While reading Shakespeare’s King Lear the other day, I happened to recall a fact that had been embedded in my cerebrum at the age of nine: this lengthy work of dramatic art was first performed in 1605—412 years ago.
The year cannot pass, I said to myself, without celebrating the 412th anniversary of the first performance of Wm. Shakespeare’s third greatest tragedy.
And so I left my penthouse suite at the Hôtel Adiós, sauntered over to the elevator, performed the acts that would eventually take me down to the lobby, and resumed my saunter, this time over to the Watering Hole, at which place I claimed my customary seat at the bar and ordered my daily potion of rotgut.
It was with some surprise, admixed with delight, that I discovered that my barfellows were celebrating . . . the 412th anniversary of the publication of the first edition of Part One of Miguel de Cervantes’ momentous masterwork, Don Quixote!
Of course! thought I. It is fitting and proper that my fellow androids and the lively Ms. Talia la Musa would be commemorating this milestone. The book was, after all, the inspiration for the inception of our common, award-winning undertaking.
After listening to this conversation, and after having the barmaid we have dubbed “Mistress Quickly” pour the daily dose of rotgut over the ashes that remain of my original, living self, I brought up the subject of King Lear. Was it or was it not a coincidence that the two outstanding works of art would have appeared in precisely the same year?
Ms. Muse countered with the suggestion that this so-called “coincidence” was further evidence of the existence of divine planning—a suggestion, I might add, that was put forth in a manner that I can only describe as tongue-in-cheek.
Ms. Muse’s suggestion “put the table at a roar,” to paraphrase a great writer whose name has become household.
Pleased with her ability to add merriment to the gathering of writers and their adorers, Ms. Muse added extra evidence to her hypothesis. “They died on the same day,” she informed us in a suddenly somber voice.
“Ah yes,” I replied, reaching back into a nether region of my aforementioned cerebrum. “April 23, 1616.”
“Righto,” she said as she flicked an ash from her cigarette and summoned Miss Quickly.
Everyone agreed that the stunning but unexpected argument from the composer of the blog, “Born-Again Agnostic,” deserved another round of potent potables.
And so it was that the 412th anniversary of the publication of the first edition of Part One of Miguel de Cervantes’ momentous masterwork was celebrated by the regulars of the Hôtel Adiós Watering Hole.