“All aboard!”
The shout was all but drowned out by the whistle that sounded, loud and hollow, a second afterward. The young man raced down the platform, suitcase and overcoat flapping behind him, and leapt into a train compartment. The train started to move a moment later, and the young man let out a sigh of relief. He tried to catch his breath as he moved down the corridor, searching for an empty compartment. Unfortunately for him, the train was very busy, and he had to settle for a nearly empty compartment, the only other occupant being an older, handsome man, with dark, slicked-back hair, streaked with gray, and smoking a pipe. He was reading the newspaper, and looked up and smiled kindly at the young man as he entered, before returning to the paper.
The young man smiled back, and placed his bag in the overhead rack, before settling himself opposite the older man and withdrawing a book from the large pocket of his overcoat. The older man looked up again to see what he was reading. He smiled.
“You’ve just been to see the production, I assume?”
The young man nodded vigorously, shutting the book. “Yes. The most fantastic night I’ve ever spent in the theatre. I’ve come down all the way from Birmingham to see it, spent a month’s wages, but it was worth it. Have you seen it, sir?”
“Irving’s Hamlet? Alas, I haven’t had the pleasure,” replied the older man, refilling the pipe. “I’m sure it was marvelous, though. Irving usually is.”
“I don’t think I can express how wonderful it was in words,” replied the young man. “It was a completely transcendent experience. I don’t mind telling you that I wept at the end. I felt so strongly for Hamlet, for Horatio, for…well, for everyone! Except for Claudius, naturally.”
“Naturally,” agreed the older man. “We do not feel for villains.”
“But even he…at the confessional scene…well, it was so well done, that I even felt a bit sorry for him then,” continued the young man. “The whole show was just so…so…oh, there are no words! But forgive me, I mustn’t go on like this. I must sound like a terrible fool, and I fear I’m boring you.”
“Not at all. It’s good to see enthusiasm and emotion in a young man. So few people feel true passion these days,” retorted the older man, lighting his pipe and giving a few experimental puffs.
“You really must see it if you’re returning to London,” finished the young man.
“I will be, soon,” replied the older man. “And I’ll get round to it, no doubt. I haven’t missed one of his performances yet. A wonderfully emotional actor, Irving. He captures what it is to be human very well.”
“Yes, he’s very believable,” agreed the young man. “You forget you’re in the theatre sometimes, and believe that you’re actually in Elsinore, witnessing all that horror. It really does move one to tears.”
“I’ve no doubt about it,” replied the older man. “But I would concede that he’s the greatest actor who ever lived if he can make Hamlet believable. As much as I admire it, it’s as much a fantasy as anything Hans Andersen dreamed up. A story to frighten children, nothing more.”
“I don’t think I understand you, sir,” replied the young man, half puzzled and half angry.
“Well, the whole idea of a man becoming so obsessed with revenge that he destroys everything he loves in pursuit of it. It’s preposterous. Just like every revenge tragedy,” retorted the older man.
“Is it, sir?” asked the young man, tentatively. “I always thought it was a very important moral, not to seek revenge or it will destroy you. It’s what separates us from the beasts, after all.”
“Nonsense, when did you ever see a beast seek revenge?” demanded the older man. “Our ability to seek revenge makes us human. Our ability to harbor a grudge, and to plot and plan so that the other is in pain as much as we are – there’s something wonderfully human about the whole idea. Beasts don’t have the ability to reason revenge out, or to plot and plan like us. Revenge is an inherently human idea. And it doesn’t destroy you, if you don’t go overboard. Hamlet did, poor fellow. But that’s his own fault for being a bloody fool, nothing to do with his quest for revenge. The idea was perfectly justified; the flaw was in the execution.”
“Are you saying Hamlet could have avoided his own death and everyone else’s?” asked the young man.
“Of course he could have,” retorted the older man. “If he just thought logically about the whole idea of vengeance. If he, like a rational human being, had planned out how he was going to achieve his revenge, and then have executed it swiftly and effectively, like a rational person, it would all have been very simple and tidy and no one would have been hurt. But then I suppose you never know whether he’s truly mad or not.”
“But surely the point of the story is that revenge is a bad thing?” questioned the young man. “Surely however he did it, the result would have been the same?”
“I think not,” replied the older man, puffing thoughtfully on his pipe. “But then I’m not Shakespeare. I have often thought of writing my own revenge story, where tragedy isn’t involved. Tragedy should not, in my opinion, be necessary in a revenge tragedy. Not if the protagonist is a rational, thinking, careful human being.”
