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, D3r-E1v). (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.