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IF all the world’s a stage, it could coherently be argued that William Shakespeare’s stature at its centre owes a great deal to the cultural imperialism inculcated by the British empire.
After all, the Bard of Avon inevitably infiltrated school curriculums — and hence the popular consciousness — in colonised lands. Would the quadricentennial of his demise be a global phenomenon but for the fact that, more than half a century ago, the receding empire left behind English-speaking populations, or at least elites, and that Shakespeare’s language has consequently become the lingua franca of a virtually connected world?
On the other hand, one can hardly ignore the fact that the Elizabethan poet’s popularity extends well beyond English-speaking parts of the world. Not only is he adored in translation across various cultures, but some of the outstanding cinematic interpretations of his works have emerged from countries such as Russia and Japan, which remained well outside the sphere of direct British cultural influence.
Shakespeare’s universal appeal likely resides in the fact that his depictions of the human condition continue to resonate more than four centuries after they were recorded. Characters such as Macbeth and Lady Macbeth, Othello and Desdemona, Hamlet and Ophelia, Julius Caesar, Marcus Brutus and Mark Antony, King Lear and Cordelia, Shylock and Portia, and Romeo and Juliet, to mention just a few, do not necessarily appear to have been plucked out of the past. They can be spotted walking down the street, minding the store, or residing in presidential palaces,
Shakespeare’s oeuvre serves as a constant reminder that the more things change, the more they remain more or less the same.
Shakespeare’s popularity extends across the world.
There is evidence that Shakespeare’s outstanding talent was acknowledged in his lifetime, yet when he died April 23, 1616 — possibly on his 52nd birthday — no one suggested that he be interred at Westminster Abbey, where Chaucer and Spenser lay. And a substantial segment of his best work — including Macbeth, The Winter’s Tale and The Tempest — would have been lost but for the First Folio published in 1623.
Although the themes of most of his comedies and tragedies were derived from a range of available sources, the poetry was his own, and many of Shakespeare’s contemporaries recognised his talent for turning relatively mundane themes into riveting drama. Ben Jonson mocked Shakespeare’s limited acquaintance with Latin and Greek — the young William did not finish school, so university was out of the question, yet declared: “Triumph, my Britain, thou hast one to show/ To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe … He was not of an age but for all time.”
Jonson could not possibly have known, though, how far and wide Shakespeare’s appeal would resonate, not least because his plays catered to highbrow and lowbrow tastes alike. And to varying schools of thought.
Both Abraham Lincoln and his assassin, a renowned Shakespearean actor, were fans of the Bard, for instance. And a London-based German refugee by the name of Karl Marx “sought out and classified all Shakespeare’s original expressions” when he “wanted to perfect his knowledge of English”, according to his son-in-law Paul Lafargue. Marx’s daughter Eleanor adds that Shakespeare “was the Bible of our house, seldom out of our hands or mouths. By the time I was six I knew scene upon scene … by heart.”
Paul Mason, until recently the economics editor of Channel 4 News, locates “the collapse of feudalism and the emergence of early capitalism” in Shakespeare’s history plays, while “in the comedies and tragedies … we are suddenly in a world of bankers, merchants, mercenary soldiers and republics”.
As a kid, I heard about a Pakistani performance of Julius Caesar, done in modern attire, with Caesar in army uniform, during the nation’s first military dictatorship — later discovering that it took place at Peshawar University under the auspices of professor and poet Daud Kamal.
Back in the early 1980s, I was confronted with the prospect of viewing the premiere of a new version of King Lear, starring Laurence Olivier, on British TV. Familiar with the tale but not the text, I gave myself three hours to read the play, finishing just as the play began. The time investment proved worthwhile. I was riveted to the (tiny) screen thereafter, relishing every freshly familiar scene.
Far too many schoolchildren tend to dread Shakespeare rather than enjoy him, which is difficult to understand, although it presumably relates more to the way in which he is taught rather than the inherent appeal of the plays. It seems the poet, actor and playwright’s 400th death anniversary has been observed much more widely than the quadricentennial of his birth in 1964.
Future anniversaries will, no doubt, spur equal or even greater enthusiasm. Whether Shakespeare will continue to entertain and inform us in the decades and centuries ahead will depend entirely on whether humankind survives long enough. And what he might have made of 20th and 21st century shenanigans will continue to offer scope for conjecture.
Published in Dawn, April 27th, 2016
