Chapter Five

THE STAGING

I. STAGE ILLUSION AT THE GLOBE PLAYHOUSE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

II. STAGE GROUPING AT THE GLOBE PLAYHOUSE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where no single figure serves as the point of reference in the grouping, a center of activity invariably does. The wrestling

## scene in _As You Like It_ (I, iii) or the duel in _Hamlet_ (V,

ii) are examples of this kind of organization. Another method is the processional. Most processions pass over the stage with or without halting for brief speeches. Occasionally the procession might combine a focus of both activity and a central figure, as in _Julius Caesar_ (I, ii). In some instances characters on-stage describe or discuss members of the procession (_All’s Well_, III, v; _Pericles_, II, ii; _Troilus and Cressida_, I, ii). Given the free passage of the stage and a point of observation when needed, these scenes offer little problem in staging. In fact, the regular recurrence and similar arrangement of these scenes suggest the influence of standardized staging.

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

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

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

## scene in _Twelfth Night_ (III, iv) also approach formality. What

distinguishes these scenes from the rest of the formal group scenes is merely the degree of ceremony.

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

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

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

## scene connection. Consequently, these conclusions have led me to

draw up five premises covering continuity in staging.

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

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

III. ACTORS’ ENTRANCES UPON THE GLOBE STAGE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For the same action, the plot reads:

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

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

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

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

Just how conventional the entrance might have been can be seen by examining a particular group of entrance announcements. About forty-three entrances in the Shakespearean Globe plays are accompanied by announcements of greater length than the brief, “Who’s there?” These announcements run from two lines to sixteen lines in length. Most of them are short, two to four lines in length, but a few are longer than ten lines. In each of these instances a character or characters on-stage describe or comment upon someone who has just entered. Usually the entrant is aware of the others, but it is understood that he does not hear the description. Modern producers often try to cover these awkward entrances by giving the entrant some motivated business to account for the delay in speaking. But these scenes are frankly demonstrative, for the audience is supposed to be aware of both

## parties. In _Hamlet_, Polonius greets Hamlet, Rosencrantz, and

Guildenstern. Hamlet, without answering, says:

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

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

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

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

IV. RECURRENT PATTERNS OF STAGING

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

## scene i, a stage direction after the sixth line of the soliloquy

specifies that Alexander “commeth upon the Stage out of his study” (Sig. G1^r). In _Cromwell_ one soliloquy is six lines long (Sig. B1^v) and the other is ten lines long (Sig. E4^v). None of the three soliloquies is introspective or intimate. Alexander expresses rage as he gazes into his magical glass. Cromwell and Gardiner in _Cromwell_ are planning one thing or another. The remaining soliloquy in Act I, scene iv (Sig. B2^v-3^r), of _The Devil’s Charter_, is lengthy, running to thirty-two lines. In it Alexander reviews his covenant with the devil. He chastises himself, but moderately, as befits a man who benefits hugely from his compact with Lucifer. There is no indication that Alexander moves out of the “study.” In the absence of a specific direction and in view of the stage direction in Act IV, scene i, it seems likely that Alexander remained in the study. Perhaps all that the evidence can demonstrate is that no special area of the stage seems either reserved for or barred to the soliloquy and that the actor took the stage as the temper of the scene prompted. In all likelihood the actor himself decided how and where he played the soliloquy.

In none of the Globe plays is there any certain indication that the audience was directly addressed in the soliloquy. A. C. Sprague has pointed out that some soliloquies lend themselves to such delivery.[10] When Falstaff says in _The Merry Wives of Windsor_ (III, v, 12-13), “you may know by my size that I have a kind of alacrity in sinking” or Iago queries (_Othello_, II, iii, 342-343), “and what’s he then that says I play the villain,/When this advice is free I give and honest,” the actor could speak directly to the audience. In earlier popular plays actors undoubtedly did.[11] But the plays of the Globe company do not provide conclusive evidence on this point.

Two types of asides are usually recognized. In the first, something is said “by one of the dramatic characters to another (or others) not intended to be heard by all those present.” I shall refer to this type as the “conversational aside.” In the second, what is said is “very like a soliloquy (usually short) spoken while other characters are present--and known to be present by the speaker--but unheard by them.”[12] I shall refer to this as the “solo aside.” Warren Smith distinguished a third type of aside, composed of those speeches which “appear to be aimed at rather than addressed to, another character on stage--and the words are evidently not intended for his ears or any others.”[13] For the purposes of examining the staging, the third type can be included with the second. It will be sufficient to treat only two types of asides.

Although, in a count of the two types of asides in all of Shakespeare’s plays, Warren Smith finds that the conversational aside is more numerous than the solo aside, in a similar count in the Shakespearean Globe plays only, the reverse is true. There are fifty-six conversational asides and eighty solo asides.[14] Next to the soliloquy the two together make up the most frequently used device in these plays.

The conversational aside is usually introduced by some transitional phrase which enables the speaker to move away from the rest of the actors. When Brutus agrees to permit Antony to deliver a funeral address over the body of Caesar, Cassius interrupts.

Brutus, a word with you. You know not what you do. Do not consent That Antony speak in his funeral. [III, i, 231-233]

Sometimes the transitional phrase enables the nonspeakers to retire. After Macbeth receives word from Ross and Angus that he has been made Thane of Cawdor, Banquo addresses them,

Cousins, a word, I pray you. [I, iii, 127]

This leaves Macbeth free to muse upon “the imperial theme.” Of course, not all conversational asides are so explicit. But in most cases some provision is made for enabling the speakers to separate themselves from the others. After the murder of Duncan, Lady Macbeth faints, drawing the other actors to her. This action leaves Malcolm and Donalbain free to converse (II, iii, 127-130). On occasion this type of aside may be delivered immediately upon entrance, before the newcomers have joined the other actors (_Measure for Measure_, IV, i, 8-9). In only a few cases is there no definite removal of the speaker from the rest of the action. Rosencrantz covertly says, “What say you?” to Guildenstern when Hamlet presses him to confess that the King sent for them (II, ii, 300) or Iago surreptitiously urges Roderigo to follow after the drunken Cassio, “How now, Roderigo?/I pray you after the Lieutenant, go!” (II, iii, 141-142). This sort of aside is flung by one character to another usually without drawing forth a response. In a few asides a single line is elicited, but only two instances occur where an extended conversation is conducted without previous separation having been indicated (_All’s Well_, II, v, 22-29; _Julius Caesar_, I, ii, 178-214).

