#i watched whitechapel and i was like i have seen so many of these actors in other things!

[wollemi-whump]

i love watching shows and recognizing actors playing the extras or guest stars its always so fun

[turnaroundroundround]

Morimyu in Classical reference

So, as for the fact that music in Morimyu Op. 3 resembles classical music in both progression and musical technicality, it's interesting how it's possible to keep coming up with different interpretations after re-watching the musical again and again.

I've made a thread on twitter about this before, but 1) word limitations and thread will never be enough to list all that I have to say lol 2) I'd prefer to have a fuller version noted down, especially one that I can edit and keep coming back over and over again when ever I come up with something new.

Either way, I am still (lol) not a pro in music theory and music history as well. All that is written here are based on my very very basic knowledge on music as well as something that I've picked up (and discussed) with my friends after watching Op. 3.

What's the point of this?

Why is it important? Lol I always need this to keep myself from writing off-topic but anyways. Why do the music sound good (except for the fact that because it does lol), and what do they represent? Surely there must be, and there always are, other things that are implied not only through the lyrics but also the music, and the flow in general.

Apart from the lyrics and the lines, it's also quite interesting to have a close look at the music - melody and harmony itself - to see how they portray the stories.

Most importantly, the continuality. How did Morimyu manage to insert so many songs and still managing to connect them as a whole? And how did they use music to go beyond what's on the pages? That's the most important thing about musicals - beyond the pages. We don't see stage or anime doing so very often, as they mainly focus on what's already there, bringing them to life as close as possible to how we imagine things might happen.

As for musical, they have the music. They have the arias and the songs. At some point, a character starts singing, and other characters followed suit. They have their very unique way of expressing the plot, and they have the orchestra, the arias where characters get their solo song, and the duets between characters with strong relationships, and the ensemble which emphasizes the plot, and so on.

A funny thing about duets in classical opera, they're often meant to show lovers' relationship because of the harmony but can also use opposition and all to show enemies' relationship. And in SherLiam's duet it's just both of them at the same time - thoughts connected while engaging in a chase, a hide and seek game of mystery. We'll go into that later.

Back to the topic. Morimyu follows the main plot strictly, but also uses their advantage with music to add all the side details that wasn't told in the manga to create a "complete" view of the plot. It is always available for musicals to do something unexpected (like how we never expected Lestrade's puppet show to be a whole 5 mins long piece lol). And where they did that they added arias and duets, they allowed moments where characters express and developed their emotions as well as going with the plan (yes Albert yessss). Of course there's both a good and bad side to this all the while.

💛 The good thing is they went all the way to show us sides of emotions that we don't see much in the manga or stage, the sides of the story that all of them have kept hidden while focusing on their grand plan. 💛 But then it does get too emotional at some point, especially those who came for the plot and the mind games behind all of it (like me - although I won't deny that I had a lot of fun picking out all the emotions behind the music here lol).

Musicals can always go beyond what we knew. As for Morimyu, their music is heavily influenced by opera and classical music, and it's shown quite clear. There is live music playing (instead of the entire orchestra we have a violin and piano duet), and they have distinctive arias and recitatives throughout.

So thanks to that, it's also possible to use a reference from classical music to interpret their songs.

A Sonata formation - The Narrative Series of SherLiam

Yes, songs arranged and analysed with reference to a Sonata formation, especially in the way they progress through the play.

Some notes before getting into the point

1 - Sonata = a piece of music consisting of several movements - very often 3, sometimes 4. First movement-Allegro: With the quick tempo, introducing the theme of the entire Sonata Second movement-Adagio/Largo: Slow tempo, can be emotional sometimes, as well as leading more towards the final movement Third movement-Rondo Vivace: The ending, quick-paced and vigorous, leading the Sonata to a close. A Sonata always has a general theme, a topic. The theme that I chose to write about is Mystery - the Hide and Seek game between the Detective and Lord of Crime

2 - Aria and Recitative = different types of songs used in an opera Recitative: Lines within a song that happens like a real conversation, as the characters sing they are also talking to each other Aria: A solo section where everything else is a freeze frame, while one actor remains and sing their own song about their thoughts, feelings, etc. In this post we're mainly discussing the arias of Sherlock and Liam, and the duet between them. But there's also some mention of recitatives here and there.

3 - Videos used To make it easier to understand which songs I'm talking about, I also arranged them in piano. And also to have a listen at how they might connect. Just in case the videos beneath don't work (they didn't work on my phone), the three songs discussed are Nazo, Liam's solo, Kokoro no Rondo, all piano arrangements.

All of the songs noted in this section are arias and duets from Op. 3 - the Ghost of the Whitechapel. The additional "series" that Morimyu has added spreading throughout the play, Sherlock and Liam's narratives, which portrays both their emotions and the chase between the detective and the Lord of Crime.

First Movement - Allegro: Nazo(謎) song

Starting from Lestrade's exit after his puppetshow and proceed to the scene, Sherlock's aria introduces the theme of the imaginary hide and seek game that the Lord of Crime has started. The song repeats the word (mystery) over and over again with a continuous rhythm.

Ends with Sherlock just mumbling the word Nazo (mystery) and exiting the stage - no conclusions, just like a mystery that leads into further mysteries with no answer.

♛♛♛ In regards to a Sonata formation, this is the beginning of the entire piece. Quick in tempo, written in 3/4 time and introduces the theme of the entire piece - Mystery.

Uso ka Shinjitsu ka - Lie or Truth song

Starting after Sherlock learns the truth behind Jack the Ripper, wondering if Lord of Crime is a good person after all.

Now I had a really hard time thinking whether this piece should be included or not. For one, it's not an aria. It can be viewed as a Da capo Aria, a development section of the Nazo song, repeating the theme that is introduced, coming and going rather quickly. So, for continuality.

It also does not fit into the series as a whole, being 1) a recitative. The lyrics focus entirely on Sherlock's deduction and whether he should expose the truth or not, etc. so on. 2) The lines in here, unlike the other arias, are taken directly from the manga, so it's not entirely an 'added' element to this chase. 3) Also because if we compare this to a Sonata form, this doesn't really fit anywhere

However, among Sherlock's arias, this song can also be seen as an interesting development as I have mentioned above, so I've decided to have it here, still.

There's another thing about almost all of Sherlock's arias throughout the 2 stages - they never have a conclusive end. The detective's mind is always running, mysteries after mysteries.

Most of the other characters' songs ends with some kind of closing lines, and piano continues to conclude the piece with a strong end, and then goes on to start another piece. All of their problems in the songs are concluded. They made up their minds in some ways.

But Sherlock, his songs always end with him repeating the melody, a capella, and exiting the stage. Piano waits for him to exit, then starts a new song. Or in Op. 2's Mindgame case going straight into the next conversation. We never get to know how Sherlock's songs end, because they didn't really end at those points. There's a hanging sense of waiting for a resolution, a conclusion. Sherlock never seems to have his problems solved within the songs, they just go on and on.

An idea initiates, then something happens and he is once again in the dark. And he spins around within his own mind.

Screenshot from Op. 2. Even if we look back to his aria Mindgames from Op. 2, this song doesn't really have a conclusive ending as well. He just starts singing, the music stops and he starts shooting and going on, resuming the play. It kind of has been a thing for Sherlock's arias?

Second Movement - Adagio/Largo: Liam's solo

♛♛♛ The "second movement" - the 'slower' piece - of the series, Liam's aria lol but actually the piano part of this song isn't slow at all but ok. The other side of this hide and seek game. The "development" section of the sonata series, where we see things in a much more emotional way.

This aria is much richer in harmony and melody. Not only Liam's melody, but also the piano's part which plays a beautiful melody in harmony.

I recall an interview where the stage director mentions how the "orchestra" - piano and violin are representations for Liam and Sherlock. It kind of applies here, where his music is created mostly by piano.

There is modulation, emotions rising and elevating quickly and strongly. But the harmony is beautiful, overflowing and rich with emotions. The song repeats certain lines, emphasizing aspects within Liam's thoughts.

Unlike Sherlock's train of thoughts that circles with no destination, Liam's solo has a definite ending in harmony -> Even with all his emotions in mind, Liam still has a goal already set before him. He has a brief moment of slowing down, pausing and sung about his feeling, before resuming the story.

Leading us to the final stage - Kokoro no Rondo.

Third Movement - Rondo Vivace: Kokoro no Rondo

Rondo formation: Rondo is a type of dance that revolves around a pattern, often ABA, ABACA, or ABACABA - where A is the ritournello ("meguri - kimi ni omou - meguru kokoro no rondo" section) that is repeated over and over with B, C parts in between. Rondo can also be combined with sonata form - this case applies to this song which begins with a key other than the tonic (Fm) before resolving to the tonic key (Fm) to put an end to the entire sonata series. For reference purposes, the last movement of Beethoven's Pathetique or the very typical Fur Elise is also written in a similar format. I also referred to Pathetique quite a lot when brainstorming this post.

♛♛♛ The "final movement" of this Sonata, the final scene of their "Hide and Seek" game. The song's tempo is vibrant and rapid, combining with the dancing sense, all the while strictly following the structure of a Rondo as mentioned above.

This is the stage where Liam and Sherlock's line interacts and reply to each other, as if in a real conversation - just like how the connection between them are now much stronger than what they had before.

In the ritournello, we have Liam and Sherlock's lines intertwining and chasing after one another, emphasizing the "Hide and Seek" element between the two of them.

