ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

      Getting to Know Neptune

      I visited Port Royal for the first time in May 2004 on a side-trip from Halifax, Nova Scotia, where my wife, Susan, and I were attending a conference on Canadian theatre. Standing on the shoreline of the Annapolis Basin in front of the small structure that is the restored Port Royal fort, staring out into the sheltered waters, I tried to envision exactly where the ship carrying the Sieur de Poutrincourt and Samuel de Champlain would have been anchored that November day four centuries ago; how Neptune, his Tritons, and the pretend-Indians in their canoes would have arranged themselves in relation to the larger vessel; and how anyone on the shore could possibly have heard any of the dialogue Marc Lescarbot wrote for the occasion. The spectacle was easier to imagine: the costumes, props, and gestures, the song and cannon fire. Thankfully, the rebuilt fort itself, the Habitation, is largely free of touristy tackiness (see fig. 1). In fact, though Port Royal is a Canadian National Historic Site, the Habitation was difficult to find – the signage in Annapolis Royal proper, about ten kilometres distant, where the former British fortress is very well preserved and promoted, was practically non-existent. Arriving there, we found a modest structure with few tourists, a ticket booth but no gift shop – we couldn’t even buy a postcard on site – and only a single bilingual guide, in period costume, who gladly took us through the roughly furnished rooms, explaining who lived where and did what. When I asked him if he knew about the play, he responded by reciting Neptune’s entire opening speech in French.

      It was the kind of pilgrimage I had made before – finally standing in the place where it had all begun, the place where the plays and playwrights and theatre history I was teaching and writing about had actually originated. I had had similar experiences at Epidaurus and Stratford-upon-Avon, at the Comédie-Française, London’s Royal Court, and Theatre Passe Muraille in Toronto. Growing up in New York, I had always had a feel for a certain kind of theatre. I knew viscerally what “Broadway” meant. “Off-Broadway” and “off off” became as familiar as drinking beer while I was going to college in the 1960s. But when I went on to graduate school, then started teaching, I realized that I felt fraudulent about a lot of what was supposedly “in my field.” I felt uncomfortable claiming expertise in regard to material that arose out of particular geographies I had never experienced first-hand. Finally getting to those places, I have found, makes a big psychological difference.