Comparison of these conversational asides with those in the non-Shakespearean Globe plays shows that the convention of separating speakers and nonspeakers was common to the playwrights of the company rather than peculiar to Shakespeare alone. To introduce extended conversational asides, the playwrights resort to such trite phrases as “A word in private Sir Raph Ierningham,” (_The Merry Devil of Edmonton_, Sig. B3^r 10-18), “Sir Ralphe Sadler, pray a word with you” (_Fair Maid of Bristow_, Sig. A4^v 12-B1^r 10). Where oral evidence is missing, sufficient evidence is often present in the stage directions that the speakers and nonspeakers separate. In both the Shakespearean and non-Shakespearean plays the patterns of conversational asides are the same.

In the non-Shakespearean plays, fortunately, there are additional indications of how the asides were delivered. In two cases stage directions require the actors to move away from others. On meeting Astor Manfredy and Phillippo in _The Devil’s Charter_, Bernardo addresses Astor alone. Then according to the stage direction, “They draw themselves aside” (Sig. E1^v). A similar instance occurs in _A Larum for London_. Egmont and the Marquis d’Harvuy are trying to convince Champaign, the Governor of Antwerp, to permit them to quarter their troops in the city. At one point, in the margin opposite the lines of the Marquis to Egmont, is a stage direction, “Take Egm. aside” (Sig. B3^v 25). The movement aside may have also been followed by whispering upon the part of the actors, for after Clare draws his wife aside, saying, “My daughter Milliecent must not over-heare,” Millicent remarks aside, “I, whispering, pray God it tend my good” (_The Merry Devil of Edmonton_, Sig. B1^v 7). Such whispering may not have been a practice in all the conversational asides, but it seems plausible. As a whole the entire pattern of excuse, movement aside, and possible whispering seems intended to create an impression of reality. This evidence, therefore, strengthens the theory for realistic staging. However, the aside was by its very nature a conventional device. Although the staging of the conversational aside appears to minimize or hide its conventionality, I believe that there is another explanation, the exposition of which depends upon an inspection of the solo aside.

In the Shakespearean plays seventy-six of the solo asides may be divided into two types according to whether or not the author made some attempt to shield the aside of the actor from the attention of the other characters on stage. In one type the other characters are occupied in conversation or business so that it is reasonable for them not to hear the aside. They may actually turn away from the actor or they may be at some distance from him. Arranging the delivery of asides in this way shows some attention to creating an illusion of actuality. In the second type the other characters are fairly near the speaker; in fact, they may be actually speaking to the person who delivers the aside. It is understood, of course, that they do not hear the aside, even in certain cases when the aside is delivered directly to them. This kind of solo aside relies heavily upon the convention of unheard speech, for which presumably there were conventional means of delivery. Of these seventy-six solo asides, exactly half falls into each category.

There is a difference in the categories, however. The evidence for the realistic solo aside is negative, that for the latter positive. The scenes in the first group enable the actor to deliver the aside apart from the other actors, that is, neither immediately before nor after the aside is he directly involved with the other characters. When Othello greets Desdemona lovingly after the sea voyage, embracing her with passionate ardor, Iago remarks:

O, you are well tun’d now! But I’ll set down the pegs that make this music, As honest as I am. OTH. Come, let us to the castle. [II, i, 201-203]

Iago may or may not be near Othello and Desdemona. Modern production prefers separation, but this type of aside neither confirms nor rejects such practice. In this sense such evidence is negative.

For the second group of asides, the evidence is positive. The asides are so inserted into the dialogue that the actor has no opportunity to separate himself from the other characters. I italicize the aside.

FRIEND. [to Timon] The swallow follows not summer more willing than we your lordship. TIMON. _Nor more willingly leaves winter; such_ _summer birds are men._--Gentlemen, our dinner will not recompense this long stay. [_Timon of Athens_, III, vi, 31-35]

In addition to instances of this sort of aside, there are examples of an aside within a speech of a character. Master Page plans with his wife, Master and Mistress Ford, and the Parson to trap Falstaff at Herne’s Oak, where he will be assaulted by pinching fairies. Page offers to provide the material for the fairy garments.

PAGE. That silke will I go buy, _and in that time_ _Shall M. Slender steale my Nan away,_ _And marry her at Eaton_: go, send to Falstaffe straight. [_The Merry Wives of Windsor_, IV, iv, 73-75. F.]

In such speeches, the actor had no time realistically and credibly to leave the individual or group to whom he was speaking. A slight turn of the body or face or a change in voice had to suffice. But the evidence of _Pericles_ indicates that the action may have been deliberate and emphatic rather than precipitous and surreptitious. The abundance of asides is sufficient testimony that their delivery was not slighted. However, instead of suggesting by the division of solo asides into two groups that there were two methods of delivery, I suggest that the first group, for which the evidence is negative, were staged in the same way as the second, that is, not realistically but conventionally.

The asides were spoken from all parts of the stage. Actors delivered them from the enclosure as well as from the very front of the stage. Both Marina and Pericles speak rather long asides from the cabin or tent of Pericles’ ship, certainly a discovered setting (V, i, 95-97, 163-167). But there is no specific evidence that indicates the method of delivery. The traditional picture of the cliché aside being delivered by the actor out of the corner of his mouth or from behind the back of his hand as he leans toward the spectator did not originate in the Globe playhouse. Instead, as the following scene from _Troilus and Cressida_ shows, the actor cultivated the irony or mockery of the aside quite overtly. Perhaps the other actors had to “freeze” during the aside, for there is no indication that they covered the solo aside with action as they did the conversational aside.

Occasionally, an elaborate pattern of asides is unfolded, often including conversational and solo asides in the same sequence. In these extended asides the formal character of staging at the Globe is readily perceptible. One particularly mannered example occurs in _Troilus and Cressida_. Ulysses has convinced the Grecian chiefs that they must pit Ajax against Achilles if they are to gain the services of the latter. Following this advice, Agamemnon flatters Ajax, stirring his pride and vanity. Ulysses seconds Agamemnon, asserting that Ajax should not be asked to go to Achilles as a messenger. I quote at length, italicizing the asides so that the pattern may be clear.

