The cost of the finished building is not exactly known. Mr. Wallace observes that it was erected "at an original cost, according to a later statement, of £600, but upon better evidence approximately £400."[400] I am not aware of the "better evidence" to which Mr. Wallace refers,[401] nor do I know whether the estimate of £400 includes the timber and materials of the old Theatre furnished by the Burbages. If the Theatre of 1576 cost nearly £700, and the second Globe cost £1400, the sum of £400 seems too small.
Nor do we know exactly when the Globe was finished and opened to the public. On May 16, 1599, a post-mortem inquisition of the estate of Sir Thomas Brend, father of Sir Nicholas, was taken. Among his other properties in Southwark was listed the Globe playhouse, described as "vna domo de novo edificata ... in occupacione Willielmi Shakespeare et aliorum."[402] From this statement Mr. Wallace infers that the Globe was finished and opened before May 16, 1599. Though this is possible, the words used seem hardly to warrant the conclusion. However, we may feel sure that the actors, the Lord Chamberlain's Men, had moved into the building before the end of the summer.
Almost at once they rose to the position of leadership in the drama, for both Shakespeare and Burbage were now at the height of their powers. It is true that in 1601 the popularity of the Children at Blackfriars, and the subsequent "War of the Theatres" interfered somewhat with their success; but the interference was temporary, and from this time on until the closing of the playhouses in 1642, the supremacy of the Globe players was never really challenged. When James came to the throne, he recognized this supremacy by taking them under his royal patronage. On May 19, 1603, he issued to them a patent to play as the King's Men[403]—an honor that was as well deserved as it was signal.
In the autumn of 1608 the proprietors of the Globe acquired the Blackfriars Theatre for the use of their company during the severe winter months. This splendid building, situated in the very heart of the city, was entirely roofed in, and could be comfortably heated in cold weather. Henceforth the open-air Globe was used only during the pleasant season of the year; that is, according to the evidence of the Herbert Manuscript, from about the first of May until the first of November.
On June 29, 1613, the Globe caught fire during the performance of a play, and was burned to the ground—the first disaster of the sort recorded in English theatrical history. The event aroused great interest in London, and as a result we have numerous accounts of the catastrophe supplying us with full details. We learn that on a warm "sunne-shine" afternoon the large building was "filled with people"—among whom were Ben Jonson, John Taylor (the Water-Poet), and Sir Henry Wotton—to witness a new play by William Shakespeare and John Fletcher, called All is True, or, as we now know it, Henry VIII, produced with unusual magnificence. Upon the entrance of the King in the fourth scene of the first act, two cannon were discharged in a royal salute. One of the cannon hurled a bit of its wadding upon the roof and set fire to the thatch; but persons in the audience were so interested in the play that for a time they paid no attention to the fire overhead. As a result they were soon fleeing for their lives; and within "one short hour" nothing was left of the "stately" Globe.
I quote below some of the more interesting contemporary accounts of this notable event. Howes, the chronicler, thus records the fact in his continuation of Stow's Annals:
Upon St. Peter's Day last, the playhouse or theatre called the Globe, upon the Bankside, near London, by negligent discharge of a peal of ordnance, close to the south side thereof, the thatch took fire, and the wind suddenly dispersed the flames round about, and in a very short space the whole building was quite consumed; and no man hurt: the house being filled with people to behold the play, viz. of Henry the Eight.[404]
Sir Henry Wotton, in a letter to a friend, gives the following gossipy account:
Now to let matters of state sleep. I will entertain you at the present with what happened this week at the Bankside. The King's Players had a new play, called All is True, representing some principal pieces of the reign of Henry the Eighth, which was set forth with many extraordinary circumstances of pomp and majesty, even to the matting of the stage; the Knights of the Order with their Georges and Garter, the guards with their embroidered coats, and the like—sufficient in truth within awhile to make greatness very familiar, if not ridiculous. Now King Henry, making a masque at the Cardinal Wolsey's house, and certain cannons being shot off at his entry, some of the paper or other stuff wherewith one of them was stopped, did light on the thatch, where being thought at first but an idle smoke, and their eyes more attentive to the show, it kindled inwardly, and ran round like a train, consuming within less than an hour the whole house to the very ground. This was the fatal period of that virtuous fabrick; wherein yet nothing did perish but wood and straw, and a few forsaken cloaks; only one man had his breeches set on fire, that would perhaps have broiled him, if he had not, by the benefit of a provident wit, put it out with bottle ale.[405]
John Chamberlain, writing to Sir Ralph Winwood, July 8, 1613, refers to the accident thus: