Ingenious pain by Andrew Miller (books for men to read .txt) 📕

James shakes his head. He is alarmed by the man's questions, his perspicacity. As yet he has remained unrecognised, though he knows he has seen the Physician before, in London, in another life. At least two visitors to the hospital were men he knew. Neither smoked him. Now he is close to being uncovered by a stranger. He stares at the floor, says: 'I can neither paint nor play. I do not remember how I lived. I remember nothing before I came to this place.'

Rose leaves go of his hand. 'Sometimes it is necessary to forget.' He turns to the Physician. 'I believe Mr Dyer should be of the company. With your permission.'

'By all means, have him. What part shall he have? One of the conspirators? A ghost? What of that comical fellow in yellow stockings?'

Says Rose: 'Malvolio would be excellent. But our play is A Midsummer Night's Dream. I have a part in mind for him, but I must see them together before I decide. I should like to have them tomorrow in some large convenient room. One can never overestimate how long these matters will take.'

The Physician says: 'We have more rooms here than we know how to fill. I shall have one made ready for you.'

He calls into the gallery for Wagner. Wagner comes, stands in the doorway. The Physician says: 'Clean this fellow up. Fetch him fresh linen. Tell Callow to charge him accordingly.'

Wagner nods, stands out of the way for the gentlemen to leave. Rose turns at the door; the light catches the diamond at his ear. He grins at James, his face pure monkey.

'A bientot, Mr Dyer.'

O'Connor, swinging keys, leads them down the stairs. Adam is there. James walks beside him. He says: 'Are we put out?'

'Out?'

'Sent away from here?'

'We are to be players, James. This Rose is to make a play with us. We are to grow sane by playing sane men. By imitation.'

On the ground floor at the front of the hospital a room has been prepared. Furniture is piled together at one side and a small fire has been lit, though the heat does not touch the cold of the place. The women are already there with their keepers. Dot Flyer is among them. Her bruise has faded. Her face looks very young, very pale. There is no swagger about her today. There are marks on her wrists from where she has been chained. The keepers lounge against the walls, pick at their nails, look about as if uncertain how they shall wield their authority here.

Mr Rose comes into the room. He is a short man. He is beautifully dressed; a satin waistcoat, coloured like his name, a gold-and-silver coat. He climbs on to a chair, holds out his arms, brings the room to silence.

'I am Augustus Rose. Some of you know of me already, and have attended at my concerts here at the hospital. Some - I see Mr Lyle there - good day to you, sir - have taken part in my little theatrical parties. Well, dear friends, today I am inviting you to join with me in a most ambitious venture.'

He holds up a sheaf of coloured papers. 'These are tickets to a play. A tale of enchantment, to be performed by your good selves in

front of certain privileged and discerning members of the public' He flourishes the tickets. One floats free, flies to James's feet. He picks it up.

AUGUSTUS ROSE Esq, CELEBRATED IMPRESARIO,

presents a THEATRICAL PRODUCTION of

Mr Wlm Shakespeare's 'Midsummer Night's

Dream' PERFORMED ENTIRELY BY THE LUNATICS

OF THE BETHLEHEM HOSPITAL in the gardens

thereof the 5 & 6 i^ 7 days of June 1769

2 Guineas Each

Rose leans down for the ticket; James passes it to him. Rose says: It is Mr Dyer, is it not? Shortly, sir, I intend to make you a duke. How do you say to that?'

He hops from his chair and begins dividing the company: Athenians on one side. Spirits on the other. When he has them in two crooked lines, he steps back on to his chair.

'Now, to the naming of the parts. Mr Nathaniel Collins and Mr John Collins, I have you for the lovers Demetrius and Lysander. Mrs Donovan, you madame for the fair and warlike Hippolyta. Mrs Forbellow as Hermia, who loves Lysander. Miss Poole as Helena, who loves Demetrius. Miss Flyer as Titania, the fairy queen. Mr Adam Meridith as Robin Goodfellow, Mr Asquini as Oberon, Mr Dyer as Theseus, Duke of Athens. Mr Lyle for Peter Quince, Mr George Dee as the weaver Bottom, Mr Hobbes, Egeus, father of . . .'

'I shall play no weaver's ARSE.'

George Dee, a butcher from Houndsditch, fat-eyed, face flushed with blood, elbows his way to Rose's chair. The keepers stir. Rose, in gentle voice, says: 'Mr Dee, you are mistaken. Bottom is a sweet part, a true comic part. He is an honest weaver, loved by his friends. Why he even . . .'

'An ARSE! I will not! Did you not promise me I should play some duke or great lord? Did you not promise me?'

Rose holds up his hand to O'Connor. 'Dear Mr Dee. I am sure I never made any such promise. However, if Bottom is not to your liking, I may offer you Flute, which is a gentle part, though smaller, or Snug . . .'

The butcher shakes his head. It is as if a wasp has flown into his ear. 'No Flute, no Snug, no ARSE! You said I should be Theseus, indeed you did!'

Rose says: 'Faith, sir, I am sure I did not. And Theseus has many lines. To con them would be a mountain of work.'

Dee says: 'I cannot bear to be thwarted! I cannot bear it!'

Rose smiles. 'Why, this is most authentic! Quite like Drury Lane. Mr Lyle, will you save us, sir? Will you change places with Mr Dee? You have, I believe, the necessary genius to play the weaver.'

Lyle shakes his head. Dee bites his own hand; teeth in the old