The arrival at Macbeth’s castle in the evening was the last seen of daylight for a long time. Exquisite lighting: a mellow and tranquil scene. Banquo’s beautiful voice saying ‘the air nimbly and sweetly recommends itself unto our gentle senses.’ The sudden change when the doors rolled back and the piper skirled wildly and Lady Macbeth drew the King into the castle.

From now on it is night, for the dawn, after the murder, was delayed and hardly declared itself and before the murder of Banquo it is dusk: ‘The West yet glimmers with some streaks of day,’ says the watchful assassin.

Banquo is murdered.

After the banquet the Macbeths are alone together, the last time the audience sees them so, and the night is ‘almost at odds with morning, which is which’. Otherwise, torchlight, lamplight, witchlight, right on until the English scene, out-of-doors and sunny with a good King on the throne.

When Macbeth reappears he is aged, dishevelled, half-demented, deserted by all but a few who cannot escape. Dougal Macdougal would be wonderful. He played these last abysmal scenes now well under their final pitch, but with every wayward change indicated. He was a wounded animal with a snarl or two left in him. ‘Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow…’ The speech tolled its way to the end like a death knell. Macduff and Malcolm, the lairds and their troops arrived. Now, at last, Macbeth and Macduff met. The challenge. The fight. The exit and the scream cut short.

The brief scene in which Old Siward speaks the final conventional merciless word on his son’s death, and then Macduff enters, downstage, and behind him, Seyton with Macbeth’s head on his claidheamh-mor.

Malcolm, up on the stairway among his soldiers, is caught by the setting sun. They turn their heads and see The Head.

‘Hail gobbledy-gook,’ shout the soldiers, avoiding the tag. Superstitious, thought Peregrine.

‘Curtain,’ he said. ‘But don’t bring it down. Hold it. Thank you. Lights. I think they’re a little too juicy at the end. Too pink. Can you give us something a bit less obvious? Straw perhaps. It’s too much: “Exit into sunset.” You know? Right. Settle down, everybody. Bring some chairs on. I won’t keep the actors very long. Settle down.’

He went through the play. ‘Witches, all raise your arms when you jump.

‘Details. Nothing of great importance except on the Banquo’s ghost exit. You were too close to Lennox. Your cloak moved in the draught.’

‘Can they leave a wider gap?’ Banquo asked.

‘I can,’ said Lennox. ‘Sorry.’

‘Right. Any more questions?’ Predictably, Banquo had. His scene with Fleance and Macbeth. The lighting. ‘It feels false. I have to move into it.’

‘Come on a bit further on your entrance. Nothing to stop you, is there?’

‘It feels false.’

‘It doesn’t give that impression,’ said Peregrine very firmly. ‘Any other questions?’