Chapter Three

THE STAGE

Two boards and a passion! Perhaps these words sum up all that was essential to the Shakespearean theater. Heightening of passion coincided with the “climax,” and as for the Elizabethan stage, it was, as G. F. Reynolds remarked, a platform “upon which the story of the play was acted.”[1] And so it was, a flat expanse of boards, somewhat exposed to the weather, roughly eleven hundred square feet.

The story that was acted may be best described as romantic, not because it dealt with romance, although it often did, but because it was centrifugal in impulse, ever threatening to veer from its path. Whatever direct progression narrative possessed in the medieval drama, whether moving from Adam’s sin to Christ’s judgment or from Everyman’s ignorance to his salvation, such progression no longer existed in the Elizabethan age. Instead, the unfolding of the drama took place in a world half of man, and therefore unpredictable, half of God, and therefore moral, and was composed half of history, half of legend; half remote fantasy, half immediate reality. Such a world was wide indeed, and the poet-playwright, its creator, was shackled by neither time nor place. What he demanded of a stage was space for the unimpeded flow of scene after scene, for the instantaneous creation of any place in this world or the next. Even when a ghost in mufti made his way out the stage door in broad daylight, the poet insisted he vanished--yes, even into thin air.

Between the poet’s insistence and the stage’s realization lies the entire secret of Elizabethan staging. About the stage’s realization there is some evidence and little knowledge. Stage directions, a much-debated sketch of a playhouse, a tantalizing incomplete building contract, other assorted fragments, invite the scholar to tilt at theory. About the poet’s insistence there can be little question. Texts of play after play document the demands that the writers made upon the “unworthy scaffold.” Prudence suggests, therefore, that we proceed from play to stage, discovering first what those demands were and then, if we can, how they were satisfied. To understand what the demands were in respect to the environment of an action, it is necessary to consider the following questions: how exactly was a scene located, how consistently was the location maintained, and how relevant was the location to the dramatic impact of the scene?

I. LOCALIZATION IN SHAKESPEARE’S GLOBE PLAYS

In Shakespeare’s Globe plays many scenes are given an exact setting. By exact I wish to convey the notion that the action is supposed to occur in or at a particular place, such as a room, hall, gateway, garden, bridge, and that this place remains consistent throughout the scene. For example, in the scene where Martius, yet to win his name of Coriolanus, assaults the gates of Corioles (I, iv), the location is specific, consistent, and dramatically relevant. At one point in the same play Coriolanus prepares to enter the house of his enemy, Aufidius. The scene (IV, iv) takes place before Aufidius’ door. Here exactness of location intensifies dramatic suspense because, as we watch Coriolanus pass through the doorway, we know he is putting himself at the mercy of his greatest antagonist. Many examples of such types of placement come to mind: Brutus’ orchard, Gertrude’s closet, Timon’s cave, etc. Such scenes have come to be called “localized.”

Usually the opposite of the “localized” setting is the “unlocalized.” In this type of setting no impression of place is projected. Location is irrelevant to the progression of the scenes. Clear-cut instances of this occur in _Macbeth_, II, iv, and III, vi. In the first of these scenes Ross and an old man comment on the unnatural state of the world, then Macduff brings them news of Duncan’s burial and Macbeth’s election to the throne. In the second scene, Lennox and a gentleman comment upon the web of tyranny and the hope that lies in England with Malcolm. Aside from the section containing Macduff’s news, neither of these scenes contributes to the flow of the narrative. Rather they are comments upon the action and essentially perform a choral function.

That these two types of scenes are present in Elizabethan plays has long been recognized. Some scholars, such as V. E. Albright, E. K. Chambers, and J. C. Adams, have tended to divide all scenes of a play into one or the other type, the localized, usually interior and more or less realistic, the unlocalized, exterior, neutral, and somewhat less realistic. This division, according to Albright, derives from the _sedes_ and _platea_ of the medieval stage.[2] What had been physically separate areas earlier became united on one stage in the Tudor period. But, the argument runs, the Elizabethan dramatists continued to juxtapose the two types of scenes, stringing them in a more or less alternating order along the thread of narrative.

To what extent can this dichotomy be supported by the evidence from the Globe? Naturally there is no sharp distinction between these two types of localization. The differentiation depends upon the sequence a scene assumes in the narrative. Consequently, there are scenes which clearly fit into one or the other category. But even if all the localized and unlocalized scenes are counted, the total amounts to only 136. Since there are 345 scenes in my enumeration of the fifteen Shakespearean Globe plays, 209 remain to be accounted for.[3]

Is it true, as William Archer, Harley Granville-Barker, and George F. Reynolds have pointed out, that much localization was vague, that place faded elusively like a mirage before a traveler, and that often the Elizabethans treated the stage as stage? “Scene after scene,” asserts Granville-Barker, “might pass with the actors moving to all intents merely in the ambit of the play’s story and of their own emotions: unless, the spell broken, they were suddenly and incongruously seen to be upon a stage.”[4] Many a scene gives just such an impression, and yet, in almost every scene that is not unlocalized, the characters do not actually act in a dislocated void but are known to be in some more or less specific region. Even when attention is directly called to the stage-as-stage, stage-as-fictional-world still remains. In such moments the audience experiences a double image.

It is a commonplace that the public stages of the Elizabethan period contained “Asia of the one side, and Affricke of the other.” Though contemptuous in intent, in effect this phrase of Sidney’s isolates one of the characteristics of Elizabethan scene setting. Perhaps, as some scholars have thought, the Elizabethans utilized place cards to inform the audience of the general location of a scene. But whether they did or not, they were in the habit of specifying a place at large but not a particular section of it. In such cases the stage stands for rather than represents the fictional locale, the confines of which cannot be reasonably encompassed within the limits of the stage. In this type of locale, placement is general rather than precise--for example, the city of Troy in _Troilus and Cressida_, not a particular part of it. Rome as a whole rather than some portion of it is often the setting in _Coriolanus_ (I, i; IV, ii; IV, vi). Free movement within such a locale occurs readily as in _Julius Caesar_ (III, i), where action takes place first in the street and then in the Capitol. Sequences of action which would be incongruous in a localized setting assume dramatic power in a generalized setting. In the very same place, Othello’s castle, occur the private conflict of Othello and Desdemona and the public encounter of Cassio and Bianca (III, iv). Actually, in this type of setting, dramatic impact proceeds from the general rather than the specific nature of the locale. Without a doubt we know when the scene is Rome and when Egypt in _Antony and Cleopatra_. Dramatically that is all we need to know. To endeavor to isolate the whereabouts of Octavius’ meeting with Antony (II, ii) would reduce the stature of that meeting. All of Rome is their stage just as in medieval practice all of paradise might be the setting for Adam and Eve. Among the 345 scenes of Shakespeare’s Globe plays, 142 are clearly of this sort and 67 tend toward this sort, accounting together for fully 60 per cent of the scenes.

A. H. Thorndike described three types of localization too: the definitely localized, the vaguely localized, and the unlocalized.[5] At first my analysis may seem to repeat his. However, there is a fundamental difference. The generalized locale is not vague; it is extensive, it is symbolic, and dramatically it is concrete. The audience is not expected to identify the stage with a particular location but to understand that it functions as a token of Troy or the Danish palace or the Forest of Arden. Regularly editors have been reducing the generalized location to a localized setting congruent with realistic dimensions. This practice merely betrays the scope of Elizabethan drama. The real distinction between scene _loci_ was not, as others have assumed, a separation of interior from exterior or realistic from conventional but a gradation from the unlocalized through the generalized to the localized setting.

Before investigating whether or not the Globe stage utilized stage decor to set these scenes, it is advisable to consider to what degree and by what methods location was conveyed by the playwright himself. It might be well to state at the outset that in extremely few cases is place projected through properties or other decor. Of all the scenes in Shakespeare’s Globe plays I count only seventeen in which this occurs, a mere 5 per cent. The most frequently recurring methods used by Shakespeare to indicate location are by announcement: a character tells us where he is (“This is the forest of Arden,” _As You Like It_, II, iv); by foreshadowing a location: a character in one scene tells us where he or others will be next (“To the Monument,” _Antony and Cleopatra_, IV, xiv); and by identifying a character with a place (early in _All’s Well_, the Countess becomes identified with Rossillion; whenever she appears thereafter, the scene, we know, is Rossillion). Some of these methods are used in combination. For example, we learn in the second scene of _Othello_ that the Duke is in council, to whose presence Othello, Brabantio, and others are summoned. This is foreshadowing. In the next scene when we see a meeting in progress between the Duke and Senators, we can guess we are at the council, and when Othello and Brabantio enter shortly, we are sure of it. Of course, there are other methods employed to indicate place, but these three are the principal ones. Announcements help to locate 129 of the scenes (37.3 per cent), presence of characters, 128 of the scenes (37.1 per cent), and foreshadowing, 61 of the scenes (17.7 per cent).

Though the chorus is used only occasionally to indicate place, it tells us most about Elizabethan playwrights’ attitudes toward setting the scenes. Fortunately, the Globe plays include two examples of this technique, one from the beginning and one from the end of the decade. In _Every Man Out of His Humour_ Ben Jonson introduces three choral figures, Asper, Mitis, and Cordatus. At the end of the induction Asper leaves the stage to assume the role of Macilente; Mitis and Cordatus remain to comment upon the action. Cordatus, who knows the play, is able to inform Mitis where the

## action takes place. For some scenes he indicates a generalized

locale. “The Scene is the country still,” he remarks to Mitis (Chorus to II, i) or “Onely transferre your thoughts to the city, with the Scene; where, suppose they speake” (Chorus to II, iv). Sometimes he is more specific. Upon the entrance of Cavaliere Shift (III, i), Mitis asks,

What new _Mute_ is this, that walkes so suspiciously? CORD. O, mary this is one, for whose better illustration; we must desire you to presuppose the stage, the middle isle in Paules; and that, the west end of it.

