This is the very ecstasy of love,
Whose violent property fordoes itself
And leads the will to desperate undertakings
As oft as any passion under heaven
That does afflict our natures. I am sorry.
What, have you given him any hard words of late?
Just as Candy had been completely taken with the play, so was Christian. How had Terry managed to play Hamlet on that same night he had got them tickets to watch the play, he did not know. And he did wonder...had that been on purpose?
OPHELIA
No, my good lord; but, as you did command,
I did repel his letters and denied
His access to me.
POLONIUS
That hath made him mad.
I am sorry that with better heed and judgment
I had not quoted him. I fear'd he did but trifle
And meant to wrack thee; but beshrew my jealousy!
By heaven, it is as proper to our age
To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions
As it is common for the younger sort
To lack discretion. Come, go we to the King.
This must be known; which, being kept close, might move
More grief to hide than hate to utter love.
Come.
He had to admit, Terry's acting abilities were to be admired. Christian, also an artist who's observation skills he was a master of, realised early on from what he observed on the stage, that his rival had inhabited Hamlet's soul so neatly and comfortably, he managed to blur the lines of reality, and meant only one thing. Terry's life must had been as dramatic as Hamlet's was.
As the play was unfolding, the biggest question for him –
Was there an underlying message, he was trying to convey to the both of them?
Act II, Scene 2
Elsinore. A room in the Castle.
Flourish. [Enter King and Queen, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, and others.)
After matters of the state are discussed, Polonius enters. Wants to have a word about Hamlet, for he has found the reason of his peculiar behaviour. After a wordy introduction, he finally comes to point.
POLONIUS
I will be brief.
Your noble son is mad.
Mad call I it; for, to define true madness,
What is't but to be nothing else but mad?
But let that go.
Hamlet's mother asks of Polonius less words and more proof. That is when Polonius produces the "letter". Ophelia had handed it to him as she had been ordered. Polonius unfolds the letter, asked to narrate of it word by word.
Terry's voice is heard, velvet to the ears, soft, bearing love's yarning:
"To the celestial, and my soul's idol, the most beautified Ophelia,
Polonius criticised the language used - calling Hamlet's words such as "beautified" as vile...
But more to the letter, Terry unseen but heard through the auditorium, he speaks again:
Doubt thou the stars are fire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar;
But never doubt
I love.
'O dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers;
I have not art to reckon my groans;
but that I love thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu.
'Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst this machine is to him,
HAMLET.'"
The breath jumped within Candy's throat, became heavy with moisture and she swallowed. That same voice, she had heard behind her on those cursed stairs begging for time to stand still for just a few more minutes, to keep her inside his arms. She fluttered her eyelashes, unable to stop the tears squeezing at the brim of her bottom eyelashes. Hanging like diamonds before falling on her warm cheeks.
She felt Christian's hand taking hold of her own. She turned to see him. She couldn't make out the thoughts inside his eyes, hidden in the dimmed lights. Instead she pulled a random excuse out of thin air, to reason with the tears that dropped thick on her face.
"I am sorry Christian..." She whispered. "It is so sad..."
She turned back though Christian's eyes stayed for a few more moments on her. Terry wasn't on the stage to be seen, but the emotion in his voice had bewitched the audience. Queen Gertrude, Claudius and Polonius are plotting on how they could find for definite whether truly Hamlet has turned mad for his love to Ophelia.
They could spy on him, while sending Ophelia to meet with him at the castle's corridors he finds himself walking all too often the last few days.
Hamlet often walks alone through the lobby of the castle, and, at such a time, they could hide behind an arras (a curtain or wall hanging) while Ophelia confronts Hamlet, allowing them to see for themselves whether Hamlet's madness really emanates from his love for her. The king declares that they will try the plan. Gertrude notices that Hamlet is approaching, reading from a book as he walks, and Polonius says that he will speak to the prince. Gertrude and Claudius exit, leaving Polonius alone with Hamlet.
POLONIUS
How does my good Lord Hamlet?
HAMLET (lifts his eyes from the open book but he still looks distracted all the same)
Well, God-a-mercy.
POLONIUS (His stare is perplexed)
Do you know me, my lord?
HAMLET (stops and examines Polonius' face)
Excellent well. You are a fishmonger.
POLONIUS (takes a step back, he is surprised)
Not I, my lord.
HAMLET (He hasn't turned his eyes away from Polonius)
Then I would you were so honest a man.
POLONIUS (Not knowing what to make out of Hamlet's words)
Honest, my lord?
HAMLET (turns away towards the audience, his fervent eyes seem like they stop at the third row)
Ay, sir. To be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man pick'd out of ten thousand.
