The play was Hamlet, and it was performed in a small, old theatre. On the stage, the King and Queen of Denmark sat in two armchairs on top of a kitchen table. The other lords and ladies of the Danish court wore strange, borrowed costumes. Mr. Wopsle played Hamlet. He stood alone at the side of the stage with his arms folded and a very gloomy face.
Many strange things happened during the play. The ghost of the old king had a bad cough, and he read his lines from a piece of paper. When he lost his place, a man in the gallery shouted, "Turn over!" The Queen wore so many shiny metal bands that people called her "the kettle-drum." One young actor played five different small parts, and the audience soon grew tired of him. When he refused to read the funeral service, people threw nuts at him.
But the audience was hardest on poor Mr. Wopsle. Whenever Hamlet asked a question, people in the gallery answered it. When he asked whether it was nobler to suffer, some shouted "Yes!" and some shouted "No!" Others told him to toss a coin. When he gave advice to an actor, a sulky man in the front row of the gallery called out, "You are much worse than he is!" Every time, the whole theatre laughed.
In the churchyard scene, Mr. Wopsle wore a long black cloak. Someone shouted, "Look out! Here comes the undertaker to see how you are getting on with your work!" The audience also laughed through the final scene, when Mr. Wopsle fought Laertes, knocked the king off the kitchen table and died very slowly, starting from his ankles.
At first, Herbert and I tried to clap for Mr. Wopsle, but it was hopeless. We felt sorry for him, but we could not stop laughing. When the play was over, I said to Herbert, "Let's leave quickly, or we might meet him."
We hurried downstairs, but we were not quick enough. A man with very thick, painted eyebrows was waiting at the door.
"Mr. Pip and friend?" he asked. "Mr. Waldengarver would be glad to see you."
"Waldengarver?" I repeated. Herbert whispered in my ear, "Probably Wopsle."
The man was the one who dressed Mr. Wopsle for the stage. He took us through a dirty door into a tiny, hot room. There was hardly enough space for all of us. Mr. Wopsle was there, sweating and trying to take off his costume.
"Gentlemen," he said grandly, "I am proud to see you. I had the happiness to know you in former times, Mr. Pip."
The man who dressed him knelt down and began to pull off his tight stockings. "Be careful," he said. "If you tear them, you ruin stockings worth thirty-five shillings."
Then Mr. Wopsle looked at us and asked, "Gentlemen, how did it seem to you, from the front?"
Herbert poked me from behind and whispered, "Very good." So I said, "Very good."
"And how did you like the way I played the character?" he asked.
Herbert poked me again and whispered, "Massive and solid." So I said boldly, as if it were my own idea, "Massive and solid."
"I am glad you approve," said Mr. Wopsle. "My style is a little too classical and thoughtful for the people here, but they will improve."
"Did you notice a man in the gallery who tried to make fun of the play?" he asked.
We said that we thought we had noticed such a man. "He was probably drunk," I added.
"Oh no, sir, not drunk," said Mr. Wopsle. "His employer would not allow that. His employer is the man who played the King. Such is the life of an actor!"
I felt so sorry for him that I invited him home to supper. Herbert agreed that it would be kind. Mr. Wopsle came back with us to Barnard's Inn and stayed until two o'clock in the morning. He talked about his success and his big plans for the theatre.
When he finally left, I went to bed feeling miserable. I thought about Estella, and I dreamed that my expectations were all cancelled. In my dream, I had to play Hamlet in front of twenty thousand people, and I did not know twenty words of it.