Volume 3 — NOTE ON SYMBOLS

I have found it convenient, especially in Appendix A, to use the symbol < following a date, to indicate an uncertain date not earlier than that named, and the symbol > followed by a date, to indicate an uncertain date not later than that named. Thus 1903 <> 23 would indicate the composition date of any part of this book. I have sometimes placed the date of a play in italics, where it was desirable to indicate the date of production rather than publication.

XIX STAGING AT COURT

[Bibliographical Note.—Of the dissertations named in the note to ch. xviii, T. S. Graves, The Court and the London Theatres (1913), is perhaps the most valuable for the subject of the present chapter, which was mainly written before it reached me. A general account of the Italian drama of the Renaissance is in W. Creizenach, Geschichte des neueren Dramas, vol. ii (1901). Full details for Ferrara and Mantua are given by A. D’Ancona, Origini del Teatro Italiano (1891), of which App. II is a special study of Il Teatro Mantovano nel secolo xvi. F. Neri, La Tragedia italiana del Cinquecento (1904), E. Gardner, Dukes and Poets at Ferrara (1904), and The King of Court Poets (1906), W. Smith, The Commedia dell’ Arte (1912), are also useful. Special works on staging are E. Flechsig, Die Dekorationen der modernen Bühne in Italien (1894), and G. Ferrari, La Scenografia (1902). The Terence engravings are described by M. Herrmann, Forschungen zur deutschen Theatergeschichte des Mittelalters und der Renaissance (1914). Of contemporary Italian treatises, the unprinted Spectacula of Pellegrino Prisciano is in Cod. Est. lat. d. x. 1, 6 (cf. G. Bertoni, La Biblioteca Estense, 13), and of L. de Sommi’s Dialoghi in materia di rappresentazione scenica (c. 1565) a part only is in L. Rasi, I Comici italiani (1897), i. 107. The first complete edition of S. Serlio, Architettura (1551), contains Bk. ii, on Perspettiva; the English translation was published by R. Peake (1611); extracts are in App. G; a biography is L. Charvet, Sébastien Serlio (1869). Later are L. Sirigatti, La pratica di prospettiva (1596), A. Ingegneri, Della poesia rappresentativa e del modo di rappresentare le favole sceniche (1598), and N. Sabbatini, Pratica di fabricar scene e macchine ne’ Teatri (1638).

For France, E. Rigal, Le Théâtre de la Renaissance and Le Théâtre au xvii^e siècle avant Corneille, both in L. Petit de Julleville, Hist. de la Langue et de la Litt. Françaises (1897), iii. 261, iv. 186, and the same writer’s Le Théâtre Français avant la Période Classique (1901), may be supplemented by a series of studies in Revue d’Histoire Littéraire de la France—P. Toldo, La Comédie Française de la Renaissance (1897–1900, iv. 336; v. 220, 554; vi. 571; vii. 263), G. Lanson, Études sur les Origines de la Tragédie Classique en France (1903, x. 177, 413) and L’Idée de la Tragédie en France avant Jodelle (1904, xi. 541), E. Rigal, La Mise en Scène dans les Tragédies du xvi^e siècle (1905, xii. 1, 203), J. Haraszti, La Comédie Française de la Renaissance et la Scène (1909, xvi. 285); also G. Lanson, Note sur un Passage de Vitruve, in Revue de la Renaissance (1904), 72. Less important is E. Lintilhac, Hist. Générale du Théâtre en France (1904–9, in progress). G. Bapst, Essai sur l’Histoire du Théâtre (1893), and D. C. Stuart, Stage Decoration and the Unity of Place in France in the Seventeenth Century (1913, M. P. x. 393), deal with staging, for which the chief material is E. Dacier, La Mise en Scène à Paris au xvii^e siècle: Mémoire de L. Mahelot et M. Laurent in Mémoires de la Soc. de l’Hist. de Paris et de l’Ile-de-France, xxviii (1901), 105. An edition by H. C. Lancaster (1920) adds Mahelot’s designs.]

We come now to the problems, reserved from treatment in the foregoing chapter, of scenic background. What sort of setting did the types of theatre described afford for the plots, often complicated, and the range of incident, so extraordinarily wide, which we find in Elizabethan drama? No subject in literary history has been more often or more minutely discussed, during the quarter of a century since the Swan drawing was discovered, and much valuable spadework has been done, not merely in the collecting and marshalling of external evidence, but also in the interpretation of this in the light of an analysis of the action of plays and of the stage-directions by which these are accompanied.[1] Some points have emerged clearly enough; and if on others there is still room for controversy, this may be partly due to the fact that external and internal evidence, when put together, have proved inadequate, and partly also to certain defects of method into which some of the researchers have fallen. To start from the assumption of a ‘typical Shakespearian stage’ is not perhaps the best way of approaching an investigation which covers the practices of thirty or forty playing companies, in a score of theatres, over a period of not much less than a century. It is true that, in view of the constant shifting of companies and their plays from one theatre to another, some ‘standardization of effects’, in Mr. Archer’s phrase, may at any one date be taken for granted.[2] But analogous effects can be produced by very different arrangements, and even apart from the obvious probability that the structural divergences between public and private theatres led to corresponding divergences in the systems of setting adopted, it is hardly safe to neglect the possibility of a considerable evolution in the capacities of stage-management between 1558 and 1642, or even between 1576 and 1616. At any rate a historical treatment will be well advised to follow the historical method. The scope of the inquiry, moreover, must be wide enough to cover performances at Court, as well as those on the regular stage, since the plays used for both purposes were undoubtedly the same. Nor can Elizabethan Court performances, in their turn, be properly considered, except in the perspective afforded by a short preliminary survey of the earlier developments of the art of scenic representation at other Renaissance Courts.

The story begins with the study of Vitruvius in the latter part of the fifteenth century by the architect Alberti and others, which led scholars to realize that the tragedies of the pseudo-Seneca and the comedies of Terence and the recently discovered Plautus had been not merely recited, but acted much in the fashion already familiar in contemporary ludi of the miracle-play type.[3] The next step was, naturally, to act them, in the original or in translations. Alberti planned a theatrum in the Vatican for Nicholas V, but the three immediate successors of Nicholas were not humanists, and it is not until the papacy of Innocent VIII that we hear of classical performances at Rome by the pupils of Pomponius Laetus. One of these was Tommaso Inghirami, who became a cardinal, without escaping the nickname of Phaedra from the part he had played in Hippolytus. This, as well as at least one comedy, had already been given before the publication (c. 1484–92) of an edition of Vitruvius by Sulpicius Verulanus, with an epistle addressed by the editor to Cardinal Raffaelle Riario, as a notable patron of the revived art. Sulpicius is allusive rather than descriptive, but we hear of a fair adorned stage, 5 ft. high, for the tragedy in the forum, of a second performance in the Castle of St. Angelo, and a third in Riario’s house, where the audience sat under umbracula, and of the ‘picturatae scenae facies’, which the cardinal provided for a comedy by the Pomponiani.[4] Performances continued after the death of Pomponius in 1597, but we get no more scenic details, and when the Menaechmi was given at the wedding of Alfonso d’Este and Lucrezia Borgia in 1502 it is noted that ‘non gli era scena alcuna, perchè la camera non era capace’.[5] It is not until 1513 that we get anything like a description of a Roman neo-classical stage, at the conferment of Roman citizenship on Giuliano and Lorenzo de’ Medici, the Florentine kinsmen of Leo X.[6] This had a decorated back wall divided by pilasters into five spaces, in each of which was a door covered by a curtain of golden stuff. There were also two side-doors, for entrance and exit, marked ‘via ad forum’.