NEST. _O, this is well! He rubs the vein of him._ DIOM. _And how his silence drinks up this applause!_ AJAX. If I go to him, with my armed fist I’ll pash him o’er the face. AGAM. O, no, you shall not go. AJAX. An ’a be proud with me, I’ll pheese his pride. Let me go to him. ULYS. Not for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel. AJAX. A paltry insolent fellow! NEST. _How he describes himself!_ AJAX. Can he not be sociable? ULYS. _The raven chides blackness._ AJAX. I’ll let his humours blood. AGAM. _He will be the physician that should be the patient._ AJAX. An all men were o’ my mind-- ULYS. _Wit would be out of fashion._ AJAX. ’A should not bear it so, ’a should eat swords first. Shall pride carry it? NEST. _An ’twould, you’ld carry half._ ULYS. _’A would have ten shares._ AJAX. I will knead him; I’ll make him supple. NEST. _He’s not yet through warm. Force him with praises._ _Pour in, pour in; his ambition is dry._ [II, iii, 210-234]

This scene is a charade, not a realistic dramatic situation. Ajax talks at times as though no one else were present. Perhaps he turns away, but there is no need. It is far more likely that Nestor and Ulysses stand on one side, since they converse together and Nestor urges Ulysses on at the end, and Agamemnon and Diomedes on the other side. Ajax remains between them. There is no evidence for this arrangement, but it accords with the tendency toward symmetrical design previously discussed.

Within the limitations of the evidence, two apparently contradictory methods of staging emerge. The method of the conversational aside seems realistic, the method of the solo aside conventional. Does this mean that the Globe company practiced a mixed style of staging? I do not believe so. Although the conversational aside appears to strive for credibility in staging, it does not try to make the motivation for separating the speaker and nonspeaker credible. When Banquo calls to Angus and Ross, “Cousins, a word, I pray,” he has no reason to do so other than to leave Macbeth free to speak. His comments upon Macbeth’s reception of the new honors are hardly the reasons. Similarly, the phrase with which Hamlet draws Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to him, “at each ear a hearer,” does not lead to a realistic scene, for Hamlet, speaking aside to them, mocks Polonius who stands before Hamlet but is not supposed to hear him. There is a genuine difference in the methods of staging the two types of asides, but its purpose, I suggest, was to differentiate the kinds of asides and to preserve a clear story line. In the conversational aside the speakers draw apart, for they have to indicate which actors are supposed to hear the conversation. In the solo aside the speaker remains where he is, for his delivery indicates that no one else hears him. Both were devices, equally conventional in form, and yet regularly staged in variant methods to further the narrative.

Closely allied to the aside in structure is the type of scene that I shall call the “observation” scene. In the observation scene one or more characters on-stage, unseen whether hidden or not, observe and usually overhear other characters on-stage. In the course of the observation the observer or observers may or may not comment. In essence, the situation is contrived, although the scene in which no comments are made is more plausible than that in which comments, unheard by the observed, are uttered. But the asides have already demonstrated the basic conventionality of Elizabethan theatrical devices. The observation scene is of the same nature.

The observation scenes can be most easily studied by dividing them into those in which the observers speak and those in which they do not. Where the observers do not speak, the problem of placement is greatly simplified. In several cases, for example, the observers actually go off-stage. The location of the exit used in such cases is revealed in _Hamlet_. Before going to the Queen, Polonius tells the King,

Behind the arras I’ll convey myself To hear the process. [III, iii, 28-29]

As he and the Queen await Hamlet in her closet, he presumably indicates the same place when he tells her,

I’ll silence me even here. [III, iv, 4]

In the Quarto of 1603, Corambis (Polonius) is more explicit.

Madame, I heare yong Hamlet comming, I’le shrowde my selfe behinde the Arras. exit Cor. [Sig. G2^r]

Earlier in the play, in preparation for a different observation, Polonius arranged with the King to observe Hamlet as

he walks four hours together Here in the lobby.... At such a time I’ll loose my daughter to him, Be you and I behind an arras then. [II, ii, 160-163]

As the moment for the observation approaches, the King explains the plan to the Queen.

Her father and myself (lawful espials) Will so bestow ourselves that, seeing unseen, We may of their encounter frankly judge. [III, i, 32-34]

Upon hearing Hamlet approach, Polonius calls to the King,

I hear him coming. Let’s withdraw, my lord. [III, i, 55]

This is the same phrase the Queen uses to Polonius in her closet.

Withdraw; I hear him coming. [III, iv, 7]

The stage direction specifies “Exeunt” for the King and Polonius. In both scenes the observers or observer are to be behind an arras, in both scenes they withdraw at the sound of the unsuspecting Hamlet. The location of the arras behind which the King and Polonius hide is indicated in the First Quarto. Instead of the lines already quoted, which appear in the Folio and the Second Quarto:

At such a time I’ll loose my daughter to him, Be you and I behind an arras then.

the First Quarto reads:

There let Ofelia walke untill hee comes: Your selfe and I will stand close in the study. [Sig. D4^v 14-15]

The word “study” in the Globe plays regularly refers to the enclosure. Therefore, although all texts specify the same place, the Folio and Second Quarto refer to the hanging in front of the study and the First Quarto refers to the study behind the hanging.

A similar observation scene occurs in _Measure for Measure_. While the disguised Duke is consoling Claudio in prison, Isabella, his sister, visits him. Yielding the prisoner to her, the Duke draws the Provost aside and says:

Bring me to hear them speak, where I may be conceal’d. [III, i, 52-53]

Kittredge marks an exit at this point and an entrance before line 152. He may be correct, for an “exit” follows the King’s and Polonius’ withdrawal behind the arras and an “entrance” precedes their emergence. In the First Quarto Corambis’ withdrawal behind the arras is also marked “exit.” I suggest, of course, that the Duke, like the King and Polonius, withdraws behind the arras to overhear Isabella and Claudio and emerges at the conclusion of their conversation.[15]

There are other scenes where silent observers remain on stage. In these scenes the observers sometimes interrupt the scene that they observe. When this happens, it is not always clear whether or not they hide behind some object or otherwise endeavor to secrete themselves until they make their presence known. Sometimes the observer definitely hides. A scene of this sort occurs in _The Devil’s Charter_ (III, v). Frescobaldi is waiting for Caesar to enter with the man whom he is to murder. The clock strikes the hour.

