“Attention!” I hear the caller yell. Attention! Production in the Globe Theatre this afternoon!” The announcement pulls me from my thoughts. The perfect distraction, a live production by the famous William Shakespear. I watch as the crowd hurries over, and knowing I must also be one of them, I break into a sprint headed directly for the theatre.
I walk into the theatre and my eyes bulge trying to take in everything that The Globe has to offer. As I enter the dome like space, I take notice of the stage. Front and centre, it is vast and can be viewed from three sides, four if you count above where the elites sit in their private boxes which line the walls of the circular theatre.
I follow a line of men and women similarly dressed to me. A worker at the theatre, characterized by his blue coat which all theatre workers wear, leads me to my seat in the pit. As I sit on the cheap wooden chair I look up at the walls of the theatre to see men and women in colourful clothing made of cotton and silk take their seats on plush couches lined with velvet. I continue looking up at those fortunate enough to sit up high, in perfect view of the stage and long to see what they can. My eye catches the open dome which lets in the perfect amount of sunlight on a beautiful afternoon. The air is thick from summer humidity and smells of sweat from all those crowded around.
The pit is packed with people all fighting to get to their seats. I switch to breathing through my mouth to avoid the heinous smell. I hear a caller yell, “5 minutes to showtime. 5 minutes”. As people continue to take their seats, I hear a second voice call out, “rotten fruit for sale! Don’t like the performance? Tell the actors with fruit! We got apples, tomatoes, and others only 1s for a handful!”.
Looking at the coins in my pocket I decide not to buy the fruit. I have 3s in coins after paying for my ticket which was 2s. I will have to put 1s away for rent and the 2s will go for food for my children.
I watch as other audience members around me buy the rotten fruit. The seller picks up a handful out of the bucket and shows the man what he’s buying. As he holds up the mushy, brown and green coloured fruit, a few drops of juice falls. When the buyer agrees, he collects the coins with his left hand and with his right, hands the fruit to the buyer over top of my head. I quickly cower away as the several more drops of the putrid juice falls onto my chair where my head would have been.
I lean to sit back down, the drops of rotten fruit which smells worse that the fruit itself is unavoidable. Before I sit down, I notice that flies are already attracted to the spoiled juice and clamour to it like a bee to a flower. As the curtain opens, I decide to cut my losses and sit in the juice and fly covered seat.
The play opens with King Lear and his three daughters. King Lear is an old cranky king, not unlike Queen Elizabeth’s old, thankfully departed father. The crotchety old man can’t see how his actions affect his children.
As Lear begins to ask his daughters who loves him most so he can decide how to split his kingdom I laugh out loud, as does most of the theatre. How ironic is it that after the Queen’s death, King Jacob VI united the Kingdoms of Scotland, England, and Ireland. How idiotic someone woud be to unite the kingdoms and then split them amongst his three daughters? It’s hilarious.
By the end of the first scene when Cordelia is sent away to be married to the French King, people who have bought rotten fruit begin to throw it. I duck and dodge the fruit which is being thrown from behind me. I do agree though, if I had fruit I’d be throwing it too. How could a King send his daughter to live with his enemy, a Catholic? He may as well invite the Spanish Armada to return to England and burn all who follow the Church of England at the stake, like Bloody Mary did. Poor Cordelia, poor child.
From anger I turn to laugh when the fool appears on stage. His mockery of the King forces a round of laughter throughout the pit and after several lines, it is impossible to hear what else is happening. Drunk men in the rows ahead of me replay the most recent lines, and attention is drawn to them rather than the stage.
I stop paying attention for a little while, finding the middle a little boring. My interest returns when someone is on stage in the stocks, I think it was a servant. The theatre roars with laughter once more. I thought this was supposed to be a tragedy, not a comedy? Regardless, there are some entertaining parts.
I begin to get bored again but my attention is once more captured in a moment of gore. The men around me are cheering “Pluck Em, Pluck Em”. I have little idea what they are referring to when I look up on stage and see one of the upper class men gripping a man’s chin and using his other to bring some sort of metal tool really close to his eye. The man struggles, but is held firm by two other men who look to be servants.
Then the eye is plucked out and the crowd cheers, “Yeah! Pluck the other one!” With the same build up of anticipation the man’s other eye is plucked out and the act ends.
During a brief break between Acts I get up and stretch my legs. I wander to the front of the theatre where a young boy was selling beer. I look back into my pocket. If I work a little longer every day this week, then I’ll be able to afford the beer I’m buying. Although I really shouldn’t, I decide to indulge myself and purchase a beer.
I wait in a line that wraps around the cart four times. By the time I get my beer, most of the crowd has dispersed and I decide to go find my seat to watch the fourth and fifth acts. Heading back into the theatre, I find that the Fourth Act has not only started, but is almost finished. I arrive in time to see a messenger has returned from seeing Goneril and Regan to say that both have died: Regan was poisoned by Goneril and Goneril comitted suicide.
Act 4 ends and Act 5 starts quickly. Act 5 is quite short. Apparently, there is a battle taking place at Dover. I find this especially concerning. Everyone knows that England is better than France so never would we even allow the French army to get so far. How unpatriotic is Shakespear? To believe that the French frogs would ever fumble their way onto our free island. Unbelievable.
With the exception of Shakespeare’s lack of pride for England, my thoughts are quite simple: Lear got what he deserved and poor Cordelia had to die because of her father. Lear, that nasty old king ruled his kingdom horribly. Then there’s poor Cordelia. She was so sweet and portrayed as being good. The only daughter who actually loved him, and he essentially killed her. If he hadn’t been with her when the French invaded then she never would have died.
As I leave the theatre and head home I think back on what I have seen. A captivating play with a tragic ending. I think of how Lear treated his daughters and try to find Shakespeare's reasoning in producing such a play with a despicable, tyrannical father. I think of my own beautiful children and how I can use Lear as a model for how not to parent. I think of Shakespeare's overarching message, the purpose of Cordelia, as a daughter who couldn't verbally confess her love but in the end shows it by using the French army to try and return England its rightful ruler.
I step off the curb, nearing my street, I am almost home. I walk in the door as my youngest runs throwing herself into my arms, and then I realize and I know why this play was written. It is like time stops and in the moment that her light hearted, playful body collides with my own, I see the play's message that love is better shown, conveyed through actions than stated.
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