Chapter Five

THE STAGING

I. STAGE ILLUSION AT THE GLOBE PLAYHOUSE

Staging, like acting, is an art of illusion, but its illusion, unlike that of acting, deals not with being but with time and space. In the manipulation of time, it has long been recognized that Shakespeare is a master. An oft-cited example of his mastery occurs in the guard scene in _Othello_ (II, iii). During the course of the action a night is made to pass. At the beginning of the scene, the time is not yet “ten o’ the clock” (15). At the conclusion, Iago remarks, “By th’ mass, ’tis morning!” (384). In the midst of the alarum, Othello speaks of night and Iago agrees that Cassio should see Desdemona “betimes in the morning” (335). Here, as elsewhere, Shakespeare creates his own illusion of time corresponding neither to actual chronology nor to agreed convention, but solely to narrative demands.

It has also been generally recognized that Shakespeare may utilize more than one time scheme within a single play. For example, after Edmund has shown “Edgar’s” letter to his father, the Duke of Gloucester, he assures him that he will seek out Edgar as quickly as he can,

convey the business as I shall find means, and acquaint you withal. [I, ii, 109-111]

In Act II, scene i, three scenes later, he expedites his plot, presumably without delay, for the action picks up where it had left off. In the intervening scenes, however, Lear spends sufficient time at Goneril’s castle for her to complain to the Steward, “By day and night, he wrongs me!” (I, iii, 3). Certainly the spectator is to suppose that a good portion of a month has gone by.

Through a kind of illusion the author accelerates or decelerates the passage of time to fit the needs of his narrative. Thus, the time sequence varies during the course of the play. In some scenes time is extended, in others highly contracted. Antony is told, only a moment after the mob, which he has stirred to fury, rushes out to revenge Caesar’s death, that Brutus and Cassius have fled before this same mob. The reference point, manifestly, is not the length of time that the events would require in actuality, or a fixed standard of time, such as the twenty-four-hour neoclassical day, or a symbolic dimension, such as the morality time scheme of man’s life on earth, but the duration of time required to tell the story. This narrative ordering of time, moreover, has a parallel in a similar narrative ordering of space.

Simultaneous staging illustrates the operation of such ordering of space. By simultaneous staging is meant, in this instance, the practice of mounting more than one setting on stage at the same time so that during one scene the setting for another is already present. The degree to which it was employed by the popular companies is a matter of controversy.

In 1924 E. K. Chambers endeavored to distinguish between simultaneous staging in the private theaters and sequential staging in the public playhouses. But Professor George Reynolds has shown that at the Red Bull, some of the time at least, simultaneous staging was practiced. Later studies by George Kernodle and C. Walter Hodges have supported his position. In writing about simultaneous staging Reynolds, as well as Kernodle and Hodges, refers to the disposition of properties only. Reynolds argues that properties from one scene were occasionally left on-stage during the playing of another. Or he suggests that tents or shops, utilized much like the mansions of the medieval stage, were erected on-stage. He cites the tents scene in _Richard III_ (V, iii), where both Richard’s and Richmond’s tents occupy the stage, as evidence that “theaters permitted violation of realistic distance and the use of simultaneous settings.” Instances of such simultaneity, although not abundant, do occur among the Shakespearean Globe plays.

The disguised Kent is placed in stocks before Gloucester’s castle where he is to remain all night (II, ii). The Quarto specifies that at the end of a soliloquy he “sleeps.” A soliloquy by Edgar follows. After Edgar’s exit, with the coming of morning, Lear arrives. Editors frequently treat the sleep and Edgar’s exit as the conclusions of separate scenes, thus marking Edgar’s soliloquy Act II, scene iii, and the scene commencing with Lear’s arrival, Act II, scene iv. However, neither the Folio nor the Quarto texts have any divisions at these points, although the Folio text is otherwise divided. John C. Adams, in his proposed staging of _King Lear_, suggests that the “inner stage” curtain was closed while Kent sleeps in order to allow Edgar to deliver his soliloquy, and then reopened for the next scene. But the direction “sleeps” indicates that this was not the case. Edgar merely entered while Kent slept in the stocks. Whether he was supposed to be in the same part of the castle yard or another part does not much matter. In this instance an imaginative expansion of space occurs and he “does not” see Kent.

A similar instance occurs in _As You Like It_. While Amiens and Jaques are singing in the Forest of Arden, a banquet is brought out. Seeing the uncovered dishes, Amiens says,

Sirs, cover the while; the Duke will drink under this tree. [II, v, 32-33]

After they sing some more, Jaques announces that he will go off to sleep and Amiens replies:

And I’ll go seek the Duke. His banquet is prepar’d. [64-65]

These definite exit lines spoken by Amiens, as well as those spoken by the Duke at the end of Act II, scene vii (where he is careful to have Adam supported off stage), indicate that discovery of the banquet is not intended in either scene. Between the setting and partaking of the banquet, there intervenes the scene in which Orlando and Adam enter the forest fainting from want of food. Here is demonstration of the blending of general localization with simultaneous staging.

However, such simultaneous staging did not set the style for an entire play. Nowhere is there evidence that mansions or properties were left on-stage throughout an entire play. Nor is this surprising. It is apparent by now that scenic materials appeared infrequently on the Globe stage. Therefore, if there were conventions of spatial order, they involved not merely the physical elements of staging but more especially the organic elements, namely, the actors.

A nonrealistic ordering of space becomes necessary when the demands of a dramatic story create a disparity between the actual dimensions of the stage and the spatial dimensions of the action. Utilizing the theatrical conventions of the age, illusion masks this disparity. Such illusion is a product of two factors: the extension and/or compression of space and the juxtaposition of actors and properties.

As in the case of temporal illusion, Elizabethan _spatial_ illusion does not obey a fixed proportion between stage and reality. It employs neither the unity of place nor the cosmic range of medieval drama. Between property and actor and between actor and actor, space assumes whatever dimension the narrative requires. This is true not only of the compression of space, that is, how closely characters stand to one another, but of their dramatic relationship, that is, the quality of that proximity.

To illustrate how the Elizabethans employed narrative space relationships between actors, I turn to a striking, and, as far as I am aware, hitherto unnoticed instance of compression in one of the Globe plays, _Pericles_.