An even more important centre of humanistic drama than Rome was Ferrara, where the poets and artists, who gathered round Duke Ercole I of Este, established a tradition which spread to the allied courts of the Gonzagas at Mantua and the Delle Rovere at Urbino. The first neo-classical revival on record at Ferrara was of the Menaechmi in 1486, from which we learn that Epidamnus was represented by five marvellous ‘case’ each with its door and window, and that a practicable boat moved across the cortile where the performance was given.[7]

In 1487 it was the turn of the Amphitrio ‘in dicto cortile a tempo di notte, con uno paradiso cum stelle et altre rode’.[8] Both the Amphitrio and the Menaechmi were revived in 1491; the former had its ‘paradiso’, while for the latter ‘nella sala era al prospecto de quattro castelli, dove avevano a uscire quilli dovevano fare la representatione’.[9] Many other productions followed, of some of which no details are preserved. For the Eunuchus, Trinummus, and Penulus in 1499 there was a stage, 4 ft. high, with decorated columns, hangings of red, white, and green cloth, and ‘cinque casamenti merlati’ painted by Fino and Bernardino Marsigli.[10] In 1502, when Lucrezia Borgia came, the stage for the Epidicus, Bacchides, Miles Gloriosus, Casina, and Asinaria was of the height of a man, and resembled a city wall, ‘sopra gli sono le case de le comedie, che sono sei, non avantagiate del consueto’.[11] The most elaborate description on record is, however, one of a theatre set up at Mantua during the carnival of 1501, for some play of which the name has not reached us. Unfortunately it is not very clearly worded, but the stage appears to have been rather wider than its depth, arcaded round, and hung at the back with gold and greenery. Its base had the priceless decoration of Mantegna’s Triumphs, and above was a heaven with a representation of the zodiac. Only one ‘casa’ is noted, a ‘grocta’ within four columns at a corner of the stage.[12]

The scanty data available seem to point to the existence of two rather different types of staging, making their appearance at Ferrara and at Rome respectively. The scene of the Ferrarese comedies, with its ‘case’ as the principal feature, is hardly distinguishable from that of the mediaeval sacre rappresentazioni, with its ‘luoghi deputati’ for the leading personages, which in their turn correspond to the ‘loci’, ‘domus’, or ‘sedes’ of the western miracle-plays.[13] The methods of the rappresentazioni had long been adopted for pieces in the mediaeval manner, but upon secular themes, such as Poliziano’s Favola d’Orfeo, which continued, side by side with the classical comedies, to form part of the entertainment of Duke Ercole’s Court.[14] The persistence of the mediaeval tradition is very clearly seen in the interspersing of the acts of the comedies, just as the rappresentazioni had been interspersed, with ‘moresche’ and other ‘intermedii’ of spectacle and dance, to which the ‘dumb-shows’ of the English drama owe their ultimate origin.[15] At Rome, on the other hand, it looks as if, at any rate by 1513, the ‘case’ had been conventionalized, perhaps under the influence of some archaeological theory as to classical methods, into nothing more than curtained compartments forming part of the architectural embellishments of the scena wall. It is a tempting conjecture that some reflex, both of the Ferrarese and of the Roman experiments, may be traced in the woodcut illustrations of a number of printed editions of Terence, which are all derived from archetypes published in the last decade of the fifteenth century. The synchronism between the revival of classical acting and the emergence of scenic features in such illustrations is certainly marked. The Terentian miniatures of the earlier part of the century show no Vitruvian knowledge. If they figure a performance, it is a recitation by the wraith Calliopius and his gesticulating mimes.[16] Nor is there any obvious scenic influence in the printed Ulm Eunuchus of 1486, with its distinct background for each separate woodcut.[17] The new spirit comes in with the Lyons Terence of 1493, wherein may be seen the hand of the humanist Jodocus Badius Ascensius, who had certainly visited Ferrara, and may well also have been in touch with the Pomponiani.[18] The Lyons woodcuts, of which there are several to each play, undoubtedly represent stage performances, real or imaginary. The stage itself is an unrailed quadrangular platform, of which the supports are sometimes visible. The back wall is decorated with statuettes and swags of Renaissance ornament, and in front of it is a range of three, four, or five small compartments, separated by columns and veiled by fringed curtains. They have rather the effect of a row of bathing boxes. Over each is inscribed the name of a character, whose ‘house’ it is supposed to be. Thus for the Andria the inscriptions are ‘Carini’, ‘Chreme[tis]’, ‘Chrisidis’, ‘Do[mus] Symonis’. On the scaffold, before the houses, action is proceeding between characters each labelled with his name. Sometimes a curtain is drawn back and a character is emerging, or the interior of a house is revealed, with some one sitting or in bed, and a window behind. It is noteworthy that, while the decoration of the back wall and the arrangement of the houses remain uniform through all the woodcuts belonging to any one play, they vary from play to play. Sometimes the line of houses follows that of the wall; sometimes it advances and retires, and may leave a part of the wall uncovered, suggesting an entrance from without. In addition to the special woodcuts for each play, there is a large introductory design of a ‘Theatrum’. It is a round building, with an exterior staircase, to which spectators are proceeding, and are accosted on their way by women issuing from the ‘Fornices’, over which the theatre is built. Through the removal of part of the walls, the interior is also made visible. It has two galleries and standing-room below. A box next the stage in the upper gallery is marked ‘Aediles’. The stage is cut off by curtains, which are divided by two narrow columns. In front of the curtains sits a flute-player. Above is inscribed ‘Proscenium’. Some of the Lyons cuts are adopted, with others from the Ulm Eunuchus, in the Strasburg Terence of 1496.[19] This, however, has a different ‘Theatrum’, which shows the exterior only, and also a new comprehensive design for each play, in which no scaffold or back wall appears, and the houses are drawn on either side of an open place, with the characters standing before them. They are more realistic than the Lyons ‘bathing boxes’ and have doors and windows and roofs, but they are drawn, like the Ulm houses, on a smaller scale than the characters. If they have a scenic origin, it may be rather in the ‘case’ of Ferrara than in the conventional ‘domus’ of Rome. Finally, the Venice Terence of 1497, while again reproducing with modifications the smaller Lyons cuts, replaces the ‘Theatrum’ by a new ‘Coliseus sive Theatrum’, in which the point of view is taken from the proscenium.[20] No raised stage is visible, but an actor or prologue is speaking from a semicircular orchestra on the floor-level. To right and left of him are two houses, of the ‘bathing-box’ type, but roofed, from which characters emerge. He faces an auditorium with two rows of seats and a gallery above.

