I was watching Coriolanus at the Globe on the afternoon of September 11, 2001. The first half of the play was one of the most rewarding theatrical experiences of my life—amazing acting, inventive staging, and all performed on a stage that you can lean on while drinking your beer, mere inches from the performers.

During the intermission I got a call from my brother, whom I was visiting in London, telling me that planes had hit the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. Slightly stunned and confused, I reentered the theater to watch the second half while I figured out what to do.

When the players reassembled on stage, they had clearly heard the news: they all looked upset, and a few were ashen. The company’s artistic director, Mark Rylance, stepped to the front of the stage and read a short wire news item detailing what was known at that time. (It’s easy to forget that nobody really knew what was happening or if this was just the beginning of a much larger attack.) He said that the cast would of course completely understand if people had to leave, and then said, ‘We will play on.’

He went on to explain that Coriolanus is the last play in the Folio, and that therefore the last word in Coriolanus is the last word in the collected works of Shakespeare. That word, he said, is ‘peace,’ and he dedicated the performance that day to the hope of peace throughout the world. It was one of the most moving and meaningful moments I have ever experienced in the theater. The second half of the play was of course just as good as the first, but made even more so by the circumstance.

I have been back to the Globe since and have never been disappointed; it’s one of my few must-sees in London. Obviously, most people don’t have the associations with it that I do, but it’s far more than just a tourist trap with a cool gift store.