Christian's stare darkens. Whether Terry can see him or not, he feels he's speaking to him.
POLONIUS
That's very true, my lord.
Hamlet continues this nonsensical conversation with Polonius. Giving hints of the pomposity with which Polonius acted, throwing remarks about his old age. Polonius stands convinced.
Hamlet is indeed and truly mad.
But he cannot fail to notice how "pregnant" with meaning his words are. He has to go, and arrange a meeting between him and his daughter.
POLONIUS (turns to Hamlet)
My honourable lord, I will most humbly take my leave of you.
Hamlet looks at him. His stare shadowed by sadness.
You cannot, sir, take from me anything that I will more willingly part withal- except my life, except my life, except my life...
His voice faints until it remains only inside his mind.
Polonius leaves as Hamlet's friends approach. He seems pleased to see both Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Asks them how they are and they both respond that there is neither good nor bad a time they are having. Content but not over-joyed. To put it in somewhat funny words, they weren't looking at the world from the top button of Fortune's hat.
"But I hope not being at the soles of Fortune's feet either." Hamlet had asked them.
Rosencrantz admitted that it was neither.
"So you must be somewhere around Her waist, then." Hamlet added jokingly.
"More like at Her private parts." Guildenstern commended.
They all laughed.
"In the secret places of Fortune?' said Hamlet. "Fortune's a whore indeed."
A second wave of laughs ensued. Hamlet though was unhappy with life in Denmark. It felt a prison he was living in. Eventually he cuts to the chase and asks his two friends why they were there. Wanting to hide the fact that his mother and Claudius had sent them to enquire his state, they hide awkwardly behind excuses that they merely wanted to visit him.
Hamlet's tone turns stern. He knows who sent them and why.
Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks; but I thank you;
and sure, dear friends, my thanks are too dear a halfpenny.
Were you not sent for? Is it your own inclining? Is it a free visitation?
Come, deal justly with me. Come, come! Nay, speak.
GUILDENSTERN
What should we say, my lord?
HAMLET (Comes close to them, looks around them, stares them on their faces and smiles a sly smile, with his brow up high, eyes knowing more than his tongue wants to say)
Why, anything- but to th' purpose.
You were sent for; and there is a kind of confession in your looks, which your modesties have not craft enough to colour.
I know the good King and Queen have sent for you.
He pressures them to be honest and straight with him. In the end they confess, it is true. Sent by the King and his mother. He also knows the reason. He had been depressed. Void of all the joys in life, the pleasures a man can get.
Rosencrantz smiles and says he wonders how Hamlet will receive a theatrical troupe that is currently traveling toward the castle.
The trumpets blow, announcing the arrival of the actors.
He tells his friends the troupe are welcome to stay at Elsinore, but that his "uncle-father and aunt-mother" are deceived by his madness. He is mad only when it suits him, where the rest of the time, he is capable to spot a hawk from a heron.
Hamlet is impressed by the acting abilities of one of the actors of the troupe, the way he performed the monologue about the Fall of Troy and the death of Priamus. He asks for the troupe to stay for the night and perform the Murder of Gonzago the next day. But they will have to accept him of writing an extra scene to insert in that play.
His mind like a machine is getting into action, for he wants to illicit a reaction from the murderer of his father. The play he's asked the actors to perform, carries a resemblance with the demise of his father. Having also written the scene he wants them to play, he intends to invite Claudius, his mother and other esteemed guests to enjoy the play. Only for him to wait, biting his time, observing what will Claudius do. If he's guilty, then...he won't be able to stand and watch the whole play but he'd have to leave his seat empty behind.
Everyone was watching, Hamlet's machinations to unfold. Terry completely let himself be immersed inside this troubled man who seeks proof to base his revenge for his father. Christian watched with great interest. Feeling dumbfounded in places as he put side by side, the play and reality...Hadn't he organised a similar trap to Terry? Knowing what he had known only a few moments before...He staged the poker game so, using his friends as the "players" of the troupe, slowly pushing Terry to react. And in the end he did...
Only now, he didn't know exactly how to deal with it. In a surprising and unexpected way, Christian had found himself inside Hamlet's shoes. Himself too knowing the truth...himself too feeling the anger inside his bones. Terry had appeared in London, clearly because he wanted Rose back in his life.
What a bastard he was!
Christian, shot a side glance to Rose. She sat completely silent, enthralled, watching, absorbing the play, Terry's Hamlet like a sponge behaves with water. She had cried earlier...when she heard Hamlet's love letter narrated by Terry's voice. Was that what he used to weaken her knees? Reciting Shakespeare's verses to taste the sweetness of her lips, back in college? He burned to know more details.