“I just can’t think of any case in which revenge would be justified,” retorted the young man. “As human beings, we have a duty to forgive those wrongs done against us, as we hope to be forgiven by God.”
“Don’t be silly, my boy, God is as vengeful as the rest of us,” retorted the older man. “He made Man in his image. He gave us the ability to reason and plot and seek revenge. He has no need to forgive that which he gave us. But I can see I’m not convincing you,” he said, noticing the young man’s skeptical look. “Very well, I shall give you an example. This is a true story involving a friend of mine, a very old and dear friend. This man was heir to a great estate and fortune, and in love and engaged to a very attractive and wealthy woman. Her name was Ellen Markham, and a more beautiful and gracious woman never walked the earth. He had everything that could make a man happy, and he was, indeed, very happy. And then one day an old school friend of his came to stay, young, handsome, and very charming. Too charming, in fact. He won away the heart of my friend’s fiancée, and wormed his way into his family’s affections. They all thought him an ideal young man, and suddenly my friend seemed useless and lazy compared to him. My friend understandably began to hate this man. He was in actuality far from being lazy and useless, and so all his talent, passion and energy was put toward this hatred. It became a constant companion, a familiar that whispered incessantly in his ear, a green-eyed familiar which drove him to seek vengeance. But it was not an irrational familiar.”
“Nor, initially, a malicious one. My friend had no desire to physically harm the man, just to take back what was, in his mind, his due: the affections of those he loved. He believed this could be easily accomplished. A few well-placed rumors with the right sources, and hey presto, the man was soon embroiled in scandal. My friend congratulated himself on the good job he had done, and how clever he had been about it. So did my friend’s familiar. But sadly, the outcome was not as my friend had expected.”
“Rather than shrinking from him, his loved ones united around the man. They refused to believe the vicious, scandalous rumors. My friend’s former fiancée, now his friend’s fiancée, pitied him and grew angry over the ‘devious and malicious lies’ that had soiled his good name. My friend’s family were nothing but supportive, and told the world they didn’t believe the rumors either. And so my friend had to deny them as well. His plot for disgracing his friend hadn’t worked. Well, it had worked, but it hadn’t made a difference. And so my friend realized that the only way to remove the man from his life was to, literally, remove the man from his life. This thought appalled him for many months, so that he couldn’t act. But then came the day of the man’s wedding to his former fiancée, and my friend knew he could wait no longer.”
“But unbeknownst to my friend, the man had found out who had started those malicious rumors about him. The man had found out all about my friend’s jealousy, and suspected my friend’s plot. And he had mentioned this to his fiancée, and my friend’s parents, who saw themselves as having no choice in the matter. And so the day of the man’s wedding was also the day that my friend was committed to a mental institution. Whether or not he deserved this or was even justified in being sent to one is debatable, but his family were very powerful, and had connections with doctors who signed the necessary paperwork. And he’s still there to this day, poor chap.”
The older man fell silent. After several minutes silence, the young man cleared his throat. “And then, sir?” he asked, tentatively.
“What do you mean, ‘and then’?” asked the older man, relighting his pipe. “That’s the end of the story.”
“But…you’ll forgive me, sir, but I would call that a revenge tragedy. Your friend became obsessed with vengeance against this man, and in the end it destroyed him. Or at least he lost his freedom, and his mind. I would call that a very tragic end.”
“You forget, my boy, that my friend wasn’t the only one taking revenge,” retorted the older man. “Revenge worked out well enough for the other fellow, didn’t it?”
“I suppose it did,” agreed the young man. “I didn’t really consider him. But what a horrible story! Is it true?”
“Quite true, sadly,” sighed the older man. “I may visit my old friend at the institution when I get back home. Depends on the time, of course,” he said, checking his watch. “Ellen doesn’t like me to be late for dinner.”
The realization hit the young man just as the train whistle screeched, and the vehicle slowed to a halt. “Well, it’s been a pleasure talking to you, young man, but this is my stop,” said the older man, rising to take his bag from the rack. He pulled on his gloves and hat, and then held out a hand to the young man. He took it and shook it mechanically. “I hope you found my story diverting. Perhaps we’ll meet again someday. Enjoy your revenge tragedy, but remember to bear in mind the difference between fiction and reality. Goodbye.”
And the older man left. The younger man watched him go, and sat in silence for several minutes, even after the train pulled out of the station and continued on its way. Then he sighed, and returned to Hamlet. It was important to bear in the mind the difference between fiction and reality, but in all honesty, he preferred the justice of fiction.
