“Edna was performing bits of Shakespeare for the men,” Peg said to me. “I remember thinking it was a terrible idea. I thought Shakespeare would bore them to tears, but they loved it.”
“They loved it because they hadn’t seen a pretty little English lass in months,” said Edna. “I remember one man shouting, ‘Better than a trip to the whorehouse!’ after I gave them my piece of Ophelia, and I still think it’s the best review I’ve ever received. You were in that show, Peg. You played my Hamlet. Those tights really suited you.”
“I didn’t play Hamlet; I just read from the script,” said Peg. “I never could act, Edna. And I detest Hamlet. Have you ever seen a production of Hamlet that didn’t make you want to go home and put your head in the oven? I haven’t.”
“Oh, I thought our Hamlet was quite nice,” said Edna.
“Because it was abridged,” said Peg. “Which is the only thing Shakespeare should ever be.”
“Although you did make an awfully cheery Hamlet, as I recall,” said Edna. “Perhaps the most cheerful Hamlet in history.”
“But Hamlet isn’t meant to be cheerful!” chimed in Arthur Watson, looking puzzled.
The room paused. It was quite awkward. I would soon discover that this was often the effect that Arthur Watson had when he spoke. He could bring the most sparkling of conversations to the most grinding halt, just by opening his mouth.
We all looked to see how Edna would react to her husband’s stupid comment. But she was beaming at him fondly. “That’s right, Arthur. Hamlet is not generally known for being a cheerful play, but Peg brought her natural buoyancy to the role and quite brightened up the whole story.”
“Oh!” he said. “Well, jolly good for her, then! Though I don’t know what Mr. Shakespeare would’ve thought of that.”
Peg saved the day by changing the subject: “Mr. Shakespeare would’ve rolled in his grave, Edna, if he knew that I’d been allowed to share a stage with the likes of you,” she said. Then she turned to me again: “What you have to understand, kiddo, is that Edna is one of the greatest actresses of her age.”
Edna grinned. “Oh, Peg, stop talking about my age!”
“I believe what she meant, Edna,” corrected Arthur, “is that you are one of the greatest actresses of your generation. She’s not talking about your age.”
“Thank you for the clarification, darling,” replied Edna to her husband, with no trace of irony or annoyance. “And thank you for the kindness, Peg.”
Peg went on: “Edna is the best Shakespearean actress you’ll ever meet, Vivian. She’s always had a knack for it. Started as a baby in the cradle. Could recite the sonnets backwards, they say, before she learned them forwards.”
Arthur muttered, “You’d think it would’ve been easier to learn them forwards first.”
“Many thanks, Peg,” said Edna, ignoring Arthur, thank God. “You’ve always been so good to me.”
“We shall have to find something for you to do while you’re here,” announced Peg, slapping her leg for emphasis. “I’d be happy to put you in one of our terrible shows, but it’s all so beneath you.”
“Nothing is beneath me, dear Peg. I’ve played Ophelia in knee-deep mud.”
“Oh, but Edna, you haven’t seen our shows! It’ll make you miss the mud. And I don’t have much to pay you—certainly not what you’re worth.”
“Anything’s better than what we could earn in England—if we could even get to England.”
“I just wish you could get a role in one of the more reputable theaters around town,” said Peg. “There are many of them in New York, rumor has it. I’ve never stepped foot in one myself, of course, but I understand that they exist.”
“I know, but it’s too late in the season,” said Edna. “Middle of September—all the productions have been cast. And remember—I’m not as well known here, darling. As long as Lynn Fontanne and Ethel Barrymore are alive, I’ll never get the best roles in New York. But I’d still love to work while I’m here—and I know Arthur would, too. I’m versatile, Peg—you know that. I can still play a youngish woman, if you put me at the back of the stage, in the correct lighting. I can play a Jewess, or a gypsy, or a Frenchwoman. At a pinch, I can play a little boy. Hell, Arthur and I will sell peanuts in the lobby, if need be. We’ll clean out ashtrays. We only wish to earn our keep.”
“Now see here, Edna,” declared Arthur Watson sternly. “I