Shakespeare in the Afternoon

O n a whim last fall, I decided to assign my students some Shakespeare. The results were nothing short of delightful.

Once a week, a co-teacher and I run a small homeschool co-op for 16 students, where we cover history, science, art, geography, and poetry. We’ve delved into topics ranging from cacti growth to the types of markings on horses to Newton’s Third Law of Motion to the location and culture of Austria, and I now know quite a lot about the Grand Canyon. Poetry might be my favorite subject, however, as I enjoy choosing various poems for the students and coaching them on memorization and delivery techniques.

The ages of the class range from six to twelve, and for poetry, my co-teacher and I divide and conquer (mainly to give each group the chance to work on materials suitable to their ages). My charges in this matter are nine fourth-to-sixth graders, and we opened the year with Henry Van Dyke’s “America for Me.” Their progress on this poem was astounding, and after they finished it, one of my teaching mentors suggested we try something a bit different and look at Shakespeare.

This seemed a worthy challenge, so I sailed into class one October day with nine slips of paper, each containing about 14 lines from various Shakespeare works, and handed them out at random. Some students protested — one girl was quite upset that she’d received a boy’s part (the St. Crispin’s Day speech from Henry V) and that she’d have to talk about scars. Chocolate, however, is a wonderful motivator, and I gave them all one week to memorize their lines for the chance at a prize.

The following week, I handed out nine candy bars.

While chocolate can work wonders, I was surprised when, after I announced we’d be returning to our regular poetry work, the kids set about chanting “Shakespeare, Shakespeare, Shakespeare!” and demanded more content from the Bard, regardless of whether there’d be candy prizes.

After promising I’d consider it, I began to hunt around, searching 1) for appropriate scenes children could perform and 2) the best methods of teaching such scenes to them. The range of options for child-appropriate Shakespeare is limited, but I managed to dig up scripts for multiple Midsummer Night’s Dream scenes, a bit from The Tempest, and one section from Julius Caesar.

That was last fall. This spring, I went even further. While I ended up nixing the Julius Caesar scene (it was too dull for the students), Midsummer and The Tempest stayed, and I added in longer soliloquies for several students. Some of these expanded upon the lines they’d previously learned. Others were completely new. We’ve now heard Polonius exhort Laertes, Portia plead with Shylock, and Prospero rid himself of his magic books.

Many of the scenes make me chuckle and induce riotous laughter from the younger watchers. For instance, our Theseus and Hippolyta do a lovely job in opening the drama of Midsummer, but even though they’re cousins playing the roles, they refuse to hold hands as they enter the stage.

Most popular is the Tempest scene, where three of the boys play the parts of Stefano, Trinculo, and Caliban who all get rather . . . ah, tipsy. Stefano took it upon himself to recreate a Jameson label and glue it to a bottle, which he then brought to class as a prop, to the delight of the onlookers.

This same student also has Macbeth’s famous “To-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow” speech, and to help him in the memorization, I sent him Ian McKellen’s interpretation to watch. I’m sure McKellen could not help but be proud of my student, who delivers the wicked king’s famous lines in the most convincing, McKellen manner.

Throughout it all, I’ve been studying. Reading Shakespeare himself, reading commentaries on my students’ soliloquies, watching analysis from knowledgeable scholars, and nodding along enthusiastically with Ken Ludwig’s excellent book, How to Teach Your Children Shakespeare. When we had spare moments in class, students would call for Shakespeare stories (the higher the casualty rate, the more popular the tale, alas), and I would oblige by reading to them from Charles and Mary Lamb’s Tales from Shakespeare or by retelling plot points from memory.

We learned about projection, timing, cheating out toward the audience, enunciation, and much else. And while I do spend a fair amount of time prompting my young Tempest thespians through their scene, it’s still wildly amusing to behold.

Now, as we reach the end of the school year and prepare for our upcoming co-op showcase, I’ve been reflecting on the joys and frustrations the Shakespearian endeavor brought about. My student who was annoyed about the man who would “strip his sleeve and show his scars” has now conquered most of this difficult speech. Another admirably came “to bury Caesar, not to praise him,” while a third learned to slow down and truly become “that merry wanderer of the night” who “jest to Oberon and make him smile.”

Listening to these students wrestle with the Bard’s high language and poetic flow was rewarding, but it was the moments of comprehension and understanding that thrilled me most.

When three of the students were practicing a scene from Julius Caesar (wherein a trio of conspirators, early in the play, are discussing Caesar’s actions), we did an initial read-through in class. I stopped to ask them all what they’d just heard, trying to see what they understood and what I might help explain. As I was telling them about Caesar refusing the crown three times, one of the boys’ hands shot up — he was beside himself with excitement. When I called on him, he shouted, “That was in my piece I memorized earlier! ‘I thrice presented him a kingly crown, Which he did thrice refuse: was this ambition?’”

Success.

In a week, each student will receive a certificate bearing their name and a line from the Shakespeare they memorized. While the certificate itself may or may not last long, the lines and tales of this master storyteller will be with them for a lifetime.