We are moving in shadowy regions of conjecture, and if all the material were forthcoming, the interrelations of Rome and Ferrara and the Terentian editors might prove to have been somewhat different from those here sketched. After all, we have not found anything which quite explains the ‘picturatae scenae facies’ for which Cardinal Raffaelle Riario won such praise, and perhaps Ferrara is not really entitled to credit for the innovation, which is generally supposed to have accompanied the production of the first of Ariosto’s great Italian comedies on classical lines, the Cassaria of 1508. This is the utilization for stage scenery of the beloved Italian art of architectural perspective. It has been suggested, on no very secure grounds, that the first to experiment in this direction may have been the architect Bramante Lazzari.[21] But the scene of the Cassaria is the earliest which is described by contemporary observers as a prospettiva, and it evidently left a vivid impression upon the imagination of the spectators.[22] The artist was Pellegrino da Udine, and the city represented was Mytilene, where the action of the Cassaria was laid. The same, or another, example of perspective may have served as a background in the following year for Ariosto’s second comedy, I Suppositi, of which the scene was Ferrara itself.[23] But other artists, in other cities, followed in the footsteps of Pellegrino. The designer for the first performance of Bernardo da Bibbiena’s Calandra at Urbino in 1513 was probably Girolamo Genga;[24] and for the second, at Rome in 1514, Baldassarre Peruzzi, to whom Vasari perhaps gives exaggerated credit for scenes which ‘apersono la via a coloro che ne hanno poi fatte a’ tempi nostri’.[25] Five years later, I Suppositi was also revived at Rome, in the Sala d’ Innocenzio of the Vatican, and on this occasion no less an artist was employed than Raphael himself.[26] As well as the scene, there was an elaborately painted front curtain, which fell at the beginning of the performance. For this device, something analogous to which had almost certainly already been used at Ferrara, there was a precedent in the classical aulaeum. Its object was apparently to give the audience a sudden vision of the scene, and it was not raised again during the action of the play, and had therefore no strictly scenic function.[27]

The sixteenth-century prospettiva, of which there were many later examples, is the type of scenery so fully described and illustrated by the architect Sebastiano Serlio in the Second Book of his Architettura (1551). Serlio had himself been the designer of a theatre at Vicenza, and had also been familiar at Rome with Baldassarre Peruzzi, whose notes had passed into his possession. He was therefore well in the movement.[28] At the time of the publication of the Architettura he was resident in France, where he was employed, like other Italians, by Francis I upon the palace of Fontainebleau. Extracts from Serlio’s treatise will be found in an appendix and I need therefore only briefly summarize here the system of staging which it sets out.[29] This is a combination of the more or less solid ‘case’ with flat cloths painted in perspective. The proscenium is long and comparatively shallow, with an entrance at each end, and flat. But from the line of the scena wall the level of the stage slopes slightly upwards and backwards, and on this slope stand to right and left the ‘case’ of boards or laths covered with canvas, while in the centre is a large aperture, disclosing a space across which the flat cloths are drawn, a large one at the back and smaller ones on frames projecting by increasing degrees from behind the ‘case’. Out of these elements is constructed, by the art of perspective, a consistent scene with architectural perspectives facing the audience, and broken in the centre by a symmetrical vista. For the sake of variety, the action can use practicable doors and windows in the façades, and to some extent also within the central aperture, on the lower part of the slope. It was possible to arrange for interior action by discovering a space within the ‘case’ behind the façades, but this does not seem to have been regarded as a very effective device.[30] Nor is there anything to suggest that Serlio contemplated any substantial amount of action within his central recess, for which, indeed, the slope required by his principles of perspective made it hardly suitable. As a matter of fact the action of the Italian commedia sostenuta, following here the tradition of its Latin models, is essentially exterior action before contiguous houses, and some amusing conventions, as Creizenach notes, follow from this fact; such as that it is reasonable to come out-of-doors in order to communicate secrets, that the street is a good place in which to bury treasure, and that you do not know who lives in the next house until you are told.[31] In discussing the decoration of the stage, Serlio is careful to distinguish between the kinds of scenery appropriate for tragedy, comedy, and the satyric play or pastoral, respectively, herein clearly indicating his debt and that of his school to the doctrine of Vitruvius.

It must not be supposed that Serlio said the last word on Italian Renaissance staging. He has mainly temporary theatres in his mind, and when theatres became permanent it was possible to replace laths and painted cloths by a more solid architectural scena in relief. Of this type was the famous Teatro Olympico of Vicenza begun by Andrea Palladio about 1565 and finished by Vincenzo Scamozzi about 1584.[32] It closely followed the indications of Vitruvius, with its porta regia in the middle of the scena, its portae minores to right and left, and its proscenium doors in versurae under balconies for spectators. And it did not leave room for much variety in decoration, as between play and play.[33] It appears, indeed, to have been used only for tragedy. A more important tendency was really just in the opposite direction, towards change rather than uniformity of scenic effect. Even the perspectives, however beautiful, of the comedies did not prove quite as amusing, as the opening heavens and hells and other ingeniously varied backgrounds of the mediaeval plays had been, and by the end of the sixteenth century devices were being tried for movable scenes, which ultimately led to the complete elimination of the comparatively solid and not very manageable ‘case’.[34]

