Half Moon Street - Anne Perry [130]
Bellmaine turned to Orlando. His expression softened to one of pure joy.
“And you, my dear boy, were sublime. I hardly know what to say. I feel as if I have never really seen Hamlet before tonight. You have taken me along a new path, shown me a madness and a sense of betrayal that transcend the magic of Shakespeare’s words and take me into a reality of feeling that has left me exhausted. I am a different man.” He spread his hands as if he could say no more.
Caroline knew exactly what he meant. She too had been shown a new and wider experience. She found herself nodding her agreement. It was born of honesty; she could do no less.
Cecily turned to her, an edge to her voice. “So you are happy to be harrowed up in such a way, Mrs. Fielding? I thought from your previous visit that you were in favor of at least some censorship. Excluding the irresponsibility of shouting ‘Fire’ where there is none, and causing a panic, or of advocating crime or falsely speaking of someone else, would you agree that the limiting of ideas is an unmitigated evil? Art must be free if man is to be free. Not to grow is the beginning of death, albeit slow death, perhaps taking a generation or more.” She looked very directly at Caroline. It was a challenge no one in the crowded room mistook. Perhaps it was made because of Orlando’s success, a need to assert herself. One did not give up center stage easily.
Everyone was waiting for Caroline.
She glanced at Joshua. He was smiling. He would not step in and take away her chance to answer. She must speak honestly. She hoped he would not be disappointed in her, or embarrassed, but to say other than what she believed would lay a foundation for misery later. She thought of her daughters, of Jemima, of the old lady sitting hunched up in bed at home.
“Of course not to grow is death.” She felt for the right words. “But we grow at different speeds, and sometimes in different ways. Don’t try to make the argument in general as justification for doing it your way in particular.”
“You have been preparing this!” Cecily said quickly. “You will give me a game for my money after all. So what are you going to censor . . . in general and in particular? You have already said you will allow husband murder in Clytemnestra, a child murder in Medea, and a man to marry his mother and beget children upon her in Oedipus. Great heavens, my dear, what can it be you disapprove of ?”
Caroline felt her face flush hot.
“These are all tragedies, and depicted as such. One feels a terrible pity for the protagonist, an insight into how such things could have come about, and perhaps an admiration for the courage or the honesty with which in the end they meet their fate—good or bad.”
“So it is all right, so long as the values are kept?” Cecily said with wide eyes.
Caroline saw the trap. “Whose values?” she asked. “Is that not what you are going to say?”
Cecily relaxed in a smile. “Exactly. If you are going to answer me that it is society, civilization, or even God, then I will ask you whose God? Which part of society? Mine? Yours? The beggar’s in the street? The old Queen, God bless her? Or Mr. Wilde . . . whose society is certainly different from most people’s!”
“That is your own judgment,” Caroline replied. “But the values we adopt will be the ones the next generation will live by. I am not sure if anyone can decide for you. But no one can relieve you of the responsibility for what you say, in whatever form. And the better you are at it, the more beautiful or powerful your voice, the greater the burden upon you to use it with wisdom and a great deal of care.”
“Oh my God!” Cecily said, a trifle too loudly.
“Bravo!” Orlando gave a little salute of praise.
Caroline turned to look at him. His face startled her, it was so full of emotion, his eyes wide, his lips slightly parted, a kind of rigidity in his body.
Joshua was staring at her.
Bellmaine stood motionless, but his face was filled with amazement and a