In the first scene of the play Pericles seeks the hand of the Daughter of Antiochus. To win her, he must successfully answer a riddle. To fail, as many princes before him have done, means death. After the Daughter appears before him in all her regal beauty, Pericles receives the text of the riddle which he reads aloud. Almost immediately he fathoms the meaning: Antiochus and his daughter have committed incest. Pericles expresses this revelation in an aside, in the midst of which he addresses the Daughter directly.

Y’are a fair viol, and your sense the strings: Who, finger’d to make man his lawful music, Would draw heaven down, and all the gods, to hearken; But being play’d upon before your time, Hell only danceth at so harsh a chime. Good sooth, I care not for you. [I, i, 81-86]

We might assume that, since the character speaks an aside, the actor was standing some distance from the Daughter in order to give the illusion that he is not overheard. But the next line, which Antiochus addresses to Pericles, shows that Pericles was actually next to the Daughter.

ANT. Prince Pericles, touch not, upon thy life, For that’s an article within our law, As dangerous as the rest. Your time’s expir’d. Either expound now, or receive your sentence. [I, i, 87-90]

Apparently, Pericles in his aside gestures toward the Daughter on the line, “Good sooth, I care not for you.” Antiochus misinterprets the meaning of the gesture and warns Pericles not to touch his daughter. Thus, instead of speaking from afar, Pericles delivers the aside in the midst of the other actors.

In analyzing the aside as a dramatic device, writers have accepted the convention but rejected a conventional delivery by suggesting that in performance the platform stage enabled the actor to render it realistically. Not only this scene in _Pericles_, but equally significant instances of spatial compression contradict this theory. Many asides give the actor neither time nor motivation for creating verisimilitude. When Othello meets Desdemona, after Iago has awakened the “green-eyed monster” within him, he is struggling to hide his conviction of her guilt. Desdemona greets him.

DES. How is’t with you, my lord? OTH. Well, my good lady. O, hardness to dissemble! How do you, Desdemona? [III, iv, 33-35]

Today the actor mutters the aside, “O, hardness to dissemble,” turns away, or in some other manner endeavors to give plausibility to the convention that Desdemona does not hear the remark. In final desperation, he may cut the line. The study of asides below shows that these were not the methods employed at the Globe.

Naturally, the high degree of spatial compression among the players caused a change in the quality of their relationships. When one actor comes closer to another than realistic action plausibly admits, as in the scene in _Pericles_, he destroys illusion, if it is one of reality, or he creates a new illusion, if it is one of convention. By standing near the defiled princess while he unravels the mystery, the actor of Pericles can convey his horror with maximum effectiveness, and by speaking his aside near her while he paints a word picture of her outer beauty and inner pollution, he can project his revulsion at her foul proximity. The Globe players, in the staging of asides, did not think in terms of creating an illusion of actuality but of relating the crucial elements of the narrative to each other. Within such a frame of reference the dilemma, folly, or scheme which gives rise to an aside is demonstrated more lucidly and more dramatically than it could be within a realistic frame of reference. What is true of the aside is equally true of observations, disguises, concealments, parleys, and other theatrical devices.

The conventions governing grouping of actors also governed the sequence of actions. From scene to scene, and within scenes, space had a fluidity which was accommodated to the narration. Generalization of locale required such fluidity, for locale was as broad or as narrow as occasion demanded. The picturing of locale, we must remember, was not accomplished with scenery. Nor was passage from one locale to another accomplished through physical changes in the stage façade, as some scholars have insisted. According to various views, the drawing of a curtain or a shift from one part of the stage to another or from one mansion to another was a conventional means of conveying a change of place to the audience. All these views assume in common that the establishment of space was dependent upon clues of a physical sort.

The application as well as the refutation of such an assumption can be illustrated in the assassination scene of _Julius Caesar_, which begins in the streets of Rome and moves to the Capitol (III, i). Ronald Watkins would express this sequence in a change in the stage itself. To mark the moment when the scene shifts into the Capitol, he would open the “inner stage” curtain to reveal a state for Caesar.[1] The possibility that the street and the Capitol were situated in the same imaginary area is never explored although there is no instance in a Globe play where a shift takes place like that which Watkins predicates. Before examining this scene in detail, it might be well to turn to another Globe scene which is unqualified evidence against Watkins’ method of staging.

In scene x of _Miseries of Enforced Marriage_, it will be recalled, Butler has convinced Ilford, Bartley, and Wentloe that he can provide them with rich wives. Appointing a time to introduce them to their “brides-to-be,” he arranges to meet first Ilford and then the other two “at the sign of the Wolfe against Gold-smiths row” (Sig. G1^v). After these rakes depart, Butler soliloquizes upon the punishment that he will inflict upon them for their villainy. At the conclusion of this brief soliloquy, he does not exit. Instead, Thomas and John Scarborrow enter.

BUT. O, are you come. And fit as I appointed. [Sig. G2^r]

He bids them wait while he sets up the plot for Ilford. The scene with Ilford is played in continuous fashion. There is no indication that the scene has shifted to any other part of the stage, for Ilford observes the Scarborrows from a window. When Wentloe and Bartley appear, Wentloe points out the sign of the Wolfe. Through dialogue, the audience is made aware that a change of locale has occurred without either a clearing of the stage or a shift in area. Furthermore, the appearance of the sign suggests one of three possibilities: the sign was visible throughout the scene, thus creating a type of simultaneous setting; it was not employed physically and thus Wentloe’s line is imaginative; or it was placed in position during the course of the scene. In any one of these instances the change of scene did not depend upon any change in the form or size of the stage space.

To return to _Julius Caesar_. It is possible to carry out the staging of the scene as Watkins suggests. But there is no instance in the Globe plays which clearly shows this to be Globe practice. A scene in _The Devil’s Charter_ (II, i, Sig. E1^r) contains a similar scene of procession, this time to a papal state. In the other stage directions of the play, Barnes has carefully indicated when the enclosure was employed, even within a scene, so that his failure to mention it in a stage direction for this scene argues against its use. In that event the state must have been thrust out. This method would serve equally well in _Julius Caesar_ with the result that both street and Capitol would be simultaneously presented.