It is difficult to say how far the Italian perspective scene made its way westwards. Mediaeval drama—on the one hand the miracle-play, on the other the morality and the farce—still retained an unbounded vitality in sixteenth-century France. The miracle-play had its own elaborate and traditional system of staging. The morality and the farce required very little staging at all, and could be content at need with nothing more than a bare platform, backed by a semicircle or hollow square of suspended curtains, through the interstices of which the actors might come and go.[35] But from the beginning of the century there is observable in educated circles an infiltration of the humanist interest in the classical drama; and this, in course of time, was reinforced through two distinct channels. One of these was the educational influence, coming indirectly through Germany and the Netherlands, of the ‘Christian Terence’, which led about 1540 to the academic Latin tragedies of Buchanan and Muretus at Bordeaux.[36] The other was the direct contact with humanist civilization, which followed upon the Italian adventures of Charles VIII and Louis XII, and dominated the reigns of François I and his house, notably after the marriage of Catherine de’ Medici to the future Henri II in 1533. In 1541 came Sebastiano Serlio with his comprehensive knowledge of stage-craft; and the translation of his Architettura, shortly after its publication in 1545, by Jean Martin, a friend of Ronsard, may be taken as evidence of its vogue. In 1548 the French Court may be said to have been in immediate touch with the nidus of Italian scenic art at Ferrara, for when Henri and Catherine visited Lyons it was Cardinal Hippolyte d’Este who provided entertainment for them with a magnificent performance of Bibbiena’s famous Calandra. This was ‘nella gran sala di San Gianni’ and was certainly staged in the full Italian manner, with perspective by Andrea Nannoccio and a range of terra-cotta statues by one Zanobi.[37] Henceforward it is possible to trace the existence of a Court drama in France. The Italian influence persisted. It is not, indeed, until 1571 that we find regular companies of Italian actors settling in Paris, and these, when they came, probably played, mainly if not entirely, commedie dell’ arte.[38] But Court performances in 1555 and 1556 of the Lucidi of Firenzuola and the Flora of Luigi Alamanni show that the commedia sostenuta was already established in favour at a much earlier date.[39] More important, however, is the outcrop of vernacular tragedy and comedy, on classical and Italian models, which was one of the literary activities of the Pléiade. The pioneer in both genres was Étienne Jodelle, whose tragedy of Cléopâtre Captive was produced before Henri II by the author and his friends at the Hôtel de Reims early in 1553, and subsequently repeated at the Collège de Boncour, where it was accompanied by his comedy of La Rencontre, probably identical with the extant Eugène, which is believed to date from 1552. Jodelle had several successors: in tragedy, Mellin de Saint-Gelais, Jacques and Jean de la Taille, Jacques Grévin, Robert Garnier, Antoine de Montchrestien; and in comedy, Rémy Belleau, Jean de Baïf, Jean de la Taille, Jacques Grévin, and Pierre Larivey. So far as tragedy was concerned, the Court representations soon came to an end. Catherine de’ Medici, always superstitious, believed that the Sophonisbe of Mellin de Saint-Gelais in 1556 had brought ill luck, and would have no more.[40] The academies may have continued to find hospitality for a few, but the best critical opinion appears to be that most of the tragedies of Garnier and his fellows were for the printing-press only, and that their scenic indications, divorced from the actualities of representation, can hardly be regarded as evidence on any system of staging.[41] Probably this is also true of many of the literary comedies, although Court performances of comedies, apart from those of the professional players, continue to be traceable throughout the century. Unfortunately archaeological research has not succeeded in exhuming from the archives of the French royal households anything that throws much light on the details of staging, and very possibly little material of this kind exists. Cléopâtre is said to have been produced ‘in Henrici II aula ... magnifico veteris scenae apparatu’.[42] The prologue of Eugène, again, apologizes for the meagreness of an academic setting:

Hangings round the stage probably sufficed for the colleges, and possibly even on some occasions for royal châteaux.[43] But Jodelle evidently envisaged something more splendid as possible at Court, and a notice, on the occasion of some comedies given before Charles IX at Bayonne in 1565, of ‘la bravade et magnificence de la dite scène ou théâtre, et des feux ou verres de couleur, desquelles elle etait allumée et enrichie’ at once recalls a device dear to Serlio, and suggests a probability that the whole method of staging, which Serlio expounds, may at least have been tried.[44] Of an actual theatre ‘en demi-rond’ at any French palace we have no clear proof. Philibert de l’Orme built a salle de spectacle for Catherine in the Tuileries, on a site afterwards occupied by the grand staircase, but its shape and dimensions are not on record.[45] There was another in the pleasure-house, which he planned for Henri II in the grounds of Saint-Germain, and which was completed by Guillaume Marchand under Henri IV. This seems, from the extant plan, to have been designed as a parallelogram.[46] The hall of the Hôtel de Bourbon, hard by the Louvre, in which plays were sometimes given, is shown by the engravings of the Balet Comique, which was danced there in 1581, to have been, in the main, of similar shape. But it had an apse ‘en demi-rond’ at one end.[47] It may be that the Terence illustrations come again to our help, and that the new engravings which appear, side by side with others of the older tradition, in the Terence published by Jean de Roigny in 1552 give some notion of the kind of stage which Jodelle and his friends used.[48] The view is from the auditorium. The stage is a platform, about 3½ ft. high, with three shallow steps at the back, on which actors are sitting, while a prologue declaims. There are no hangings or scenes. Pillars divide the back of the stage from a gallery which runs behind and in which stand spectators. Obviously this is not on Italian lines, but it might preserve the memory of some type of academic stage.

If we know little of the scenic methods of the French Court, we know a good deal of those employed in the only public theatre of which, during the sixteenth century and the first quarter of the seventeenth, Paris could boast. This was the Hôtel de Bourgogne, a rectangular hall built by the Confrérie de la Passion in 1548, used by that body for the representation of miracle-plays and farces up to 1598, let between 1598 and 1608 to a succession of visiting companies, native and foreign, and definitively occupied from the latter year by the Comédiens du Roi, to whom Alexandre Hardy was dramatist in chief.[49] The Mémoire pour la décoration des pièces qui se représentent par les comediens du roy, entretenus de sa Magesté is one of the most valuable documents of theatrical history which the hazard of time has preserved in any land. It, or rather the earlier of the two sections into which it is divided, is the work of Laurent Mahelot, probably a machinist at the Hôtel de Bourgogne, and contains notes, in some cases apparently emanating from the authors, of the scenery required for seventy-one plays belonging to the repertory of the theatre, to which are appended, in forty-seven cases, drawings showing the way in which the requirements were to be met.[50] It is true that the Mémoire is of no earlier date than about 1633, but the close resemblance of the system which it illustrates to that used in the miracle-plays of the Confrèrie de la Passion justifies the inference that there had been no marked breach of continuity since 1598. In essence it is the mediaeval system of juxtaposed ‘maisons’, corresponding to the ‘case’ of the Italian and the ‘houses’ of the English tradition, a series of independent structures, visually related to each other upon the stage, but dramatically distinct and serving, each in its turn, as the background to action upon the whole of the free space—platea in mediaeval terminology, proscenium in that of the Renaissance—which stretched before and between them. The stage of the Hôtel de Bourgogne had room for five such ‘maisons’, one in the middle of the back wall, two in the angles between the back and side-walls, and two standing forward against the side-walls; but in practice two or three of these compartments were often devoted to a ‘maison’ of large size. A ‘maison’ might be a unit of architecture, such as a palace, a senate house, a castle, a prison, a temple, a tavern; or of landscape, such as a garden, a wood, a rock, a cave, a sea.[51] And very often it represented an interior, such as a chamber with a bed in it.[52] A good illustration of the arrangement may be found in the scenario for the familiar story of Pyramus and Thisbe, as dramatized about 1617 by Théophile de Viaud.[53]

‘Il faut, au milieu du théâtre, un mur de marbre et pierre fermé; des ballustres; il faut aussi de chasque costé deux ou trois marches pour monster. A un des costez du théâtre, un murier, un tombeau entouré de piramides. Des fleurs, une éponge, du sang, un poignard, un voile, un antre d’où sort un lion, du costé de la fontaine, et un autre antre à l’autre bout du théâtre où il rentre.’