At one time, where the presence of characters identifies the location, Cordatus queries Mitis, “You understand where the Scene is?” (Chorus to IV, i). Jonson, desirous of specifying particular London sites despite the fiction of Italian-named characters, is experimenting along the lines of Shakespeare who shortly before tried a similar method in _Henry V_. Shakespeare returned to this device in _Pericles_. Gower, the chorus, relates portions of Pericles’ adventures directly and in accompaniment to several dumb shows. In passing he often sets the locale. The first scene, he tells us, is “this Antioch ... this city” (17-18). Preparatory to the commencement of III, i, Gower asks the audience,

In your imagination hold This stage the ship, upon whose deck The sea-tost Pericles appears to speak

Imagine! Suppose! Both Jonson and Shakespeare call upon the audience to visualize the place of action. Clearly neither conventional nor realistic setting is introduced. Only words, in these instances delivered directly, in most instances conveyed in the midst of dramatic action, are the means for informing the audience where the scene takes place.

II. THE PARTS OF THE STAGE

What the Choruses make evident is that the stage was not altered for individual scenes. As a consequence, the stage structure itself, not scenery, served as the frame for the action. What this structure was and how it was used has been debated for years, and yet despite the lively and continuous debate, there actually exists a broad band of agreement About the size of the stage, for instance, there is little dispute. It is deduced from the Fortune contract. Without a doubt the platform, one side of which was attached to the stage wall or façade, was large, probably about 25 by 45 feet, and bare. Whether or not the supporting trestles were seen by the audience, as Hodges claims, matters little in a consideration of the use of the stage. What is important is that the stage extended to the middle of the yard, that consequently a large portion of the audience stood or sat on either side of the actors, and that the actors had to master the techniques of playing on this open stage. Some disagreement exists concerning the shape of the stage which, according to John C. Adams, was not rectangular but tapered inward toward the front. However, the weight of the evidence is against this theory, and most scholars are inclined to accept the rectangular shape.

Upon what other points is there general agreement? For one, that there were two pillars, located halfway between the stage wall and the front edge of the platform, which supported a shadow or cover over part of the stage. For another, that at platform level the stage wall contained two doors at least and probably a third entry or enclosed space and on an upper level, some sort of acting area. Where there are disputes, they arise over three matters: (1) what details complete this generally accepted scheme, (2) how the parts of the stage were employed, and (3) what temporary structures, if any, supplemented the basic façade. To examine these issues, it will be necessary to review each part of the stage in the light of the Globe repertory.

The Globe plays confirm the presence of at least two entrance doors at some distance from each other. On several occasions there is need for two characters to enter simultaneously from separate entrances and after some conversation come together. For the existence of a third entry the Globe plays offer no conclusive proof. No stage direction specifying an entry from a middle door, such as can be found in non-Globe plays, appears. However, certain scenes do suggest the use of a third entrance. In _Macbeth_ (V, vii) Malcolm, who has presumably come through one door (_A_), is invited into the castle of Dunsinane by Siward. At his exit (through _B_ presumably) Macbeth enters. Either he can come from the door (_A_) through which Malcolm entered, which is dramatically unconvincing, or from the door (_B_) of Dunsinane, which is awkward, or from a third entrance, evidence for which is not conclusive. Still, another sort of evidence does occur, which supports the idea of a third entry. In all cases, save one, where simultaneous entrances take place, the stage direction either reads “Enter _A_ at one door, and enter _B_ at another” or “at another door” or “Enter _A_ and _B_ severally,” or “at several doors.” In all the Globe plays, Shakespearean and non-Shakespearean, there are twenty-two instances of such stage directions.[6] The only exception is _Pericles_ (IV, iv), “Enter Pericles at one doore, with all his trayne, Cleon and Dioniza at _the_ other. Cleon shewes Pericles the tombe, whereat, Pericles makes lamentatton [_sic_].” The explanation for the article, “the” other door, if a third did exist, may be that the third entry was used to display the tomb. The presence of a word such as “another” in all other stage directions implies that when one door was used, more than one other entrance remained, and that, therefore, a third mode of entry was regularly employed on the Globe stage.

Regarding the position of the main entrance doors on either side of the stage, the Globe plays are equally unhelpful. Authority for oblique doors partly facing each other rests on three items of evidence that have been set forth. (1) The phrase “Enter _A_ and _B_ at opposite doors,” which appears in some of the Jacobean plays, proves, according to W. J. Lawrence, that the doors faced each other.[7] (2) Certain plays need facing doors in the action.[8] (3) The historical development of the playhouses explains the genesis of the oblique doors.[9] Concerning the first item, I need only point out that in no stage direction in the Globe plays does the phrase “at opposite doors” appear. Nor does it appear in any pre-Globe Shakespearean play. The second item invites subjective judgment. Lawrence insists that the last scene of _The Merry Devil of Edmonton_, a Globe play, could not be played unless the doors were oblique. However, cross-observation in that

## scene concerns the exchange of signs over the doors to two inns in

Waltham.

SIR ARTHUR. Mine host, mine host, we lay all night at the George in Waltham, but whether the George be your fee-simple or no, tis a doubtfull question, looke upon your signe.

HOST. Body of Saint George, this is mine overthwart neighbour hath done this to seduce my blind customers. [Sig. F2^r]

Signs extending over a door would be readily seen from the opposite end of the stage whether or not the doors were oblique. What this interpretation comes down to is that insistence on opposite doors reveals a realistic conception of staging. Out of oblique doors characters emerge already facing each other or the action. They can respond “naturally” and “realistically.” But, if the doors are flush with the façade, an “unnatural” formal entrance results.

The last argument for oblique doors is historical. Lawrence claims that they were introduced into the Globe from the second Blackfriars theater (1598-1600). Adams argues that they were developed when the Theatre’s frame was adapted for the Globe. Neither offers sufficiently convincing proof to counter-balance the evidence of the Swan drawing which clearly shows flush doors. Therefore, though either oblique or flush doors could accommodate the Globe plays, flush doors were more likely to have been employed.

We can also dismiss the notion occasionally put forth that the doors consistently represented entrances from particular places, such as Olivia’s house in _Twelfth Night_ or Page’s and Ford’s houses in _The Merry Wives of Windsor_. The difficulty of maintaining a continuing identification of one place with one entrance is obvious in the latter play. The comedy opens with the entrance of Justice Shallow, Sir Hugh Evans, and Slender. Their point of entry (marked _A_ for identification) is unspecified and therefore might be in the center. Having been insulted by Falstaff, whom he expects to find at Page’s house, Shallow calls upon the Windsor worthy who emerges from his house (entry _B_). The remaining entrances and exits in scene i and in the brief

## scene ii maintain these associations. Scene iii occurs at the

Garter. It is possible to confine all in-goings and out-goings to one door (entry _C_). But with scene iv all previous associations are shattered. The place is Dr. Caius’ house. Entry _A_, _B_, or _C_ must represent Caius’ house. The neutral entry A can be selected. But in the course of the scene Simple is forced to hide from Caius. He cannot exit at _A_, for Caius is about to enter at that point. Thus he must choose _B_ (Page’s house) or _C_ (the Garter). A continuation of this analysis would only confirm how hopeless it is to expect any correlation between an entry and a specific locality for more than one scene. Further evidence exists in _Twelfth Night_ that the doors did not have locational significance. At the conclusion of Act I, scene v, Olivia sends Malvolio after Cesario to tell “him” that she’ll have none of “his” ring. After an intervening scene, Malvolio encounters Cesario. His first line is, “Were not you ev’n now with the Countess Olivia?” Simple realism would demand that Malvolio, endeavoring to catch Cesario, would follow “him” on stage. That is how the scene is frequently staged. However, the stage direction specifies, “Enter Viola and Malvolio at several doors” (II, ii). Professor Reynolds has reconstructed the staging of _Troilus and Cressida_ so that one stage door represents Troy, the other the Grecian camp.[10] An enclosed recess, with the curtain drawn, becomes Cressida’s home and with the curtain closed, Achilles’ tent. But, as Irwin Smith has reminded me privately, this arrangement is “proved wrong by the stage direction to Act IV, scene i, which specifies entrance at two doors,” although the location of the scene is wholly within Troy. The fact is that every other Globe play lacks that neat division of place which enables us to assign one location to one door and another to the other door. Too often there is a major shift in location during the course of a play, such as, from the court to the forest in _As You Like It_, from Venice to Cyprus in _Othello_, from the castle to the field in _Lear_. Such a shift prevents the localizing of the stage door for any appreciable period.

As good evidence as that of Reynolds can be offered for a theory that actors almost always obeyed the convention of entering at one door and leaving at the other, regardless of location. In _Hamlet_, for instance, there are only three instances when such a convention would be violated: when Polonius is sent for the ambassadors and players in II, ii, and when the Prologue leaves to usher in the players in III, ii. I offer this suggestion not as a theory but as a warning against such reconstructed staging as Reynolds proposes.

The critical part of any study of an Elizabethan playhouse concerns the “third entry,” “the place in the middle,” “the booth,” “the inner stage,” “the discovery-space.” The abundance of terms testifies to the uncertainty concerning this area. Every aspect of it is open to controversy: function, dimensions in all directions, the presence of curtains, and location. But that there is some space between the stage doors, capable of being enclosed or secluded, is granted by all scholars. Objection has been raised to calling this area an “inner stage,” first because the term never appeared in Elizabethan texts, and secondly because it suggests a purpose that it did not have, namely, to house entire scenes. Increasingly the term “discovery-space” has been utilized, notably by Richard Hosley, but this has the disadvantage of suggesting too limited a function for the space. Since the area we are concerned with, whether recessed or not, had to be enclosed, almost certainly by curtains, I have chosen to refer to the “enclosure” of the Globe stage.

Any investigation of the enclosure is obliged to include an investigation of Elizabethan stage properties. For a long time it was suggested that a principal purpose of the enclosure was to mask the placement of furniture and other properties. While it is becoming increasingly evident that we must regard such a presumption with skepticism, nevertheless, the presence of a property has so often been cited as evidence for the use of an enclosure that it is necessary to review the handling of stage properties at the Globe before considering the enclosure directly. Aside from their connection with the problem of the enclosure, furthermore, stage properties deserve attention, for their appearance in a play can be more readily ascertained than any other element of production and as a result can provide clues to the methods of staging.