Essentially the stage was a fluid area that could represent whatever the author wished without the necessity for him to indicate a change in stage location. The actors did not regard the stage as a place but as a platform from which to project a story, and therefore they were unconscious of the discrepancy between real and dramatic space. How far behind Malvolio were the “box tree” and his tormentors? How far from Brutus and Cassius are Caesar and Antony when Caesar sneers at Cassius’ “lean and hungry look”? Is the eye meant to take in both parties at once? In performing these scenes, the Globe players probably concentrated on making the observation of Malvolio and the scornful characterization of Cassius dramatically effective. That this frequently necessitated the substitution of imaginary for real distance must have passed unobserved both by the players and the audience.

Space, though flexible, was not amorphous. Principles of order in staging existed independently of the stage façade and machinery. As in Elizabethan graphic art during this period, the principles were simple and derivative. The “primitive” art of the medieval period had been suppressed by Henry VIII. No vital growth in a secular art appeared to take its place. Save for some painters who created original and masterly miniatures, among them the master Nicholas Hilliard, the Elizabethans failed to develop a school of graphic art and thus resorted to foreign artists or imitators. It is not surprising, therefore, that the stage which developed at this period was simple in composition and imitative in adornment. Massive and symmetrical, not easily varied in its fundamental appearance, its boards served any scene.

Evidence for fixing stage positions is scanty at best. The text of a drama, unless it is accompanied by detailed stage directions, does not contain the kind of evidence needed. Unfortunately, no one at the Globe thought of preparing a _regiebuch_. Furthermore, methods of rehearsal indicate that the pictorial arrangement of the actors received little attention. Considering the history of the Elizabethan acting company and the conditions of its repertory, it is not unlikely that traditional patterns of arrangement were retained and repeated. Novelty in the stage picture is a characteristic of the director’s theater, not of the stock company’s repertory. But, though the evidence for stage composition is scanty, what evidence there is is consistent.

The simplest order in art is symmetrical balance. It is this type of composition which one observes in the Globe plays from time to time. At a banquet in _The Devil’s Charter_, Act V, scene iv, Pope Alexander enters with three cardinals and three soldiers. The stage direction reads,

The Pope taketh his place, three Cardinals on one side and [three] captaines on the other. [Sig. L1^r]

Poisoned at this banquet by the Devil, Alexander rushes to his study,

Alexander unbraced betwixt two Cardinalls in his study looking upon a booke, whilst a groome draweth the Curtaine. [Sig. L3^r]

This might be an echo of Richard III’s position between the Bishops as he receives the Lord Mayor’s embassy from London. A more dramatic use of symmetry can be found in the finale of _Miseries of Enforced Marriage_. At the last moment Scarborrow repents his wild courses. Surrounded by the brothers and sister he has ruined, the wife and children he has neglected, and the uncle he has abused, he is deeply shamed.

Harke how their words like Bullets shoot me thorow And tel mee I have undone em, _this side_ might say, We are in want and you are the cause of it, _This_ points at me, yare shame unto your house, _This tung_ saies nothing, but her lookes do tell, Shees married but as those that live in hel. [Sig. K4^r. My italics]

The demonstratives indicate brothers and sister on one hand, the uncle on the other, and his wife next to him.

This type of symmetry can be seen in Shakespearean plays also. At one point in _Antony and Cleopatra_ Antony’s soldiers, while on watch, hear the subterranean music which signifies, according to one of them, that “the god Hercules, whom Antony lov’d,/Now leaves him.” For the setting of the watch occurs the stage direction, “They place themselves in every corner of the stage” (IV, iii, 7). What arrangement could be simpler? In the same play there is another example. Antony and Caesar are to meet to settle their dispute (II, ii). The scene opens with Lepidus urging Enobarbus to “entreat your captain/To soft and gentle speech.” Then the two monarchs of the world enter from opposite sides of the stage. I quote at length to make the balance clear.

LEP. Here comes the noble Antony. (Enter Antony and Ventidius.) ENO. And yonder, Caesar. (Enter Caesar, Maecenas, and Agrippa.) ANT. If we compose well here, to Parthia. Hark, Ventidius. CAE. I do not know, Maecenas. Ask Agrippa. LEP. Noble friends, That which combin’d us was most great, and let not A leaner action rend us. What’s amiss, May it be gently heard. When we debate Our trivial difference loud, we do commit Murther in healing wounds. Then, noble partners, The rather for I earnestly beseech, Touch you the sourest points with sweetest terms, Nor curstness grow to th’ matter. ANT. ’Tis spoken well, Were we before our armies, and to fight, I should do thus. (Flourish) CAE. Welcome to Rome. ANT. Thank you. CAE. Sit. ANT. Sit, sir. CAE. Nay then. [13-28]

And they sit, to discuss their grievances. From the entrance to the final seating, the scene and dispositions are balanced. At the end of this episode there is a formal symmetrical grouping: Caesar seated with his two supporters in attendance facing Antony with his two supporters in attendance. Between them, mediating the matter, is Lepidus.

Throughout the Shakespearean Globe plays instances of this sort can be found, not only in the arrangement of the actors but also in the writing of the scenes. An extended example of verbal symmetry occurs in _As You Like It_, where Rosalind vows to marry Phebe if she marries any woman (IV, ii, 90-118). Often these symmetrical arrangements are taken for granted because they seem dramatic and do not disturb the flow of narrative. Yet occasionally we can discern dramatic logic sacrificed for symmetrical arrangement. This “failing” can be more graphically observed in the buildings of the period and, therefore, I digress for a moment. A feature of the great houses built as show places during the Tudor age was the adherence to symmetrically balanced design. Usually a central structure would be flanked by more or less elaborately developed ells or wings, as at Wollaton Hall, Hatfield House, Charlton House, or Hardwick Hall. The main hall was in the center, naturally, and the quarters of the noblemen were in one wing. In the other wing the buttery, scullery, or otherwise menial part of the household was located. In both Wollaton and Hardwick Halls, the kitchen or scullery occupies the front chamber of only one wing to balance the opposite lordly wing.[2] From a functional point of view in planning, the symmetrical arrangement did not satisfy the living accommodations of the Tudor household. But from a visual point of view, it represented a dignity and order that relatively unsophisticated builders could create. Despite the obvious waste in space, the visual need determined the structural design.