This mine hower appoynted, this the place, Here will I stand close till tha’ llarum call, he stands behind the post. [Sig. F3^v]

Immediately thereafter Caesar and the Duke of Candie enter. Frescobaldi observes them from behind the post. The same post, or stage pillar, was probably used in the Shakespearean scenes in the same way although in all but one of the scenes there is no reference to the actor’s hiding himself. In _As You Like It_ there are two observation scenes (II, iv; III, v) in which no evident

## action is taken by the observers to hide themselves. The opening

scene of _Antony and Cleopatra_ is of the same sort. In these instances the need for secrecy is much less pressing than in the other situations. Perhaps it was the practice of the characters to hide only when the situation demanded it.

Those scenes during which the observer speaks involve more complex problems of staging. Of these the “handkerchief” scene in _Othello_ (IV, i) is the most intricate. At first, Othello, observing Iago and Cassio, can hear them laugh but cannot hear them speak. Next, he can hear them satisfactorily. Finally, he can see the handkerchief clearly when Bianca flings it at Cassio. The first phase is set by Iago’s suggestion to Othello to “encave” himself. Upon Cassio’s arrival, Iago asks Othello: “Will you withdraw?” During the scene with Cassio, Iago apparently motions to Othello to come closer, for Othello says:

Iago beckons me. Now he begins the story. [IV, i, 135]

It is hazardous to take the description of the hiding place literally. In the course of the various observation scenes, the stage posts are apparently called “this hedge corner” (_All’s Well_, IV, i, 2) and “the turn” (_Timon_, V, i, 50). It is possible, of course, that Othello does not move, the change from his inability to hear the conversation to his ability to hear it being conveyed by his line: “Now he begins the story.” But I think it more likely that he does “encave” himself, that is, he partly hides himself behind the arras. When Iago beckons to him, he moves to one of the posts.

There is only one instance for which a property may have been used as a hiding place. In order to see the effect of the forged letter upon Malvolio, Toby, Fabian, and Andrew follow Maria’s instructions to get all three “into the box tree” (II, v, 17). If the property were used, it was probably thrust out or carried out from the enclosure and placed in the center of the stage. All the same, the box tree is not really required. No further mention is made of it. To the business and lines of the three observers, it contributes neither humor nor protection. Thus, the completeness and kind of concealment really depended upon the narrative point which had to be emphasized. Not the credibility of the observation but the clarity of its rendition governed the manner of its staging.

All the devices thus far inspected reveal the same characteristic of being no more conventional than the story requires. This is

## particularly true of the observation scene. Where the observer is

not needed on stage until the scene that he is watching is ended, he is sent off-stage. Where the observer is needed to interrupt at one point, he is hidden simply and conveniently. Where the observer must comment on the scene before him, he is prominently placed. The yardstick is always relevance to the story. The situation is always as credible as it can be, but the creation of credibility is never an end in itself. These conditions hold true for the staging of disguise scenes too.

Several scholars have studied the disguise scene in terms of either its dramatic form or its psychological import.[16] Paul Kreider, for example, emphasizes the careful preparation which precedes the assumption of disguise in Shakespeare’s plays. Although he does not consider the methods for staging the disguise, he makes it clear that Shakespeare always informs the audience who is disguised. Here I shall only consider how the character is disguised.

The basic method of disguise is through a change of costume. Almost invariably this change furnishes the foundation for the disguise. In the Shakespearean Globe plays there are seventeen instances of disguise, of which five rely wholly and six mainly on a change of costume (see Appendix C, chart i). In the non-Shakespearean Globe plays, of fifteen cases, four rely wholly and six mainly on a change of costume. Even when a different costume is not the sole method of disguise, it is almost always introduced as an important supplement. Fourteen of the seventeen disguised characters in Shakespeare change their dress; thirteen of the fifteen in the non-Shakespearean plays do so too.

Next in frequency and importance in effecting a disguise is a change of manner. In addition to changing his clothing, the character adjusts or alters his bearing or attitude. The Duke becomes paternal in _Measure for Measure_; Harbart becomes as blunt as his alias, Blunt, in _Fair Maid of Bristow_; Vindice in _The Revenger’s Tragedy_ becomes familiar in his first disguise, then melancholy; Edgar becomes a Bedlamite. The degree of change in manner depends upon the situation in the play. The most complete changes, such as Edgar’s, have dramatic purposes other than disguise. Of the disguises in Shakespeare’s Globe plays, eight show change in manner. In the non-Shakespearean plays eight definitely and one possibly show change in manner. A change in voice is occasionally introduced although the evidence may be deceptive. Kent speaks of “razing likeness” and “changing accents” but, as _The Revenger’s Tragedy_ shows, the latter phrase can refer to manner as well as speech. Vindice, who has appeared before Lussurioso in one disguise, is about to assume another one for a new interview. Hippolito cautions him.

How will you appear in fashion different, As well as in apparel, to make all things possible? * * * * * _You must change tongue_: familiar was your first. VIN. Why, I’ll bear me in some strain of melancholy, And string myself with heavy-sounding wire, Like such an instrument, that speaks merry things sadly. [IV, ii, 22-29. My italics]

The change of tongue to which Hippolito refers is not a vocal or dialect change, but as the context clearly shows, a change of temperament or manner.

Occasionally, but rarely, a dialect aids a disguise. Generally, Shakespeare seems to call upon the actor to change his voice somewhat more than his fellow dramatists seem to have done. There are four examples of change excluding the instance of Kent examined above. In the non-Shakespearean plays only one instance occurs. However, it is equally necessary to note that in the disguises of Rosalind and Viola, particularly that of the latter, Shakespeare is careful to show that the voices do not change.