The song comes to a definite ending, concluding with a strong tonic (Fm) chord. At this stage, there is no more question to be left open, for Sherlock at this point has already made up his mind to take the next step into solving the mysteries regarding the Lord of Crime.

Their imaginary game of Hide and Seek is coming to an end, as Sherlock came to a decision to take the next step - going to Durham.

That's the end of my first draft.

So far that is some of my thoughts noted down right after watching Op. 3 stream a while ago, with some edition made just now.

On the side note, at some point during my discussion with a friend, we also came up with the idea that a Suite may be a better reference. A Suite consists of 4 parts and a prelude, each of them having their specific characteristic. But we didn't go all the way analysing that idea, as 1) we couldn't find a 5th piece that can be added into the series. 2) Even if we did, the Truth or Lie song still would not really fit into the "aria" vibe of this series, as mentioned above.

But then quite interestingly, after a while, I've found another interesting fact that should have been quite obvious but I've missed for (lol) like ages.

The game of Hide and Seek between the detective and the Lord of Crime has begun ever since after Hope's case - that being said, ever since the end of Op. 1

And what is it that we have in Op. 2? "The Mind games of the Lord of Crime". The one where Sherlock went maniac rapping about all the thoughts he has and end up shooting randomly into the wall.

At first it begins like another recitative, but in the later half, the harmony starts to become more harmonious, written in 3/4 time flowing like a dance.

In that section, the melody of the piano and violin part resembles the one we have in Kokoro no Rondo, the Ritournello section, only that the melody of the violin in Op. 2 and the melody that SherLiam sung in Op. 3 are kind of reversed.

Coincidence much?

So now we have a collection of songs from both Opus, it becomes tricky. How do we connect them? And what's the story?

At this point, all these recitatives, aria and duets all in the theme of the Hide and Seek game. And they all connect to each other through harmony, progressions in harmony.

We know that the Mind games of the Lord of Crime has begun from ever since the end of Op. 1. We know that Sherlock keeps wondering about that in Op. 2, and then he wonders even further after he has been tested by the Lord of Crime. "また俺だけのメッセージなのか?" - Is this a message just for me?, as he wondered in the Truth or Lie song. We knew all of that. But Morimyu didn't let that stop them from emphasizing on this subplot even further.

They didn't let the gap between Op. 2 and Op. 3 stop them from making a smooth flow in plot either.

Correction, they didn't simply create a flow. They established a connection, all the while showing a strong progression of Sherlock's thoughts that goes on from Op. 2 straight onto Op. 3.

Very often, what makes a good plot is how their plots and sub-plots intertwine with each other. Morimyu has a main plot that follows Moriarty gang in the plan of changing society. And they have a smaller plot told from Sherlock's side of things. And they have this sub-plot told by harmony of how Sherlock is connected to Liam, or the Lord of Crime, by an invisible thread. A connection that is only expressed that clearly in Morimyu.

We have so many things going on, so many songs throughout the play. But each of those elements are all connected to something else, creating a sub-plot that enriches the main plot.

There is no loose connections. For everything that connects to the main plot, they're also linked to other elements. Each scene and every song has their own meaning not only in regards to other songs, but also to the plot as a whole.

Also, did I mention how Morimyu feels like a grand piece of music?

Opus -> What classical songs had that basically shows the order in which they are written. Morimyu - a title piece itself - has 3 Opus, 3 different parts with the same theme.

Classical music very often had all the different elements in it -> Morimyu had an overture, the song they sing just before the main theme song, just before introducing the stage. Then arias, ensembles and choruses. All of them are connected by similar harmony.

Classical music always had a big general theme, with each section having a smaller sequence connecting to each other. Subplots within a big plots. A Sonata piece has 3 movements, each having their own "sections" of development - expositions, development, recapitulation. -> Morimyu does the same to their plot and subplots, as discussed above.

Also, Opera reference

While Opus 2 used an opera reference to tell the story, I feel like Opus 3 has become an Opera itself. During Op. 2 the arias were mostly very loyal to the manga, taking their lines from the original work, like the Mind Games song. Their story progresses steadily but logically.

However starting from Op. 3, the aria became more independent. They developed and expressed even further what wasn't said in the manga. For instance, the 3 songs mentioned in the "Sonata" above. And there's also Albert's solo, and Patterson's solo and Milverton, which I haven't got the chance to discuss all.

But either way, they spring out of the original story, adding more emotions and "colours" to the characters. The aria became more original, all the while also much more expressive. We get to see new sides of the characters that we haven't seen anywhere before.

Anyways, it's probably time to go back to the main question: How Morimyu used music to go beyond what's on the pages.

-> Musicals aren't simply about music added to acting. The characters on stage don't just simply starts singing for no reason. All the songs are meant to express something, and while they do they also establish various connections to the plot's progression.

We don't get to see much of the characters' emotions in the manga. And we don't see much of the side story, the finer details behind each arc. Every time, Morimyu adds something original to enrich their plot. They express and develop what's already known to all the viewers, especially regarding the emotional and motivational side of the characters.

-> The manga shows us the entire plot, with details related, back stories that lead to the present, and all. But it doesn't give a lot of hint into how characters might feel. Surely, reading between the lines, it's up to the readers to interpret them.

But Morimyu gives us all of that, and they leave it to us to read between the music.

And even if we didn't, that's fine. Then the purpose of all of them linking together would be to create a performance where everything is connected harmoniously, allowing us to be emerged in the world of Yuumori.

-> The purpose of having a stage, primarily, is to allow the audience to engage in, experience and feel the emotions along with the characters they see on stage. The point of having a live stage, a plot, and the music, are all to let us emphasize with the characters on stage.

In Morimyu, we aren't just watching a plot between our favourite characters happening as we know it from the manga. We see a combination of mysteries unveiling slowly, the stories on the side of each characters as they slowly progress forward, as well as emphasising with their emotions in the story.

That's what I really like about Morimyu.

So, WHAT'S THE POINT OF THIS?

So I had to scroll back to the top (lol) to quote this and make sure I haven't gone too far from the main theme.

Regarding musical Yuumori, there's always so many things I'd like to talk about. And if I start going on about it then it only gets harder to focus on one single topic.

Since the topic here is Morimyu and their music, especially in classical reference, I've tried to keep everything I've discussed relevant. But whenever I start on something, there would always be something that comes to mind. Like how other songs might also have certain connections, or how they used stage directions and lightings, etc. I really want to look more into stage directions in Morimyu as well, but that would have to wait...

Anyways, I tried to keep this as simple as possible. When I sent the first version of this to my friends, I keep having the feeling that I got too technical with all the theories about harmony and structure lol

And once again, this is only some of my own interpretation of the series that I've picked up.

If something else came to mind... well. Either way, for the purpose of engaging in their wonderful music or for the purpose of watching a beautiful stage just for enjoyment, Morimyu definitely is worth watching. And to watch over and over again. I've said this for Op. 2 but I'll say this ten times as much for Op. 3. Truly magnificent.

And, that's pretty much it that I have for today, I guess.

Thanks a lot to all my friends who gave me lots of inspiration and motivation to complete this ヽ(・∀・)ﾉ Lots of love to @rikaaki as well ヽ(・∀・)ﾉ

[teawaffles]

There’s No Business Like Show Business: Chapter 2

The next day.

After finishing his work at the mansion, Bond headed to Whitechapel’s Leman Street, where Maya and her company normally held their rehearsals. [1]

Walking down the noisy street was not just Bond, but also three other employees of the Moriarty household. One of them was Fred Porlock.

“It would’ve been fine if only you came along, Fred…… But thanks for joining us anyway, you two.”

Bond directed that to Jack Renfield and Sebastian Moran, who were walking a little behind him.

As Fred was a master of disguise, Bond had asked him to contribute his opinion on the performance too when Jack and Moran decided to tag along. Now the four of them were on their way to the rehearsal — with Louis’ permission of course.

Jack roared with laughter.

“No, you don’t have to thank me. I’ve watched my fair share of theatre, so I thought I could help them out, even if it’s from an amateur’s perspective,” said the old butler, nodding as he reminisced about those good old days.

“You’re probably just after the young girls from the theatre company, aren’t you old man?” Moran said, half in disgust. “Bond said this Maya chairwoman is a dashing lady in her own right, so I came along to feast my eyes on—— Ow, that hurt!”

Jack had clapped Moran on the head, as a warning to not shoot his mouth off.

“The only one here chasing women is you. Really, you didn’t even finish your chores properly before coming here.”

“I did my part just fine. For once, I’m not skipping out on work.”

“Rubbish — I did a check before we left and found some cigarette butts in the hallway. Don’t you dare annoy Louis any further.”

“……W-Well, the more the merrier, right?”

“…………”

Listening to their usual argument at the back of the group, Bond smiled wryly, while Fred was silent.

Finally, they had reached their destination. Waiting in front of the theatre was Maya, and her little sister Mae.

“Mister Bond!”

“Hey, haven’t seen you since yesterday.”

Mae waved her arms up and down in excitement, while Bond greeted them with a smile.

“S—sorry. Normally, she would play with the other children near our place, but today she insisted on coming with me…… By the way, um, who might these, d—dignified gentlemen be?”

“Ah, they work at the same household as me. The short one here is Fred. The somewhat scary-looking one is Moran. And this dandy old gentleman is Mr Jack. If you’re alright with it, I thought you could use their input as well.”

As Bond introduced them, the three men also greeted their host. But Maya seemed a little perplexed.