This tendency can be observed on the stage. I have already cited the scene in _Twelfth Night_, when Malvolio “returns” Olivia’s ring to Viola. Olivia had sent him to run after the “peevish” boy to tell him that she would not take “his” ring (I, v, 318-323). We should suppose that, in order to catch the boy, Malvolio would have followed Viola on the stage. Yet the stage direction clearly specifies that they enter “severally,” that is, from opposite sides of the stage. The entrance is symmetrical but not logical.

The general thesis for symmetrical staging that I have advanced must be qualified in two respects. First, the reliance upon symmetrical arrangement was probably stronger in the earlier than in the later period. The plays themselves change from a more formal, balanced arrangement of speeches to a more colloquial, asymmetrical arrangement. The balanced dirges of the various queens in _Richard III_ (IV, iv) and the measured laments of Blanch in _King John_ (III, i, 326 ff.) begin to disappear. However, they do not wholly vanish during the Globe period.

Secondly, the principles of composition may not be readily perceived in scenes involving only a few characters. Therefore, in the Globe plays symmetry as an element of staging can be best studied in group scenes, for it is a simple way to arrange groups of actors. The nature of Elizabethan dramatic material made simple balance not only the most feasible but also the most meaningful method of composition.

II. STAGE GROUPING AT THE GLOBE PLAYHOUSE

In considering grouping on the Elizabethan stage, we should keep in mind the basic conditions of production. During its periods of rehearsal the Globe company was actively engaged in daily performance. Within two weeks customarily, the actors had to learn extensive parts and mount a multiscene play. In a certain proportion of these scenes many characters appeared on stage. Once presented the play was not repeated for some days. Furthermore, the stage on which the actors played had poor sightlines. The only area from which they could be seen by virtually all members of the audience was at the center of the platform in front of the pillars, at the very place where DeWitt’s Swan drawing shows a scene in progress.

Although most scenes in the Shakespearean Globe plays require five people or less on the stage at any one time, there are still quite a number of scenes or sections of scenes in which more than five people appear. In the fifteen plays of Shakespeare in the Globe repertory, I count one hundred and sixty-six such scenes or episodes, or an average of more than ten in each play. The lowest proportion is 14 per cent in _Twelfth Night_, the highest 61 per cent in _Coriolanus_. Generally 20 to 30 per cent of a play consists of what I term “group” scenes or episodes.[3]

In terms of the problems of staging, these group scenes fall into four distinct categories. More than half of the group scenes, eighty-eight, fall into category one. These are scenes in which though there are actually five or fewer speaking characters on the stage, the addition of one or more mute supernumeraries increases the size of the group to six or more Almost all of these mute supers fall into one of several distinct generic types, easily recognizable and probably conventionally portrayed. The most frequently recurring types are soldiers in thirty scenes; attendants and servants in twenty-three scenes; and noblemen of one sort or another in twenty-one scenes. A small but important type consists of the crowds in _Julius Caesar_ and _Coriolanus_. The rest of the supers come from various miscellaneous classes, such as ladies, musicians, sailors, and so on. It is probable that the stock-in-trade of the hired men and gatherers was a standardized portrayal of such types. Problems in grouping must have been solved as readily. The prevailing types, soldiers, attendants, and noblemen, contain in their ranks and duties the rationale for their positions upon the stage. Implied in the relationship of servant to master or nobleman to king is an attitude of service expressed in a characteristic manner. That this pattern was representative of Globe plays as a whole is borne out by the examination of the non-Shakespearean and non-Jonsonian plays in the Globe repertory. Although in proportion there are fewer group scenes in the non-Shakespearean plays than in the Shakespearean, in the separation into types of group scenes, the same divisions are evident.

A second category consists of group scenes which require more than five actors with speaking roles on-stage at one time. This numbers twenty-two. However, though there are more than five characters on-stage, no more than five of them are active. In effect, the others become mute observers, functioning much as the nobleman, soldier, or attendant type. For example, in the debate upon Grecian policy in _Troilus and Cressida_, Act I, scene iii, 1-212, three people speak: Agamemnon, Nestor, and Ulysses. During the utterance of these 212 lines neither Diomedes nor Menelaus speaks, although they are present throughout. In this scene they are mere supers. Donalbain is on-stage throughout _Macbeth_, Act I, scenes ii and iv, but he does not speak. He, too, functions as a mute nobleman. Once Lear faces Goneril and Regan before Gloucester’s castle (II, iv, 129-298), Kent and the Fool, who have been prominent hitherto, drop into the background as mute attendants. This practice, not of subordinating characters but of reducing them to ciphers, facilitated the handling of large groups of characters. That this was the technique of the poet is evident when one considers those scenes where characters, who have every reason to be active, fail to respond to events in which they are immediately involved. When the Duke reveals to Isabella the brother whom she thought dead (_Measure for Measure_, V, i, 495-498), we might expect Isabella to say something, but she does not. Or when Cleopatra beats the messenger who brings the report of Antony’s marriage to Octavia (II, v), we might expect the otherwise talkative Iras or Alexas to say something, but Charmian alone intervenes. In that scene the others play mute supers.

The third, and second most numerous, category of group scenes requires more than five active characters on-stage at one time _excluding_ mute supers. There are forty-six instances of such scenes. What distinguishes them as a class is that all of them represent some type of situation which demands ceremonious grouping. Among others there are banquet scenes, single combats, council sessions, trials, parleys, processions, and greetings. In all of them the formal character is marked, attention is directed to one focal point, and the arrangement of the action is often symmetrical and ceremonial (see Appendix C, chart ii).

It is apparent from categories one, two, and three that in the case of 156 of the 166 group scenes, the organizing principle is ceremony or duty. Movement and arrangement, though formal, are not artificial. Rather, they reflect circumstances of Elizabethan life. In the group scenes the personage of greatest prestige is usually the one who directs the action and to whom the other characters relate themselves. The importance of this organizing principle is demonstrated by considering the plays of domestic life, such as _The Merry Wives of Windsor_. Without a ranking figure, another system of grouping had to be developed. In such a play, an object of ridicule, accusation, or pity serves as the focal point, as in the final scene of _Merry Wives_.

