A Midsummer Night's Dream

by Robert Swindells

  A Midsummer Night’s Dream

  Retold by Robert Swindells

  Illustrated by Tomislav Tomic

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  List of characters

  Act One

  Act Two

  Act Three

  Act Four

  Act Five

  About the Author

  Imprint

  List of characters

  Theseus, the Big Boss

  Hippolyta, engaged to Theseus

  Philostrate, Master of the Revels

  Egeus, father to Hermia

  Hermia, daughter of Egeus, in love with Lysander

  Demetrius, in love with Hermia

  Lysander, in love with Hermia

  Helena, in love with Demetrius

  Quince, drama student

  Bottom, drama student

  Flute, drama student

  Starveling, drama student

  Snug, drama student

  Oberon, king of the fairies

  Titania, queen of the fairies

  Puck or Robin Goodfellow, elf

  Peaseblossom, fairy

  Cobweb, fairy

  Moth, fairy

  Mustardseed, fairy

  Act One

  You could tell by his house that Theseus was not without a bob or two. Big, it was. Detached. Garden like a public park.

  Some people reckoned Hippolyta was marrying him for his brass. Once, she’d been active in the women’s movement. A braburning Amazon. Now, suddenly, here she was, engaged to the neighbourhood tycoon. It just didn’t sound like her.

  Nobody commented openly about any of this. Theseus was a dangerous guy; you didn’t poke your nose into his business unless you wanted it chewed off. Plus Hippolyta had taken a few assertiveness courses in her time. Let her catch you rabbiting on and you’d end up sweeping your teeth off the floor. They were getting married, Theseus was happy about it and that was that.

  In fact, Theseus could hardly wait. Now they stood side by side, in the big bay window, gazing down the garden. His arm was round her waist. He gave her a squeeze, and sighed. ‘Not long now, sweetheart. Four days. Dragging a bit, though.’

  Hippolyta laughed. ‘Don’t be such a wimp, Theseus, you big girl’s blouse.’ Hippolyta was probably the only person in the world who could call Theseus a big girl’s blouse without waking up in hospital. ‘It’ll pass in no time. Know why?’

  Theseus shook his head. ‘You tell me, sweetie pie.’

  ‘Well, for a start, we’ll spend nearly half the time sleeping. You don’t know time’s passing when you’re asleep.’ She dug him in the ribs. ‘We’ll dream. You can be in my dream if I can be in yours.’

  Theseus squeezed her waist again, and turned to Philostrate, who’d been admiring a picture on the wall. Philostrate was the guy that Theseus had hired to arrange the wedding reception, organise the marquee, see to it that there’d be enough chairs, supervise the caterers, line up a photographer, find an act of some sort to entertain the guests, and generally make sure the whole thing went off without a glitch.

  ‘Phil? Why don’t you go check the post? See who else has RSVP’d. Let’s hope we get more fun people than sentimental ones. Can’t be doing with folk having a good cry all over the place when I haven’t even tortured ’em.’

  Philostrate scribbled a memo in his notebook and left. He was a professional. Everything would be fine.

  Theseus turned fondly to Hippolyta. ‘Have I ever told you, Hippo, how much…’

  ‘Don’t call me Hippo,’ snarled Hippolyta. ‘Makes me sound obese. If you must abbreviate my name, what’s wrong with Lyta?’

  ‘Lyta, then,’ smiled Theseus. ‘Have I ever…’

  Somebody knocked on the door. Theseus sighed and called, ‘Come in.’

  The door opened to reveal Egeus, a manager in one of the tycoon’s enterprises. He had his daughter with him, and two young men Theseus hardly knew. Egeus looked nervous.

  ‘I … er, hope we haven’t interrupted something important, sir. I know how busy you must be at this time.’

  Theseus shook his head. ‘Don’t worry about it. What can we do for you, Egeus?’

  The manager indicated the girl beside him. ‘It’s my daughter, Hermia. I’ve arranged a marriage for her, to this young man.’ He nodded toward one of the youths. ‘His name’s Demetrius. He’s a good lad. Steady. Make a very suitable husband. But she says no, won’t have him at any price. I’ve tried every way I know to persuade her. She won’t budge.’

  Theseus gazed at the girl. ‘You must obey your father, child. It’s the way I like things done, and you know what tends to happen to people who upset me, don’t you?’

