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. G1r). In Cromwell one soliloquy is six lines long (Sig. B1v) and the other is ten lines long (Sig. E4v). 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. B2v-3r), 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. B3r 10-18), “Sir Ralphe Sadler, pray a word with you” (Fair Maid of Bristow, Sig. A4v 12-B1r 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. E1v). 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. B3v 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. B1v 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. G2r]
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. D4v 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. F3v]
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. A2r). 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. G2v), 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. G2r]
Later in the play,
The Divell bringeth forth from the doore Lucreciaes Ghost, and after her the ghost of Candie stabbed.
[Sig. M2r]
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. B2r]
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.