At Quince’s place, the players were panicking. Any minute, Philostrate might send for them. As organiser of tonight’s festivities, he’d want to see their play, to satisfy himself that it was fit to be performed in front of Theseus, Hippolyta and their high-powered guests.
Snag was, nobody could find Bottom. ‘Have you tried his house?’ asked Quince. ‘Is he back yet?’
Starveling shook his head. ‘They’ve heard nowt from him – maybe he’s gone off with the aliens who remodelled his bonce.’
‘That’s it then,’ groaned Flute. ‘We’re stuffed. Can’t do the play without him, can we?’
Quince shook his head. ‘Can we heck. Nobody could step in at such short notice.’
There was a knock at the door. Snug came in.
‘Hey, listen – it’s not just Theseus and his missus partying tonight. There’s two other couples getting wed, and all their guests’ll be there as well. Just think, if we’d done Pyramus and Thisby in front of that lot, there’d have been loads of tips, word-of-mouth recommendations, future bookings. We’d have made it, guys – big time.’
‘Well, there you go,’ said Flute. ‘Our big break, and Bottom’s blown it.’
‘No, he hasn’t,’ said a familiar voice. Everybody swung round. Bottom stood grinning in the doorway, wearing his own head. ‘Weird stuff’s gone down with me, lads, I can tell you.’
‘Tell us about it,’ smiled Quince, who was mightily relieved.
Bottom shook his head. ‘Not now. We’ve got to get our stuff together, and boogie on down to Theseus’s place, so we’re ready if Philostrate gives us the word.’
At Theseus’s house, Hippolyta was puzzling over the stories that Lysander and the other young people had told. ‘It’s gob-smackingly weird, darling, isn’t it?’
‘More weird than true, if you ask me,’ growled Theseus. ‘I can’t be doing with all this new age, airy-fairy stuff. It’s for poets, vegans and save-the-gay-green-whale types in sandals. Give me the real world any time.’
‘What they recall of their experience may seem airy-fairy,’ argued Hippolyta, ‘but it has caused them to commit to one another in a very responsible way.’
Before her husband could respond, the two young couples appeared.
‘Speak of the devil,’ growled Theseus, ‘and here are the newlyweds, full of the joys of spring.’ He tried on a smile, turning to them. ‘You’re all well, I trust?’
‘We are indeed,’ replied Lysander. ‘And we hope the same is true of yourselves.’
‘It is,’ Theseus told him, ‘but we’ve an important decision to take, which is what show to book that’ll pass three hours or so between supper and bedtime?’ He glanced around. ‘Where’s Philostrate?’
‘I’m here,’ answered the organiser.
‘What choices have we, Phil?’
‘I’ve a variety of acts laid on,’ said Philostrate. ‘Here’s the list.’ He handed Theseus a paper. ‘Just choose whichever you all fancy.’
‘Hmmm.’ Theseus studied the list. ‘Cherry-ripe, sung by a male soprano to the banjo. Huh! Let him sing to the banjo if he likes – he’s not singing to me.’
‘There’s a play’ said Philostrate. ‘It’s ten words long, which makes it the shortest play I ever heard of, and even then it’s ten words too long. It’s tedious, the hero dies, and the company’s the most shambolic ever to tread the boards.’
‘Who’re the players?’ asked Theseus.
‘Unemployed youths, thick as two short planks, doing a drama course to pass the time.’
Theseus grinned. ‘Let’s give ’em a chance – why not?’
‘No.’ The organiser shook his head. ‘Their play’s not for a sophisticated gentleman like you, Theseus. I’ve seen it, it’s rubbish.’ He shrugged. ‘Unless of course you feel the sheer unmitigated badness of the thing might amuse you.’
Theseus looked at him. ‘We’ll see it. They’re simple people, doing the best they can. That makes it pretty fine, no matter how bad it is. Bring them in.’ He turned to his guests. ‘Take your seats, everybody.’
Philostrate returned. ‘They have a prologue, sir.’
Theseus nodded. ‘No problem.’
Quince appeared on stage and recited his prologue. It came across as a bit of a muddle, and the audience was left none the wiser when it was done. Quince bowed and exited. Straight after came a fanfare, and on came Pyramus and Thisby, Wall, Moonshine and Lion. Quince introduced these characters, then commenced to explain the story of Pyramus and Thisby from start to finish. This done he exited, along with all the characters except Wall.
Snout, playing Wall, then gave his name and told the audience he represented a wall that had a crack in it. ‘This crack,’ he explained, ‘is the very crack that Pyramus and Thisby talk to each other through.’
At this point, Starveling came on, playing Moonshine.
‘This man represents Moonshine,’ said Wall, ‘because Pyramus and Thisby always met by moonlight.’
Lion now entered, and Wall spelled out the beast’s part in the story. In the audience, Theseus leaned across and murmured in Demetrius’s ear. ‘Bet you’ve never met a wall that spoke better than this one, eh?’
Demetrius chuckled. ‘Wittiest partition I ever heard, sir.’
These preliminaries being done with, the company commenced to appear according to their cues, and to act out the play. It ran smoothly for the most part, and presently it was time for Lion to perform.
Snug faced the audience and began his prologue. ‘For the purpose of the play, we intend to portray the lion as a fearsome beast…’
Theseus whispered again to Demetrius. ‘Didn’t realise lions could be politically correct.’
‘Oh yes,’ smiled Demetrius. ‘Political correctness has entered the mane-stream – geddit?’
‘I cat-egorically deny that,’ quipped Lysander.
Everybody groaned.
‘Sssh!’ hissed Theseus. ‘Listen to the Moonshine.’
Starveling, lantern in hand, intoned, ‘This lantern represents the moon, and I’m the Man in the Moon…’
Amused by the ludicrous spectacle before them, the audience was sending everything up.
‘If he’s the Man in the Moon,’ murmured Theseus, ‘and the lantern’s the moon, why isn’t he in the lantern?’
‘’Cause the candle’d satellite to him,’ whooped Demetrius.
‘You’re just trying to crater disturbance,’ growled Lysander.
‘I didn’t planet,’ rejoined Demetrius, seismic with mirth.
On stage, unnoticed, the play reached its tragic end. The audience quelled its laughter as Bottom stepped forward, peering to where Theseus was seated. ‘Would you care to hear our epilogue, sir, or watch a dance performed by two of the company?’
Theseus shook his head. ‘No epilogue, young man. Your play is a total tragedy, beautifully performed. Let’s see the dance.’
As two of the players danced, Theseus turned to his guests. ‘It’s gone midnight – time to hit the sack.’ He smiled. ‘I won’t be surprised if one or two of us sleep late in the morning.’
The company rose and dispersed, leaving the students to pack up their props.
With the mortals gone, and the house dark and silent, Puck appeared. He carried a broom, with which he commenced to sweep up the party debris.
As the elf worked, Titania and Oberon appeared, their quarrel suspended in the happiness of the occasion. Triple weddings don’t happen every day, and the bestowal of so many blessings was going to require all of their energy, leaving none to fuel a grudge.
The fairy attendants flitted from room to room, dancing and singing to bring good fortune to the house, while Oberon and Titania crept upstairs to bless the sleeping couples. This done, all departed as silently as they’d come, leaving the mortals to their sleep, and to their dreams.