“……Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to come here in a big group,” Bond admitted, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“No, no.” Maya hurriedly waved her hands. “I—I’m really grateful to be able to, hear valuable feedback from, so many people. For now, let’s not stand here to talk, please come in……”

Maya guided them into the theatre, stooped in a self-abasing posture. Her faltering voice was much as the same as from their previous encounter, but today, nerves seemed to have crept in as well.

“She has a sort of shadow about her, but that has its own charm. Like the transient beauty of a young widow, don’t you think?”

“She’s pretty, for sure, but not really my type. More like the kind of woman who complicates things when you break up with her.”

“Um, sorry you two, but if you could just keep your voices down,” chided Bond, as Jack and Moran whispered about the chairwoman behind her back.

Right after the entrance was a cramped space. The box seats above them looked hastily constructed; in truth, the interior decorations made it seem more appropriate to call this place a playhouse, rather than a proper theatre.

But their guide had only praise. “The manager here is, a really nice person; whenever we say we want to practise, he’s always happy to lend it to us. There are performances held at night, so we can only use it during the day.”

“He trusts you, doesn’t he.”

Hearing her speak with such sincere gratitude, Bond was quietly impressed by her character. Perhaps her dark aura easily invited misunderstanding, but she was definitely genuine at heart.

“Speaking of which, Miss Maya, you said that you’re the director for this performance, but surely someone else is responsible for the sets and the arrangements at the other theatre during this time?”

“Another member is in charge of the sets, but the negotiations and the like, w—were handled by me. Even so, the manager of the larger theatre — a nobleman — had actually approached us to be the opening act for another company, and I just accepted his invitation.”

“Still, isn’t it great to be invited to perform on a bigger stage, even if it’s just as an opening act?”

“Yes; for people like us — a theatre company from the slums, we don’t have many chances to show the world what we can do, so everyone’s doing their very best.”

Saying that, Maya secretly clenched her fists. Surely the one working the hardest was none other than Maya herself.

There was no audience in the stalls, and on the stage were a number of men and women — likely the company members themselves — doing light warm-ups and vocal exercises. A few of the children he’d met yesterday were also frolicking about on stage.

One exceptionally tall man on the stage had noticed Bond and the others enter the hall, and spoke up.

“Oh, is that the rumoured theatre master?”

Moran whistled at this unusually grand title.

“Theatre master, eh. A fitting name considering your experience, Bond.”

“Fufu, I’m honoured.”

Bond accepted it with his innate courage and composure. Then, he went onto the stage with Maya, while the other three sat in the stalls at the far end, so as to not stand out and interfere with the rehearsal.

The company members each stopped what they were doing and lined up in wait.

“Everyone, this is Mr Bond, who will be watching our performance today,” introduced Maya.

Right then and there, her voice had become clearer and stronger. A little taken aback by the sudden change in her attitude, Bond took a quick look around the room.

“Hello to you all. I’m looking forward to what you have for me today,” he said solemnly, as he bowed.

“We’ll do our best!” The company members bowed their heads in unison.

From their greeting, Bond could feel the the quality of their bearing, and the strength of their cohesion. Not only that, the tension he himself once felt when he stood on stage came rushing back in waves.

He switched his frame of mind from that of a special agent, to that of an actor, and looked over Maya and her company with an earnest gaze.

“Well then, without further ado, please show me what you’ve got.”

“Yes!”

Even though his instructions had been given with no introductory remarks, they asked no unnecessary questions, and jumped straight into preparation. Even though they had only put up plays in cheap theatres, Maya’s company already displayed the high level of professionalism they had developed.

“Miss Maya, what’s the programme for today?” Bond asked, as he moved to the row of seats right in front of the stage.

Maya was also directing Mae and the other children to sit down. “We’re starting with ‘The Red Shoes’, followed by ‘The Little Mermaid’, and lastly, ‘The Little Match Girl’.”

“Hmm, fairytales, I see.”

The unexpected subject matter piqued his interest.

In a time when Shakespeare was all the rage, to perform children’s literature in a proper theatre, and a serious scripted play at that — now this was a bold move.

But as someone who liked to do things unconventionally, that was precisely why their play intrigued Bond. Yesterday’s playful rendition of “The Little Match Girl” was probably inspired by it as well.

Then, the tall man who noticed Bond earlier spoke up.

“Ain’t it interesting? Maya always makes sure to write plays that even us poor dumb folk understand. Today’s script is also entirely her work,” he said cheerfully.

“Weren’t you in charge of creating the play too? You should be able to write at least one decent line of dialogue.”

At the man’s self-satisfied tone, a woman beside him sighed. But he ignored her pointed comment and carried on.

“There were a bunch of people who’d always thought ‘Hamlet’ and ‘Macbeth’ and the like were plain boring; but after Maya broke them down into something easier to follow, they’ve gotten hooked onto Shakespeare.”

“Being able to interpret works in a way that everyone can understand…… A wonderful talent indeed.”

But if you were to put on a proper production of Shakespeare in an unregulated theatre like this, you would be caught by the censors. To avoid that, incorporating music and the like into their productions was a brilliant adaptation on their part.

Bond had said that last part out loud, and the man thanked him for his words of praise. The members of the company had shown their admiration for Maya, but the woman herself took in a deep breath, as if to hide her embarrassment.

In other words, in order to put on a play that everyone could follow, the answer she'd arrived at was “fairytales”. Although it may be the best choice given the short length of the opening act……

“I’m sitting next to Mister Bond!”

“Hey, no fair!”

Bond had been absorbed in thought about the contents of the play. Nearby, the children were scrambling for the best spots. Having won the seat to the left of Bond, Mae asked him a question.

“Mister Bond, do you like ‘fairy tales’?”

That pulled him out of his thought process for a moment, and Mae smiled.

“Yeah. I read them when I was a child.”

“I like them too, because Maya and the rest always read them in a fun way—”

“Me too!” The other children raised their hands and shouted. Reading stories aloud while acting out the roles was indeed a theatrical way of reading to children.

However, Mae immediately pouted in frustration.

“But I really hate that story.”

“……Why is that?”

“The little girl always looks so sad. I tried asking Maya to give it a happy ending, but she just said that we have to ‘respect the intent of the story’ and didn’t listen.”

Her words helped Bond discern the true nature of the incongruity he'd felt.

As Mae had said, all three stories had their protagonists fall into unfortunate circumstances and perish. It was true that many fairytales were cruel, but there were others with happy endings too. Was there some hidden intent behind these choices?

As Bond pondered the new question that surfaced in his mind, Mae leaned in towards him.

“Mister Bond, do you also think it’s important, what Maya said? No matter how sad a story is, can’t we make it happy on our own?”

She asked that question with clear eyes. Bond thought for a few seconds, before responding.

“It’s true that it’s important to understand the intention of the original story. If you change its contents haphazardly, the fans of the story would be upset. I think your sister is the type who would take that very seriously.”

Mae glanced down in disappointment at his level-headed answer, but Bond continued.

“However, if we were all afraid of criticism, then nothing new would ever be made. If you have something you really want to tell others, then I think it’s possible to add a new interpretation to a story. After all, one form of respect is to show the world how you would’ve done it.”

“……Oh I see!”

Mae brightened up, and Bond smiled. Her question was one that had always, and would continue to vex all interpreters of stories. But at the very least, he didn’t want to make a decision on which way was right.

Just as their conversation had come to an end, it seemed the preparations for the performance were now complete.

“Without further ado, let us begin.”

Standing on a platform, Maya gave a bow, and with that the curtain rose.

Footnotes:

[1] Leman Street is a little to the north-east of the Tower of London and St. Katharine Docks, and within walking distance of both.

T/N: Is this chapter some meta-level commentary on the series itself?! omg

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: Graham Norton (Keanu x F!Reader)

Summary:  based off Keanu’s first appearance in Graham Norton and the ‘I never’ bit.

Pairing: Keanu x F!Reader

Author’s Notes: So this has been sitting on my laptop for a while. I’m not all that happy with it and Keanu went so ooc in this, but that the hell! I’m gonna let you guys be the judge of it! Thank you @caryled​ for being my beta on this.

Wordcount: 2485

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, but otherwise pretty safe.

You’ve spent months saving money for this trip because it was your dream. You didn’t even remember when you started wishing you’d spend one of your birthdays in London, but it was finally happening now, on your twentieth-first. You thought it was fitting - such a momentous occasion marked by the trip of your life.

You and your best friend Sadie arrived a couple of days before New Year’s Eve of 2011 and would spend ten days in London, including your birthday. You planned to do so much on that trip that when you shared your ideas with Sadie, she nearly asked for a refund on her ticket.

The two of you began with all the regular tourist stuff, but there were also a few things that would be so special to you, like visiting some of the Doctor Who locations and doing the Jack the Ripper Walking Tour in Whitechapel, because you were a true-crime enthusiastic.

Along with all the sightseeing and other attractions, you and Sadie went barhopping every night, or better saying, pub hopping. Not only you because Sadie wanted to enjoy being able to legally drink since she wasn’t turning twenty-one until September, but you also wanted the best London experience you could get.

And to make sure that happened, the two of you made a pack in the airport of your hometown to assure neither of you would miss a unique opportunity by being embarrassed or afraid.

Whenever one of you said I dare you, the other had to do it or face the consequences, which would probably be an even more embarrassing or terrifying prank so the one being challenged might as well just suck it up and do the first dare already. So far, neither of you had backed down from a dare and you had all the pictures to prove it. As well as the hangovers.