Anyone who has had occasion to produce a Shakespearean play realizes how few properties are needed for any single play. Yet even when we are cautious, we tend to overproperty a play. Even properties clearly alluded to may not exist on stage. Several times in _Julius Caesar_ characters speak of Caesar having been struck down at the base of Pompey’s statue (III, i, 115; III, ii, 193), even in the very scene where the action takes place. Yet the description is merely a paraphrase of Plutarch.[11] The Romans are beaten back to their trenches in their first assault against Corioles (I, iv). Once more the trenches are not on-stage but in Plutarch.

Consequently, in examining the Globe plays, I have tried to guard against seeing a stage property where none exists. Only when use is clearly demonstrable in action or stage direction can we assume that a property was introduced. Some instances exist where smaller properties were added to give verisimilitude to a scene, as Fabell’s necromantic instruments in _The Merry Devil of Edmonton_, prologue, and Horace’s papers in _Satiromastix_ (I, iii), but larger properties which require placement or setting were charily employed. It is to these set properties that I shall refer.

In the fifteen Globe plays written by Shakespeare I count sixty-five uses of properties, in the twelve non-Shakespearean plays, sixty-eight.[12] In the former plays the presence of fifteen of these “props” is difficult to verify. Such a property would be the “hedge-corner” around which the soldiers hide before pouncing on Parolles (_All’s Well_, IV, i) or the “tree” upon which Orlando hangs his verses (_As You Like It_, III, ii). Since the hedge and the tree might very well be represented by the stage posts, I must omit consideration of them. In the twelve non-Shakespearean plays there are seventeen such properties. Consequently, in one category we are left with fifty properties and in the other with fifty-one, or one hundred and one altogether, an average of almost four properties a play. That this is not a slim list for a ten-year period is supported by the few properties inventoried by Henslowe in 1598. The heading of the inventory claims that _all_ the properties are listed. Of set properties there are only twenty-one.[13] To these we may add chairs and tables which are not included. Nor are curtains mentioned unless “the cloth of the Sone & Mone” is a hanging of some sort rather than rudimentary scenery, as Malone suggested. In any case the list substantiates the conclusion that Elizabethan stage production employed few properties and reinforces the warning that we should not insist upon finding others where they do not appear.

How were the properties introduced onto the stage? Some were discovered. When Lychorida bids Pericles look upon his dead bride, she probably draws a curtain to reveal Thaisa on the bitter “child-bed” of which Pericles speaks (III, i). Other properties were brought on. For the fencing match between Hamlet and Laertes, though the 1604 Quarto stage direction notes, “A table prepared ...,” the Folio specifies that following the King, Queen, and others, there enter “other Attendants with Foyles, and Gauntlets, a Table and Flagons of wine on it” (V, ii). But many instances are not so clear, instances where at most we can assume that a property was _probably_ brought on stage or _probably_ discovered. Another small category exists. There are several instances where properties are taken off stage, although there is no evidence to indicate how they came to be on stage. Caesar, at the finale of _Antony and Cleopatra_, commands his soldiers to “Take up [Cleopatra’s] bed,/and bear her women from the monument” (V, ii, 359-360). To my mind this suggests that the prop had been previously brought on.

I have carefully examined the one hundred and one properties for evidence of method of introduction. The chart below summarizes my analysis.

_How Props_ | _In_ | _In Non-_ | _Are_ | _Shakespearean_ | _Shakespearean_ | _Total_ _Introduced_ | _Plays_ | _Plays_ | --------------+-----------------+-----------------+----------------- | _No._ | % | _No._ | % | _No._ | % +--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+-------- Brought on | 12 | 24. | 18 | 35.3 | 30 | 29.7 Probably | | | | | | brought on | 11 | 22. | 8 | 15.7 | 19 | 18.8 Taken off | 2 | 4. | 2 | 3.9 | 4 | 4. +--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+-------- _Total_ | 25 | 50. | 28 | 54.9 | 53 | 52.5 +--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+-------- Discovered | 2 | 4. | 8 | 15.7 | 10 | 9.9 Probably | | | | | | discovered | 7 | 14. | 1 | 1.9 | 8 | 7.9 +--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+-------- _Total_ | 9 | 18. | 9 | 17.6 | 18 | 17.8 Undetermined | 16 | 32. | 14 | 27.5 | 30 | 29.7 --------------+--------+--------+--------+--------+--------+-------- _Grand Total_| 50 | | 51 | | 101 |

In both Shakespearean and non-Shakespearean plays the percentages are about the same. Clearly the number of properties brought on greatly outnumber those which are discovered. Yet enough properties are discovered to make the presence of an enclosure certain.

Tables are usually brought out. In all the Globe plays tables are used seventeen times. Ten of these are banquet tables, seven of which are specifically directed to be brought out.[14] Of the rest two are probably brought out, and one may or may not have been brought out.[15] Since it was customary in Elizabethan life for banquet tables to be portable, it has been objected that the use of an enclosure is not disproved by such evidence. Instead we are asked to regard the practice as a bit of realistic business. This objection, however, does not explain why, as in _Macbeth_, III, iv, a banquet is sometimes prepared in front of the audience before the arrival of the principal characters. In any case the evidence concerning the table as stage property shows that the introduction of banquet tables does not depend upon an enclosure.

Of the other seven tables, four are definitely brought out, one is probably brought out, the introduction of one is undetermined, and one seems to have been discovered.[16] This last property is referred to in the stage direction in _Othello_, I, iii, “Enter Duke and Senators, set at a Table with lights and Attendants.” The Quarto (1622) for this play is late, so that the discovery may depict a later method. In contrast to all other cases in the Globe plays, this is the sole instance where a table is discovered.

Tracing the introduction of seats is more difficult. There are infrequent references to chairs in stage directions. Only occasionally is a chair, or more usually a stool, named in the dialogue. More often there is the invitation of one character to another to sit down. Twenty-two instances of seating occur in Shakespeare’s Globe plays, twenty-one in the non-Shakespearean plays. One type of seat is always brought in, that is the chair for an invalid. Two such chairs are definitely introduced by Shakespeare, one for Lear, the other for Cassio when wounded. A third might be intended for the King of France when he calls, “Give me some help here, ho!” (_All’s Well_, II, i). One such chair containing the Wife, is brought in in _A Yorkshire Tragedy_; a similar type, a sedan chair apparently, is introduced in _Volpone_ (V, ii).

An entire category of seats is represented by the simple joint-stool. It appears for Goneril in Lear’s arraignment of his daughters (III, vi), it serves for Volumnia and Virgilia as they sew (_Coriolanus_, I, iii), and it holds the Ghost of Banquo (_Macbeth_, III, iv). These stools are elusive though. Seldom are they specifically directed to be brought on. An illuminating instance occurs in _The Devil’s Charter_. Lucretia Borgia is plotting the death of her husband, Gismond. The stage direction at the beginning of Act I, scene v, reads, “Enter Lucretia alone in her nightgowne untired bringing in a chaire, which she planteth upon the Stage.” She prepares the trap-chair for her husband, and when he arrives “Gismond sitteth downe in a Chaire, Lucretia on a stoole beside him.” But where did the “stoole” come from? If an attendant had accompanied her, why did Lucretia have to carry the chair? Obviously she must have entered alone. Therefore, unless one suggests that she also carried on a stool, hitherto unmentioned, the only possibility left is to suppose that the stool was already on the stage. Once one grants that stools may have been left on the stage, many scenes and directions become clear. When banquets are brought on stage, no mention is made of accompanying seats. Furthermore, when the type of seat at banquets is named, it turns out to be a stool. In various plays the actors sit in places that in reality would be devoid of seats, for example, on the watch in _Hamlet_ (I, i), at the city gates in _Measure for Measure_ (V, i), Antony somewhere after a defeat (_Antony and Cleopatra_, III, x). It is not too far a leap to assume that it was regular practice at the Globe playhouse to have stools distributed about the stage for the use of the actors.

Two other types of seats appear in the Shakespearean plays: the “chair” and the state. The chair is only mentioned once. It is the one to which Gloucester is bound before he is blinded. There is no indication whether it is brought on or discovered, one’s decision in the matter being determined by where one places the scene on the stage. The state too is mentioned specifically only once. After the banquet is brought out, Macbeth tells the assembled guests, “Our hostesse keeps her state, but in best time/ We will require her welcome.” (III, iv). This implies that Lady Macbeth sits apart from the company, perhaps in the enclosure. The state may have been placed there when the banquet was prepared or it may have been discovered. Significantly no action takes place at the state. Several other scenes would permit the use of a state. In each case there is evidence that the scenes proper take place on the stage platform. Though a curtain could be utilized to reveal the state in these cases, I incline to the theory that the state was brought or thrust out.

Of all properties beds are most frequently discovered. There are eleven instances in the Globe plays where beds or cushions for sleeping are introduced. In three the bed is definitely and in three others probably discovered, but in only two of these scenes is action sustained around the beds. The other scenes merely contain references to them or display someone reclining. Three other instances afford insufficient evidence to judge whether the beds are discovered or not and the remaining two provide curious evidence. _The Devil’s Charter_ and _Antony and Cleopatra_ were written about the same time. In both plays people die from the bite of an asp; in the former play they are murdered (IV, v), in the latter they commit suicide (V, ii), but in both cases the scenes conclude with the order to take up the beds and bear in the bodies. Extended action takes place about the beds, perhaps offering the explanation for the beds being forward on the platform.[17]

The question of whether or not heavy properties were discovered is answered by a type of property which keeps recurring in the Globe plays. This may very well be the counterpart of “a payre of stayres for Fayeton” in Henslowe’s inventory. In a well reasoned article Warren Smith has demonstrated the likelihood that scaffolding of some sort was introduced as a property on the Globe stage.[18] Not the upper level of the stage façade, but such a scaffold, he contends, was the pulpit in _Julius Caesar_ (III, ii), a place to see the warriors in _Troilus and Cressida_ (I, ii), the monument in _Antony and Cleopatra_ (IV, xvi), the platform in _Hamlet_ (I, i). Though his argument does not fit _Hamlet_ or completely explain _Antony and Cleopatra_, its basic premise is verified by two non-Shakespearean Globe plays.

