Barrabell belonged to a small, extreme leftist group called the Red Fellowship. Nobody seemed to know what it wanted except that it didn’t want anything that was established or that made money in the theatre. Dougal Macdougal was equally far on the right and wanted, or so it was believed, to bring a Jacobite pretender to the throne and restore capital punishment.
Barrabell kept his ideas to himself. Peregrine was vaguely aware of his extremism but being himself hopelessly uncommitted to anything other than the theatre gave it no more consideration than that.
The rest of the cast were equally vague.
So when the business of appointing a representative came up and Barrabell said he’d done it before and if they liked he’d do it again they were glad to let him be their Equity rep. Equity is an apolitical body and takes in all shades of opinion.
But if they were indifferent to him, he was far from being indifferent to them. He had a cast list with little signs against quite a number of names. As rehearsals went on he hoped to add to it. Dougal Macdougal’s name was boxed in. Barrabell looked at it for some time with his head on one side. He then put a question mark beside it.
The rest of the cast for the morning’s rehearsal arrived. Peregrine and Nina returned with a fresh-faced child in tow.
“Quickest piece of casting in our records,” said Peregrine. “This is William Smith, everybody. Young Macduff to you.”
The little boy’s face broke into a delightful smile. Delighted and delightful. It was transformed.
“Hul-lo, William,” said Sir Dougal.
“Hullo, sir,” said William. Not a vowel wrong and nothing forced.
“His mama is coming back for him in an hour,” said Peregrine. “Sit over there, William, and watch rehearsal.”
He sat by Nina.
“This morning we’re breaking new ground,” said Peregrine. “Banquet scene with ghost of Banquo. I’ll explain the business with the ghost. You, Banquo, will wear a mask. A ghastly mask. Open mouth with blood running. You’ll have time to change your clothes. You will have a double, also masked, of course. The table will have a completely convincing false side with heavily carved legs and the black space painted between them. You and your double will be hidden behind this side. Your stool is at the head of the table.
“Now. The Macbeths’ costumes. The Lady has voluminous sleeves, attached all the way down to her costume. When she says Meeting were bare without it, she holds out her hands. She is standing in front of the stool and masks it. Macbeth goes up to her and on his own Sweet remembrancer takes and kisses her hands. They form, momentarily, a complete mask to the stool. Banquo, from under the table, slides up onto the stool. The speed with which you do this is all-important. Banquo, you sit on the stool with your back to Macbeth and your head bent down. The Macbeths move off to his right.
“On Macbeth’s Where? Banquo turns. Recognition. Climax. He’s a proper job. Bloody hair, throat cut, chest stabbed, blood all over it. On feed and regard him not the thanes obey her but rather self-consciously. They eat and mumble. Keep it quiet. Macbeth shrinks back and to the right. She follows. On Macbeth’s What care I, Banquo lets his head go back and then fall forward. He rises and exits left. This is going to take a lot of work. You thanes, all of you, cannot see him. Repeat: you can not see him. He almost touches you but for you he is not there. You all watch Macbeth. Have you all got that? Stop me if I’m going too fast.”
“Just a moment,” said Banquo.
Here we go, thought Peregrine. “Yes, Bruce?” he asked.
“How much room will there be under this trick-table affair?”
“Plenty. I hope.”
“And how do I see?”
Peregrine stopped himself saying: With your eyes. “The mask,” he explained, “is being very carefully designed. It is actually an entire head. The eyeholes are big. Your own eyes will be painted out. Gaston has done an excellent drawing for us. He will take a mold of your face and make the masks.”
“Oh, my God.”
“A bloodied cloak will be firmly fixed to the neck and ripped up in several places.”
“I’ll want to see all these things, Perry. I’ll want to rehearse in them.”
“So you shall. Till the cows come home.”
“Thank you very much,” said the beautiful voice silkily.
“Any more questions? No? Well, let’s try it.” They tried it slowly and then faster. Many times.
“I think it’ll work,” Peregrine said at last to Nina, who was sitting behind him.
“Oh, yes, Perry. Yes.”
“We’ll move on to the next ‘appearance.’ Sir Dougal, you have this distraught, confused, self-betraying speech. You pull yourself together and propose a health. You stand in front of the stool, masking it, holding out the cup in your left hand. Ross fills it. The understudy is in position. Under the table. Is he here? Yes, Toby. You’ve moved up to the end. You can see when Macbeth’s arm and hand, holding the goblet, are in place and you slip up on the stool. Macbeth proposes the toast. He moves away, facing front. He does, what we all hope he will not do: he names Banquo. The thanes drink. He turns to go upstage and there is the ghost. On unreal mockery, hence! the ghost rises. He moves to the stairs, passing between Menteith and Gaston and past the soldiers on guard, up into the murder chamber. Everyone watches Macbeth, who raves on. Now, inch by inch, we’ll walk it.”
They did so, marking what they did in their scripts, gradually working through the whole scene, taking notes, walking the moves, fitting the pieces together. Peregrine said: “If ever there was a scene that could be ruined by a bit-part actor, this is it. It’s all very well to say you must completely ignore the ghost, that for you it’s not there; it’s hellishly difficult to do it. If you can actually look at it without focusing your eyes, that’s fine, but again it calls for a damn good actor to achieve it. We’ve got to make the audience accept the reality of the ghost and be frightened by it. The most intelligent of you all, Lennox, has the line: Good-night; and better health attend his majesty. When next we see Lennox he’s speaking of his suspicions to Ross. The actor will, ever so slightly, not a fraction too much, make us aware of this. A hair’s-breadth pause after he says Good-night, perhaps. You’ve got your moves. Take them once more to make sure and go away and think through the whole scene, step by step, and then decide absolutely what you are feeling and doing at every moment.”
When they had gone Peregrine took Macbeth’s scene with the murderers. Then the actual murder of Banquo.
“Listen!” Peregrine said. “Just listen to the gift this golden hand offers you. It’s got everything. The last glint of sunset, the beat of hooves, the near approach of disaster:
The West yet glimmers with some streaks of day.
Now spurs the lated traveller apace
To gain the timely inn.
And now we hear the thud of horses’ hooves. Louder and louder. They stop. A pause. Then the horses go away. Enter Banquo with a lanthorn. I do want a profoundly deep voice for this speech. I’m sorry,” he said to the First Murderer. “I’m going to give it to Gaston. It’s a matter of voice, dear boy, not of talent. Believe me, it’s a matter of voice.”
“Yes. All right,” said the stricken Murderer.
They read the scene.
“That’s exactly what I want. You will see that Seyton is present in both these scenes and indeed is never far from Macbeth’s business from this time on. We are very lucky to have Mr. Sears to take the part. He is the sword-bearer. He looms over the play and so does his tremendous weapon.”
“It is,” Gaston boomingly explained, “the symbol of coming death. Its shadow grows more menacing as the play draws inexorably towards its close. I am reminded —”