On the morning of your birthday and Sadie woke you up at the crack of dawn, jumping on your bed and scaring the shit out of you. She had a higher alcohol tolerance than you, so even though both of you drank around the same amount, you had a pounding headache, while she looked fresh and wide awake.

“Rise and shine my dear! It’s your birthday! You’re officially legal! How does it feel?” She asked, bouncing on your bed.

“I hate you!” you groaned, feeling your stomach queasy. Your mouth tasted like something had crawled inside and died. “It’s six in the morning!”

“I know! I could barely sleep! I wanted to give you your present!” She announced, voice high-pitched with excitement as she shoved an envelope in your hands. “Open it!”

Grumbling in annoyance, you sat up and rubbed your eyes, trying to force yourself into consciousness. Fortunately, Sadie took pity on you and brought over some water and a bottle of aspirin.

You popped two pills before finally opening the envelope under Sadie's giddy gaze. You found two tickets to something called The Graham Norton Show that would happen that night.

“Thanks, Sadie,” you said, trying to force a happy smile. You could tell that she was obviously excited about this.

“Turn it around,” she asked, still smiling and unfazed by your less than enthusiastic response.

You obeyed and when your brain registered the name of one of the guests, your eyes went wide with shock.

“OH MY GOD!” You screamed looking at her. “Are you serious?”

“Yes!” She grinned. “Happy birthday, bitch!”

You looked back at the tickets, still in disbelief. Your favorite actor, Keanu Reeves would be a guest at the Graham Norton show tonight. You were going to share a room with Keanu, breathe the same air, maybe you’d get to ask a question? Was Graham Norton the kind of show with audience interaction?

To be honest, you didn’t really care. You were just happy to see him in person. That would be a dream come true. A photo and an autograph would be just a cherry on top, but not an actual need.

“You’re the best friend ever!” You told Sadie, pulling her into a bearhug, hungover completely forgotten.

You spent the rest of the day beaming with excitement, unable to focus on anything other than counting down the hours and minutes until you finally got to see Keanu. And maybe that was a little geeky of you, but you put on your The Matrix T-shirt for the night. Not only it was your favorite tee, but also such a special occasion deserved it.

You and Sadie arrived early at the studio, but there was still a line to get in. The two of you got good seats, middle section. Of course, you wanted to be closer, but you could only imagine how much those tickets would cost.

You could barely contain your excitement when he finally came on stage, dressed in an all-black suit, his long hair touching the collar of his shirt; beard a little unkempt, but it still suited him perfectly. As you watched him, your heart hammered against your ribs and your chest felt tight, like you were struggling to breathe. You just couldn’t sit still.

So, you took a moment to force yourself to relax and control your breathing. It wouldn’t do you any good having an anxiety attack right now. You’d miss the entire show and your chance of fangirling over Keanu.

It was a good interview and you couldn’t believe you’ve never heard of this talk show before. The host was pretty funny and had great chemistry with all the guests. He gave Keanu quite a lot of attention and the comedian, Marcus, was making a lot of comments on what was said.

You found it really sweet how Keanu tried to get Emilia involved in the conversation since she was quiet for a while, something that should’ve been the host’s job. You enjoyed the easy banter the four of them seemed to share and all the new tidbits of information about Keanu you were learning that day.

When it came time for the ‘I never’ section, something that Graham had explained before the show started and invited the audience to think on really common stuff that they had never done, but everyone else might have.

As Norton walked between the rolls of seats, talking to the audience, Sadie tugged your arm, catching your attention.

“I dare you to say I never kissed Keanu Reeves,” she whispered to you with a wicked grin and you stared at her wide-eyed.

“You’re crazy! I’m not doin’ it!” You hissed, feeling your cheeks hot at the mere thought of it.

“Do you really wanna face the consequences?” she asked with an arched eyebrow and from the way she was smirking, you could tell she was planning a terrible prank if you kept saying no.

So, against your better judgment, you put your hand up, praying that Norton wouldn’t pick you. There were many other people whose hands were raised as well.

He walked right past you to talk to the girl who had never seen The Matrix and you gasped in shock. You could sort of forgive someone not having read or seen Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings, but The Matrix?

Then Norton teased the guy that never ironed a shirt and for a moment you almost sighed in relief thinking you’d be free from the embarrassment.

“How about you?” he asked, gesturing at you and you froze, nearly dropping the mic when he gave it to you. “Where are you from, dear?”

“I came here for my birthday,” you replied, voice trembling.

“Oh! Happy birthday,” Norton said with a smile. “So, what’s your I never?”

You glanced at Sadie, pleading with your eyes, but her smirk only grew, and she shook her head. So, taking a deep breath and avoiding looking over the stage, you said:

“I-uh never kissed Keanu Reeves.”

People around you were chuckling and clapping and you just wanted to hide and pretend you didn’t just say that aloud.

Against your better judgment, you glanced at the stage and your gaze briefly locked with Keanu’s warm brown eyes. You could tell he was a little flustered in embarrassment, but there was a soft, amused smile playing on his lips.

“Good try,” Norton declared, laughing. “But you never will.”

Keanu finally looked away from you when Norton returned to the stage and the show resumed with the interviews. You found it hard to keep your gaze on the guests, still too mortified and confused. You even ignored Sadie, because she was mean and you hated her a little, even if she was your best friend.

When the show was finally over, you couldn’t wait to get out, put as much distance between yourself and what happened tonight, but the isles between the seats were narrow so you had to wait for everyone else in front of you to move before you could step out.

“Excuse me, miss?” a male voice called, and you turned to see a man in all black and with a headset on standing behind you. He looked like he worked for production. “Can you come with me, please?”

You shared a quick look with Sadie, but she just shrugged, promising to wait for you outside, before you followed the production assistant.

He took you through a maze of hallways behind the main stage until he paused at a door and knocked once before opening it for you. When you stepped inside, you froze in shock at seeing Keanu Reeves up close.

“Hi there,” he smiled and offered you a hand.

You stared at it for a moment, your brain too overwhelmed to actually process what was going on. He actually giggled, ducking his head and that was what finally shook you from your stunned silence.

“Hi!” you managed to stutter your name and take his hand and you were shaking. “I’m so sorry about what I said. It was a stupid dare from a friend.”

“It’s fine, I thought it was funny,” Keanu actually patted your hand in a comforting manner, and you managed a small, relieved smile. “Cool shirt.”

You looked down at yourself and chuckled, feeling your cheeks hot.

“Thanks. It’s one of my favorite movies,” you started. “I love your movies.”

You forced yourself to stop there even if you wanted to say more. Even if you wanted to tell him how much you appreciated his work and how his movies meant to you, but you didn’t want to sound too eager and weird.

“Thank you,” he replied with a smile, looking a half pleased, half self-conscious. “Listen, I just want to make sure you were alright. You looked really embarrassed afterward and like I said, I really didn’t mind.”

That was really sweet of him to worry, especially when you embarrassed both of you in front of a huge audience and on live TV. And just remembering it made you cringe.

“Hey, come on. It’s your birthday,” Keanu said in a comforting tone, correctly deducing why you were making that face. “You should enjoy it. Happy birthday, by the way.”

“Thanks,” you managed a smile because he looked a little awkward himself as he tried to console you and that was cute. “Can I have a picture and an autograph?”

“Of course.”

You grabbed your phone from your pocket and positioned yourself next to him, snapping a couple of pictures. You checked them quickly, making sure they were good, before pocketing your phone again.

“Do you have a piece of paper?” Keanu asked, picking up a sharpie pen.

For a moment you hesitated. You did have your Graham Norton ticket with you, but there wasn’t where you wanted the autograph.

“Can you do it on my shirt?”

“Sure.”

Beaming, you shrugged off your jacket and turned his arm at him, and Keanu signed your sleeve. You glanced over and grinned when you realized that he also wrote Welcome to the desert of the real, a line from the movie.

“Thank you so much!”

He just chuckled, pocketing the sharpie. He opened the door for you, stepping out of the dressing room along with you and leading the way to a maze of hallways.

 “So, what do you do?”

“I’m a majoring in English,” you replied, hands in your pocket as you walked side by side. “I’ve got one term left so I should probably start figuring out what I’m gonna do with the rest of my life.”

You had no idea why you just said that to Keanu, a complete stranger. You weren’t one to blurt out your private dilemmas. Not even to your own friends.

“Well, what do you want to do?” he asked, sounding actually curious.

“Am I being realistic or a dreamer?”

“Realistic,” Keanu replied, glancing at you.

“I want to teach,” you said with a fair amount of confidence. You already had a few internships and you knew that was something you liked doing it.

“And what’s your dream?”

The two of you had stopped in front of an emergency back exit. Keanu probably didn’t want to be mobbed by fans by going through the main entrance of the studio. 

Keanu watched you as you thought about his question. It wasn’t as if you didn’t know the answer. It was just that you had never said aloud before. Not even to yourself, but you wanted to say it to him. He had been your inspiration after all. If it hadn’t been for his movies, you would have never realized how much you loved to create your own stories; how much you loved to write.

“I want to be a writer,” you confessed, and his smile shifted into something soft and understanding and it took your breath away.

“Can I offer some advice?” he said, and you nodded. “Life’s too short to get stuck doing something you don’t really love. Follow your dreams.”

You felt your heart swell with emotion at the simple encouragement because it was so full of meaning. You couldn’t even begin to tell him how much it meant to you.

You met his gaze again in the half-light of the hallway and there was something in them that you couldn’t quite name, but it held you still, rooted to your spot, heart thundering in your chest, a lump of emotion closing of your throat.