In the ceremonious scenes it happens sometimes that the focal figure is not a major character in the play, yet as the person of highest rank he is the one to whom all the characters address themselves. This is clearly the situation in _Othello_ (I, iii), where Brabantio accuses Othello before the Duke and Senate. It is the Duke whom Othello answers.

Where no single figure serves as the point of reference in the grouping, a center of activity invariably does. The wrestling scene in _As You Like It_ (I, iii) or the duel in _Hamlet_ (V, ii) are examples of this kind of organization. Another method is the processional. Most processions pass over the stage with or without halting for brief speeches. Occasionally the procession might combine a focus of both activity and a central figure, as in _Julius Caesar_ (I, ii). In some instances characters on-stage describe or discuss members of the procession (_All’s Well_, III, v; _Pericles_, II, ii; _Troilus and Cressida_, I, ii). Given the free passage of the stage and a point of observation when needed, these scenes offer little problem in staging. In fact, the regular recurrence and similar arrangement of these scenes suggest the influence of standardized staging.

Even where more than five characters are active in the course of a group scene, more than five are rarely active during extended portions of the scene. The finale of _As You Like It_ will serve as a succinct and relatively typical example. The scene opens with Orlando and Duke Senior briefly discussing Ganymede (1-4). Rosalind enters, still disguised, to make certain that the mutual pledges of marriage hold. She asks each interested person in turn for confirmation (5-25). Five speak, all but Phebe answering Rosalind with one line. She speaks two. Orlando and the Duke return to the discussion of Ganymede (26-34). Touchstone enters and engages in conversation with Jaques and the Duke while Rosalind has a chance, off-stage, to change into her maidenly garments (35-113). Hymen appears, leading in Rosalind; the pledges are finally confirmed in single-line refrains. Hymen blesses the marriages. Five speak (114-156). The Second Brother enters to tell the story of Duke Frederick’s conversion. He is welcomed by the Duke only. In fact, his brothers, Orlando and Oliver, never speak to him. Jaques, in his own fashion, blesses each marriage. Three speak (157-204). Rosalind delivers the Epilogue. In scenes of this pattern there is no need for all the characters to be seen at all times. Instead, the actors could come forward when needed, to play where they could be heard and seen by everyone. At the conclusion of such a portion of the scene, as when Touchstone and Jaques finish speaking, the unneeded characters could retire to the rear until called for once again.

That this was indeed the practice is illustrated by the Globe play, _Every Man Out of His Humour_. Jonson’s stage directions in Act II, scene iii, show that when Sordido and Fungoso are not needed, they “with-draw to the other part of the stage” and that when Puntarvolo has completed one part of his action he “falls in with Sordido, and his Sonne” while other action is in progress.

The last category of group scenes contains as did those already enumerated, more than five characters _excluding_ supers. However, these scenes do not have a formal arrangement. Thus, the method of grouping these scenes is not quite so rigidly set as that of the previous category. Of this sort there are relatively few examples, only ten or about 6 per cent of the group scenes. Some of these verge on a formal arrangement without fully realizing it. The scene of choosing a husband in _All’s Well_ (II, iii) is a unique example in Shakespeare, although in the pattern of the writing there is a symmetry which tends to give the scene a schematic quality. The farewell scene in _Antony and Cleopatra_ (III, ii) and the arrest scene in _Twelfth Night_ (III, iv) also approach formality. What distinguishes these scenes from the rest of the formal group scenes is merely the degree of ceremony.

The presence of formal patterns in stage grouping enabled the Globe company to present large-cast plays with a minimum of rehearsal. The presence of sub-scenes within the larger scene enabled the essential action to be brought forward and viewed. Such a practice naturally reduced the importance of the stage façade as a frame for the stage picture, for the attending figures remained in the background, near the tiring house, and the active characters came forward to the front of the stage where they could be seen in the round. Nothing hindered the operation of such a stage procedure, for more than 80 per cent of all Globe scenes required no stage machinery or properties whatsoever. Everything favored it. The platform stage was not a gargantuan apron before a modern proscenium. It was _the_ stage and the group scenes were played to make full use of its expanse and flexibility.

I have devoted this much attention to Elizabethan stage illusion and the group scenes in order to show that there were theatrical practices in operation which did not depend upon the stage façade or machinery. Yet the scholar of Elizabethan staging invariably approaches the subject by first considering the function of the stage and its properties in identifying the location of scenes. E. K. Chambers categorizes scenes according to what setting they need. Even Reynolds, who understands the necessity for considering scene situations rather than stage locations, uses the latter to determine the arrangement of his book. The result of such an approach has been that a drama, which in production relied almost wholly upon the voice and movement of the actor, has been studied in terms of its settings, its least pertinent part. When a modern character enters a scene, he enters a definitely indicated place. The audience or readers are made very conscious of that place, its odors, its atmosphere, its effect upon the characters. But in the Elizabethan drama, particularly in the Shakespearean, a character enters not _into_ a place but _to_ another character. Where he enters is of secondary importance--to whom he enters or with whom he enters is of primary interest.

Coordinately, the continuity of action from scene to scene was independent of the stage façade. This conclusion is a logical corollary of the evidence offered in Chapter Three. The enclosure, used for discovery or concealment, is introduced sometimes within scenes, sometimes with scenes, but not for the purpose of providing flow from scene to scene, as we saw. Neither the above nor the hell below ever serve the function of enabling one scene to follow another. Properties, even though they serve conventional uses, appear too infrequently and too irregularly to afford a means of scene connection. Consequently, these conclusions have led me to draw up five premises covering continuity in staging.