In the last scene of _Fair Maid of Bristow_, Vallenger, the prodigal, is about to be executed for the supposed murder of Sentloe. By this point in the play Vallenger has been spiritually redeemed from sin. About to die, he delivers a brief speech,

Ere I ascend this stage where I must act, The latest period of this life of mine, First let me do my deuty to my prince. Next unto you, to much by me offended, Now step, by step, as I ascend this place, Mount thou my soule into the throwne of grace. [Sig. E4^r]

Presumably he reaches the top, as do his alleged accomplices, for shortly thereafter the King calls, “Dispatch them executioner: dispatch.” Clearly some scaffold has been revealed or brought out for this scene. It is one which the actors can mount before an audience. It also had to be large enough to accommodate four people. From other evidence Smith suggests a platform of this sort would be three or four steps high. Despite its size a subsequent line indicates that it was moved about in front of the audience.

Before the execution can take place, Sentloe reveals that he is not really dead, but has pretended to be in order to subject Vallenger to a rigorous trial of soul and thus force him to purge his offenses. Amidst the joyful reunion of Vallenger and his wife, the King commands,

Away with that same tradgike monument. [Sig. F2^v]

Presumably the scaffold is withdrawn from the stage. In all likelihood a scaffold large enough to hold four people was too large to fit through a doorway. Therefore, we must assume that it was removed through the enclosure.

The forward placement of the scaffold is attested by another Globe play. Enamored of Corvino’s wife, Volpone disguised as a mountebank mounts his bank under the window where he might glimpse the lady (II, ii). Dramatically and physically his bank could only be placed on the platform. That he has actually gone up on some structure which, however, is lower than window height, is proved, first, when “Celia at the windo’ throwes downe her handkerchiefe,” and secondly, when Corvino, the jealous husband, rushes out of his door and shouts to Volpone to “Come downe” (II, iii). Here too there is no stage direction for the setting up and taking down of a scaffold, but the reiteration of Corvino’s “will you downe, sir? downe?” establishes its existence. Perhaps, in this case too, actors or attendants erected or thrust out some frame. Once it is established that such a scaffold was brought out upon the Globe stage, it becomes clear that it appears in some of the scenes cited by Smith. How its use affected staging is properly reserved for a later chapter.

Out of the total properties of one hundred and one, I have already accounted for seventy-six. The remaining twenty-five are divided amongst miscellaneous properties such as tombs, tents, greenery of some sort, and others. Only two scenes require tombs, a dumb show in _Pericles_ (IV, iv) and the discovery of Timon’s body (V, iii). How the tombs were revealed to the audience is not readily determined so that this subject had best be deferred to a consideration of the enclosure.

Tents are even more difficult to treat. Even when the action calls for a tent, it is uncertain whether a property or merely the enclosure is being employed. Frequent allusions to tents can be found in _Troilus and Cressida_, but there is no scene where more than one tent must be used. But how was that represented? When Ulysses says of Achilles, “We saw him at the opening of his tent” (II, iii), did the audience see a property tent or the flap of the enclosure curtain turned back? No interior is required in any of these scenes so that we are not dealing with a discovery proper. Some evidence for a property tent can be found in _The Devil’s Charter_. Caesar Borgia leads an army against the town of Furly whose defense is led by the Countess Katherine (IV, iv). Unless she surrenders, Caesar will slay her two young boys, whom he has captured; when she refuses, he orders the children to execution. Then, after having scaled the walls and taken Katherine prisoner, Caesar “discovereth his Tent where her two sonnes were at Cardes,” and says, “Behold thy children living in my Tent.” But where is the tent? In the enclosure? A difficulty arises, if we suppose so, for it places the tent under the very walls which Caesar attempted and finally overran. Moreover, since the dumb show which opens the play requires two property tents, it is likely that Caesar’s tent was brought in by his soldiers and set up on stage.

Similarly, it is difficult to distinguish when prop trees are used and when stage posts. Although property trees were regularly employed on the Elizabethan stage, no tree definitely appears on the Globe stage. In _A Warning for Fair Women_, a Lord Chamberlain’s play published in 1599, a tree springs up in the midst of the stage (Sig. E3^v). But whether or not this was the normal method for introducing the tree prop is uncertain. The rest of the properties must be considered individually. Some are discovered, most brought on. But the study of any one of these properties, if necessary, can be more profitably undertaken in connection with staging methods.

Two inferences can be drawn from this survey of properties on the Globe stage. One is that more often than not properties, even heavy ones, were carried onto the stage. As a consequence, it was not one of the functions of the enclosure to permit the setting of furniture or other properties.[19] The other is that the same class of properties is often introduced in the same way. Beds are likely to be discovered. Tables, scaffolds, and invalid chairs are brought out. These habits may have stemmed from solid theatrical necessity. On the other hand it is possible that they may have embodied a symbolic significance.

Therefore, since the presence of stage properties cannot guide us in deciding when the enclosure was used, some other means must be discovered. References to an interior setting, Richard Hosley has shown, are not reliable. Fortunately, however, several Globe plays contain scenes in which stage directions or incontestable stage business establishes the use of an enclosure. One of these, _The Devil’s Charter_, supplies unusually valuable evidence.

Barnabe Barnes prepared his text of _The Devil’s Charter_ for the printer with much care. He supplied full stage directions, which show theatrical, not literary marks, and seems to have described an actual production, for the epilogue directly addresses spectators, albeit not of the public playhouse (Sig. M3^v). The enclosure, or study, as he terms the area, is employed three times in his play. It will pay to examine these scenes minutely. In two scenes a stage direction opens the scene with the words, “Alexander in his study (or studie) ...,” “with bookes, coffers, his triple Crown upon a cushion before him” (I, iv); “beholding a Magicall glasse with other observations” (IV, i). Alexander speaks a long soliloquy in the first scene, then his two sons enter, later a servant. At the most there are four characters in the scene. Whether Alexander remains in the study throughout the first scene is not indicated. In the second scene Alexander also delivers an extended soliloquy, but here a direction specifies after his sixth line, “Alexander commeth upon the Stage out of his study with a booke in his hand.” He conjures forth a devil in order to discover who killed his son Candie. He is shown a symbol of the murder: his other son, Caesar, pursuing the ghost of Candie. The specters enter at one door and “vanish in at another doore” (G2^r 19). On the heels of the apparition of Caesar, Caesar himself arrives, outfaces his father, and parts reconciled to him. The last direction is, “Exit Alexander into the studie.” Clearly the study supplied a novel scene opening and provided access to the platform or stage, but was not utilized for extended presentation.

The third study scene, in this instance containing two disclosures, occurs at the end of the play. Alexander is about to face the consequences of his charter with the devil. The scene commences, “Alexander unbraced betwixt two Cardinalls in his study looking upon a booke, whilst a groome draweth the Curtaine” (V, vi). Alexander speaks eight lines, then “They [the two Cardinals] place him in a chayre upon the stage, a groome setteth a Table before him.” After chastising himself, “Alexander draweth the Curtaine of his studie [the one which the groom opened and presumably closed] where hee discovereth the divill sitting in his pontificals.” He disputes with the devil, and later “They sit together,” where is not indicated, and finally Alexander’s soul is carried down. In two of the scenes there is incontestable evidence that the action is brought out of the enclosure early in the scene. Furthermore, these three are the only study scenes in a play of twenty-two scenes.

Yet the study is mentioned at one other time. At one point Alexander plots the death of two young men, with one of whom he has had a homosexual affair. The murder scene (IV, v) begins with the direction, “Enter Alexander out of his studie.” After he has his servant Bernardo prepare a soporific for the young men, he departs with the injunction that when the intended victims are asleep, Bernardo give him notice “at [his] study doore.” The young men come in from tennis, have a rubdown by barbers, call for refreshment. The soporific takes effect, and they lie down to nap both upon one bed. Bernardo “knocketh at the study,” at which Alexander comes forth “upon the stage” with his asp to slay his paramour. After the

## act is completed and the murderer has departed, Bernardo summons

two Cardinals to see the dead youths who, he asserts, expired from drinking too much when overexerted. Bemoaning the fate of these two hopes of “Phaenza,” the Cardinals bid Bernardo “Beare them in.”

Several characteristics should be noted. First, the enclosure or study, when it is actually used, is revealed by the drawing of a curtain. But if a curtain hangs before the enclosure, upon what does Bernardo knock? Either upon the side wall, and then Alexander enters from behind the curtain, or upon a door, and a new area is presumed to represent the study. Hosley has suggested that one of the two side doorways, with the doors fully opened, might have served as the enclosure. This possibility must be excluded, however, for Act IV, scene i requires two doors for the passage of the specters of Caesar and Candie at a time when the enclosure or study is in use.[20]

Second, the direction that Alexander “commeth upon the Stage out of his study” indicates that the enclosure is recessed. With this conclusion most of the scenes utilizing the enclosure would agree. One complication is raised by _Volpone_, V, ii. Here Volpone must be behind a curtain, yet be able to “peepe over.” There may be any one of three explanations. Perhaps the curtains did not reach the top of the recess. Richard Southern refers to such an arrangement at a booth theater in Brussels in 1660.[21] Another possibility is that the enclosure projected from the stage façade. Lastly, the curtain, called a “traverse” in the Folio, may have been hung especially for this scene and thus may not be the enclosure curtain. Of all the choices the last seems to accord best with the evidence.

Altogether thirteen or fourteen instances of discovery can be found in the non-Shakespearean Globe plays. To what degree do they substantiate Hosley’s contention that the enclosure was used to disclose “a player or object invested with some special interest or significance”?[22] So many persons and things of interest, not so disclosed, appear in the Globe plays, that it is impossible to use such a yardstick. True, of the total thirteen or fourteen discoveries, six involve the sudden display of a figure or figures or, in one instance, of a striking object, Volpone’s wealth. But among the other discoveries are mundane representations of a person reading, casting accounts, lying asleep. Yet, a certain pattern becomes apparent. For the moment let us consider twelve instances, excluding the two that occur in Jonson’s plays. In the twelve instances of discovery, six reveal a person writing or studying or reading; in four scenes the person is alone; in two, a subordinate or two attends upon the central figure.[23] Three of the remaining discoveries reveal a person or persons sleeping.[24] Two discoveries reveal dead bodies.[25] There remains one discovery to be accounted for, that already described in _The Devil’s Charter_, where Alexander draws the curtain to find the devil sitting “in his pontificals.” Just before revealing the devil, Alexander cries,

Once more I will with powrefull exorcismes, Invoke those Angells of eternall darkenesse To shew me now the manner of death. [Sig. L3^v 18-20]

If one of the conventional uses of the enclosure was to discover corpses, then the Globe audiences would have well appreciated the irony of Alexander’s last line, for when he draws the curtain, he does discover “the manner of death.” Thus, in all preceding examples discovery reveals persons studying, sleeping, or dead. To what extent does Shakespeare follow the same practice?

