Shall I ask James to write tonight about this play I saw at the new theatre ?
[James : There is no shall about it. I AM writing !
Catherine : Hush !]
It's all fresh in my memory still so it would be better to put my thoughts to paper right away... But the feelings are vivid too and I fear I will in turn cry my heart out or laugh out loud as I did during the play, just writing about it, and wake my little ones, asleep in their cot. Mathilde was true to her word and saw that they went to sleep.
[Mathilde : Of course I was !]
I don't usually go to the theatre to the evening performance but my friend Isabel had already bought the ticket and was taken with a headache earlier today so... There I was, in a proper theatre, surrounded by ladies and gents in their best fineries, feeling a bit out of place really. Then the play started and I forgot everything else...
That first scene with the ghost ! There, I get the chills just thinking about it. I even have to look over my shoulder ! I had never seen a play with a beginning as dramatic as that and I have seen my fair share.
[James: You can say that again...]
I saw The Spanish Tragedy of course. It was good : the unfortunate lovers, the grieving father and mother, the revenge.
But Hamlet, Hamlet... For one thing that Richard Burbage was enthralling. I think half, nay all of the women in the audience fell in love with him, here and there.
[James : Mother !]
It is our caring instinct that drives us towards those who suffer and Hamlet is by all means one tortured soul.
If I could read I would not mind having these words nicely written on a soft piece of velum, being able to bring them back to life whenever I would want to...
[James : I told you I could teach you.
Catherine, sighing : Yes you did, my love.]
Oh, how Ophelia describes Hamlet after she told him to visit her no more! And the scene when they meet again...
"I did love you once.
- Indeed my lord you made me believe so.
- You should not have believed me ; something : I loved you not."
[James : Mother, stop crying, I can't understand what you're saying.
Mathilde : Hush, you oaf ! Why does he say that, Mother ?
Catherine : Because she rejected him, but it was because of her father. ]
[Catherine : Write again, James.]
Then Ophelia drowns herself, and everybody in the audience gasped when they heard the news!
"Her clothes spread wide ; And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up: Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes."
I am crying so again!
[James : Let's start again tomorrow, Mother.
Catherine : Yes, let's...]