(1) The mention of place in the dialogue does not necessarily mean that either a part of the stage façade or a property is employed. Only actual use of the stage area or property confirms its employment or appearance on stage. (2) A new scene does not have to be played in a different part of the stage from the previous one. This premise is closely connected with the idea that (3) a change of location in the narrative is not necessarily accompanied by a change in location on stage. Most scholars have recognized that the exit of one character and the entrance of another from a different door is enough to signify a change of location. Although this is generally true, there are exceptions even in these cases, for examples of scenes exist where a change of location is effected without the clearing of the stage (_Julius Caesar_, III, i; _Miseries of Enforced Marriage_, scene x; _Measure for Measure_, III, i-ii; _London Prodigal_, D3^r-E1^v). (4) No regular system of scene alternation occurs. Brödmeier’s simple theory of alternation, one scene in front of a curtain and one scene behind, has been discarded by scholars long ago. But more elaborate systems of alternation, employing the “inner” and “upper stages,” are still advanced. Examples are available for examination in Watkins’ book and Reynolds’ reconstruction of _Troilus and Cressida._ (5) Evidence for the use of the enclosure in one scene of a play does not mean that the enclosure was used in other scenes for which there is no evidence. Many years ago Ashley Thorndike advocated the opposite premise. “Clear evidence of the curtained inner stage in one scene of a play must be taken as a presumptive evidence that it was used in others,” he wrote.[4] Thorndike’s presumption has been liberally interpreted by students of staging. Perhaps the absence of additional mention of the enclosure is the clearest proof of its limited use. After all, when the total evidence for a curtained space is gathered together, the bulk is fairly slim in comparison to the vast number of scenes which contain no such mention. Of the 519 scenes in the Globe plays, sixteen of them show fairly strong evidence of being partly placed in the enclosure. This is about 3 per cent of the total. Perhaps the texts of the non-Shakespearean plays offered by the Globe company reflect a truer percentage. Of their 182 scenes, twelve show evidence of enclosure use, or about 6½ per cent.[5] In either case the total percentage is low.

These premises arise from my conviction that the part which the stage façade played in the presentation of the plays has been greatly overestimated. Visually, the façade was always the formal background, but in the overwhelming number of cases the action took place before it, not within it. Instead of looking to the façade for the organizing principles of staging, it might be better to look to the patterns of the scenes themselves.

III. ACTORS’ ENTRANCES UPON THE GLOBE STAGE

At one time, Sir Mark Hunter defined a scene as the action between clearances of the stage.[6] Since this definition is generally accepted, we can consider that the scene concludes with the exit of all characters and commences with the entrance of other characters. This so-called “law of reentry” operates in the overwhelming majority of scene changes. It is rare for a character who has left the stage in one scene to enter immediately in the very next. As C. M. Haines has pointed out, most of the exceptions occur in battle scenes. In those instances it is usual for an alarum or excursion to separate the two scenes. The other exceptions are in large measure suspect.[7]

Ready analogy to cinematic technique has led a number of scholars to minimize the scene markings. Emphasis has been placed on the flow of scene _to_ scene, to the extent that the separation of scene _from_ scene has had to be made by a shift from one stage area or mansion to another or by the opening or closing of a curtain. However, in deemphasizing the contribution of the stage façade to the continuity of the play, it is necessary to consider that the pointing of scene divisions was managed by the actors themselves. Overlapping of the exit and the entrance may not have been the habit of the Globe company; instead separation and pause may have been the method. The actors or stage attendants, on occasion, had to bring out properties. This necessitated a pause, however brief. Nor need this pause have been reflected in the text. For one entrance in _The Battle of Alcazar_ the stage direction in the Quarto reads:

Enter the king of Portugall and his Lords, Lewes de Sylva, and the Embassadours of Spaine.

In the plot of the play, however, the corresponding direction reads:

Enter: 2 bringing in a chair of state (mr. Hunt): w. Kendall Dab & Harry enter at one dore: Sebastian: Duke of Avero; Stukeley: 1 Pages: Jeames Ionas: & Hercules (th) to them at another dore Embassadors of Spaine mr Iones mr Charles: attendants George and w. Cartwright:[8]

Unfortunately, no similar parallel of stage direction and plot exists for any of the Globe plays. In these same plots, we may also notice, a line was drawn across the page to separate one scene from another. Probably this was done to clarify the sequence of scenes, but it had the added effect of fixing the scene divisions firmly in the actor’s mind. Together with the rhyming couplet which concluded so many scenes, it may have encouraged the insertion of a slight pause between the scenes.

In Chapter Three I fully examined the character of the scene endings. The conclusions are relevant at this point although the evidence need not be reviewed. Seventy-nine per cent of the scene endings indicate explicitly or implicitly that the actors march off-stage. About ten and one-half per cent of the scenes end with solo exits. About the same number of scenes fail to indicate that the actors actually move out. It is obvious, from this distribution, that at the ends of scenes the playwright normally provided the actors with exit lines or movements. These served a double purpose. They stressed the conclusion of the scene, and they bridged the movement across the large platform.

The sufficiency of such simple movement to separate scenes is reflected in what I call split entrances or exits. The split entrance or exit occurs when characters come together or go apart through more than one entryway. Entrance of two or more characters “at several doors” or exit of two or more characters bidding farewell to one another are split. Of the 644 entrances and exits which begin or end scenes in the Shakespearean Globe plays, only 12.1 per cent are split scenes. Even of this low figure only 6.4 per cent are definitely split scenes, the remaining number including probable cases. Thus nearly 90 per cent of the scenes merely involve the exit of one actor or group at one door and the entrance of another actor or group at another. The split scenes are readily staged, if the third entry through the center curtain is employed. Thus the burden of maintaining the continuity and clarifying the story is placed on the actors--not on the stage.

Shakespeare relies on few methods for opening a scene. In 339 entrances[9] in the Shakespearean Globe plays he employs eight methods for 88 per cent of the entrances. The most frequent type of entrance is that of the mid-speech, which accounts for over 40 per cent of the scene beginnings. In such an entrance two or more characters come on-stage engaged in a conversation the topic of which was begun off-stage. This type of entrance is best adapted to emphasize continuity of action. Among the seven other types is the processional entrance, 9½ per cent of the total; the inquiry, soliloquy, and commanding entrance, about 7 per cent each; and finally the salutation, summoning, and emotional entrances, between 5 and 6 per cent each. In the commanding entrance a character enters giving a command to someone already on-stage; in the summoning entrance the character summons someone who is off-stage, and in the emotional entrance a character enters disturbed by some emotional experience, as Julius Caesar is after the tempestuous night (II, ii).