The Pandoste of Alexandre Hardy required different settings for the two parts, which were given on different days.[54] On the first day,

‘Au milieu du théâtre, il faut un beau palais; à un des costez, une grande prison où l’on paroist tout entier. A l’autre costé, un temple; au dessous, une pointe de vaisseau, une mer basse, des rozeaux et marches de degrez.’

The needs of the second day were more simply met by ‘deux palais et une maison de paysan et un bois’.

Many examples make it clear that the methods of the Hôtel de Bourgogne did not entirely exclude the use of perspective, which was applied on the back wall, ‘au milieu du théâtre’; and as the Italian stage, on its side, was slow to abandon altogether the use of ‘case’ in relief, it is possible that under favourable circumstances Mahelot and his colleagues may have succeeded in producing the illusion of a consistently built up background much upon the lines contemplated by Serlio.[55] There were some plays whose plot called for nothing more than a single continuous scene in a street, perhaps a known and nameable street, or a forest.[56] Nor was the illusion necessarily broken by such incidents as the withdrawal of a curtain from before an interior at the point when it came into action, or the introduction of the movable ship which the Middle Ages had already known.[57] It was broken, however, when the ‘belle chambre’ was so large and practicable as to be out of scale with the other ‘maisons’.[58] And it was broken when, as in Pandoste and many other plays, the apparently contiguous ‘maisons’ had to be supposed, for dramatic purposes, to be situated in widely separated localities. It is, indeed, as we shall find to our cost, not the continuous scene, but the need for change of scene, which constitutes the problem of staging. It is a problem which the Italians had no occasion to face; they had inherited, almost unconsciously, the classical tradition of continuous action in an unchanged locality, or in a locality no more changed than is entailed by the successive bringing into use of various apertures in a single façade. But the Middle Ages had had no such tradition, and the problem at once declared itself, as soon as the matter of the Middle Ages and the manner of the Renaissance began to come together in the ‘Christian Terence’. The protest of Cornelius Crocus in the preface to his Joseph (1535) against ‘multiple’ staging, as alike intrinsically absurd and alien to the practice of the ancients, anticipates by many years that law of the unity of place, the formulation of which is generally assigned to Lodovico Castelvetro, and which was handed down by the Italians to the Pléiade and to the ‘classical’ criticism of the seventeenth century.[59] We are not here concerned with the unity of place as a law of dramatic structure, but we are very much concerned with the fact that the romantic drama of western Europe did not observe unity of place in actual practice, and that consequently the stage-managers of Shakespeare in England, as well as those of Hardy in France, had to face the problem of a system of staging, which should be able rapidly and intelligibly to represent shifting localities. The French solution, as we have seen, was the so-called ‘multiple’ system, inherited from the Middle Ages, of juxtaposed and logically incongruous backgrounds.

Geography would be misleading if it suggested that, in the westward drift of the Renaissance, England was primarily dependent upon the mediation of France. During the early Tudor reigns direct relations with Italy were firmly established, and the classical scholars of Oxford and Cambridge drew their inspiration at first hand from the authentic well-heads of Rome and Florence. In matters dramatic, in particular, the insular had little or nothing to learn from the continental kingdom. There were French players, indeed, at the Court of Henry VII in 1494 and 1495, who obviously at that date can only have had farces and morals to contribute.[60] And thereafter the lines of stimulus may just as well have run the other way. If the academic tragedy and comedy of the Pléiade had its reaction upon the closet dramas of Lady Pembroke, Kyd, Daniel, Lord Brooke, yet London possessed its public theatres long before the Parisian makeshift of the Hôtel de Bourgogne, and English, no less than Italian, companies haunted the Court of Henri IV, while it is not until Caroline days that the French visit of 1495 can be shown to have had its successor. The earliest record of a classical performance in England was at Greenwich on 7 March 1519, when ‘there was a goodly commedy of Plautus plaied’, followed by a mask, in the great chamber, which the King had caused ‘to be staged and great lightes to be set on pillers that were gilt, with basons gilt, and the rofe was covered with blewe satyn set full of presses of fyne gold and flowers’.[61] The staging here spoken of, in association with lights, was probably for spectators rather than for actors, for in May 1527, when a dialogue, barriers, and mask were to be given in a banqueting-house at Greenwich, we are told that ‘thys chambre was raised with stages v. degrees on every syde, and rayled and counterailed, borne by pillars of azure, full of starres and flower delice of gold; every pillar had at the toppe a basin silver, wherein stode great braunches of white waxe’.[62] In this same year 1527, Wolsey had a performance of the Menaechmi at his palace of York Place, and it was followed in 1528 by one of the Phormio, of which a notice is preserved in a letter of Gasparo Spinelli, the secretary to the Italian embassy in London.[63] Unfortunately, Spinelli’s description proves rather elusive. I am not quite clear whether he is describing the exterior or the interior of a building, and whether his zoglia is, as one would like to think, the framework of a proscenium arch, or merely that of a doorway.[64] One point, however, is certain. Somewhere or other, the decorations displayed in golden letters the title of the play which was about to be given. Perhaps this explains why, more than a quarter of a century later, when the Westminster boys played the Miles Gloriosus before Elizabeth in January 1565, one of the items of expenditure was for ‘paper, inke and colores for the wryting of greate letters’.[65]