A change in face is rarely employed in disguise. Only one case certainly occurs in Shakespeare, that of Feste in _Twelfth Night_, though two others probably occur. In the non-Shakespearean plays there is only one case of facial disguise. Where facial disguise is introduced, it is always in highly simplified form. Of the four certain and possible examples, two require beards, one depends upon a smirched face, and one introduces a false scar.

In all disguises simplicity is the keynote. Several discoveries of the disguised character’s identity require speed in changing costume. The friars remove their hoods to identify themselves. Others may remove a hat or some other part of clothing. Often recognition of the true person comes only when the character names himself. Generally the surprise and wonderment of the other characters at the revelation of the disguise is out of proportion to the device of revelation or the means of disguise. That disproportion emphasizes the conventional element in disguise.

Disguise staging is simple, nominal, and somewhat standardized. At the same time the authors take some pains to make the disguise credible to the other characters. Several scenes occur where the disguised figure is not known in his true person to the other character or characters. In those situations mere assertion of the disguise is sometimes sufficient. In the disguise of Old Flowerdale in _The London Prodigal_ a false scar, removed at the end, is a symbol of disguise. Yet in the same play Luce assumes a maidservant’s dress and a Dutch accent in order to parade as a Dutch “vrow.” Here again the conventional scene is tempered by efforts to account plausibly for the disguise. By and large, symbolic methods play little part in effecting disguise. That is why I have introduced the adjective “nominal.” Through uncomplicated means, such as a change of dress, disguise is signified to the audience. But the completeness of the disguise is insufficient to convince an audience that the character would pass undetected. In that sense it is nominal, a token of disguise, without becoming a sign of a deeper disguise, that is, without becoming symbolic. Shakespeare is slightly more realistic in his treatment of disguise than are his colleagues. But the differences are too minute to count. The most complete disguises in Shakespeare, involving all four means examined above, are those of Feste and Edgar. In each case the completeness, as Maria says of Feste,[17] is not to ensure disguise but to elicit for Feste richer comedy and for Edgar deeper pathos and sharper contrast with the mad Lear. Disguise scenes are usually staged according to recurrent principles which are varied no more than the narrative or dramatic purpose demands.

To draw a detailed picture of staging at the Globe, it would be desirable to consider all the recurrent scenes minutely. But this is not feasible in a study of this length. Instead, I must depend upon the dissection of several types of scenes which can best reflect Globe conditions. The remaining scenes which I shall describe, because of the nature of the material or the preciseness of the evidence, complement the scenes already examined. These include the appearances of ghosts, the delivery of greetings and farewells, and the reports of messengers.

There are eight ghost sequences in the Globe plays, six in Shakespeare’s plays,[18] two in _The Devil’s Charter_. The prologue of _A Warning for Fair Women_, a pre-Globe play, contains evidence that the ghosts were physically represented by being shrouded in a sheet or leather pilch (Sig. A2^r). However, Hamlet’s father is specifically described as “Arm’d at all points” (I, ii, 200). In the First Quarto a stage direction specifies that the Ghost wears “a night gown” in Act III, scene iv (Sig. G2^v), although Hamlet describes him as being in his habit as he lived (III, iv, 135). These contradictions would indicate that there was no regular practice for costuming a ghost.

In the staging of the ghost scenes, however, there seems to have been conformity. The one non-Shakespearean play which portrays ghosts, _The Devil’s Charter_, describes the staging exactly.

[A devil] goeth to one doore of the stage, from whence he bringeth the Ghost of Candie gastly haunted by Caesar persuing and stabing it, these vanish in at another doore.

Later in the same scene,

He bringeth from the same doore Gismond Viselli, his wounds gaping and after him Lucrece undrest, holding a dagger fix’t in his bleeding bosome: they vanish. [Sig. G2^r]

Later in the play,

The Divell bringeth forth from the doore Lucreciaes Ghost, and after her the ghost of Candie stabbed. [Sig. M2^r]

Stage directions early in the scenes place these actions forward on the stage so that there is no doubt that the stage doors are the ones described as the entries for the ghosts.

W. J. Lawrence, some years ago, attempted to prove that the Ghost in the first scene of _Hamlet_ rose through the front trap. His conclusion was based on the argument that since Horatio, Marcellus, and Bernardo are seated on stools and are looking ahead, the only way “by which the Ghost could suddenly make itself visible to the three [is] by emerging in front of them through a trap.”[19]

The dialogue of the characters contradicts this theory, however. On the entrance of the Ghost, Marcellus cries:

Peace! break thee off! Look where it comes again! BERN. In the same figure, like the King that’s dead.... BERN. See, it stalks away. [I, i, 40-41, 50]

After the Ghost leaves the first time, Marcellus describes the visitations of the previous nights.

Thus twice before, and jump at this dead hour, With martial stalke, hath he gone by our watch. [I, i, 65-66]

The First Quarto is more graphic.

With Marshall stalke he passed through our watch. [Sig. B2^r]

In the next scene, when Horatio describes the initial events to Hamlet, he states that at first the Ghost appeared before Marcellus and Bernardo,

and with solemn march Goes slow and stately by them. Thrice he walked By their oppressed and fear-surprised eyes, Within his truncheon’s length. [I, ii, 201-204.]

All these descriptions suggest that the Ghost entered through one of the doors, crossed the stage, and departed at another door.

When Hamlet awaits the Ghost, Horatio is the first to see it.

Look my lord, it comes. [I, iv, 38]

Hamlet addresses the Ghost, urging it to answer. During this time there is opportunity for the Ghost to cross to the opposite door, then beckon to Hamlet to follow. Hamlet follows the Ghost through the door and five lines later Horatio and Marcellus follow them. Immediately the Ghost, trailed by Hamlet, enters through the door that he first used.

The final exit of the Ghost, according to Lawrence, is through the trap. The fact that the Ghost cries from the “cellarage” makes this suggestion convincing. It must be observed, though, that the Ghost does not speak until fifty-seven lines after he exits, or nearly three minutes later. Furthermore, John C. Adams has shown that the use of the main trap is usually accompanied by thunder to cover the sound of the trap mechanism. If this were the practice, the exit through the trap is unlikely.

The last of the ghost scenes in _Hamlet_, that in the Queen’s closet, is reminiscent of the other scenes. The Ghost enters, presumably through the stage door, chides his “tardy son” and departs. Endeavoring to convince Gertrude of his sanity, Hamlet describes the departure.