Except for the processional and salutation entrances, the entrances plunge the audience into the midst of a new situation or a more highly developed stage of an earlier situation. In this respect the evidence would appear to contradict my suggestion that a hiatus may have defined the scenes. But considered in terms of the stage, the contradiction is more apparent than real. This can be seen by turning to the mid-speech entrance, 132 examples of which appear at the beginning of scenes. A typical example opens _Othello_. Roderigo and Iago enter, apparently after Iago has told Roderigo of Desdemona’s marriage.

ROD. Tush, never tell me! I take it much unkindly That thou, Iago, who hast had my purse As if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this. IAGO. ’Sblood, but you will not hear me! If ever I did dream of such a matter, Abhor me. [I, i, 1-6]

But where do the characters begin speaking? At a stage door? The stage doors on either side of the stage are virtually behind the stage pillars. No matter how narrow one supposes these pillars to be, and they cannot be very narrow considering their function of supporting the heavens and huts, they interfere with action at the stage doors. Although the exact locations of the doors in the back wall are uncertain, they must have been behind or nearly behind the pillars if one allows for the enclosure. Consequently, I doubt that the mid-speech, which usually provides information vital to the narrative, was begun at a door, and think it more likely that the characters took several paces toward the center or forward before speaking. This action may have provided a hiatus sufficient to mark a new scene. Presence of such a hiatus is supported by the fact that the mid-speech entrance seldom occurs within the body of a scene. Shakespeare uses it almost exclusively to enable the actor to maintain continuity from scene to scene. For example, in _All’s Well_ and _Measure for Measure_, fifteen and ten mid-speech entrances respectively all occur at the beginnings of scenes.

However, if the characters entered through the rear curtain, they could engage in immediate conversation. Entrance of actors through the enclosure curtains was not unusual, and, in fact, may have occurred more frequently than we usually assume. For instance, in _The Battle of Alcazar_, the Quarto stage direction reads:

Enter the king of Portugall and the Moore, with all theyr traine.

For the same action, the plot reads:

Enter at one dore the Portingall Army with drom & Cullors: Sebastian ... att another dore Governor of Tanger ... from behind the Curtaines to them muly mahamet & Calipolis in their Charriott with moores one on each side & attending young mahamet....

Behind the terse stage direction then, lies a more elaborate entrance involving the curtain. Although definite evidence for such entrances does not exist in the Globe plays, there is, on the other hand, no evidence to exclude such entrances. Moreover, there are several situations which imply such use. At the conclusion of scene i in _Othello_, Brabantio and Roderigo exeunt to seek Othello. At line 160 Brabantio had come out one door, representing his house. At line 184 he and Roderigo go out, certainly not back into the house. Othello and Iago enter in mid-speech, surely upon the outer stage. But from where? Not from the door through which Brabantio and Roderigo just went out. Possibly from the door which only recently had been the entrance to Brabantio’s house. Probably through the curtain in the center of the stage. Although the evidence is not conclusively applicable to the Globe plays, it may be pertinent to note that in the _Roxana_ drawing, the flap of the curtain is partially open, and in the frontispiece to _The Wits_ a character is shown coming through the curtain. In all likelihood, actors regularly entered through the center curtain, and when they did, they could begin speaking immediately upon entrance. But when the entrances were made through a stage door, I suggest that conversation was held back for the several seconds needed by the actors to move into the acting area proper and there to mark the beginning of a new scene.

That a need to focus attention upon an entrance existed is evident from a consideration of the entrances within the scenes. Many of these entrances are heralded by some form of announcement or question, such as “My lady comes,” or “How now?” or “Who comes here?” Other means of emphasizing entrances were through action, such as a procession, or through music, such as the horn announcing Lear (I, iv), or through response to a previous command, such as Lucius’ report of the Ides of March in _Julius Caesar_ (II, i). In _As You Like It_, I count thirty-one intrascene entrances: twenty-one are announced, one is accompanied by action, three are responses to a previous command or scheme, and six are unprepared. In _Lear_, there are fifty-one intrascene entrances, of which twenty-five are announced, ten accompanied by action, three by music, and thirteen unprepared. The unprepared entrances in _Lear_ are usually unannounced for dramatic purposes. Oswald’s entering impertinently to Lear (I, iv), Lear’s bearing in the body of Cordelia (V, iii), and Oswald’s sighting “the proclaimed prize,” Gloucester, (IV, vi) depend upon suddenness for dramatic effect.

In addition to directing attention to an incoming actor, the announcement filled an awkward gap. The depth of the stage caused a dislocation between the actors already on stage and those coming on-stage. Frequently, the former would be at the front but the entrant would be at the rear. It was necessary to allow time for the entrant to come down stage. The full effect of these announcements was to formalize the entrances and enhance their ceremonial impression.

Just how conventional the entrance might have been can be seen by examining a particular group of entrance announcements. About forty-three entrances in the Shakespearean Globe plays are accompanied by announcements of greater length than the brief, “Who’s there?” These announcements run from two lines to sixteen lines in length. Most of them are short, two to four lines in length, but a few are longer than ten lines. In each of these instances a character or characters on-stage describe or comment upon someone who has just entered. Usually the entrant is aware of the others, but it is understood that he does not hear the description. Modern producers often try to cover these awkward entrances by giving the entrant some motivated business to account for the delay in speaking. But these scenes are frankly demonstrative, for the audience is supposed to be aware of both parties. In _Hamlet_, Polonius greets Hamlet, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern. Hamlet, without answering, says:

Hark you, Guildenstern--and you too--at each ear a hearer! That great baby you see there is not yet out of his swaddling clouts. [II, ii, 398-401]

And so forth for another three and one-half lines. Polonius can “cover up” by waiting upon the prince, or by engaging in character business, but in essence he becomes an inert object for that period.

The longest delay in an entrance, sixteen lines, occurs in _Coriolanus_ (V, iii, 19 ff.) when Coriolanus describes the delegation of Volumnia, Virgilia, young Marcius, and Valeria approaching him. By no means could it require a speech of that length for the actors to reach him, no matter from what part of the stage they may have entered or where he may have been standing. During his speech they become the visible expression of the inner struggle that he is about to undergo. If they move, they must move very slowly; if they stand still, they compose a picture. It is highly unlikely that the Globe company tried to “naturalize” this entrance by giving the entrants business or movement which would divert the attention of the audience from the effect their entrance was having upon Coriolanus.

