On the Muse of Fire
May. 25th, 2020 02:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pallas_athena[Twitter thread; inspired by hearing a friend do the Muse of Fire speech in a fundraiser for the Globe, here.]
***********
In online Shakespeare, this speech (the Prologue to Henry V) becomes something else. Shakespeare says "This is a play: we'll do our best but we can't be the real thing. So please just watch the stage and imagine the reality."
But now we need to imagine the theatre too.
In the speech, there are repeated size comparisons between the enclosed Globe and the French battlefields
("Cockpit": cockfighting was held in even smaller spaces than the Globe. This engraving is 1808 but gives you an idea of what Sh was thinking of. Note that the cockpit, like the Globe, is circular)
The Chorus talks about how small the Globe feels-- but it was certainly larger than the rooms most of Shakespeare's audience lived in, then as now.
So the Muse of Fire speech feels personal, because it acknowledges the smallness and confinement of the space we're now in, and speaks to our desire for vaster spaces. It says we *can* have those spaces, if we imagine them.
And the speech then asks us for an act of *collective* imagination.
By emphasising the smallness of the Globe, Shakespeare makes his audience physically feel closer together.
(They were already pretty close. Today's Globe has a capacity of around 1400. Shakespeare's had similar dimensions & capacity about 3000. When sold out, they were packed in, welded together. Think mosh pit)
Today's productions often split the Chorus up among the ensemble. But given the text, we can assume the prologue was spoken by one person, addressing many, asking them (asking us) to collectively imagine something greater.
It starts by bringing out points of commonality: inviting us to look around at the place we're in. "This wooden O", "the girdle of these walls", "this unworthy scaffold". So everyone, groundlings and gentry, is looking around at the same time at the same walls enclosing them all.
And then the Chorus says: here's what I want you to imagine instead of these walls. Imagine huge armies, vast battlefields, warhorses.
"Into a thousand parts divide one man"
Where you've just invited 3000 people to imagine *one thing*, making them a unity
The Chorus then says (essentially): I'll be your guide; I'll be the one to let you know what to imagine. So when those 3000 people see the Chorus, they're now primed: they know they're going to be asked to imagine something together.
(Later, Henry will assume this function too)
So now, today, hearing this speech, we *feel* the smallness & confinement of the spaces we're in. When we hear "the girdle of these walls" we look around ruefully at our untidy desks, messy kitchens, worn sofas.
(But we still look around, at the same moment)
Today we're another thing Shakespeare's audience weren't: we're apart. Maybe we're watching the speech with a few flatmates or family. Maybe we've snatched a moment alone to watch it, shut into our rooms, resigned to hitting Pause when the next crisis happens
But the speech is still one actor addressing many, inviting us all collectively to look at where we are, then imagine something else. Something different. Something greater.
And when we hear those words, wherever we are, we think of those things.
And the things we imagine are the things we need, just as human animals. We're confined and need space. We're apart and we need togetherness.
(I don't know about you, but I miss being part of an audience like the desert misses water-- even with the occasional stresses involved)
So 400+ years from when it was first spoken, the Muse of Fire still speaks to us, now more than ever.
I hope theatre comes back. And music, and all the arts. In the meantime, please (if you can) support them and the people who make them.
And listen, watch, imagine.
****************
Acting For Others: https://actingforothers.co.uk
Help Musicians: https://helpmusicians.org.uk/support-our-work/make-a-donation
And please support your local theatre, music and performance companies and spaces, many of which are supporting furloughed staff as far as they can through this crisis.
And if you know an unemployed artist, please be kind to them. We've just seen our entire industry disappear, with little hope of it coming back any time soon.
It's great that so many performances are being shared online, but in most cases it doesn't pay
Just... I don't know. Maybe we can collectively imagine something else, something better, to come out of all this.
I hope so.
And I know the arts, and artists, will be a part of that. It's what we've spent our lives doing, and we're not gonna stop.
***********
In online Shakespeare, this speech (the Prologue to Henry V) becomes something else. Shakespeare says "This is a play: we'll do our best but we can't be the real thing. So please just watch the stage and imagine the reality."
But now we need to imagine the theatre too.
In the speech, there are repeated size comparisons between the enclosed Globe and the French battlefields
("Cockpit": cockfighting was held in even smaller spaces than the Globe. This engraving is 1808 but gives you an idea of what Sh was thinking of. Note that the cockpit, like the Globe, is circular)
.jpg){kind=link}
The Chorus talks about how small the Globe feels-- but it was certainly larger than the rooms most of Shakespeare's audience lived in, then as now.
So the Muse of Fire speech feels personal, because it acknowledges the smallness and confinement of the space we're now in, and speaks to our desire for vaster spaces. It says we *can* have those spaces, if we imagine them.
And the speech then asks us for an act of *collective* imagination.
By emphasising the smallness of the Globe, Shakespeare makes his audience physically feel closer together.
(They were already pretty close. Today's Globe has a capacity of around 1400. Shakespeare's had similar dimensions & capacity about 3000. When sold out, they were packed in, welded together. Think mosh pit)
Today's productions often split the Chorus up among the ensemble. But given the text, we can assume the prologue was spoken by one person, addressing many, asking them (asking us) to collectively imagine something greater.
It starts by bringing out points of commonality: inviting us to look around at the place we're in. "This wooden O", "the girdle of these walls", "this unworthy scaffold". So everyone, groundlings and gentry, is looking around at the same time at the same walls enclosing them all.
And then the Chorus says: here's what I want you to imagine instead of these walls. Imagine huge armies, vast battlefields, warhorses.
"Into a thousand parts divide one man"
Where you've just invited 3000 people to imagine *one thing*, making them a unity
The Chorus then says (essentially): I'll be your guide; I'll be the one to let you know what to imagine. So when those 3000 people see the Chorus, they're now primed: they know they're going to be asked to imagine something together.
(Later, Henry will assume this function too)
So now, today, hearing this speech, we *feel* the smallness & confinement of the spaces we're in. When we hear "the girdle of these walls" we look around ruefully at our untidy desks, messy kitchens, worn sofas.
(But we still look around, at the same moment)
Today we're another thing Shakespeare's audience weren't: we're apart. Maybe we're watching the speech with a few flatmates or family. Maybe we've snatched a moment alone to watch it, shut into our rooms, resigned to hitting Pause when the next crisis happens
But the speech is still one actor addressing many, inviting us all collectively to look at where we are, then imagine something else. Something different. Something greater.
And when we hear those words, wherever we are, we think of those things.
And the things we imagine are the things we need, just as human animals. We're confined and need space. We're apart and we need togetherness.
(I don't know about you, but I miss being part of an audience like the desert misses water-- even with the occasional stresses involved)
So 400+ years from when it was first spoken, the Muse of Fire still speaks to us, now more than ever.
I hope theatre comes back. And music, and all the arts. In the meantime, please (if you can) support them and the people who make them.
And listen, watch, imagine.
****************
Acting For Others: https://actingforothers.co.uk
Help Musicians: https://helpmusicians.org.uk/support-our-work/make-a-donation
And please support your local theatre, music and performance companies and spaces, many of which are supporting furloughed staff as far as they can through this crisis.
And if you know an unemployed artist, please be kind to them. We've just seen our entire industry disappear, with little hope of it coming back any time soon.
It's great that so many performances are being shared online, but in most cases it doesn't pay
Just... I don't know. Maybe we can collectively imagine something else, something better, to come out of all this.
I hope so.
And I know the arts, and artists, will be a part of that. It's what we've spent our lives doing, and we're not gonna stop.