Investigation of Court records reveals nothing more precise than this as to the staging of plays, whether classical or mediaeval in type, under Henry VIII. It is noticeable, however, that a play often formed but one episode in a composite entertainment, other parts of which required the elaborate pageantry which was Henry’s contribution to the development of the mask; and it may be conjectured that in these cases the structure of the pageant served also as a sufficient background for the play. Thus in 1527 a Latin tragedy celebrating the deliverance of the Pope and of France by Wolsey was given in the ‘great chamber of disguysings’, at the end of which stood a fountain with a mulberry and a hawthorn tree, about which sat eight fair ladies in strange attire upon ‘benches of rosemary fretted in braydes layd on gold, all the sydes sette wyth roses in braunches as they wer growyng about this fountayne’.[66] The device was picturesque enough, but can only have had an allegorical relation to the action of the play. The copious Revels Accounts of Edward and of Mary are silent about play settings. It is only with those of Elizabeth that the indications of ‘houses’ and curtains already detailed in an earlier chapter make their appearance.[67] The ‘houses’ of lath and canvas have their analogy alike in the ‘case’ of Ferrara, which even Serlio had not abandoned, and in the ‘maisons’ which the Hôtel de Bourgogne inherited from the Confrérie de la Passion. We are left without guide as to whether the use of them at the English Court was a direct tradition from English miracle-plays, or owed its immediate origin to an Italian practice, which was itself in any case only an outgrowth of mediaeval methods familiar in Italy as well as in England. Nor can we tell, so far as the Revels Accounts go, whether the ‘houses’ were juxtaposed on the stage after the ‘multiple’ fashion of the Hôtel de Bourgogne, or were fused with the help of perspective into a continuous façade or vista, as Serlio bade. Certainly the Revels officers were not wholly ignorant of the use of perspective, but this is also true of the machinists of the Hôtel de Bourgogne.[68] Serlio does not appear to have used curtains, as the Revels officers did, for the discovery of interior scenes, but if, on the other hand, any of the great curtains of the Revels were front curtains, these were employed at Ferrara and Rome, and we have no knowledge that they were employed at Paris. At this point the archives leave us fairly in an impasse.

It will be well to start upon a new tack and to attempt to ascertain, by an analysis of such early plays as survive, what kind of setting these can be supposed, on internal evidence, to have needed. And the first and most salient fact which emerges is that a very large number of them needed practically no setting at all. This is broadly true, with exceptions which shall be detailed, of the great group of interludes which extends over about fifty years of the sixteenth century, from the end of Henry VII’s reign or the beginning of Henry VIII’s, to a point in Elizabeth’s almost coincident with the opening of the theatres. Of these, if mere fragments are neglected, there are not less than forty-five. Twenty are Henrican;[69] perhaps seven Edwardian or Marian;[70] eighteen Elizabethan.[71] Characteristically, they are morals, presenting abstract personages varied in an increasing degree with farcical types; but several are semi-morals, with a sprinkling of concrete personages, which point backwards to the miracle-plays, or forward to the romantic or historical drama. One or two are almost purely miracle-play or farce; and towards the end one or two show some traces of classical influence.[72] Subject, then, to the exceptions, the interludes—and this, as already indicated, is a fundamental point for staging—call for no changes of locality, with which, indeed, the purely abstract themes of moralities could easily dispense. The action proceeds continuously in a locality, which is either wholly undefined, or at the most vaguely defined as in London (Hickscorner), or in England (King Johan). This is referred to, both in stage-directions and in dialogue, as ‘the place’, and with such persistency as inevitably to suggest a term of art, of which the obvious derivation is from the platea of the miracle-plays.[73] It may be either an exterior or an interior place, but often it is not clearly envisaged as either. In Pardoner and Friar and possibly in Johan the Evangelist it is a church; in Johan Johan it is Johan’s house. Whether interior or exterior, a door is often referred to as the means of entrance and exit for the characters.[74] In Johan Johan a door is supposed to lead to the priest’s chamber, and there is a long colloquy at the ‘chamber dore’. In exterior plays some kind of a house may be suggested in close proximity to the ‘place’. In Youth and in Four Elements the characters come and go to a tavern. The ‘place’ of Apius and Virginia is before the gate of Apius. There is no obvious necessity why these houses should have been represented by anything but a door. The properties used in the action are few and simple; a throne or other seat, a table or banquet (Johan Johan, Godly Queen Hester, King Darius), a hearth (Nature, Johan Johan), a pulpit (Johan the Evangelist), a pail (Johan Johan), a dice-board (Nice Wanton). My inference is that the setting of the interludes was nothing but the hall in which performances were given, with for properties the plenishing of that hall or such movables as could be readily carried in. Direct hints are not lacking to confirm this view. A stage-direction in Four Elements tells us that at a certain point ‘the daunsers without the hall syng’. In Impatient Poverty (242) Abundance comes in with the greeting, ‘Joye and solace be in this hall!’ All for Money (1019) uses ‘this hall’, where we should expect ‘this place’. And I think that, apart from interludes woven into the pageantry of Henry VIII’s disguising chambers, the hall contemplated was at first just the ordinary everyday hall, after dinner or supper, with the sovereigns or lords still on the dais, the tables and benches below pushed aside, and a free space left for the performers on the floor, with the screen and its convenient doors as a background and the hearth ready to hand if it was wanted to figure in the action. If I am right, the staged dais, with the sovereign on a high state in the middle of the hall, was a later development, or a method reserved for very formal entertainments.[75] The actors of the more homely interlude would have had to rub shoulders all the time with the inferior members of their audience. And so they did. In Youth (39) the principal character enters, for all the world like the St. George of a village mummers’ play, with an

In Like Will to Like the Vice brings in a knave of clubs, which he ‘offreth vnto one of the men or boyes standing by’. In King Darius (109) Iniquity, when he wants a seat, calls out

A similar and earlier example than any of these now presents itself in Fulgens and Lucres, where there is an inductive dialogue between spectators, one of whom says to another

Of a raised stage the only indication is in All for Money, a late example of the type, where one stage-direction notes (203), ‘There must be a chayre for him to sit in, and vnder it or neere the same there must be some hollowe place for one to come vp in’, while another (279) requires ‘some fine conueyance’ to enable characters to vomit each other up.