  Hermia held the tycoon’s gaze. ‘I do, sir, but I love this man.’ She pointed. ‘His name’s Lysander, and I’ll marry only him.’

  ‘Lysander,’ spat Egeus. ‘Worthless youth. All he has to offer is his pretty face and some flattering words. You can’t feed a family on poncy hairdos and poems.’ He appealed to Theseus. ‘If my daughter persists in her refusal to marry Demetrius, I fear I’ll have no option but to do her in, or banish her from society. I hope you’ll back me up, sir.’

  Theseus looked at Hermia. ‘Do you understand your situation, girl? Defy your father, defy me, and you’ll either die or be sent far away to live the life of a drudge. Such is the fate of a disobedient daughter.’

  Hermia shook her head. ‘Lysander is as good as Demetrius, sir.’

  Theseus nodded. ‘I dare say he is, but your father approves of Demetrius, not Lysander.’

  ‘Well then, let my father marry Demetrius and I’ll marry Lysander.’

  Theseus frowned. ‘You have until May Day to reflect, Hermia. That’s four days. On that day, Hippolyta and I will marry, and if you haven’t consented by then to marry Demetrius, you’ll suffer the consequences.’ He turned to Egeus. ‘Come with me, Egeus. You, too, Demetrius. I need to speak to you in private.’

  The three men left, followed by Hippolyta.

  As soon as they were alone, Lysander turned to his love. ‘Listen, Hermia,’ he murmured, ‘we don’t have long. I’ve got an auntie who lives miles away from here. We can go to her, she’ll put us up, hide us. We can marry there, and there’ll be nothing anybody can do about it.’

  Hermia nodded. ‘What d’you want me to do?’

  Lysander gripped her shoulders and looked into her eyes. ‘Remember the wood – Cottingley Wood – where I saw you once with Helena?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Meet me there tomorrow night. Will you?’

  The girl’s eyes shone. ‘Try and stop me!’

  ‘Good.’ Lysander glanced towards the door. ‘Sssh! Here comes Helena now.’

  Hermia composed herself, and smiled as her friend walked in. ‘Hi, gorgeous, where you off to?’

  ‘Gorgeous, me?’ Helena scoffed. ‘I wish I was gorgeous: drop-dead gorgeous, then Demetrius might love me instead of you.’

  Hermia shrugged. ‘I don’t know what he sees in me, Helena, I really don’t. I try to shake him off, but the more I diss him, the harder he chases me. The more I hate him, the more he loves me. ’Tisn’t my fault he’s daft.’ She smiled and whispered, ‘Never mind, listen. Demetrius won’t be seeing me any more. We’re off tomorrow night, Helena. Me and Lysander. We’ll meet in Cottingley Wood, where you and I used to play. Then it’s away, where nobody will ever find us.’

  Helena looked at Lysander, who nodded.

  Hermia touched her friend’s arm. ‘Wish us luck, Helena. I hope things work out for you with Demetrius.’

  When the two conspirators had left, Helena sat thinking. If I warn Demetrius that Hermia’s eloping, she thought, perhaps he’l
l be grateful to me. That’s not much, but it’s better than being ignored. And who knows: when he sees how determined Hermia is to dump him, maybe he’ll turn to me for consolation. How cool will that be?

  With six guys in it, Quince’s bedsit was packed. Quince sat on the bed and looked at the five lads sitting crosslegged on his floor. They were all on the dole, doing a drama course at college to pass the time.

  ‘All here, are we?’

  ‘You could call the register, like at college,’ suggested Bottom sarcastically.

  Everybody groaned. College is an OK place to hang out when you’re unemployed, but they do tend to treat you like kids.

  Quince ignored the sarcasm. ‘I’ve got all your names in this notebook. I’ll sing ’em out, and you can say “Present, sir”.’

  Bottom shook his head. ‘Why don’t you tell us about this gig you’ve landed us – this play we’re supposed to do at Theseus’s wedding reception? Like, what’s it called, what’s it about, stuff like that? We need to know.’

  Quince nodded. ‘It’s called The Most Lamentable Comedy and Most Cruel Death of Pyramus and Thisby.’

  ‘Terrific,’ said Bottom. ‘I do love a nice snappy title, don’t you?’ Titters from the others. He looked at Quince. ‘So what’s the dramatis personae, and who’s playing whom?’