Why, look you there! Look how it steals away! My father, in his habit as he liv’d! Look where he goes even now out at the portal! [III, iv, 134-136]

“Portal,” in the Oxford English Dictionary, is defined as “a door, gate, doorway, or gateway, of stately or elaborate construction.” Only the outer stage doors can satisfy this definition. Thus, Hamlet’s description of the departure can pertain only to one of the outer stage doors. I offer a conjectural reconstruction of this scene. After Hamlet slays Polonius, who has been hiding behind the arras at the rear of the stage, he draws his mother forward, seating her upon one of the stools distributed about the stage. The pictures of the royal brothers, probably hanging on a wall of the façade, if the evidence of _A Warning for Fair Women_ is applicable,[20] are unveiled by Hamlet, who then comes downstage toward Gertrude. Thus, when the Ghost enters, he comes on stage behind mother and son and in front of his own picture. At the sight of the Ghost, Hamlet falls to his knees. After admonishing his son, the Ghost completes his crossing and “steals away ... even now out at the portal.”

For the staging of the last two ghost scenes, the evidence is scanty. Banquo’s ghost enters and sits at the banquet table twice. Since the table is forward on the stage, Banquo presumably follows the same course as the other ghosts, entering at one stage door, sitting, and leaving at the other door. Despite a modern predilection for more elaborate stage trickery, there is no evidence that the stage machinery was employed in the staging of ghost scenes at the Globe. The last of the ghost scenes confirms the evidence of the other plays. Brutus is seated in his tent, reading a book. The Ghost of Caesar appears. The lines of Brutus imply that the Ghost walks toward him. At first Brutus says:

Who comes here?... It comes upon me. [IV, iii, 275-278]

Finally, as the Ghost departs, he cries:

Now I have taken heart thou vanishest. [287]

The last verb may be deceptive. In _The Devil’s Charter_ the stage direction “they vanish” describes the departure of the ghosts through an outer door. In _Jeronimo_ a ghost is said to have vanished though he still delivers another five lines before he exits through the stage door. Altogether the evidence indicates that the ghost scenes were staged with a minimum use of stage properties or machinery, with great simplicity and with standard methods.

In Shakespeare’s Globe plays there are forty-one farewell or greeting scenes of different degrees of elaboration. These amenities do not seem to have been perfunctory affairs, casually staged, but were ceremonious in manner, much more so than modern productions reveal. Embracing, particularly in farewells, handshaking, and kneeling all played a part in the ritual of greeting and bidding farewell. Whenever one person meets or leaves a group, he does so formally, witness _Troilus and Cressida_, Act IV, scene v, which contains greetings to both Cressida and Hector. Perhaps the hails of the witches to Macbeth were in imitation of courtly greetings. The manner of greeting can be glimpsed through the jaundiced eyes of Apemantus as he watches Timon welcome Alcibiades, obviously with bows and genuflections.

So, so there! Aches contract and starve your supple joints! [I, i, 256-257]

To a superior figure, whether King (_All’s Well_, I, ii), Protector (_Pericles_, I, iv), or mother (_Coriolanus_, II, i), kneeling was the accepted manner of greeting or being greeted. Although doffing the hat was the accepted sign of greeting a superior, among equals bowing or shaking hands was usual.

Embracing of men appears quite clearly in farewell scenes. Antony and Caesar embrace at parting (III, ii, 61-64), as do Flavius, Timon’s steward, and his fellows in _Timon of Athens_, (IV, ii, 29 f.). The farewell without ceremony, which Helen receives from Bertram (_All’s Well_, II, v, 59-97) is particularly offensive. In the same way as in greeting, the departing character, when he leaves a group, formalizes his farewells by making the rounds (_Coriolanus_, IV, i). Tears usually flow at such a farewell. Every group farewell scene in Shakespeare where a woman is present is bathed in tears (Virgilia in _Coriolanus_, IV, i; Octavia in _Antony and Cleopatra_, III, ii; Lychorida in _Pericles_, III, iii; Cordelia in _Lear_, I, i, 271). Natural patterns of decorum as well as inclinations toward uniformity characterize these scenes as a whole. Although standard external means of greeting and bidding farewell exist throughout the plays, they are observed with ceremony and rendered with deliberation.

Most of the scenes or devices considered heretofore are relatively uniform in manner and frequency throughout the Globe plays, Shakespearean and non-Shakespearean alike. The messenger, however, is a unique figure peculiar to Shakespeare. On the average, about five messengers appear in each of Shakespeare’s Globe plays, compared to an average of about one in each of the non-Shakespearean plays. Shakespeare’s messengers may be divided into two classes. Fairly often a character in a play will assume the function of the messenger in order to deliver a report. Essentially, this is what Gertrude does when she describes the death of Ophelia (_Hamlet_, IV, vii). Characters as messengers generally do not assume a special manner but continue to maintain their own identities.

The other type of messenger is the formal messenger. There are forty-three of these as compared to thirty-one character messengers in Shakespeare’s Globe plays. The generic messenger usually has no identity. His manner is often theatrical rather than natural. This is particularly evident when he does not inform but directs the superior characters (_Julius Caesar_, V, i, 12-15; _Coriolanus_, II, i, 276-284). Occasionally the situation demands some veil of characterization (_Antony and Cleopatra_, II, v; _Julius Caesar_, III, i). In those instances the messenger takes on the qualities of a servant.

The dramatic function of the messenger was to change the course of the scene, to bring some outside force to bear upon the characters on stage, and, by doing so, to provoke some alteration in the passions or actions of the characters. The salutation accorded the messenger is usually brief, yet attention is clearly focused upon him. The usual respect of servant to master does not seem to be present, but instead it is replaced by an imperious manner. A curious feature of the staging is that no exit is marked for the formal messenger after he delivers his message. Sometimes he is dismissed by the one who receives the message, sometimes he is held back to answer questions, but it is not clear where he goes or how he joins the rest of the actors. I am inclined to believe that he usually exits immediately after delivering his message. There are several scenes in which a series of messengers enter to report a changing situation (_Coriolanus_, IV, vi, 37-79; _Troilus and Cressida_, V, v). The effect of mounting pressure depends upon the repeated entrance and exit of the messengers. The intensification such scenes require could be effectively produced by the entrance of the messenger at one door, and after his report, by his exit at another. If this were regular practice at the Globe, the playwright did not need to mark an exit for him.