In determining which scenes in Shakespeare’s Globe plays employed the enclosure, it is necessary to allow reasonable latitude. At least three instances are fairly certain, _Pericles_, III, i; V, i, and _Othello_, V, ii. I am inclined to believe that there may be four others: _Pericles_, I, i; _Timon of Athens_, V, iii; _Lear_, III, vi; _Othello_, I, iii. Let us examine the definite instances of discovery.

The two which occur in _Pericles_ are similar in character. In the first (III, i), Pericles is on a storm-tossed ship’s deck. His newborn babe has just been placed in his arms. The sailors insist that the body of his queen, who has but now died in child-birth, be cast overboard. Pericles answers,

As you thinke meet; for she must over board straight: Most wretched Queene. LYCHORIDA. Heere she lyes sir. PERICLES. A terrible Child-bed hast thou had my deare, ... nor have I time ... but straight, Must cast thee scarcly Coffind. [III, i, 54-61. Quarto copy]

At the end of the scene, Pericles sends one of the sailors out to prepare the “caulkt and bittumed” chest for the body, which we do not see removed, for the scene ends when Pericles says, “I’le bring the body presently.”

In the second scene, again on the deck of a ship, Lysimachus is told of Pericles’ trance out of which no one can stir him.

HELICANUS. hee will not speake to any LYSIMACHUS. yet let me obtaine my wish [to see Pericles] HELICANUS. Behold him, this was a goodly person. [V, i, 34-36. Q.]

Presumably a curtain is drawn to reveal Pericles on a couch. Subsequently, Marina is brought to rouse him, and little by little the two discover they are father and daughter. The lines indicate some shifting in and out of the enclosure during this scene.

Because of the stage direction in the Folio, “Enter Othello, and Desdemona in her bed,” this last scene of _Othello_ probably employs the enclosure. If it is continued in the enclosure throughout, it is the only illustration that we have of extended

## action in this space. Only one other instance occurs in the Globe

plays where “enter” precedes the discovery of a sleeping person (_A Yorkshire Tragedy_, scene v). As yet no one has explained convincingly the appearance of “enter” in such a context. In contemporary diction and common usage “enter” is not a synonym for “discover.” Yet such stage directions clearly intend “enter” to bear a special significance. Therefore, until further light can be thrown upon such usage, it is best for us to accept stage directions reading “Enter _A_ in a bed” or “Enter _B_ asleep” as evidence of discovery.

A similarity between the three Shakespearean scenes and the non-Shakespearean scenes will be seen immediately. Two of the Shakespearean scenes involve the display of sleepers, one of a seeming corpse. When we return to the remaining possible uses of the enclosure, we find that they include the discovery of a conference (_Othello_, I, iii: “Enter Duke and Senators set at a Table with lights and Attendants.” Q. 1622. The Folio s.d. is “Enter Duke, Senators, and Officers”); concealment of a sleeper (_Lear_, III, vi: “draw the curtains”); and the discovery of dead bodies (_Timon_, V, iii: a soldier finds Timon’s body, and _Pericles_, I, i). In _Pericles_, I, i, Antiochus seeks to dissuade Pericles from endeavoring to win the hand of Antiochus’ daughter by answering a fateful riddle. He points to the bodies of “sometimes famous Princes” who failed to answer the riddle and were put to death. These bodies may be discovered.

Once one puts all the evidence together, the degree of uniformity is amazing. Considering all these discoveries, in Shakespearean and non-Shakespearean plays, we find twenty-one examples, six of which involve sleepers, seven of which involve study or conference, five of which involve corpses. One, the devil as pope, is a slight variant of the last category. The final two variants appear in Jonson’s plays. In _Volpone_ gold is displayed, the only time an object is the center of revelation. It is possible that a chest rather than the enclosure contains the wealth. In _Every Man Out of His Humour_, the evidence for the use of the enclosure is slight.[26]

This theory, that the enclosure was reserved for certain kinds of display, augments the present theory that the enclosure was used infrequently and briefly. Both theories lead inevitably to the question: was the enclosure a permanent part of the stage, and if it was, why was it not used more frequently? Though I tend to believe that the enclosure was permanent, it could very well have been temporary, provided there were hidden access to it. To the second half of the question, the answer is that the enclosure _was_ used more frequently, not to effect discovery, however, but to permit concealment. Lear, as I suggested, may have utilized the enclosure for that purpose, the enclosure which often served as a study. In Q. 1603 of _Hamlet_, Corambis advises the King:

The Princes walke is here in the galery, There let Ofelia, walke untill hee comes: Your selfe and I will stand close in the study. [Sig. D4^v]

At the corresponding point in the Folio version, Polonius says, “Be you and I behinde an Arras then.” Naturally Corambis would think of the place behind the arras as the study. It was the enclosure to which he referred, the enclosure which served the double purpose, to reveal and to conceal. Of the fifteen Shakespearean Globe plays seven contain scenes of concealment and ten contain scenes of discovery or concealment or both. If, in addition, the enclosure was employed as the front of a tent in those instances where the interior was not revealed, then twelve of the fifteen Shakespearean plays made some use of the enclosure for other purposes than entry.[27]

One word about chronology remains to be said. The plays in which discovery takes place, _Pericles_, _The Devil’s Charter_, _Othello_, tend to come late in the Globe period. The use of the enclosure for concealment, however, occurs throughout the period. Recognizing that discovery scenes can be found throughout the Elizabethan period, I should still like to suggest that the use of the enclosure for discovery was an extension of its use for entrance, concealment, and possibly introduction of properties. In popular plays of the pre-Globe period occur scenes where properties are brought forth from what must be the enclosure. Although none of the Globe plays contains evidence of similar practice, it is not unlikely that scaffolds, states, and pulpits were introduced from the enclosure.[28] If the origin of the Elizabethan stage truly lies in the booth theater erected in an inn yard, then the hangings of the booth first had to conceal the actors dressing, then permit entrance of actors and properties, and lastly, when the stage façade became permanent, allow discovery.

Among the parts of the Globe there was, all scholars concede, an upper level attached to the stage façade. Variously termed a “chamber” by Adams and a “gallery” by Hosley, it is referred to as a “window,” “walls,” or “above,” in the Globe texts. To avoid any preconceptions about its nature, we might best refer to the upper level as it is usually called, “the above.”

The nature of evidence for the above is of two sorts. First and surest is the category where a stage direction reads “Enter above” or the action involves two levels. The second is where characters refer to being above without actually performing actions which show them to be above, for example, when Bardolph informs Falstaff that “there’s a woman below” (_The Merry Wives of Windsor_, III, v). Both categories of evidence occur in the Globe plays. The first involves scenes where the above is related to the platform below; the second involves scenes, if the lines can be taken literally, which would continue at length independent of the lower stage.

To begin with the second kind of evidence first. Eight scenes in the Globe plays contain references to people or action below without directly relating to any action below.[29] Three of these occur in one play, _A Yorkshire Tragedy_. All the other five take place in taverns, and supposedly the characters are in upper rooms. Since the scenes in _A Yorkshire Tragedy_ cast an interesting light on these references, I shall examine them first. In scene iii a servant announces to the Husband that “a gentleman from the University staies below to speake with you.” For the moment, we can imagine the scene is above. At the news the Husband leaves his wife to greet the visitor. The wife remains alone to deliver a soliloquy. In scene iv, after conversing with the gentleman, the Master of the College, the Husband suggests that the guest “spend but a fewe minuts in a walke/about my grounds below, my man heere shall attend you.” Presumably the scene is still above. After the departure of the guest, the Husband kills one of his children and, crying that he will kill the other, he exits with the bloody child.

## Scene v commences with the direction, already referred to, “Enter a

maide with a child in her armes, the mother by her a sleepe.” The Husband rushes in and endeavors to snatch the babe from the maid’s arms. When she resists, he assaults her.

Are you gossiping, prating sturdy queane, Ile breake your clamor with your neck down staires: Tumble, tumble, headlong. Throws her down. [Sig. C3^r]

Thus, three consecutive scenes purport to be upstairs though certainly scenes iv and v must be in different parts of the “house.” Adams places scene v in the “chamber.”[30] What then becomes of the previous scene which, according to the dialogue, also took place upstairs? Somewhere an allusion to “below” does not reflect physical facts. Or is it that all the scenes fail to reflect physical facts and merely reflect the convention that most domestic and tavern rooms were situated in an upper story? None of the other scenes mentioned demands the actual use of an above, and in the tavern scene of _Miseries of Enforced Marriage_ the scene concludes with one of the characters calling on all his friends to follow him to another room in the tavern, an unnecessary exit if a curtain in the above could close upon them. One is forced to conclude, therefore, that though a scene may contain references to being above, it was played below unless the action proves otherwise.

Of scenes upon the walls there are five.[31] Here the stage directions are straightforward. Action takes place between those on the walls and those below, in two cases involving sizable groups and much interchange. In _The Devil’s Charter_ (IV, iv) a sustained assault upon the walls, involving ladders, takes place.

All window scenes--there are four[32]--contain a reference to “window” or “casement” in a stage direction. All of them involve interchanges by one person with characters below. However, the shape of the window, whether bay or otherwise, is not disclosed.