I come now to nine interludes which, for various reasons, demand special remark. In Jacob and Esau (> 1558) there is coming and going between the place and the tent of Isaac, before which stands a bench, the tent of Jacob, and probably also the tent of Esau. In Wit and Wisdom (> 1579) action takes place at the entrances of the house of Wantonness, of the den of Irksomeness, of a prison, and of Mother Bee’s house, and the prison, as commonly in plays of later types, must have been so arranged as to allow a prisoner to take part in the dialogue from within. Some realism, also, in the treatment of the den may be signified by an allusion to ‘these craggie clifts’. In Misogonus (c. 1560–77), the place of which is before the house of Philogonus, there is one scene in Melissa’s ‘bowre’ (ii. 4, 12), which must somehow have been represented. In Thersites (1537), of which one of the characters is a snail that ‘draweth her hornes in’, Mulciber, according to the stage-directions, ‘must have a shop made in the place’, which he leaves and returns to, and in which he is perhaps seen making a sallet. Similarly, the Mater of Thersites, when she drops out of the dialogue, ‘goeth in the place which is prepared for her’, and hither later ‘Thersites must ren awaye, and hyde hym behynde hys mothers backe’. These four examples only differ from the normal interlude type by some multiplication of the houses suggested in the background, and probably by some closer approximation than a mere door to the visual realization of these. There is no change of locality, and only an adumbration of interior action within the houses. Four other examples do entail some change of locality. Much stress must not be laid on the sudden conversions in the fourth act of The Conflict of Conscience (> 1581) and the last scene of Three Ladies of London of the open ‘place’ into Court, for these are very belated specimens of the moral. And the opening dialogue of the Three Ladies, on the way to London, may glide readily enough into the main action before two houses in London itself. But in The Disobedient Child (c. 1560) some episodes are before the house of the father, and others before that of the son in another locality forty miles away. In Mary Magdalene (< 1566), again, the action begins in Magdalo, but there is a break (842) when Mary and the Vice start on their travels, and it is resumed at Jerusalem, where it proceeds first in some public place, and afterwards by a sudden transition (1557) at a repast within the house of Simon. In both cases it may be conjectured that the two localities were indicated on opposite sides of the hall or stage, and that the personages travelled from one to the other over the intervening space, which was regarded as representing a considerable distance. You may call this ‘multiple staging’, if you will. The same imaginative foreshortening of space had been employed both in the miracle-plays and in the ‘Christian Terence’.[77] Simon’s house at Jerusalem was, no doubt, some kind of open loggia with a table in it, directly approachable from the open place where the earlier part of the Jerusalem action was located.

Godly Queen Hester (? 1525–9) has a different interest, in that, of all the forty-four interludes, it affords the only possible evidence for the use of a curtain. In most respects it is quite a normal interlude. The action is continuous, in a ‘place’, which represents a council-chamber, with a chair for Ahasuerus. But there is no mention of a door, and while the means of exit and entrance for the ordinary personages are unspecified, the stage-directions note, on two occasions (139, 635) when the King goes out, that he ‘entreth the trauerse’. Now ‘traverses’ have played a considerable part in attempts to reconstruct the Elizabethan theatre, and some imaginative writers have depicted them as criss-crossing about the stage in all sorts of possible and impossible directions.[78] The term is not a very happy one to employ in the discussion of late sixteenth-century or early seventeenth-century conditions. After Godly Queen Hester it does not appear again in any play for nearly a hundred years, and then, so far as I know, is only used by Jonson in Volpone, where it appears to indicate a low movable screen, probably of a non-structural kind, and by John Webster, both in The White Devil and in The Duchess of Malfi, where it is an exact equivalent to the ‘curtains’ or ‘arras’, often referred to as screening off a recess at the back of the stage.[79] Half a century later still, it is used in the Restoration play of The Duke of Guise to indicate, not this normal back curtain, but a screen placed across the recess itself, or the inner stage which had developed out of it, behind ‘the scene’.[80] Webster’s use seems to be an individual one. Properly a ‘traverse’ means, I think, not a curtain suspended from the roof, but a screen shutting off from view a compartment within a larger room, but leaving it open above. Such a screen might, of course, very well be formed by a curtain running on a rod or cord.[81] And a ‘traverse’ also certainly came to mean the compartment itself which was so shut off.[82] The construction is familiar in the old-fashioned pews of our churches, and as it happens, it is from the records of the royal chapel that its Elizabethan use can best be illustrated. Thus when Elizabeth took her Easter communion at St. James’s in 1593, she came down, doubtless from her ‘closet’ above, after the Gospel had been read, ‘into her Majestes Travess’, whence she emerged to make her offering, and then ‘retorned to her princely travess sumptuously sett forthe’, until it was time to emerge again and receive the communion. So too, when the Spanish treaty was sworn in 1604, ‘in the chappell weare two traverses sett up of equall state in all thinges as neare as might be’. One was the King’s traverse ‘where he usually sitteth’, the other for the Spanish ambassador, and from them they proceeded to ‘the halfe pace’ for the actual swearing of the oath.[83] The traverse figures in several other chapel ceremonies of the time, and it is by this analogy, rather than as a technical term of stage-craft, that we must interpret the references to it in Godly Queen Hester. It is not inconceivable that the play, which was very likely performed by the Chapel, was actually performed in the chapel.[84] Nor is it inconceivable, also, that the sense of the term ‘traverse’ may have been wide enough to cover the screen at the bottom of a Tudor hall.

I come now to the group of four mid-century farces, Gammer Gurton’s Needle, Jack Juggler, Ralph Roister Doister, and Tom Tyler, which literary historians have distinguished from the interludes as early ‘regular comedies’. No doubt they show traces of Renaissance influence upon their dramatic handling. But, so far as scenic setting is concerned, they do not diverge markedly from the interlude type. Nor is this surprising, since Renaissance comedy, like the classical comedy upon which it was based, was essentially an affair of continuous action, in an open place, before a background of houses. Gammer Gurton’s Needle requires two houses, those of Gammer Gurton and of Dame Chat; Jack Juggler one, that of Boungrace; Ralph Roister Doister one, that of Christian Custance. Oddly enough, both Gammer Gurton’s Needle and Jack Juggler contain indications of the presence of a post, so placed that it could be used in the action.[85] Tom Tyler, which may have reached us in a sophisticated text, has a slightly more complicated staging. There are some quite early features. The locality is ‘this place’ (835), and the audience are asked (18), as in the much earlier Youth, to ‘make them room’. On the other hand, as in Mary Magdalene and in The Conflict of Conscience, there is at one point (512) a transition from exterior to interior action. Hitherto it has been in front of Tom’s house; now it is within, and his wife is in bed. An open loggia here hardly meets the case. The bed demands some discovery, perhaps by the withdrawal of a curtain.