Keanu leaned forward, his lips brushing softly against yours, beard tickling your skin. It was a barely-there touch, but it felt branded on you.

“Now you can have some fun in your next I never game,” he said with a small smirk and you grinned. “It was very nice to meet you.”

He stepped back and held the door open for you.

“You too, Keanu.”

You stepped outside a huge grin on your lips. This had certainly been the best birthday ever.

xxx

Taglist (give me a shout if you want to added.)

@poisonedjoinery @ringa-starr @curly-minnie @i-cant-remember-my-old-login

@caryled @beyond-antares @kathorax @krazycags01 @meetmeinthematinee

@red-pill-blue-pill @baphometwolf666

[thewidowstanton]

Peter Groom, actor, choreographer and drag artist – Dietrich: Live in London

Peter Groom, who comes from Newcastle upon Tyne, graduated from the Guildford School of Acting in 2013, and has since worked both in the UK and internationally. His dance credits include One Side to the Other for Akram Khan Company, and his theatre work includes Romeo and Juliet and Adventures of Sherlock Holmes at the Aquila Theatre in New York. He was artist in residence at Battersea Arts Centre in London in 2014.

In January 2018 Peter launched his multi award-winning solo show, Dietrich: Natural Duty – co-written with and directed by Oliver Gully – which documents screen icon Marlene Dietrich’s life during the Second World War. It premiered at the Vaults in London before touring internationally, taking the Edinburgh Festival Fringe and Adelaide Fringe by storm. He has followed this with a cabaret, Dietrich: Live in London – accompanied by his MD Jimmy Jewell at the piano – which sold out at London’s Crazy Coqs, Live at Zédel in July and will return to the venue on 1 October 2019. Peter chats to Liz Arratoon.

The Widow Stanton: Did you always want to be onstage? Peter Groom: Yes, yes I did. I joined a youth theatre group in Newcastle when I was nine or ten and did plays and musicals with them until I was 17.

Was there anyone in your family in showbiz who inspired you? Er, no. [Laughs] My mum worked for the NHS and my dad used to work for Coca-Cola, but my grandma was very funny and very musical. She sang a lot but just with us as kids, you know, nothing… nobody performed professionally or anything.

So you don’t know where this urge came from? No, it just always seemed there, really. I remember the first time, it was in nursery, pre-school, I played Santa and I had to come down a chimney and pop out at the bottom. When Santa Got Stuck Up the Chimney, that was the song. I remember really clearly the room, and appearing from the chimney and everybody looking at me. And I remember where the lights were… that’s a really clear thing. I remember them all laughing.

You’ve appeared as a dancer; did your course at Guildford cover dance? We took ballet, jazz and contemporary, but before I went there I was really more interested in dance. I used to dance when I was a kid and then I went to Germany and was part of a show there called Sommertanz. That was with dancers from Pina Bausch Company. I’d never seen her work, I didn’t know who she was, and working with that company blew my mind because the dance I’d done up to then was all technique-based; a lot of ballet, and then her dancers were all about your expression and what you feel and what interests you and what you’re passionate about.

Suddenly that sparked more of an expression side and I thought, ‘Well, maybe dance isn’t right for me, maybe acting is much better’. So that’s why I trained at a drama school. But it’s funny, you know, the minute I left drama school I thought, ‘Oh, I want to dance again’. So I did and I went off and did a show with Akram Khan for a little bit, and then with some other companies, and I still make work that’s very dance based as a choreographer that I don’t perform in. It’s usually quite devised and working with a lot of text; usually half dancers and half actors.

You seem to have got international work very soon after graduating… I’ve been really lucky that I haven’t really been out of work a lot since I graduated, which is a really lovely position to be in. I stayed around In London for a few months after I graduated and then… I really love Germany. I lived there when I was 17 and when I graduated I thought, ‘I really wanna go there again’. I feel very at home there. So I went back to the school where I’d trained with dancers from the Pina Bausch Company – Folkwang Universität der Künste in Essen-Werden. I had a friend there and she said: “Oh well, just come and take class here in the mornings.” So I did, and an audition came up in Berlin. I went and I got the job in the show MEAT at Schaubühne, so I stayed there for about a year. It was wonderful. I loved it.  

Again you were artist in residence at BAC quite soon after that… Yes, I came back from Berlin and it came up… you could live there.

Oh yes, I’ve been on a backstage tour and seen the rooms. It’s marvellous! It’s amazing! They give you this space, and they give you a weekly budget to eat, and then you just make work all the time. Its wonderful; it’s like taking all the pressure off. You have time. I think I was there six months and you have time to let things develop and let you thoughts sit.

I would call your Marlene shows ‘female impersonation’ rather than drag, but how did you get into drag? It had been floating around for a while, I think. A few people had said: “Oh, you should really do it, because we think you’d be adept at it.” And then, I’m trying to remember, the first time was at BAC. A friend of mine had had a really bad year and he had a big Hallowe’en party and said: “Everybody has to come really full-out. Everybody has to get their great costumes on.” And I like Marlene Dietrich anyway, I have for years, and he said: “Oh, you come as Marlene because you’ll like that.” So I did! There were some photos, one got put on Facebook and then a woman called Tanith Lindon, who was the events co-ordinator at BAC saw it and said: “Oh, you look great! Come and host a New Year’s Eve party at BAC.” So I said, ‘Yes’.

And that was the start of it? That was the start of it, yeah, but it was little bits of cabaret. I’d never thought about making a show.

How had Marlene first come to your attention? I first heard her name through Vogue by Madonna; there’s that bit at the end where she raps all the Hollywood stars names, Garbo and Hepburn… and I went and looked them all up [laughs] and it was Marlene’s image that was really fascinating to me because she was cold… and distant… and aloof. This person that really didn’t coo… well, she wasn’t sweet or cute in any way. And as a teenager that really appealed to me.

When you were creating the show, did you study her mannerisms by watching her films? Well, I’ve seen all her films and read about 17… 18 books on her, newspaper articles and things like that, and then I think you have to forget all that and try to embody her without copying her. I never looked at footage and they tried to imitate her. I sort of tried to find where all these mannerisms came from. I mean, she just had the spine of a Prussian soldier. Everything pulled up, everything is tight, taut. Maybe towards the end that’s also because she was pinning her face in place so it looked younger, but it’s all these things that she has in her that are from her life experience. I was interested in that; both the illusion and what was behind it.

I’m really hot on costumes and must compliment you on your gown. Is it based on her famous ‘nude’ dress, designed by Jean Louis? Yes. It was made by a costume designer called Kathleen Nellis. She studied at London College of Fashion and graduated a few years ago. We’ve collaborated for a couple of years now; we have two dresses and a coat. When we first started making the show, before we wrote anything, before we thought what the story would be, the first thing we did was find out if we could make that dress. I feel similar to you, costume’s such a huge thing for me, particularly with that show. In the first two minutes when you see the dress and when you see Marlene, you have to be impressed, you have to go, ‘Oh my gosh, where did you get that?’. Because if you don’t have that you may as well throw the rest out the window. We need to be drawn in and dazzled.

It’s so fabulous! It’s so classy, and, well done, because too many people skimp on costumes. And I like Marlene too much to do that. It is, you know, a lot of beading backstage and a lot of time, but I think, ‘That’s good!’. And in a strange way it really gives you an insight into her. I played Edinburgh for the month last year and by week three, you think, ‘Gosh! Doing drag every day and painting this much and looking after the hair and looking after the dress, it’s a lot of work and it’s not much fun’. You just have to do it; it’s your duty to get it on and deliver the image of illusion every day. And it really took it out of me and I’d get a little bit annoyed sometimes. But then I thought, ‘She did this for 70 years, before she became a recluse’. The amount of perfectionism and will it must have taken to maintain that image is extraordinary. But there’s nothing I do in the dressing room that she didn’t do; probably just as much make-up, just as many support garments.

We haven’t mentioned your wig. Did you have it specially made? Yes, by Jack James Baxter at Wig Chapel. They’re based in Whitechapel.

How long does it take you to put on the make-up and everything? From nothing to everything, about two hours. It’s a long time but it is a lot of layers and stuff because the make-up isn’t exaggerated. It’s not really ‘drag’ make-up. It’s very clean, so it needs to be very clean.

Let’s talk about Dietrich: Live in London… Live in London is based on her Vegas cabaret show, really, and her subsequent cabaret shows around the world. It came about because I really love Zédel; I love that space, it’s so beautiful. They had asked me to come and do Natural Duty there, but Natural Duty, really it’s a play. It has aspects of cabaret in it and there are songs but it’s a story with a narrative that you follow through, and I thought, ‘The space at Zédel is so cabaret, you can get drinks with people serving throughout and that wouldn’t be good for Natural Duty. I don’t think it would work, so I said, ‘I’m not sure’. And they said: “Make something else, maybe make a new cabaret.”

And actually there was loads of things I wanted to do that didn’t fit with Natural Duty, loads of songs… ‘I’d love to do that song but it doesn’t fit’. So I wanted to make an evening that felt glamorous and take that class idea and see if I could make a very… I didn’t know of anyone else who just stands there and sings songs, without any joke, you know, when the drag isn’t a joke. So, yes, I think it’s that. It’s glamorous, it’s fun and it’s the first time I’ve done the tuxedo, which is really exciting.