Only one scene, scene x in _Miseries of Enforced Marriage_, is continued for an extended time above. Complicated though the scene is, the demands that it makes on the stage are somewhat uncommon and well worth detailed consideration. Preceding the scene in question, three sharpers, Ilford, Bartley, and Wentloe, have bilked Butler’s master, Scarborrow. Consequently, Butler has devised a way in which to turn the tables on them, in particular, Ilford. He pretends, separately to Ilford and then to the other two, that he has access to a rich heiress, and promises each of them to arrange a match. In reality the “heiress” is the impoverished sister of Scarborrow. Having appointed a place to meet the sharpers, he sends them off. At that point, two of Scarborrow’s brothers, privy to the plot, enter. Without a change of scene, the action shifts to the “place appointed” previously. After being assured that the brothers know how to handle their task, Butler exits. The brothers commend him for his devotion. Then occurs a curious stage direction, “Betwixt this Butler leads Ilford in.” The brothers finish their eulogy when another direction is inserted, “Enter Butler and Ilford above.” Butler pretends that the heiress’ uncles have arrived, and he urges Ilford to overhear their conversation while he goes below to the girl. It is interesting to note that Butler says, “stay you heere in this upper chamber” to listen to the uncles, not at the window. Butler leaves. Ilford listens to the brothers who, pretending to be concerned about finding a suitable husband for their niece, describe the vast wealth of the “heiress.” Butler returns to an exultant Ilford. Light-headed with visions of playing the courtier, Ilford swears to love and be true to the girl. She comes in. Butler leaves them alone to swear their mutual faith. At this point

Enter Wentloe, and Bartley beneath. BART. Here about is the house sure. WENTLOE. We cannot mistake it, for heres the signe of the Wolfe and the Bay-window. Enter Butler above. BUT. [to the lovers] What so close? Tis well, I ha shifted away your Vncles Mistris, but see the spight Sir Francis, if yon same couple of Smel-smockes, Wentloe and Bartley, ha not sented after us. [Sig. G4]

Under the stimulus of competition, Ilford is willing to rush into marriage without seeing the dowry of his wife-to-be. After sending the couple “below,” Butler calls to Bartley and Wentloe to arrange to meet them below, timing matters so that they will arrive after the marriage ceremony is completed.

Location is here treated very loosely. In the course of the scene,

## action shifts from one place to another. Sometimes the characters

seem to be at a window, sometimes in an upper chamber, but there is no exact indication where they are at any one time. Indeed this is a generalized setting, for we know that we are at Scarborrow’s house. The scene clearly shows that an extended action could be played above, but only when related to action below.

Altogether there are twelve scenes in ten Globe plays that utilize the above. Ten have been cited. The other two, the monument scene in _Antony and Cleopatra_ (IV, xiv) and the observation scene in _Julius Caesar_ (V, iii) where Pindarus witnesses the distant battle, are discussed in Appendix B, chart iii. To sum up the evidence for the above, the limited study of the Globe plays substantiates Richard Hosley’s broader studies of the plays of Shakespeare, Kyd, Marlowe, and others as well as of the Red Bull plays.[33] He shows that 46 per cent of all the plays examined do not employ a raised production area. At the Globe 66 per cent do not employ such an area. Wherever, in the remaining 34 per cent of the plays, action is set above, invariably it is related to action below, either through actual communication or through persons on one level observing persons on the other.

Several stage facilities remain to be considered: the traps, the heavens, and the pillars. Upon these subjects there is less disagreement amongst scholars. Both J. C. Adams and George Reynolds, opponents in many matters of Elizabethan staging, agree that Elizabethan stages contained more than one trap.[34] In the Globe plays traps are used seven times. From this list I exclude the use of a trap for the Ghost in the first act in _Hamlet_.[35] Of the seven instances four occur in one play, _The Devil’s Charter_. Three of these can be definitely placed at a trap near the front of the platform (prologue; IV, i; V, vi), for preceding each use of the trap a stage direction specifies movement forward. The other scene in _The Devil’s Charter_ (III, v) is similar to one in _A Larum for London_ (sc. xii). In each case a figure peering into a river or a vault respectively is pushed down into the void. The two remaining instances of trap use occur in _Macbeth_ (the cauldron scene, IV, i) and _Hamlet_ (the gravediggers scene, V, i). In light of the character of the enclosure, these too must have been played forward. Confirmation of this assumption can be found in _Hamlet_. Stage productions often begin the gravediggers scene with one or both of the diggers already in a half-dug grave. However, a close reading of the first part of the text rules out such a beginning. Early in the Folio text, the second gravedigger advises the first to make the grave straight. But a little later the first calls to the other, “Come, my Spade.” If he has been digging all along, this remark is unnecessary. Only after the two clowns come in, chat, and then the one calls to the other, “Come, my Spade,” does the digging begin. This action occurs forward on the platform. To summarize, it is certain that the Globe plays require a trap, a trap of sufficient size to raise and lower a cauldron or a man on a property dragon (_The Devil’s Charter_, IV, i), but at no time do they demand more than one trap located on the platform.

About the machinery in the heavens the Globe plays offer no evidence whatsoever. No hint exists from which one can surmise that either actors or properties were dropped from above. Nor is there any evidence for such action from the pre-Globe plays of the Lord Chamberlain’s company. This may be coincidental. Plays containing flying scenes may have perished. But a suggestion that this finding for the Globe may have a more general application comes from two sources. Jonson’s contempt for the “creaking thrones” which come down “the boys to please” is expressed in the prologue to the Folio version of _Every Man In His Humour_ (1616). Although the prologue does not appear in the Quarto of 1601, scholars have assumed that the scornful attack refers to stage devices of that period. But Jonson revised _Every Man In His Humour_ thoroughly, recasting the entire setting of the play. The addition of the prologue is certain, for it is in keeping with the Anglicized setting. Furthermore, the first use of flying in the King’s men’s repertory is recorded in the dream sequence in _Cymbeline_ (V, iv), immediately after the company began to play at Blackfriars. It is pertinent that a dream scene, very similar to the one in _Cymbeline_, occurs in _Pericles_ (V, i), one of the last plays to be produced before the King’s men took over Blackfriars. Instead of Jupiter, Diana appears but does not descend. Nor did the god Hymen in the last scene of _As You Like It_. Could it have been that the company lacked means for flying actors until it moved to Blackfriars? Actually the history of flying apparatuses in the Elizabethan theater needs further study. For the Globe, at least so far as the plays demonstrate, no machinery for flying existed.

It is generally conceded that the posts supporting the heavens not only did exist, but were introduced into the action. Against the evidence of the Fortune and Hope contracts and the DeWitt drawing, there is no effective argument. Assuming, therefore, the presence of the two pillars, a number of scenes do exist where one was probably employed in the story, either as a post or a tree. However, to suppose that a pillar is used, let us say, for the tree upon which Orlando hangs his verse, reduces the likelihood that property trees were placed on stage for incidental action. Our old friend, the ubiquitous Butler, climbs a tree in _Miseries of Enforced Marriage_. J. C. Adams suggests that what he climbed was a stage pillar. Hodges doubts that an actor could climb a main pillar, but he suggests that a decorative pillar might have been used. So far as staging practice is concerned, it matters little which pillar serves as a tree. The principle is the same. When the actors could use a ready-to-hand stage post instead of a prop, they did so. Inconclusive but provocative is a hint we have that prop trees were introduced when they had symbolic meaning. The tree that arises in _A Warning for Fair Women_ represents the life of Sanders which has been hewn down. And the titles of the trees in Henslowe’s inventory, such as “j tree of gowlden apelles,” and “Tantelouse tre,” support this possibility.

Although we have covered all those structural parts of the stage which are required by the Globe plays, we must deal with the theory that in addition to or in place of the enclosure, mansions, that is, free-standing wooden frames, curtained on one or more sides, usually removable, were employed to suggest specific locations in Elizabethan plays. Except for the tents in _The Devil’s Charter_, no evidence exists for such units on the Globe stage. Even the tents are in a special class, for they may be similar to a property such as a scaffold rather than to stage scenery. Reynolds has found instances for removable structures on the Red Bull stage and Hotson would place mansions on all stages, but there is no warrant for supposing that they were used at the Globe. Henslowe, who claims to include _all_ the properties belonging to the Lord Admiral’s men in his inventory of 1598, lists nothing that can be construed as a mansion, and though evidence for the Lord Admiral’s men is not necessarily evidence for the Lord Chamberlain’s men, nevertheless, it indicates that one playhouse at least seems not to have used temporary structures. For the Globe company not only the absence of evidence but also the system of localization rules out such a method of staging.

A unique theory combining the presence of mansions with the rearrangement of the spectators has been devised by Leslie Hotson. Not content to modify current thinking about Elizabethan staging, he reveals, messiah-like, that after two hundred years of bafflement, the world will be able “now for the first time to understand and visualize the stage of the Globe” because of his discoveries.[36] Citing a compote of evidence from the English and Spanish theaters, he asserts that the essential relationship between actor and audience maintained at Court, playhouse, and college, was one in which the actor performed between two masses of audience, with the privileged audience sitting on one side. In the Globe this privileged audience sat in the gallery over the stage and on the stage between the stage doors. The tiring house, contrary to accepted thought, was below the stage. At either end of the stage two-tiered wooden frames with transparent curtains served as mansions. Actors entered through trap doors into these mansions and from thence onto the stage. Masked attendants drew the curtains as the action required.

By the extravagance of his assertions and the evangelical tone of his arguments, Hotson has made a cause of what is a matter for scholarly examination. His daring views and the insights they afford usually deserve careful consideration. Here, however, it is only necessary to evaluate those theories which directly affect staging at the Globe.

Hotson’s early attempts to prove the existence of “Shakespeare’s Arena Stage” at Whitehall Palace, contrary to what he chooses to believe, have not met with general approbation. Alois Nagler, for example, has shown that Hotson’s reading of _atorno atorno_, a phrase which appears in a description of a Court performance written by Virginio Orsino, Duke of Bracciano, does not mean, as Hotson contends, “completely around on every side,” but on three sides.[37] Nevertheless, extending his interpretation to the public playhouse, Hotson announces that persons of quality “customarily graced” the Globe’s stage. In fact, it was the outstanding characteristic of Elizabethan staging to locate the best seats on the stage and in the gallery over the stage. In establishing his proof, Hotson unfortunately neglects to mention the Induction to _The Malcontent_. This play, it will be remembered, was presented by the Globe company presumably in retaliation for the theft of one of their plays, _Jeronimo_, by the Children at Blackfriars. No other piece of evidence so surely reflects conditions at the Globe as this Induction, written by John Webster especially to justify the appearance of Marston’s satire at this public playhouse. To give the justification indisputable authority, Webster introduces the leading actors of the company, Dick Burbage, Henry Condell, and John Lowin, in their own persons, to explain the matter.

