Monday, June 23, 2008, 11:33 AM PST [
General]

For unto those which know the Shakespeare not, hear ye then
this tale. He be the premier bard of the
English tongue and for right reason; he hath created it. Seventeen thousand
words awaited his command and many were his creation that touch’th the soul of
man or woman – yea even now.
Such was his art that he need not the god in the machine as
his tool, but rather by the word and the human condition, itself, did he
enthrall great London crowds even unto the Queen herself - God bless her.

This day I write not of the bard but of the stage whereon
his plays strutted and fretted their hour only to be heard over the long
centuries even to now. But first, a bit
about the City of London, England’s beating heart.

London of Queen Elizabeth I be a festering sewer of humanity
– raw, brutal, and by our standards now, vulgar. Beburned by fire, infested with rats and
plague, the numbers of the unlabored grew each day as the city’s poor did swell
from the countryside. And life-span be counted in 25-35 years. To be 50 was to
be ancient. During Shakespeare’s time, London boasted betwixt 200,000 and 250,000 souls – a grand city indeed.


The Thames, itself a fetid sewer, be London’s primary source of water. Without
adequate sanitation, common streets were beused for emptying bladders and bowel
as deemed necessary and a danger to the unwary should they slip and fall.
Disease be rife and leeches little more than frauds with chants and spells to
ward off evil.


Smoke from factories besoiled the air and the wealthy moved
about with cloves in their noses from the fell stench on their way to the
theater or place of business. This be the time for the rise of the middle sort
– those souls that be neither serf nor gentle but something betwixt. Greed for
money challenged sexual perversion and pride for primacy of sin thereat. And
the marches betwixt rich and poor grew rapidly. And the new rich did find their
way unto the Court of the Queen much to the disgust of the gentles for money
hath a loud tongue, indeed, and few wilt say it nay.


Indeed, greed and sexual perversion be a common theme of the
bard’s mighty works as his plays doth reflect his times.
England’s
primary center for commerce, ships docked daily at London wharfs and the sounds of Arabic,
Russian, French, Polish, and Dutch beharkened unto the knowing ear. Strange
sights, sounds, and goods now flooded London’s
markets and faires.

And along the wharfs sprang up such shops as to tend to the
needs of the sailors or the young gentry seeking a night’s sport away from
Court. Sudden death be not infrequent thereat, but a constant companion to be
reckoned thereupon.
Herein be the crucible of Shakespeare’s genius, the womb of
creation, for from this chaos did the bard mold his works that speak unto us
yet today as they did upon the Globe Theater in days of yore. And from this chaos did rise the English
Nation.

Alas, yes, another local renfaire that will not happen this year, another missed chance to see friends. 'Tis my hope that it shall take this chance to be better organized and prepared for next summer. In the meantime, there are flurries of activity as local merchants, fairies, pirates, and knights scramble to make alternative plans... some of which might actually involve a vacation!
RichildisAnother fond hope is that I shall make it to Shrewsbury this year to see the sights that it offers, since I never usually get to do that!
08:02 PM PST