Have you found any footage of those concerts she gave later in life? There’s only her show at the Queen’s Theatre in London that was recorded for television but that’s more of a recital. She doesn’t do the tails, she doesn’t do any of that stuff. There are a few clips… she used to have a kickline at the end of her cabaret show… the girls would come on and do little tuxedo-Fred Astaire kickline, there are clips of news footage of that.

So the songs you sing are the songs she sang in her concerts? Yes, the only one she didn’t that I sing is Top Hat, White Tie and Tails.

And there’s no patter in this one; it’s song, song, song. Is that what she did? She did do that, yeah. Sometimes there’s a little bit of introduction… ‘A song by Charles Trenet’, there’s a little bit of narrative based on her coming to America.

Will you be touring Live in London? Yes, we’ve been asked to perform it at the Sage in Gateshead, which is great. It’s amazing to be asked to play a concert hall like that. And also it’s home for me. That’s going to round off the year.

Is Marlene taking up most of your time or are you managing to fit in other work? No, it mostly Marlene.

So you’ve got to spend those hours getting ready all the time. I like her and to not have the pressure of the narrative that’s in Natural Duty and to just enjoy and sort of play with the audience in London has been really great. I’ve got to say I was really terrified the day of the first Zédel show. I thought everyone would be bored. There’s no story, they’re just gonna… they’re just gonna leave! So I was so thrilled that it was received so well. It was a great night. It’s such a nice energy in that room.

You’ve won loads of awards with Marlene, which stands out? We won Critics’ Choice at the Adelaide Fringe. Marlene was in Adelaide 50 years before we were there, strangely, and her tour manager, Ron Tremaine, who organised her Australian tours, came to see the show. He’s 80-something. He was incredible and stayed with us afterwards and he talked and told us stories about her, showed us photos of them together. That was really extraordinary and very touching. It’s fascinating when you meet people who knew her as a human person and not just the illusion, people who see behind that. He wanted to know how we made the show, and he really loved it, which was really kind.

Is there anything else you’d like to say about her? I guess, back to the drag thing, it’s funny because a lot of people see the show and then they tell me: “Oh, but it’s not a drag show,” which I really like. That was a real aim with Natural Duty; how do you do a drag show that isn’t a joke and isn’t demeaning to the man playing it or the woman who it’s representing? I have a lot of admiration for her and particularly her work for peace in the world. That’s an incredibly timely message now, you know. Everybody has a platform to promote themselves, to promote how good they look or whatever it is. What she managed to do was link that and a stance for peace. If we all did that the world might be a better place.

Peter performs Dietrich: Live in London at the Crazy Coqs, Live at Zédel in London on 1 October, and Dietrich: Live in Gateshead at the Sage on 18 December 2019. He will be touring Dietrich: Natural Duty again in 2020.

Picture credit: V’s Anchor Studio; vintage Marlene holding papers, with thanks to Andrew Davidhazy For tickets to Dietrich: Live in London, click here

And for Dietrich: Live in Gateshead, click here

Peter on Facebook

Twitter: @_petergroom

Follow @TheWidowStanton on Twitter

Read the story behind Andrew Davidhazy’s picture of Marlene, which he took as a schoolboy!

[readbookywooks]

As they entered they saw Dorian Gray. He was seated at the piano, with his back to them, turning over the pages of a volume of Schumann’s “Forest Scenes.” “You must lend me these, Basil,” he cried. “I want to learn them. They are perfectly charming.”

“That entirely depends on how you sit to-day, Dorian.”

“Oh, I am tired of sitting, and I don’t want a life-sized portrait of myself,” answered the lad, swinging round on the music-stool, in a wilful, petulant manner. When he caught sight of Lord Henry, a faint blush colored his cheeks for a moment, and he started up. “I beg your pardon, Basil, but I didn’t know you had any one with you.”

“This is Lord Henry Wotton, Dorian, an old Oxford friend of mine. I have just been telling him what a capital sitter you were, and now you have spoiled everything.”

“You have not spoiled my pleasure in meeting you, Mr. Gray,” said Lord Henry, stepping forward and shaking him by the hand. “My aunt has often spoken to me about you. You are one of her favorites, and, I am afraid, one of her victims also.”

“I am in Lady Agatha’s black books at present,” answered Dorian, with a funny look of penitence. “I promised to go to her club in Whitechapel with her last Tuesday, and I really forgot all about it. We were to have played a duet together,–three duets, I believe. I don’t know what she will say to me. I am far too frightened to call.”

“Oh, I will make your peace with my aunt. She is quite devoted to you. And I don’t think it really matters about your not being there. The audience probably thought it was a duet. When Aunt Agatha sits down to the piano she makes quite enough noise for two people.”

“That is very horrid to her, and not very nice to me,” answered Dorian, laughing.

Lord Henry looked at him. Yes, he was certainly wonderfully handsome, with his finely-curved scarlet lips, his frank blue eyes, his crisp gold hair. There was something in his face that made one trust him at once. All the candor of youth was there, as well as all youth’s passionate purity. One felt that he had kept himself unspotted from the world. No wonder Basil Hallward worshipped him. He was made to be worshipped.

“You are too charming to go in for philanthropy, Mr. Gray,–far too charming.” And Lord Henry flung himself down on the divan, and opened his cigarette-case.

Hallward had been busy mixing his colors and getting his brushes ready. He was looking worried, and when he heard Lord Henry’s last [13] remark he glanced at him, hesitated for a moment, and then said, “Harry, I want to finish this picture to-day. Would you think it awfully rude of me if I asked you to go away?”

Lord Henry smiled, and looked at Dorian Gray. “Am I to go, Mr. Gray?” he asked.

“Oh, please don’t, Lord Henry. I see that Basil is in one of his sulky moods; and I can’t bear him when he sulks. Besides, I want you to tell me why I should not go in for philanthropy.”

“I don’t know that I shall tell you that, Mr. Gray. But I certainly will not run away, now that you have asked me to stop. You don’t really mind, Basil, do you? You have often told me that you liked your sitters to have some one to chat to.”

Hallward bit his lip. “If Dorian wishes it, of course you must stay. Dorian’s whims are laws to everybody, except himself.”

Lord Henry took up his hat and gloves. “You are very pressing, Basil, but I am afraid I must go. I have promised to meet a man at the Orleans.–Good-by, Mr. Gray. Come and see me some afternoon in Curzon Street. I am nearly always at home at five o’clock. Write to me when you are coming. I should be sorry to miss you.”

“Basil,” cried Dorian Gray, “if Lord Henry goes I shall go too. You never open your lips while you are painting, and it is horribly dull standing on a platform and trying to look pleasant. Ask him to stay. I insist upon it.”

“Stay, Harry, to oblige Dorian, and to oblige me,” said Hallward, gazing intently at his picture. “It is quite true, I never talk when I am working, and never listen either, and it must be dreadfully tedious for my unfortunate sitters. I beg you to stay.”

“But what about my man at the Orleans?”

Hallward laughed. “I don’t think there will be any difficulty about that. Sit down again, Harry.–And now, Dorian, get up on the platform, and don’t move about too much, or pay any attention to what Lord Henry says. He has a very bad influence over all his friends, with the exception of myself.”

Dorian stepped up on the dais, with the air of a young Greek martyr, and made a little moue of discontent to Lord Henry, to whom he had rather taken a fancy. He was so unlike Hallward. They made a delightful contrast. And he had such a beautiful voice. After a few moments he said to him, “Have you really a very bad influence, Lord Henry? As bad as Basil says?”

“There is no such thing as a good influence, Mr. Gray. All influence is immoral,–immoral from the scientific point of view.”

“Why?”

“Because to influence a person is to give him one’s own soul. He does not think his natural thoughts, or burn with his natural passions. His virtues are not real to him. His sins, if there are such things as sins, are borrowed. He becomes an echo of some one else’s music, an actor of a part that has not been written for him. The aim of life is self-development. To realize one’s nature perfectly,–that is what each of us is here for. People are afraid of themselves, nowadays. They have forgotten the highest of all duties, the duty that one owes to one’s [14] self. Of course they are charitable. They feed the hungry, and clothe the beggar. But their own souls starve, and are naked. Courage has gone out of our race. Perhaps we never really had it. The terror of society, which is the basis of morals, the terror of God, which is the secret of religion,–these are the two things that govern us. And yet–”

“Just turn your head a little more to the right, Dorian, like a good boy,” said Hallward, deep in his work, and conscious only that a look had come into the lad’s face that he had never seen there before.

“And yet,” continued Lord Henry, in his low, musical voice, and with that graceful wave of the hand that was always so characteristic of him, and that he had even in his Eton days, “I believe that if one man were to live his life out fully and completely, were to give form to every feeling, expression to every thought, reality to every dream,–I believe that the world would gain such a fresh impulse of joy that we would forget all the maladies of mediaevalism, and return to the Hellenic ideal,– to something finer, richer, than the Hellenic ideal, it may be. But the bravest man among us is afraid of himself. The mutilation of the savage has its tragic survival in the self-denial that mars our lives. We are punished for our refusals. Every impulse that we strive to strangle broods in the mind, and poisons us. The body sins once, and has done with its sin, for action is a mode of purification. Nothing remains then but the recollection of a pleasure, or the luxury of a regret. The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself, with desire for what its monstrous laws have made monstrous and unlawful. It has been said that the great events of the world take place in the brain. It is in the brain, and the brain only, that the great sins of the world take place also. You, Mr. Gray, you yourself, with your rose-red youth and your rose-white boyhood, you have had passions that have made you afraid, thoughts that have filled you with terror, day-dreams and sleeping dreams whose mere memory might stain your cheek with shame–”

“Stop!” murmured Dorian Gray, “stop! you bewilder me. I don’t know what to say. There is some answer to you, but I cannot find it. Don’t speak. Let me think, or, rather, let me try not to think.”

For nearly ten minutes he stood there motionless, with parted lips, and eyes strangely bright. He was dimly conscious that entirely fresh impulses were at work within him, and they seemed to him to have come really from himself. The few words that Basil’s friend had said to him–words spoken by chance, no doubt, and with wilful paradox in them–had yet touched some secret chord, that had never been touched before, but that he felt was now vibrating and throbbing to curious pulses.

Music had stirred him like that. Music had troubled him many times. But music was not articulate. It was not a new world, but rather a new chaos, that it created in us. Words! Mere words! How terrible they were! How clear, and vivid, and cruel! One could not escape from them. And yet what a subtle magic there was in them! [15] They seemed to be able to give a plastic form to formless things, and to have a music of their own as sweet as that of viol or of lute. Mere words! Was there anything so real as words?

Yes; there had been things in his boyhood that he had not understood. He understood them now. Life suddenly became fiery-colored to him. It seemed to him that he had been walking in fire. Why had he not known it?

Lord Henry watched him, with his sad smile. He knew the precise psychological moment when to say nothing. He felt intensely interested. He was amazed at the sudden impression that his words had produced, and, remembering a book that he had read when he was sixteen, which had revealed to him much that he had not known before, he wondered whether Dorian Gray was passing through the same experience. He had merely shot an arrow into the air. Had it hit the mark? How fascinating the lad was!

Hallward painted away with that marvellous bold touch of his, that had the true refinement and perfect delicacy that come only from strength. He was unconscious of the silence.

“Basil, I am tired of standing,” cried Dorian Gray, suddenly. “I must go out and sit in the garden. The air is stifling here.”

“My dear fellow, I am so sorry. When I am painting, I can’t think of anything else. But you never sat better. You were perfectly still. And I have caught the effect I wanted,–the half-parted lips, and the bright look in the eyes. I don’t know what Harry has been saying to you, but he has certainly made you have the most wonderful expression. I suppose he has been paying you compliments. You mustn’t believe a word that he says.”

“He has certainly not been paying me compliments. Perhaps that is the reason I don’t think I believe anything he has told me.”

“You know you believe it all,” said Lord Henry, looking at him with his dreamy, heavy-lidded eyes. “I will go out to the garden with you. It is horridly hot in the studio.–Basil, let us have something iced to drink, something with strawberries in it.”

“Certainly, Harry. Just touch the bell, and when Parker comes I will tell him what you want. I have got to work up this background, so I will join you later on. Don’t keep Dorian too long. I have never been in better form for painting than I am to-day. This is going to be my masterpiece. It is my masterpiece as it stands.”

Lord Henry went out to the garden, and found Dorian Gray burying his face in the great cool lilac-blossoms, feverishly drinking in their perfume as if it had been wine. He came close to him, and put his hand upon his shoulder. “You are quite right to do that,” he murmured. “Nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul.”

The lad started and drew back. He was bareheaded, and the leaves had tossed his rebellious curls and tangled all their gilded threads. There was a look of fear in his eyes, such as people have when they are suddenly awakened. His finely-chiselled nostrils quivered, and some hidden nerve shook the scarlet of his lips and left them trembling.

[16] “Yes,” continued Lord Henry, “that is one of the great secrets of life,– to cure the soul by means of the senses, and the senses by means of the soul. You are a wonderful creature. You know more than you think you know, just as you know less than you want to know.”

Dorian Gray frowned and turned his head away. He could not help liking the tall, graceful young man who was standing by him. His romantic olive-colored face and worn expression interested him. There was something in his low, languid voice that was absolutely fascinating. His cool, white, flower-like hands, even, had a curious charm. They moved, as he spoke, like music, and seemed to have a language of their own. But he felt afraid of him, and ashamed of being afraid. Why had it been left for a stranger to reveal him to himself? He had known Basil Hallward for months, but the friendship between then had never altered him. Suddenly there had come some one across his life who seemed to have disclosed to him life’s mystery. And, yet, what was there to be afraid of? He was not a school-boy, or a girl. It was absurd to be frightened.

“Let us go and sit in the shade,” said Lord Henry. “Parker has brought out the drinks, and if you stay any longer in this glare you will be quite spoiled, and Basil will never paint you again. You really must not let yourself become sunburnt. It would be very unbecoming to you.”

“What does it matter?” cried Dorian, laughing, as he sat down on the seat at the end of the garden.

“It should matter everything to you, Mr. Gray.”

“Why?”

“Because you have now the most marvellous youth, and youth is the one thing worth having.”

“I don’t feel that, Lord Henry.”

“No, you don’t feel it now. Some day, when you are old and wrinkled and ugly, when thought has seared your forehead with its lines, and passion branded your lips with its hideous fires, you will feel it, you will feel it terribly. Now, wherever you go, you charm the world. Will it always be so?

“You have a wonderfully beautiful face, Mr. Gray. Don’t frown. You have. And Beauty is a form of Genius,–is higher, indeed, than Genius, as it needs no explanation. It is one of the great facts of the world, like sunlight, or spring-time, or the reflection in dark waters of that silver shell we call the moon. It cannot be questioned. It has its divine right of sovereignty. It makes princes of those who have it. You smile? Ah! when you have lost it you won’t smile.

“People say sometimes that Beauty is only superficial. That may be so. But at least it is not so superficial as Thought. To me, Beauty is the wonder of wonders. It is only shallow people who do not judge by appearances. The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible.

“Yes, Mr. Gray, the gods have been good to you. But what the gods give they quickly take away. You have only a few years in which really to live. When your youth goes, your beauty will go with it, and then you will suddenly discover that there are no triumphs left [17] for you, or have to content yourself with those mean triumphs that the memory of your past will make more bitter than defeats. Every month as it wanes brings you nearer to something dreadful. Time is jealous of you, and wars against your lilies and your roses. You will become sallow, and hollow-cheeked, and dull-eyed. You will suffer horribly.

“Realize your youth while you have it. Don’t squander the gold of your days, listening to the tedious, trying to improve the hopeless failure, or giving away your life to the ignorant, the common, and the vulgar, which are the aims, the false ideals, of our age. Live! Live the wonderful life that is in you! Let nothing be lost upon you. Be always searching for new sensations. Be afraid of nothing.

“A new hedonism,–that is what our century wants. You might be its visible symbol. With your personality there is nothing you could not do. The world belongs to you for a season.

“The moment I met you I saw that you were quite unconscious of what you really are, what you really might be. There was so much about you that charmed me that I felt I must tell you something about yourself. I thought how tragic it would be if you were wasted. For there is such a little time that your youth will last,–such a little time.

“The common hill-flowers wither, but they blossom again. The laburnum will be as golden next June as it is now. In a month there will be purple stars on the clematis, and year after year the green night of its leaves will have its purple stars. But we never get back our youth. The pulse of joy that beats in us at twenty, becomes sluggish. Our limbs fail, our senses rot. We degenerate into hideous puppets, haunted by the memory of the passions of which we were too much afraid, and the exquisite temptations that we did not dare to yield to. Youth! Youth! There is absolutely nothing in the world but youth!”

Dorian Gray listened, open-eyed and wondering. The spray of lilac fell from his hand upon the gravel. A furry bee came and buzzed round it for a moment. Then it began to scramble all over the fretted purple of the tiny blossoms. He watched it with that strange interest in trivial things that we try to develop when things of high import make us afraid, or when we are stirred by some new emotion, for which we cannot find expression, or when some thought that terrifies us lays sudden siege to the brain and calls on us to yield. After a time it flew away. He saw it creeping into the stained trumpet of a Tyrian convolvulus. The flower seemed to quiver, and then swayed gently to and fro.

Suddenly Hallward appeared at the door of the studio, and made frantic signs for them to come in. They turned to each other, and smiled.

“I am waiting,” cried Hallward. “Do come in. The light is quite perfect, and you can bring your drinks.”

They rose up, and sauntered down the walk together. Two green-and- white butterflies fluttered past them, and in the pear-tree at the end of the garden a thrush began to sing.

“You are glad you have met me, Mr. Gray,” said Lord Henry, looking at him.

“Yes, I am glad now. I wonder shall I always be glad?”

[18] “Always! That is a dreadful word. It makes me shudder when I hear it. Women are so fond of using it. They spoil every romance by trying to make it last forever. It is a meaningless word, too. The only difference between a caprice and a life-long passion is that the caprice lasts a little longer.”

As they entered the studio, Dorian Gray put his hand upon Lord Henry’s arm. “In that case, let our friendship be a caprice,” he murmured, flushing at his own boldness, then stepped upon the platform and resumed his pose.

Lord Henry flung himself into a large wicker arm-chair, and watched him. The sweep and dash of the brush on the canvas made the only sound that broke the stillness, except when Hallward stepped back now and then to look at his work from a distance. In the slanting beams that streamed through the open door-way the dust danced and was golden. The heavy scent of the roses seemed to brood over everything.

After about a quarter of an hour, Hallward stopped painting, looked for a long time at Dorian Gray, and then for a long time at the picture, biting the end of one of his huge brushes, and smiling. “It is quite finished,” he cried, at last, and stooping down he wrote his name in thin vermilion letters on the left-hand corner of the canvas.