  ‘Dramatis personae?’ sneered Quince. ‘Whom? What are you doing, Bottom – practising for mingling with Theseus’s posh guests at the reception?’

  ‘Am I hummer,’ denied Bottom. ‘There’s nowt wrong with talking the Queen’s English. Just tell us our parts.’

  Quince consulted his notebook. ‘You’re playing Pyramus.’

  Bottom nodded. ‘OK, and what is he – a soldier, a dictator or what?’

  ‘He’s a lover. Dies heroically for love.’

  ‘Ah, so it’s a tearjerker! Well, I hope these wedding guests bring plenty of Kleenex, ’cause I’ve been known to make stones weep. Mind you, I’m cut out more for your ultraviolent roles, really.’

  Quince ignored this, too. ‘Flute,’ he said, ‘you’ll do Thisby.’

  ‘And what’s he – a knight errant?’ asked Flute.

  ‘He’s a she,’ Quince told him. ‘The woman Pyramus loves.’

  Flute shook his head. ‘I can’t play a woman – I’ve just started growing a beard.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Quince, ‘you’ll be wearing a mask, and you’re good at the pale pink voice – we’ve heard you.’

  ‘I could play Thisby and Pyramus,’ offered Bottom, ‘since I’d be masked. I do a good woman’s voice.’

  ‘No,’ ruled Quince. ‘You’re Pyramus, Flute’s Thisby – it’s settled.’

  ‘Get on with it then,’ growled Bottom.

  ‘Starveling?’

  ‘Present, sir,’ said Starveling.

  ‘You’re Thisby’s mother. Snout?’

  ‘What?’ mumbled Snout.

  ‘You’ll play Pyramus’s father. I’ll do Thisby’s father myself. Snug – you’re the lion.’ Quince closed his notebook and smiled. ‘All done. Any questions?’

  Snug raised a hand. ‘Have you got a copy of the lion’s part I could borrow? I’m a bit slow learning lines.’

  Quince shook his head. ‘You have no lines, Snug. It’s just roaring.’

  ‘Let me play the lion,’ cried Bottom. ‘I’ll show you roaring. I’ll roar so loud, Theseus’ll know he’s not the only big noise round here.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ growled Quince. ‘But you’ll scare his bride spitless, and he’ll send some of his lads round to rearrange our bones.’

  Bottom shook his head. ‘I don’t have to roar loud, Quince. I could roar like a dove, or even a nightingale.’

  Quince sighed. ‘Knock it off, Bottom, for Pete’s sake. You’re playing Pyramus, a gentleman. It’s the perfect part for you.’

  ‘What sort of beard should I wear?’

  Quince shrugged. ‘Makes no odds. Any sort. You could be cleanshaven, if you like.’ He turned to the others. ‘Listen. Take your parts and learn them by tomorrow night. We’ll meet in the wood, where we won’t be disturbed, and rehearse. We don’t want anybody knowing before the wedding what we’re going to do. Now, I’m off to make a list of props we’ll steal or borrow. Meanwhile, learn your lines off pat, before we meet tomorrow.’

  Act Two

  Cottingley Wood was known to harbour fairies, and it was the place that the fairy queen, Titania, had chosen to stay while waiting to bless Theseus and Hippolyta on their wedding night. The wood was close to Theseus’s house, which made it handy.

  Oberon had chosen it for the same reason. He was king of the fairies, and wanted to bless the happy couple, too. Trouble was, he and Titania were in the middle of a terrific row over an Indian boy that she had and he coveted. Cottingley Wood wasn’t very big, and the two were almost certain to bump into each other while staying there. To make matters worse, Oberon had brought along his attendant, Puck, a mischievous elf who was also known as Robin Goodfellow.

  On the evening Hermia and Lysander were due to meet in the wood, Puck encountered a fairy there.

  ‘Hi,’ grinned the elf. ‘Where’ve you blown in from?’

  ‘Everywhere,’ answered the fairy. ‘I serve our queen, Titania. It means a lot of travelling.’ She glanced about her. ‘In fact, I’d better be getting on – she’s due here any minute with her retinue.’

  Puck pulled a face. ‘That’s awkward. King Oberon’ll be here shortly with his. You’d better warn your mistress: he’s still mad at her.’

  The fairy looked at the elf. ‘You’re Robin Goodfellow, aren’t you? The one who plays practical jokes all the time? You serve King Oberon, who likes that sort of thing.’