Was her love for him awakening?
Opposite the stage, on the third row of the stalls, a second Hamlet stood with feelings and thoughts going inside his mind with the force of a hurricane wind. Already, he held the tickets for their trip up north to the Scottish isles. As far away as possible from Terry. Two weeks. More or less what remained for him to be here. But it didn't actually guarantee him, Rose's feelings. Where did she stand? He feared of asking. He feared of revealing anything. He would bring her in the most awkward position and not only that. By asking her of Terry, he risked looking like he hadn't shown trust in her. And wasn't he the one who only a few days back, wanted to break up with her due to his criminal ties and the danger that they carried? Hadn't she managed to sway his mind? He should trust her! Right now he wanted to trust her with every fibre of his body.
He turned his attention to the stage. The second act was closing. It was time for the intermission.
Intermission
The audience started with numb moves to stand up. It was as if they were exiting the dream Shakespeare's mind had conjured up while he slept. A lot of people made a beeline for the bar. A moment to wet their dry throats while discussing the play. John Barrymore may had been a legend of acting, but this young guy was making them tremble.
Terry's Hamlet was passionate and unpredictable. One moment sad and the next mad. With eyes turned at Ophelia with all the love they could hold inside and then the hate would flow freely for his uncle from every pore of his body like the ice cold streams of the Highlands. His words sounded at times like the gentlest breeze of spring, and then they would gather force and feel like the winter gales blowing over the North Sea.
Christian and Rose followed the people entering the bar at the ground floor, by far the biggest and the grandest of the two bars in the theatre. They remained silent, up to the moment they approached the bar bench. He turned to ask her what she'll have. She only wanted a gin with tonic. He ordered her drink and a pint of ale for him.
"What do you think of the play so far?" He asked her as they stood standing, with no table available left for them to sit down.
"Surprising..." She managed to say.
"You didn't expect Terry to be Hamlet..." His eyes kept focused on her face. Wanting to gauge her reactions.
"No." She replied without wanting to elaborate further.
"He's good though..." He continued pushing.
She took a sip from her drink. She wanted to smoke. Her eyes wandered in the bar, being busy, full of people and the noise from everyone's chattering.
"Yes...he is rather good I'd say..." She replied.
"Could you roll a cigarette for me, Christian?" She asked him with smiling eyes.
"Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?" He reacted to her asking, as he placed his pint on the bench and took out his tobacco pouch to roll two cigarettes for the both of them. They had left in such a hurry they hadn't said much before they arrived at the theatre. Other than her being crossed with him being late.
"Thank you." She replied softly.
"I am sorry for my tardiness, Rose..." He apologised. His stare looked so sincere. He ached to let her in his world. But it was a world full of shadows and danger, one he sought to get out of. He didn't want to admit it, but the rope around him was becoming tighter. He, however, at that time, didn't want to think about it. If only he could deal with that damn knife - and get away with his girl for two weeks. Set their life in the right tracks. Away from past lovers and present dangers.
"I know, Christian." She replied as he handed her the cigarette. Her eyes sparkled. She felt emotional but then again, the past month had become a whirlwind of feelings for her. Past and present collided head on. Terry's Hamlet once again stirred her soul. That letter...had brought so much forth. Still sat heavy on her chest. She remembered her hysterics a couple of days before, his slap, having surpassed the anger caused inside him by her dismissal of him wanting her to be safe. "I wish you tell me though..." She added, all of a sudden. "I'm worried every time you are late now."
He pressed his lips. He took a drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke out.
"There is nothing to worry about, love." He said with a soft voice. "Can you please trust me?" He gritted his teeth.
His imploring started turning to frustration. Everything weighted him down, at that moment. He had tried so damn hard not to crack under the pressure. Her sincere words may had been just that, sincere and out of love but there were almost like the feather that risked breaking the camel's back.
Candy realised and immediately apologised, feeling bad. "I'm sorry Christian, I didn't mean to sound pressing."
He let the air out of his lungs. He shouldn't be angry with her. She was the last person he should be angry with. Her apology brought his own right after. "No, I am the one who should apologise, Rose." He said. "I didn't intent to come across as being annoyed."
"But I do have everything in control, sweetheart, ok?" He added with warmth lighting up his grey eyes.
The bar buzzed with people. There must had been an important person having entered the bar, as there was a group of people moving together towards the bartender, all very expensively dressed. They had an exclusive air about them. An older but rather quite attractive man was in their centre, commanding the attention of everyone around him.