The Induction commences.

Enter W. Sly, a Tire-man following him with a stool. TIRE-MAN. Sir, the gentlemen will be angry if you sit here. SLY. [as a gallant]. Why, we may sit upon the stage at the private house.

Immediately it is apparent that, contrary to Hotson’s fancy, sitting on the stage was not the custom and its introduction was not happily countenanced by the “gentlemen.” Since the tire-man still holds the stool as he refers to the “gentlemen,” the word “here” must mean the stage as a whole and therefore the “gentlemen” are the actors. The one time Sly refers to any spectators, he does it in such terms that he clearly intends the groundlings. Otherwise, no mention is made of other spectators on the stage. Toward the end of the Induction, Lowin succeeds in ushering Sly out by offering to lead him to a “private room.”

Thomas Platter, who supposedly attended one of the opening performances at the Globe, in his enumeration of possible seats for the audience, makes no mention of seats on the stage. Dekker, in the widely known passage from _The Gull’s Hornbook_, does refer to sitting on the stage at the public playhouse, but Hotson takes seriously what is patently a satiric description of a fool intruding where he does not belong. Throughout the passage the stage sitter is referred to in the most derogatory terms, and what sharply contradicts Hotson’s contention is the injunction to the gallant that “though the Scar-scrows in the yard, hoot at you, hisse at you, spit at you, yea throw durt even in your teeth: tis most Gentlemanlike patience to endure all this.”[38] Were all those gentlemen who “customarily graced” the Globe stage treated in this fashion? Obviously the thrust of Dekker’s wit, coming as it did in 1609, was a vain endeavor to resist the press of gallants who sought to impose upon the public playhouse the privileges they enjoyed at the private.

Hotson also claims that the gentlemen sat “over the stage, i’ the lords roome.” For this claim he enjoys considerably more support. In and out of plays references to sitting “over the stage” suggest the employment in some way of the area I have called the above. But “over the stage” is not specific. Does “over” mean directly over, or to one side? Does it include the entire length of the stage wall, as Hosley asserts, so that actors in order to play their scenes above were obliged to thrust themselves into the midst of the auditors?[39]

However, the case for sitters in a gallery which runs the length of the stage wall depends not merely upon words, but more effectively upon graphic representation. Four interior views of Elizabethan and Jacobean theaters are extant: the Swan drawing (1596), the engraving on the _Roxana_ title page (1632), the drawing on the _Messalina_ title page (1640), and the frontispiece to _The Wits_ (1672). Only one, the first and most important, is Elizabethan. Three of the representations, the Swan, the _Roxana_, and _The Wits_, depict figures in the gallery above the stage.

In each drawing the figures appear to be looking at the action on the stage below, particularly in the _Roxana_ print. The frontispiece to _The Wits_, obviously depicting an interior, shows solemn-faced puritans in the gallery. Dressed as they are like the figures grouped around the platform, they certainly seem to be members of the audience. Less certain but of a similar character is the evidence from the _Roxana_ title page. Both of these representations come late, it is true. But because they seem to echo the same conditions as those in the Swan playhouse of 1596, they have been cited as authority. About the figures in the Swan drawing it is difficult to tell. They appear to be drawn in positions that connote listening and seeing a play. But they are small and indistinct. Two or possibly three persons are wearing hats. Quite clearly all are related in some way to the

## action taking place below them. To a certain extent all these

representations verify the theory that spectators sat overlooking the playing area.

The investigation is complicated as soon as we inquire about the numbers and disposition of the spectators. Examining these prints again, all four of them this time, we discover some significant disparities. The Swan drawing shows a long gallery divided by five posts into six sections. Each section is wide enough for two people. No architectural treatment of the gallery is delineated. The frontispiece of _The Wits_ has some things in common with the Swan drawing. A gallery divided into six sections runs across the back of the stage. Four of the sections apparently are cut in half, but from the appearance of the other two, each section seems to be able to accommodate two persons side by side. One difference does exist. In the center of the upper level, there hangs a striped curtain, somewhat like an awning. The flap is parted so that two balusters may be seen, indicating some architectural structure behind the curtain. It is possible, but not certain, that the structure is cantilevered and thus protrudes. Some lines behind the balusters may have been intended to represent an actor waiting for his cue. The _Roxana_ title page shows an upper level divided into two sections by a column. The framing about each section conveys the impression of two windows. Two figures occupy each section. Finally the _Messalina_ title page, showing a bare stage, depicts a curtained window placed high in a brick wall. Thus, each of the views presents a different physical arrangement. Aside from the Swan drawing there is no support for a long, unadorned, uncurtained gallery in theaters of this period.

Since its discovery in 1888, repeated attempts have been made to prove that a particular occasion is represented by the Swan drawing. Nagler, among the latest to repeat the attempt, believes “that a rehearsal was in progress. DeWitt seems to have visited the theater in the morning and sketched the interior while the actors were rehearsing a scene.”[40] He asserts that the persons in the gallery were actors or “at any rate, theater personnel.” Without quarreling with the last comment, I believe that we must discount the theory that a rehearsal was in progress or, in actuality, that any specific moment is recorded in the sketch. One internal contradiction has been noted often. Why are there people in the gallery, but not in the auditorium? Because a rehearsal is in progress, says Nagler. Because DeWitt did not trouble to sketch all the details, says Hosley. But another contradiction exists in the drawing. At the head of the sketch, flying from a staff at the top of the huts, is the ensign of the playhouse, a flag emblazoned with a Swan. The flag was a sign that a performance was in progress. Below the flag is a figure who is blowing a trumpet. Either he is summoning the audience or he is announcing the commencement of the play. Customarily the play began after the third sounding of the trumpet. But, in the sketch, a scene is already under way. Consequently, if a rehearsal was in progress, why is the flag flying, the trumpeter calling the audience? If a performance was in progress, why at the beginning are we in the midst of the action? Could it be that the sketch reflects no particular instance but a composite impression of the Swan and that the rendition of such an impression was likely to have been made after DeWitt had left the playhouse? The text which accompanies the sketch, starting with a general discussion of London playhouses and proceeding to a description of the Swan, indicates that DeWitt set down a summary of experiences either after he had visited various theaters or after he had had them described to him.

It may be well at this time to consider the reliability of the Swan drawing in other respects. Currently it is the fashion to adhere to the sketch closely. However, one fact must be faced, insofar as the Globe is concerned. Granted that the original drawing, as well as Arend van Buchell’s copy that has come down to the present, were both trustworthy, nevertheless we are still forced to amend the sketch in order to have it accord with other, indisputable evidence. All sorts of ingenious explanations, that the hangings were not in place or that a stage-width curtain was added for performance, have been offered, but the fact remains: the Swan, as it is depicted in the drawing, unaltered, could not have accommodated the Globe plays. However plausible the suggestions for additions may be, they cannot still the doubt with which one is obliged to regard the sketch, and though DeWitt’s testimony cannot be ignored, it cannot be accepted without corroboration.

From the preceding material two conclusions emerge. First, there was no single form for the above. Therefore, in developing an image of the Globe, we cannot rely on the Swan drawing. Yet even if we do, we discover that such an unrelieved gallery as it shows is simply not characteristic of the Renaissance design which presumably DeWitt sought to catch. A glance at prints of various continental stages will illustrate this point.[41] What is suggested by the later views and what accords with the needs of the Globe playhouse is an above which, regardless of the presence of auditors, could be differentiated structurally from the rest of the gallery. Architecturally this might have been accomplished by separating and emphasizing a central, probably uncurtained, section in the balcony, reserved for the actors. On either side of this area, auditors might have overlooked the stage.

Second, all the views agree that the maximum number of spectators in each section was two. Keeping literally to the evidence, we must conclude that twelve persons could be accommodated in the Swan gallery. We could, of course, indulge in the fascinating game of using the dimensions of the Fortune to calculate the capacity of the Swan. But this is unnecessary. DeWitt tells us the Swan could hold three thousand people. Whether twelve or twenty or a few more could sit above, their proportion to the total would be small. Could the actors have directed their performance to such a minority? It is certain that they did not, for in one other respect the extant views are in complete agreement. Where performers are shown in action on stage, they play, not toward the “spectators” in the gallery, but toward the auditors listening “round about.” In short, they turn their backs to the stage wall and play front.

III. THE DESIGN OF THE STAGE

Until now the discussion of the Globe playhouse has proceeded from dramatic function to theatrical realization. But inevitably the reader is bound to wonder, if only inwardly, what the Globe looked like. No one knows. Startling as it may seem, no one really can reconstruct the design of the Globe playhouse. The reader may remonstrate: what about the various reconstructions of Walter Godfrey, John C. Adams, C. Walter Hodges, Richard Southern? What about their sketches and models? All hypotheses, some reasonable, some farfetched. Each scholar, selecting for his palette certain scraps of evidence, has painted a hypothetical image of the Elizabethan playhouse. Each realizes, of course, that his image is conjectural. The damage occurs when the image is realized in drawings and the drawings are reproduced with such frequency that what was conjecture comes to be regarded as historical fact by the general reader. Acknowledging that “the hard facts available [for the reconstruction of Elizabethan playhouses] are insufficient in themselves,” Hodges admits that each scholar interprets the evidence according to “influences of taste” of which he may not even be aware.[42] The result has been that equally reputable scholars have produced widely divergent images of the Globe playhouse. In recent times the once prevailing Tudor image has yielded to Renaissance design.

The leading advocate of Tudor style is John Cranford Adams. He affirms that it was a “tendency of [Elizabethan] stage design to imitate contemporary London houses,” and therefore, that “the façade of the tiring-house differed from its model, a short row of London houses, mainly in having upper and lower curtains suspended in the middle.” Each reference to a contemporary urban structural feature of the stage is considered to be a description of a realistic detail. “It was the habit of Elizabethan dramatists to accept the equipment of their stage rather literally and to refer to that equipment in dialogue.”[43] He cites construction methods of the period for support. The building contract for the Fortune calls for wooden frames “sufficiently enclosed withoute [outside] with lathe, lyme & Haire.” This specification suggests a half-timbered-and-plaster building of Tudor design, a type of construction which continued to appear through the early part of the seventeenth century. In contrast, buildings in the newer Renaissance style were largely built of stone or brick.[44] Since its completion in 1950, Adams’ model of the Globe, now at the Folger Library, has impressed itself upon the imagination of lovers of Shakespeare, particularly in America.