Lord Henry came over and examined the picture. It was certainly a wonderful work of art, and a wonderful likeness as well.

“My dear fellow, I congratulate you most warmly,” he said.–"Mr. Gray, come and look at yourself.”

The lad started, as if awakened from some dream. “Is it really finished?” he murmured, stepping down from the platform.

“Quite finished,” said Hallward. “And you have sat splendidly to- day. I am awfully obliged to you.”

“That is entirely due to me,” broke in Lord Henry. “Isn’t it, Mr. Gray?”

Dorian made no answer, but passed listlessly in front of his picture and turned towards it. When he saw it he drew back, and his cheeks flushed for a moment with pleasure. A look of joy came into his eyes, as if he had recognized himself for the first time. He stood there motionless, and in wonder, dimly conscious that Hallward was speaking to him, but not catching the meaning of his words. The sense of his own beauty came on him like a revelation. He had never felt it before. Basil Hallward’s compliments had seemed to him to be merely the charming exaggerations of friendship. He had listened to them, laughed at them, forgotten them. They had not influenced his nature. Then had come Lord Henry, with his strange panegyric on youth, his terrible warning of its brevity. That had stirred him at the time, and now, as he stood gazing at the shadow of his own loveliness, the full reality of the description flashed across him. Yes, there would be a day when his face would be wrinkled and wizen, his eyes dim and colorless, the grace of his figure broken and deformed. The scarlet would pass away from his lips, and the gold steal from his hair. The life that was to make his soul would mar his body. He would become ignoble, hideous, and uncouth.

[19] As he thought of it, a sharp pang of pain struck like a knife across him, and made each delicate fibre of his nature quiver. His eyes deepened into amethyst, and a mist of tears came across them. He felt as if a hand of ice had been laid upon his heart.

“Don’t you like it?” cried Hallward at last, stung a little by the lad’s silence, and not understanding what it meant.

“Of course he likes it,” said Lord Henry. “Who wouldn’t like it? It is one of the greatest things in modern art. I will give you anything you like to ask for it. I must have it.”

“It is not my property, Harry.”

“Whose property is it?”

“Dorian’s, of course.”

“He is a very lucky fellow.”

“How sad it is!” murmured Dorian Gray, with his eyes still fixed upon his own portrait. “How sad it is! I shall grow old, and horrid, and dreadful. But this picture will remain always young. It will never be older than this particular day of June. . . . If it was only the other way! If it was I who were to be always young, and the picture that were to grow old! For this–for this–I would give everything! Yes, there is nothing in the whole world I would not give!”

“You would hardly care for that arrangement, Basil,” cried Lord Henry, laughing. “It would be rather hard lines on you.”

“I should object very strongly, Harry.”

Dorian Gray turned and looked at him. “I believe you would, Basil. You like your art better than your friends. I am no more to you than a green bronze figure. Hardly as much, I dare say.”

Hallward stared in amazement. It was so unlike Dorian to speak like that. What had happened? He seemed almost angry. His face was flushed and his cheeks burning.

“Yes,” he continued, “I am less to you than your ivory Hermes or your silver Faun. You will like them always. How long will you like me? Till I have my first wrinkle, I suppose. I know, now, that when one loses one’s good looks, whatever they may be, one loses everything. Your picture has taught me that. Lord Henry is perfectly right. Youth is the only thing worth having. When I find that I am growing old, I will kill myself.”

Hallward turned pale, and caught his hand. “Dorian! Dorian!” he cried, “don’t talk like that. I have never had such a friend as you, and I shall never have such another. You are not jealous of material things, are you?”

“I am jealous of everything whose beauty does not die. I am jealous of the portrait you have painted of me. Why should it keep what I must lose? Every moment that passes takes something from me, and gives something to it. Oh, if it was only the other way! If the picture could change, and I could be always what I am now! Why did you paint it? It will mock me some day,–mock me horribly!” The hot tears welled into his eyes; he tore his hand away, and, flinging himself on the divan, he buried his face in the cushions, as if he was praying.

“This is your doing, Harry,” said Hallward, bitterly.

[20] “My doing?”

“Yes, yours, and you know it.”

Lord Henry shrugged his shoulders. “It is the real Dorian Gray,– that is all,” he answered.

“It is not.”

“If it is not, what have I to do with it?”

“You should have gone away when I asked you.”

“I stayed when you asked me.”

“Harry, I can’t quarrel with my two best friends at once, but between you both you have made me hate the finest piece of work I have ever done, and I will destroy it. What is it but canvas and color? I will not let it come across our three lives and mar them.”

Dorian Gray lifted his golden head from the pillow, and looked at him with pallid face and tear-stained eyes, as he walked over to the deal painting-table that was set beneath the large curtained window. What was he doing there? His fingers were straying about among the litter of tin tubes and dry brushes, seeking for something. Yes, it was the long palette-knife, with its thin blade of lithe steel. He had found it at last. He was going to rip up the canvas.

With a stifled sob he leaped from the couch, and, rushing over to Hallward, tore the knife out of his hand, and flung it to the end of the studio. “Don’t, Basil, don’t!” he cried. “It would be murder!”

“I am glad you appreciate my work at last, Dorian,” said Hallward, coldly, when he had recovered from his surprise. “I never thought you would.”

“Appreciate it? I am in love with it, Basil. It is part of myself, I feel that.”

“Well, as soon as you are dry, you shall be varnished, and framed, and sent home. Then you can do what you like with yourself.” And he walked across the room and rang the bell for tea. “You will have tea, of course, Dorian? And so will you, Harry? Tea is the only simple pleasure left to us.”

“I don’t like simple pleasures,” said Lord Henry. “And I don’t like scenes, except on the stage. What absurd fellows you are, both of you! I wonder who it was defined man as a rational animal. It was the most premature definition ever given. Man is many things, but he is not rational. I am glad he is not, after all: though I wish you chaps would not squabble over the picture. You had much better let me have it, Basil. This silly boy doesn’t really want it, and I do.”

“If you let any one have it but me, Basil, I will never forgive you!" cried Dorian Gray. “And I don’t allow people to call me a silly boy.”

“You know the picture is yours, Dorian. I gave it to you before it existed.”

“And you know you have been a little silly, Mr. Gray, and that you don’t really mind being called a boy.”

“I should have minded very much this morning, Lord Henry.”

“Ah! this morning! You have lived since then.”

There came a knock to the door, and the butler entered with the tea- tray and set it down upon a small Japanese table. There was a [21] rattle of cups and saucers and the hissing of a fluted Georgian urn. Two globe-shaped china dishes were brought in by a page. Dorian Gray went over and poured the tea out. The two men sauntered languidly to the table, and examined what was under the covers.

“Let us go to the theatre to-night,” said Lord Henry. “There is sure to be something on, somewhere. I have promised to dine at White’s, but it is only with an old friend, so I can send him a wire and say that I am ill, or that I am prevented from coming in consequence of a subsequent engagement. I think that would be a rather nice excuse: it would have the surprise of candor.”

“It is such a bore putting on one’s dress-clothes,” muttered Hallward. “And, when one has them on, they are so horrid.”

“Yes,” answered Lord Henry, dreamily, “the costume of our day is detestable. It is so sombre, so depressing. Sin is the only color- element left in modern life.”

“You really must not say things like that before Dorian, Harry.”

“Before which Dorian? The one who is pouring out tea for us, or the one in the picture?”

“Before either.”

“I should like to come to the theatre with you, Lord Henry,” said the lad.

“Then you shall come; and you will come too, Basil, won’t you?”

“I can’t, really. I would sooner not. I have a lot of work to do.”

“Well, then, you and I will go alone, Mr. Gray.”

“I should like that awfully.”

Basil Hallward bit his lip and walked over, cup in hand, to the picture. “I will stay with the real Dorian,” he said, sadly.

“Is it the real Dorian?” cried the original of the portrait, running across to him. “Am I really like that?”

“Yes; you are just like that.”

“How wonderful, Basil!”

“At least you are like it in appearance. But it will never alter," said Hallward. “That is something.”

“What a fuss people make about fidelity!” murmured Lord Henry.

“And, after all, it is purely a question for physiology. It has nothing to do with our own will. It is either an unfortunate accident, or an unpleasant result of temperament. Young men want to be faithful, and are not; old men want to be faithless, and cannot: that is all one can say.”

“Don’t go to the theatre to-night, Dorian,” said Hallward. “Stop and dine with me.”

“I can’t, really.”

“Why?”

“Because I have promised Lord Henry to go with him.”

“He won’t like you better for keeping your promises. He always breaks his own. I beg you not to go.”

Dorian Gray laughed and shook his head.

“I entreat you.”

The lad hesitated, and looked over at Lord Henry, who was watching them from the tea-table with an amused smile.

[22] “I must go, Basil,” he answered.

“Very well,” said Hallward; and he walked over and laid his cup down on the tray. “It is rather late, and, as you have to dress, you had better lose no time. Good-by, Harry; good-by, Dorian. Come and see me soon. Come to-morrow.”

“Certainly.”

“You won’t forget?”

“No, of course not.”

“And . . . Harry!”

“Yes, Basil?”

“Remember what I asked you, when in the garden this morning.”

“I have forgotten it.”

“I trust you.”

“I wish I could trust myself,” said Lord Henry, laughing.–"Come, Mr. Gray, my hansom is outside, and I can drop you at your own place.– Good-by, Basil. It has been a most interesting afternoon.”

As the door closed behind them, Hallward flung himself down on a sofa, and a look of pain came into his face.