Sir Flower was with as well as Sir Witt. Christian's caught the latter man's eye. He smiled and waved his hand for Christian to approach. He turned to Rose. "Let's go." He said to her and gave her his hand. He hadn't noticed the utter surprise and concern that had lit her stare just a mere moment before. She would recognise him even after more than ten years had passed.
The couple approached. Sir Witt made the introductions. "Richard, this is the very talented young painter I was telling you about."
"Christian Blake." He said and reached his hand out for a handshake, with a polite nod of his head the moment the man gave him his hand. His handshake was firm. "Richard Grantchester."
"Duke of Grantchester?!" Christian asked with surprise in his voice.
"We don't see our dear friend often enough." Sir Flower came in the conversation. The deep blue eyes of the elder aristocrat fell on Candy's face. They seem to rest on her eyes, searching the past. "Excuse my stare..." He said.
Christian turned to her. "I am so sorry." He exclaimed. "Allow me to introduce you my lady friend." He said, "This is Rose White." She gave him her hand.
"I don't want to sound too forward but may I say you look familiar Miss White..." He added, still having her hand into his.
"Very nice to make your acquaintance, Lord Grandchester." She said, trying to sound firm, feeling her cheeks on fire.
Sir Witt leaned on Richard's ear. She heard the familiar words by now...
Scarlet Rose
The couple saw the realisation dawning in his eyes. He smiled. "I hope your partner doesn't mind me saying that but you are more beautiful from up close, Miss White." He said, referring to her painting. She smiled shyly, wishing there was a way to disappear. She had to play cool however. She was the one who had insisted for her painting to be shown at the Gallery.
The charms of the old man towards Rose, didn't go unnoticed to Christian. The Duke of Grandchester surely pushed just over sixty but for a man his age, he was a terribly attractive man with his silver hair and the piercing blue eyes, the strong lines of his face, the expressive mouth. He still had the stare of a fox and the grace of an eagle. He had proved being a flirt with Rose, though Christian had heard he was married. There was no sign of his wife around though.
"You have been to my exhibition Lord Grandchester?" Christian asked him with a smile.
"Of course, I have Mr. Blake." He turned to face him. Candy could not help but notice a resemblance between Terry's father and Christian. The intensity of their stares, their smile, they had the same height, same build. She found the resemblance amusing to say the least. Nature works in mysterious ways sometimes. A shiver went up her spine. She hoped Terry's father didn't remember any further than his visit to the Gallery.
"Please accept my congratulations, since you weren't there when I visited." He said. "I must say, one of the most exciting opening exhibition for a new artist, I've been for the last few years." He sounded quite sincere.
"And I'm not basing that just on your famous by now, Scarlet Rose." He added and turned to face Candy again, feeling a second wave of embarrassment colouring her face red.
"I am more than honoured to hear that Lord Grandchester. Thank very much!" Christian's eyes shone with excitement. "I am so sorry I wasn't there to discuss with you my work and I have to say I am very proud of Scarlet Rose. Miss White is the Muse to my art..." He turned and looked at her with adoring eyes.
"Well, my wife who has stayed back in Scotland, will kill me if I say that I met you and I hadn't mentioned how she has pestered me to contact you to commission you for a family portrait."
The night was taking a nice turn for Christian for a change. A great change in fact.
"How about passing by the Grandchester residence at Hampstead Lane? Tomorrow afternoon perhaps? 3pm?" He asked Christian.
"Oh! Most definitely I will! This is...Thank you very much Lord Grandchester. A true honour this is." Christian said, trying to reign in the enthusiasm in his voice. "Miss White can join you if you like. We will have tea, nothing formal, and discuss the commission… get to know each other." She smiled to him while trying not to look at him straight in his eyes.
Christian may had been over the moon with the meeting. But she dreaded it, even before they went. Could she trust the change the years had added on her? She hadn't been that impulsive, loud mouthed girl with the puffed up ponytails any more. She had acquired more grace and diplomacy and good manners to be able to hold her tongue when she hadn't agreed with someone's views.
Surely, a long distance separated her from that girl who had held for dear life from Lord Grandchester's carriage, feeling able to move the earth and the sky, just for an opportunity to tell him not to bring Terry back to London by force, since he left St. Paul's college to find his own way in the States. She loved Terry so much for her to let him go, find what it was he wanted to do. Watching him playing Hamlet that night, she knew that adolescent girl all those years back had decided well.
The intermission bell was heard. They parted ways with Terry's father. She and Christian took their seats once again. Thoughts nested in the furrows that carved her forehead. Terry...
By the end of this performance, he would have to come face to face with his father too.