In 1953 C. Walter Hodges presented an opposing image of the Globe.[45] Adhering closely to the Swan drawing, which Adams rejects, and deriving the Elizabethan stage from market place booth stages and _tableaux vivants_, Hodges developed a series of sketches in Renaissance style. Doors and galleries in the stage façade are flanked by columns of one of the three regular orders; obelisks and statuary appear above the cornices of the Fortune sketch; and in his drawing of the Hope, carved busts support the gallery ends of the heavens. To avoid contradicting the Swan drawing, which shows no enclosure, he devised one to project from the stage façade.

The contribution of the _tableaux vivants_ to the design of the Elizabethan stage was first explored by George Kernodle. His thesis is that “The greatest problem of the Renaissance stage was the organization of a number of divergent scenic elements into some principle of spatial unity.” Medieval art bequeathed three forms to the theater: the side arches leaving the center clear, the center arch or pavilion with subordinate side accents, the flat arcade screen. While the Italian theater, later to be imitated by Inigo Jones in England, utilized the form of side arches in combination with central perspective to create illusion, the northern theaters of England and Flanders developed the central pavilion into a theater of architectural symbolism. The immediate predecessors of these stages were the _tableaux vivants_, or street pageants, erected to signalize the entry of a royal or civic personage into a city. It was “from the _tableaux vivants_ (whose conventions they took over)” that the Flemish and English stages derived “the power to suggest, by decoration and remembered associations, the places they symbolized.” The conventions of medieval art, which persisted throughout the early Renaissance, were passed on to the street theaters where they were interwoven with Renaissance forms. Prints of the Flemish stages illustrate the conventional architecture which resulted from these influences. In parallel fashion, the English theater was subject to the same influences. “Most of the new buildings erected in England in the latter half of the sixteenth century were of the newer Renaissance architecture.” Yearly the Londoner could witness the pageants in the Lord Mayor’s Show. “A comparison [of street shows and stage drama] will make clear,” Kernodle believes, “not only that many particular scenes of Elizabethan drama were derived from the _tableaux vivants_ but that they provided the basic pattern of the English stage façade.”[46] This basic pattern involved a central arch which conventionally represented an interior, and side arches or doors which conventionally represented an exterior. Architectural symbols as throne, arbor, arras, by general recognition could transform the façade into the symbols of palace, garden, room.

For the design of the English stage, Kernodle’s theory is provocative rather than proved. There is no clear flow of Flemish theatrical influence into Elizabethan England, and even in art, though we know many Flemish craftsmen were in London, there is no certain influence.[47] Furthermore, the medieval tradition in art, which Kernodle has shown to have persisted on the continent, was abruptly terminated in England. “The year 1531, in which the convocation of Canterbury recognized Henry VIII as the Supreme Head of the Church of England, can be conveniently taken to mark the close of the medieval period of art in England [and the severance of] what had been the most fruitful field of subject-matter for artists in Europe for a thousand years.”[48] What followed was a court art of portraiture which does not readily yield demonstration of Kernodle’s thesis. Even in the popular forms of art, which he recommends for study, the formal medieval elements are absent. For example, the woodcuts of Wynken de Worde show no consistent use of conventional devices.

As for the street pageants, continental experience cannot be readily applied to Tudor practice. For the last half of the sixteenth century the royal entries were virtually abandoned by Elizabeth, and it was not until the coronation of James that the magnificence of the royal entry returned to London. When it did, it had all the characteristics of the flamboyant Renaissance style described by Kernodle. Until then, from 1558 to 1603, the Londoner could witness the Lord Mayor’s Show, an annual event to honor the installation of the new Lord Mayor. The central device was a single pageant supplied by the Company of which the Lord Mayor was a member.[49] Featuring child orators, it was usually carried along in the procession by porters, though from time to time we hear of frames being built to support the pageants.[50] It appears that the pageant was stored in the company hall from which it was removed when needed, with or without redecoration, though occasionally a new pageant would be ordered.[51] The fact that the pageant remained on permanent view in the company halls suggests that it may have been similar to the figures of saints carried even today in religious processions.

Allegorical in nature, the pageant depicted a theme apt for the new Lord Mayor and his company. In 1561, for example, five ancient harpers, David, Orpheus, Amphion, Arion, and Iopas, were displayed in a pageant to honor the new Lord Mayor, Sir William Harper. Often the themes of the pageants represented the trade rather than the man, the Ship, for instance, being deemed appropriate for the Merchant Tailors Company.[52] At an appropriate point in the procession, the figures in the pageant would speak commendatory verses to the Lord Mayor. From the extant texts, it is quite clear that the presentations were brief and rhetorical; they did not involve dramatic action. In fact, the very people being honored were those who most assiduously sought to destroy the public playhouses.[53]

No sketch of a sixteenth century pageant exists. The presence of mythical figures encourages the notion that Renaissance design characterized these pageants, but there is no graphic or thoroughly descriptive evidence for assuming so. Nor do the symbols which Kernodle enumerates appear prominently in these pageants. Instead the companies relied on those trade-or-personal symbols which held special significance for them. For one company the lion appears in pageant because a lion is part of the company’s coat of arms;[54] for another, a Moor rides on a lynx, which animal is deemed appropriate for the Skinners’ company.[55]

What is substantiated by these pageants and reinforced by the royal entries of the seventeenth century is the mode of presentation. Perhaps the particular symbols which Kernodle emphasizes did not have significance for the Londoner of the 1590’s, but he was familiar with presenting and interpreting theatrical forms in a symbolic manner, and I believe that to this extent the pageants may have influenced the design of the public playhouse.

In conclusion, then, one cannot verify whether the Elizabethan playhouse reflected the outgoing Tudor or the incoming Renaissance style. Roughed up by a master carpenter, such as James Burbage, Peter Streete, or Gilbert Katherens, the structure could have retained the traditions of design familiar to these men or it could have responded to the new fashions. These new fashions, however, were principally decorative; classical forms were applied to Tudor-Gothic foundations.[56] I tend to think that the pragmatic attitude of Elizabethan builders led them to erect a fundamentally Tudor structure to which they attached classical ornaments more or less at random. In such a structure the stage would certainly be the focus of such adornment.

Based solely on the evidence of the Globe plays, what then is the picture of the Globe stage? The principal part of the stage was a large rectangular platform upon which rested two pillars. At the rear of the platform two doors and a curtained recess between them provided access to the stage. The recess, which was an integral part of the tiring house, had to accommodate less than half a dozen people. Above the recess and/or doors was an upper level principally required where characters related themselves to others below. In the floor of the outer stage there was at least one substantial trap. No machinery for flying either actors or properties existed. In over-all design the stage, which was Renaissance in surface details, emphasized formal rather than realistic decoration. Altogether it was a theater that presented itself as a show place rather than as an imitation of London.

In a review once Granville-Barker remonstrated against overemphasis on the physical aspects of the stage at the expense of the imaginative. Such overemphasis has too frequently resulted. In their zeal to reconstruct the Elizabethan stage, theorists have given the impression that the theater of that day was constantly using traps, heavens, upper level, and enclosure. However, a comparison of the number of scenes which use some stage facility, be it merely a stool, with the number which use no stage facility whatsoever, neither property nor stage machinery, save merely a means to get on and off, shows that of the 345 scenes in the Shakespearean Globe plays, only 20 per cent require any facility. Fully 80 per cent need nothing but a bare space and an audience, not so much as a stool.

As a result, Shakespearean drama depends a great deal upon the vigorous movement of the actors coming on and off the stage. The actors themselves, rather than the stage equipment, provide the impetus for a play’s progression. We are all familiar with the conclusion of a Shakespearean scene. More often than not, a character will say, “Come along with me,” and off will go the actors. I have checked every scene in the Globe plays and found a startlingly high percentage of such exits. For purposes of computation I divide the scene conclusions into four categories.

First, there is the explicit exit line.

ORL. Come, I will bear thee to some shelter, and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner if there live any thing in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam. Exeunt. [_As You Like It_, II, vi, 16-19]

Next, there is the implicit exit line.

ANT. [musing upon Sebastian’s departure] But come what may, I do adore thee so That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. Exit. [_Twelfth Night_, II, i, 48-49]

Thirdly, there is the scene which ends with no exit line implying motion.

TO. [to the dancing Sir Andrew] Let me see thee caper. Ha, higher! ha, ha, excellent! Exeunt. [_Twelfth Night_, I, iii, 149-150]

Lastly, there is the scene which ends in a soliloquy or an aside. Although the playwright occasionally inserts an exit line in such a conclusion, his opportunity to do so is slight. Below I have enumerated the scene endings that conclude with explicit and implicit exit lines, with no exit lines, and as a solo exit.

Explicit Implicit No. Solo Exit lines Exit lines Exit lines Exits Shakespeare 192 57.2% 74 22% 35 10.4% 35 10.4% Non-Shakes. 88 48.4% 37 20.3% 23 12.6% 34 18.7%

Only 9 to 13 per cent of the scenes fail to indicate that the characters end a scene by leaving the stage. Although the soliloquies may or may not imply that the actors leave the stage, the majority of the scene endings clearly demonstrate that it was the physical departure of the actors which gave fluency to the

## action. When a stage direction reads “exeunt” at the end of a

scene, it means exactly that: “they go out.”

It is time to revive an old cry. The pendulum has swung too far. It is time to reassert that the Globe stage _was_ bare. Sumptuous and gorgeous as this playhouse may have appeared, the decoration was largely permanent and passive. In brief, the Globe was constructed and employed to tell a story as vigorously and as excitingly and as intensely as possible. Though spectators were usually informed where a scene took place, they were informed by the words they heard, not the sights they saw. Instead, place was given specific emphasis only when and to the degree the narrative required. Otherwise, the audience gazed upon a splendid symbol of the universe before which all sorts of human actions could be unfolded.