Chapter Five THE STAGING (continued 2)

Finally, as the Ghost departs, he cries:

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.

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.

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.

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.