The formal messenger is an example of a purely conventional figure who is not symbolic. Whether he had a prototype in Elizabethan life or he was a creation of dramatic technique, he still emerged as a conventional figure, changing little from Caesar’s Rome to Macbeth’s Scotland. Attention was concentrated on his function--not his character. Therefore, he was granted a forthrightness of expression not found in other stage servants.

Excluded from the study of staging have been many scenes which depend primarily upon acting. In these scenes, which make up large segments of the plays, the qualities of clear speech and passionate

## action play the major part. A discussion of their staging would be

fruitless because the method of staging them has little influence upon the final effect. Most numerous among these scenes are those devoted to plotting, singing, word-play, commentary upon character or situation, railing against another, and pleading. Scenes of mocking and loving follow closely behind these.

Among these scenes are some of the greatest expressions of Shakespeare’s dramatic powers. For example, there are twenty pleading episodes in Shakespeare’s Globe plays. This score includes Portia’s plea to Brutus for confidence (_Julius Caesar_, II, i), Isabella’s plea to Angelo for Claudio’s life (_Measure for Measure_, II, ii), and perhaps the finest example of all, Volumnia’s plea to Coriolanus for Rome’s salvation (V, iii). But few of these derive their powers from elements of staging. Where they are located on-stage does not matter much, for they create an environment of their own. Yet scenes such as these need dimension. If the actors kneel and plead, they need scope to do so. That is why it is hazardous to depart from the conditions of the open platform in reconstructing the staging.

The handling of entrance and exit and the representation of the conventional devices and scenes provide the framework of the staging. Interwoven and interpolated are those scenes which rely not on formal presentation but on spontaneous action. These are the scenes which, through the intensity of their poetic conception, the penetration of their observation, or the keenness of their wit, illuminate the stage. But no sharp distinction exists between the conventional device and the spontaneous action. They both spring from the need to sustain and perfect an extended narrative.

V. THE STAGING OF THE FINALES

The art of staging in the Elizabethan theater reaches its culmination in the ritualistic finale which usually brings the narrative to a close. The dramatic nature of the finale has been fully discussed in Chapter Two. Its theatrical execution may fittingly conclude this chapter.

Most of the finales depict a sequence of action foreknown to the audience but not to the figure or figures central to the action. This fact contributes greatly to the ritualistic impression of the finale. Thematically, the finale completes the process of rendering judgment and rewarding faithfulness or love. This process is elaborately and meticulously worked out so that all possible complications of the narrative are unraveled.

Theatrically, it is accomplished in one of two ways. The final “mystery” is solved with the ranking person usually directing the process (_All’s Well_, _Twelfth Night_, _Measure for Measure_), or a final conflict takes place between a figure rendering judgment, a champion, as in _Lear_, and a figure receiving judgment. Thus, pictorially, there can be one of three centers of focus: the judge, the combat, the revealed mystery. In some cases the rendering of judgment is effected by the central character upon himself, as in _Julius Caesar_, _Antony and Cleopatra_, and _Othello_. Othello, who has been touched by Christian morality, is conscious of rendering self-judgment. Brutus and Cleopatra, instead, commit suicide in the high Roman fashion.

About two-thirds of the finales begin with only one or two characters on stage who set the conditions for the finale (_Antony and Cleopatra_, _Twelfth Night_, _The Merry Wives of Windsor_, _Othello_, and so on). Once the basic premises are assured, the essential action takes place. In _Twelfth Night_ it centers about the contradictory accusations against Viola. In _Julius Caesar_ and _Antony and Cleopatra_, Brutus and Cleopatra probe the necessity for death and direct the preparations for suicide, the latter more elaborately than the former, of course. The finales of _Measure for Measure_ and _All’s Well_ follow a similar pattern: a ruler seeks the answer to a mystery by holding a hearing.

All concluding dramatic situations have a courtly or martial formality, except for the finales of _Merry Wives_, _Othello_, and _Troilus and Cressida_. The finales of _Hamlet_, _All’s Well_, _Measure for Measure_, _As You Like It_, _Twelfth Night_, and _Antony and Cleopatra_ reveal a courtly formality of one sort or another. In these scenes the subordinate figures are grouped in relation to the sovereign. This fact alone favors symmetrical balance in the design. For example, the King in _All’s Well_, after first welcoming Bertram, is prompted by seeing Helen’s ring on his finger to question the manner of her death. All action is related to the King. Probably standing at center, he receives and dismisses Bertram from one door and receives Diana from the other. In _Hamlet_, the duel is the focal action of the scene. The placement of the King and Queen, however, dictates the grouping of the court. The stage directions specify that a table with flagons of wine upon it is brought in (_Hamlet_, V, ii, 235f.). The stage direction in the Quarto of 1604 calls for “cushions” which may have been placed on the stools (Sig. N3^v). But apparently no state is introduced. Therefore, the King and Queen probably stand or possibly sit in the center, well enough downstage to be easily seen, the duelists fight before them, and the court is grouped behind them. Until the entrance of Fortinbras, the only speakers are the King, Queen, Hamlet, Laertes, Osric, and, briefly, Horatio, who speaks once when Hamlet is wounded and once when Hamlet is dying. Even this résumé does not convey any idea of the actual sequence of the speeches. No more than two or three people speak in any one part of the scene. The members of the court, placed at the sides and the rear of the stage, are called upon only once to cry “Treason, treason.” Otherwise they are virtually ignored. Earlier in this chapter I outlined the finale of _As You Like It_ in the same way, to show the division of the scene into episodes of twos and threes. To formalize the grouping, Shakespeare introduced Duke Senior into all the episodes, thus using him as a point of reference.

Where martial conditions prevail at the conclusion, the grouping is governed by the presence of the triumphant general or prince. Malcolm, hailed as King of Scotland, is ringed about by his thanes. At first Alcibiades is engaged in a parley with the Athenian Senators, but when they leave the walls, he is left completely alone. In _Julius Caesar_ the opposite happens, for the defeated leader is the center of interest. One by one, Brutus approaches the remnants of his supporters, who are ranged about him, to persuade one of them to slay him. Finally, the last man gratifies his wish. Even when the conquering generals enter, his body remains the center of attention, thanks to Antony’s eulogy.

_Merry Wives_ and _Othello_, having neither courtly nor martial finales, rely on a different kind of focal point. In the former play, the place where Falstaff, the object of ridicule, hides from the “Fairies,” determines the design of the scene. In _Othello_, the location of Desdemona’s bed initially dictates the arrangement of the scene. But when the final truth is known and Iago is arrested, Lodovico supersedes the bed as the keystone of the grouping although Othello naturally remains the figure of greatest interest. This shift of focus from one center to another during the scene and the succeeding diffusion of focus near the end, make staging the finale of _Othello_ upon the Globe stage extremely difficult. Constant reference to the bed early in the scene requires the actors to turn toward the rear of the stage, even if the bed is thrust out. The text demands that Othello, Emilia, and Gratiano, at the very least, relate themselves to the deathbed for considerable periods of time. This kind of finale is peculiar to _Othello_, lacking as it does a constant focal point and formal grouping. The explanation may be that the extant texts, Folio and Quarto, embody the version played upon a shallow stage at Blackfriars. Mounted upon such a stage rather than upon the deep stage of the Globe, the finale could be more effectively presented.

The grouping, as I have shown, usually depends upon the placement of the sovereign or triumphant figure. The progress of the finale, however, is controlled in large measure by the degree and kind of

## activity in which the ranking figure (or figures) engages. In _As

You Like It_ Duke Senior, being passive, is more a point to which the action relates than a figure who directs the action. Orsino and Olivia in _Twelfth Night_ jointly direct the uncovering of the mystery by calling upon others to act rather than by acting themselves. The focus thus lies between them. In contrast, the Duke in _Measure for Measure_ not only serves as the center of attention but also acts as the central force in bringing the “mystery” of the action to light. _Lear_ reveals an interesting finale which shifts the centers of interest from the single combat of Edmund and Edgar, first to the display of the bodies of Goneril and Regan, and then to the entrance and death of Lear. But throughout these orderly shifts of attention the ranking figure, the Duke of Albany, functions effectively but unobtrusively. It is he who questions Edgar, orders the disposal of the bodies of the evil sisters, directs the burial of Lear, and speaks the final words.[21] Although himself never of central interest, his presence at the center of the action is necessary to the unity of the finale.

The last factor that influences the staging of the finale is the introduction of a resolving figure, found in many of the plays. He may be either of critical or of supplementary importance to the completion of the action. It is his presence which unravels the mystery. Sebastian is the resolving figure in _Twelfth Night_. His entrance unties all the knots at once. However, because _Twelfth Night_ contains a double plot, Fabian is needed to explain the trick played upon Malvolio, thus serving as a supplementary resolving figure. Similarly, Edgar and Lear are resolving figures for their respective plots. Further illustrations include the Duke in _Measure for Measure_ and Helen in _All’s Well_. For a spectacular effect, Shakespeare introduces Hymen as a resolving figure in _As You Like It_. His words to the assembled lovers could very well speak for all the resolving figures.

Peace ho! I bar confusion. ’Tis I must make conclusion Of these most strange events. [V, iv, 131-133]

It is interesting to see that instead of relying upon the enclosure curtain to effect a sudden discovery, Shakespeare introduced an allegorical figure to make the revelation of Rosalind theatrical. The revelation, therefore, had to be processional, with Hymen

## acting as marshal. Virtually the same pattern occurs in the finale

of _All’s Well_ where the widow leads in Helen. Under special circumstances, a discovery can be made without using the stage curtain. Enveloped in his friar’s hood, the Duke in _Measure for Measure_, as his own resolving figure, can enter undetected. Lucio, by plucking off the friar’s hood, accomplishes a sudden discovery.

Ranking figures may also serve as minor resolving figures. Such characters as Fortinbras in _Hamlet_, Caesar in _Antony and Cleopatra_, and Antony in _Julius Caesar_ bring events to a close by delivering a eulogy over the fallen hero. Their entrances are processional; their departures are dead marches, in which the body or bodies of the slain are carried off. Another group of minor resolving figures are those entering with information necessary to the disentanglement of the complete narrative. Fabian, as I have shown, is one of these. So also is Fenton in _Merry Wives_ and the soldier in _Timon of Athens_.

The entryway through which the major resolving figures come is crucial to the staging. For this the plays provide no satisfactory clues. Diana’s lines which precede the revelation that Helen lives could easily imply a discovery.

He [Bertram] knows himself my bed he hath defil’d, And at that time he got his wife with child. Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick. So there’s my riddle: one that’s dead is quick-- And now behold the meaning. Enter Helen and Widow. KING. Is there no exorcist Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes? [V, iii, 301-306]

Similar situations occur in _As You Like It_ and _Twelfth Night_. In _As You Like It_ the revelation is heralded by music which suggests a processional entrance. In _Twelfth Night_ Sebastian follows Toby on stage in order to justify his treatment of Toby. These scenes by analogy indicate the unlikelihood that Helen was discovered by the drawing of the curtain of the enclosure. Yet in all these scenes the resolving figures must enter prominently, for upon their entrance they occupy the center of attention. I suggest, therefore, that to achieve maximum effect and to preserve symmetry, these entrances were made through the curtain at the rear of the stage.

Throughout this chapter I have stressed dramatic factors usually ignored, and minimized factors usually stressed. The theory of staging which emerges, therefore, departs in some ways from the views generally accepted. I have emphasized that, in re-creating Globe stage practices, we must be cautious:

(1) Not to reconstruct staging only in terms of settings;

(2) Not to disregard or underestimate the vital role that the entrances and exits played in the artistic organization of the productions;

(3) Not to neglect the inclination of the Globe company towards uniformity in staging;

(4) Not to overvalue the necessity or even the desirability of novelty in staging;

(5) Not to underestimate the ability of the Elizabethan narrative to shape its own principles of staging;

(6) Not to assume that staging at the Globe occupied as crucial a role in rehearsing and performing a play as it does, aesthetically and organizationally, in the theater today.