Essentially the plays were written to enable the actors to enter effectively without the aid of the façade, to play intimately near the audience, and to retire convincingly without loss of attention. When one takes into account the number of processions, salutations, commands, summonses, and expressions of duty introduced to cover and emphasize the entrances, one realizes that continuity from scene to scene was mannered rather than casual, ceremonious rather than personal, conventional rather than spontaneous. The effect was probably not too far removed from the daily social manner of the Elizabethans, but on stage their natural predilection for ceremony may have been more fully systematized.

IV. RECURRENT PATTERNS OF STAGING

The patterns of continuity then do not lie in a play’s use of the stage façade but inhere in a play’s structure. Chapter Two traced the principal method of Shakespearean storytelling with its apparent looseness of construction but its actual scheme of central intensification and narrative finale. Within this framework abounds a tremendous variety of scenes which seem to defy classification. Nevertheless, situations and devices do recur in Shakespeare’s plays. It is to those recurrent devices that I now turn, for an examination of their patterns provides the best means of envisioning the staging of Shakespeare’s plays at the Globe.

At one extreme there are those devices, such as the soliloquy, which are highly conventionalized and frequently employed. At the other extreme are the situations or episodes which are so individualized that they seem to rely upon no distinct dramatic convention, and therefore seem to be “a mirror of nature.” Between the common theatrical device and the unique dramatic situation exist the many episodes and devices in Shakespeare which are more or less formal and which are repeated with greater or lesser frequency in play after play. Through the reconstruction of the staging of these recurrent devices and scenes, such as asides, disguises, and so forth, the practices of the Globe playhouse should become apparent.

I shall first consider the soliloquy, the aside, and the observation scene. These forms being readily imitable appear throughout the Globe repertory with frequency. For that reason comparisons in function and technique are plentiful. Although these devices compose a brief portion of a play, they contribute to the development of the action and represent the theatrical method employed to tell the story.

The soliloquy is probably the most characteristic theatrical device of the Elizabethan stage. In the great soliloquies of _Hamlet_ and _Macbeth_ Shakespeare perfected this form of expression. Unfortunately, these supreme examples have epitomized the content and atmosphere of all soliloquies. The result has been injurious both to the study of literature and the reconstruction of theatrical conventions.

In tone and character, the soliloquy displays great variation. Among the 144 soliloquies which I count in the Shakespearean Globe plays, I distinguish three main subdivisions. All of these represent some form of conscious thought brought to a point where it verges on speech. Broadly, the soliloquies can be divided into those which are essentially emotive in expression, those which are cerebral, and those which are invocative. The divisions are not hard and fast, however. The emotional release of Hamlet, after he castigates himself as a “dull and muddy mettled rascal,” gives way to rational plotting to ensnare his uncle. For convenience, however, it is not inaccurate to speak of these three categories. The emotive soliloquies make up about 40 per cent of the total; the rational, containing philosophical comments, plotting, and moralizations, make up about 46 per cent of the total; and the invocative, such as Lady Macbeth’s call to the spirits of evil, make up about 7 per cent. These figures are suggestive, not definitive, nor does it matter that they are so. The important thing to note is that the introspective soliloquy is rare. Among the emotive soliloquies, there are expressions of sheer emotion, such as Orlando’s paean of love (_As You Like It_, III, ii, 1-10) and Angelo’s cry of remorse (_Measure for Measure_, IV, iv, 22-36), Ophelia’s lamentation over Hamlet (_Hamlet_, III, i, 158-169), and Thersites’ railings (_Troilus and Cressida_, V, iv, 1-18). But there are few examples of the soliloquy of inner conflict, no more than 5 per cent of all the soliloquies.

Not only in character are the bulk of the soliloquies nonintrospective, but also in style they are extroverted. Shakespeare depends a great deal upon apostrophe to sustain the soliloquy. The character’s address may be directed toward the gods (_Pericles_, III, i, 1-2: “Thou god of this great vast, rebuke these surges,/Which wash both heaven and hell”) or to another person not on stage (Antony to Cleopatra, IV, xiv, 50-52: “I come my queen.... Stay for me./Where souls do couch on flowers, we’ll hand in hand/And with our sprightly port make the ghosts gaze”) or to natural forces (_Timon_, IV, iii, 176-196, to Mother Earth) or to bodily organs (Claudius in _Hamlet_, III, iii, 70: “Bow, stubborn knees”). In fact, this form of address may be directed to anyone or anything. The effect of this literary figure was to substitute a listener for an absent actor. True, the listener was imaginative rather than actual, mute rather than responsive. But instead of directing the soliloquy inward, the apostrophe enabled the actor to direct it outward.

Other literary forms were also employed toward this end. Frequently the character makes himself the listener by self-interrogation. “Am I a coward? Who calls me villain?” asks Hamlet of himself (II, ii, 598-599). Often the emotive soliloquy is couched in a series of flat assertions or descriptions or comparisons, all of which are contained in Hamlet’s soliloquy beginning, “How all occasions do inform against me” (IV, iv). However, because twentieth-century ears are acutely sensitive to psychological nuances suggested by a soliloquy, they very often hear a false echo of inner revelation. Only a few speeches of admittedly great soliloquies reveal profound conflicts of the mind (_Hamlet_, I, ii, 129-159; II, i, 56-89; _Macbeth_, I, vii, 1-28; II, i, 33-64; _Julius Caesar_, II, i, 10-69).

In line with the modern conception of the soliloquies as moments of the most intimate, intensive personal revelation has arisen the idea that the very front of the platform stage is the true province of the soliloquy. Surrounded by the audience, so close that he could almost touch the spectators, the actor is pictured as unveiling his soul. But this view of the soliloquy must be questioned. Although there is no evidence in the Shakespearean Globe plays concerning the actors’ positions during the delivery of the soliloquies, in the non-Shakespearean Globe plays there are four instances where soliloquies are delivered from the enclosure, two each in _The Devil’s Charter_ and _Thomas Lord Cromwell._ Whether or not the speaker remained in the “study” throughout the speech is uncertain. In one case, _The Devil’s Charter_, Act IV,