  Puck nodded. ‘Correct – not much gets by you. And whoops, speak of the devil, here’s Oberon now.’

  ‘And there’s Titania!’ cried the fairy. ‘How they’ll row. I hate that kind of stuff – I’m outta here.’

  As the fairy flew off, Titania and Oberon practically bumped into each other.

  ‘Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania,’ growled Oberon.

  Titania smiled. ‘Still jealous are we, Oberon?’ She looked at him. ‘You’re here for the wedding, I suppose. Theseus and Hippolyta? You mean to bring them luck, but the world’s gone mad since you and I fell out. We’ve had spring in winter, frost in June, floods the year round, till we can’t tell the seasons apart.’

  ‘Then stop defying me,’ snapped Oberon. ‘All you have to do is give me that boy, and everything’ll get back to normal.’

  Titania shook her head. ‘His mother was my friend. She died giving birth to him. That’s why I’m looking after him. I can never give him up.’

  ‘Huh!’ Oberon glowered. ‘And how long do you plan to stay in this wood?’

  ‘Till after the wedding.’ Titania smiled. ‘We intend to celebrate the occasion, join us if you wish!’

  ‘Give me the boy and I might.’

  ‘Not for all your kingdom.’ Titania turned to her retinue. ‘Come, fairies, let us leave. There’ll be bloodshed if we stay here longer.’

  ‘Go then!’ cried Oberon, as Titania departed. ‘I’ll get even before you leave Cottingley, see if I don’t.’ He called to his elf. ‘Puck?’

  ‘I’m here.’

  ‘Did I ever tell you about the time I saw Cupid loose one of his arrows at somebody, and he missed, and the arrow fell on a certain white flower? The flower turned purple, and girls call it Love in Idleness?’

  ‘You told me.’

  ‘Well, I want you to bring me the juice of that flower.’ He smiled. ‘If a drop of the juice gets onto someone’s eyelid while they sleep, they’ll fall in love with the first creature they see on waking. I want you to fly as fast as you can to where that flower grows.’

  Puck nodded. ‘I’ll put a girdle round about the earth in forty minutes,’ he boasted.

  With Puck in orbit, Oberon felt quite smug. I’ll make Titania fall in love with something really bizarre, he promise
d himself, and I won’t let her have the antidote till she gives me the Indian boy.

  He heard a sound. ‘Somebody’s coming – two mortals. I’m invisible to them, I’ll stay and earwig.’

  The two mortals were Demetrius and Helena.

  As Oberon watched and listened, Demetrius turned on the miserable girl and snarled, ‘I don’t love you at all, Helena. In fact it makes me puke to look at you, so I don’t know why you bother following me.’ He peered all around. ‘Where are Lysander and Hermia? You said they’d be here. I’m going to kill him and drag her back to her father.’

  ‘I can’t help following you,’ wailed Helena. ‘I’m under your spell.’

  Demetrius scoffed. ‘Do I speak tenderly to you? Lead you on? No, I don’t, so leave. It’s dangerous in the wood at night, and I’m not going to protect you.’

  ‘If I could fight for your love, I would,’ cried Helena. ‘But girls can’t. We’re made to be wooed, not to woo.’

  ‘Get lost, will you?’ Demetrius spun on his heel and plunged into the shadow under the trees.

  Helena stumbled after him as best she could.

  Oberon followed the pathetic girl with his eyes. ‘I’ll promise you this, sweetheart,’ he murmured. ‘Before that lad leaves the wood, it’ll be him following you, and you won’t want to know.’

  As the two mortals moved away, Puck appeared.

  Oberon looked at him. ‘Did you find the flower?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Let me have it.’

  The elf handed over a handful of purple blooms.

  Oberon grinned. ‘I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,’ he murmured. ‘Titania often sleeps there. I’ll find her, paint her eyelids with the juice from these.’ He divided the bunch, gave half back to Puck. ‘Take these, and go after the mortals who were here. The lady loves the youth, but he disdains her. Paint his eyes, and make sure the lady’s the first thing he’ll see when he wakes. Meet me here at dawn.’

  As Puck and Oberon were parting, in another part of the wood, Titania was preparing to sleep.

  ‘Come, fairies,’ she commanded, ‘and sing me to sleep with a lullaby.’ She lay with her head on a cushion of thyme, and closed her eyes.