Mon, 17 Dec 2007 09:42:11 GMT

Just to break up the fanficcishness (yes, it's a word...don't look at me like that) of this journal, my last creative assignment for Shakespearean Mythmaking. It's a soliloquy - Lady Macbeth's thoughts on the character of King Lear (although, I s'pose it's just a more literary or scholarly version of fanfic, hmm...).

Soliloquy: Lady Macbeth on the protagonist, King Lear

Who art thou, Lear, to be king? Lear, who makes

Such foolish demands upon the affections

Of his own children; he who would implore –

Nay, beg – of them declarations of love,

False though they may be. Methinks that if my

Husband, good Macbeth, were to sire an heir,

He would not plead of that child. Nay: he would

Never cease to expound his own love for

Thine dear offspring: thine blood.

But nor for thou, Lear: no. Why, thou art a

Child thyself! And yet: a king. What is this:

This madness that such a man as thou, Lear,

Is crowned king? A man of such foolish pride,

And of puerile mind – a man so absorbed

In his own machinations – as to give

Away his kingdom? Give away!

As though it were nought! Dost thou not knowest

What a privilege it is to rule one’s

People? To be honoured, revered: a God,

Divine amongst mere mortals? No –

Thou knowest not of the honour which thou

Shuns. And yet, the strength of thy rule remains

True. The bond of ruling royalty passes,

Unquestioningly, to the fruit of thy

Loins. It matters not that the fruit is rotten,

Eaten away by the cruel worm of self

Interest: a worm that will spread nought but poison

Through these lands. What then, for a man such as my husband –

Good, honourable Macbeth, Thane of Cawdor.

He, who would sacrifice his very life

For the honour of fair Scotland.

I pray thee, Lear: wouldst thou do the same? Wouldst

Thou bear thy haggard form to the very

Depths of Hades for the protection of

Thy loyal subjects? Wouldst thou gladly bow

Before the gods, and let thy own divine

Blood run a red river from thy limbs for

The nation; thy memory; thy honour?

No. Not thou, Lear. Thou appears to mine eyes

As a doddering old fool, unlike fair

Macbeth. Why, if ‘t were thee who was king of

Scotland in place of Duncan, Macbeth would

But have to pour sweet words into thine ear,

And not the fatal poison: thou would renege

Thy claim on the throne at the merest hint

Of falsified love! O, my lord Macbeth!

How cruel is fate that she hath cursed thee so!

To implant in thee the passion, the drive

With which to rule and yet, to stifle thy

Plans by mere virtue of thy blood? Blood! ‘T is

Nought, but it is all. O! ‘T is too cruel a

Fate for a man such as my lord! Yes, Lear:

Thou dost deserve thy new madness. Is it

Not penance for thy deeds? Is it not the

Firm hand of justice, bearing down upon

Thy frail shoulder?

Yes, Lear: what of the abandonment of

Thy fair child, Cordelia? And of thy fair

Kingdom, too, to the wretches, Regan and

Goneril. Yes: methinks ‘t is madness which thou must

Now bear to thy grave –

Thy heavy burden.

Arcadian Dream