I am of course aware that the forty-four interludes and the four farces hitherto dealt with cannot be regarded as forming a homogeneous body of Court drama. Not one of them, in fact, can be absolutely proved to have been given at Court. Several of them bear signs of having been given elsewhere, including at least three of the small number which present exceptional features.[86] Others lie under suspicion of having been written primarily for the printing-press, in the hope that any one who cared to act them would buy copies, and may therefore never have been given at all; and it is obvious that in such circumstances a writer might very likely limit himself to demands upon stage-management far short of what the Court would be prepared to meet.[87] This is all true enough, but at the same time I see no reason to doubt that the surviving plays broadly represent the kind of piece that was produced, at Court as well as elsewhere, until well into Elizabeth’s reign. Amongst their authors are men, Skelton, Medwall, Rastell, Redford, Bale, Heywood, Udall, Gascoigne, who were about the Court, and some of whom we know to have written plays, if not these plays, for the Court; and the survival of the moral as a Court entertainment is borne witness to by the Revels Accounts of 1578–9, in which the ‘morrall of the Marriage of Mind and Measure’ still holds its own beside the classical and romantic histories which had already become fashionable. As we proceed, however, we come more clearly within the Court sphere. The lawyers stand very close, in their interests and their amusements, to the Court, and with the next group of plays, a characteristically Renaissance one, of four Italianate comedies and four Senecan tragedies, the lawyers had a good deal to do. Gascoigne’s Gray’s Inn Supposes is based directly upon one of Ariosto’s epoch-making comedies, I Suppositi, and adopts its staging. Jeffere’s Bugbears and the anonymous Two Italian Gentlemen are similarly indebted to their models in Grazzini’s La Spiritata and Pasqualigo’s Il Fedele. Each preserves complete unity of place, and the continuous action in the street before the houses, two or three in number, of the principal personages, is only varied by occasional colloquies at a door or window, and in the case of the Two Italian Gentlemen by an episode of concealment in a tomb which stands in a ‘temple’ or shrine beneath a burning lamp. Whetstone’s Promos and Cassandra, the neo-classical inspiration of which is advertised in the prefatory epistle, follows the same formula with a certain freedom of handling. In the first part, opportunity for a certain amount of interior action is afforded by two of the three houses; one is a prison, the other a barber’s shop, presumably an open stall with a door and a flap-down shutter. The third is the courtesan’s house, on which Serlio insists. This reappears in the second part and has a window large enough for four women to sit in.[88] The other houses in this part are a temple with a tomb in it, and a pageant stage used at a royal entry. The conveniences of exterior action lead to a convention which often recurs in later plays, by which royal justice is dispensed in the street. And the strict unity of place is broken by a scene (iv. 2) which takes place, not like the rest of the action in the town of Julio, but in a wood through which the actors are approaching it. Here also we have, I think, the beginnings of a convention by which action on the extreme edge of a stage, or possibly on the floor of the hall or on steps leading to the stage, was treated as a little remote from the place represented by the setting in the background. The four tragedies were all produced at the Court itself by actors from the Inns of Court. It is a little curious that the earliest of the four, Gorboduc (1562), is also the most regardless of the unity of place. While Acts I and III-V are at the Court of Gorboduc, Act II is divided between the independent Courts of Ferrex and Porrex. We can hardly suppose that there was any substantial change of decoration, and probably the same generalized palace background served for all three. Here also the convention, classical enough, rules, by which the affairs of state are conducted in the open. By 1562 the raised stage had clearly established itself. There are no regular stage-directions in Gorboduc, but the stage is often mentioned in the descriptions of the dumb-shows between the acts, and in the fourth of these ‘there came from vnder the stage, as though out of hell, three furies’. Similarly in Jocasta (1566) the stage opens in the dumb-shows to disclose, at one time a grave, at another the gulf of Curtius. The action of the play itself is before the palace of Jocasta, but there are also entrances and exits, which are carefully specified in stage-directions as being through ‘the gates called Electrae’ and ‘the gates called Homoloydes’. Perhaps we are to infer that the gates which, if the stage-manager had Vitruvius in mind, would have stood on the right and left of the proscenium, were labelled ‘in great letters’ with their names; and if so, a similar device may have served in Gorboduc to indicate at which of the three Courts action was for the time being proceeding. Gismond of Salerne has not only a hell, for Megaera, but also a heaven, for the descent and ascent of Cupid. Like Jocasta, it preserves unity of place, but it has two houses in the background, the palace of Tancred and an independent ‘chamber’ for Gismond, which is open enough and deep enough to allow part of the action, with Gismond lying poisoned and Tancred mourning over her, to take place within it. The Misfortunes of Arthur is, of course, twenty years later than the other members of the group. But it is true to type. The action is in front of three domus, the ‘houses’ of Arthur and of Mordred, which ought not perhaps historically to have been in the same city, and a cloister. A few years later still, in 1591, Wilmot, one of the authors of Gismond of Salerne, rewrote it as Tancred and Gismund. He did not materially interfere with the old staging, but he added an epilogue, of which the final couplet runs:

If these lines had occurred in the original version of the play, they would naturally have been taken as referring to curtains used to cover and discover Gismond’s death-chamber. But in this point Wilmot has modified the original action, and has made Gismund take her poison and die, not in her chamber, but on the open stage. Are we then faced, as part of the paraphernalia of a Court stage, at any rate by 1591, with a front curtain—a curtain drawn aside, and not sinking like the curtains of Ferrara and Rome, but like those curtains used to mark the beginning and end of a play, rather than to facilitate any changing of scenes?[89] It is difficult to say. Wilmot, not re-writing for the stage, may have rewritten loosely. Or the epilogue may after all have belonged to the first version of the play, and have dropped out of the manuscript in which that version is preserved. The Revels Accounts testify that ‘great curtains’ were used in Court plays, but certainly do not prove that they were used as front curtains. The nearest approach to a corroboration of Wilmot is to be found in an epigram which exists in various forms, and is ascribed in some manuscripts to Sir Walter Raleigh.[90]

If these four comedies and four tragedies were taken alone, it would, I think, be natural to conclude that, with the Italianized types of drama, the English Court had also adopted the Italian type of setting.[91] Certainly the tragedies would fit well enough into Serlio’s stately façade of palaces, and the comedies into his more homely group of bourgeois houses, with its open shop, its ‘temple’, and its discreet abode of a ruffiana.[92]

As courtly, beyond doubt, we must treat the main outlook of the choir companies during their long hegemony of the Elizabethan drama, which ended with the putting down of Paul’s in 1590. Unfortunately it is not until the last decade of this period, with the ‘court comedies’ of Lyly, that we have any substantial body of their work, differentiated from the interludes and the Italianate comedies, to go upon. The Damon and Pythias of Richard Edwardes has a simple setting before the gates of a court. Lyly’s own methods require rather careful analysis.[93] The locality of Campaspe is throughout at Athens, in ‘the market-place’ (III. ii. 56).[94] On this there are three domus: Alexander’s palace, probably represented by a portico in which he receives visitors, and from which inmates ‘draw in’ (IV. iii. 32) to get off the stage; a tub ‘turned towardes the sun’ (I. iii. 12) for Diogenes over which he can ‘pry’ (V. iii. 21); a shop for Apelles, which has a window (III. i. 18), outside which a page is posted, and open enough for Apelles to carry on dialogue with Campaspe (III. iii.; IV. iv), while he paints her within. These three domus are quite certainly all visible together, as continuous action can pass from one to another. At one point (I. iii. 110) the philosophers walk direct from the palace to the tub; at another (III. iv. 44, 57) Alexander, going to the shop, passes the tub on the way; at a third (V. iv. 82) Apelles, standing at the tub, is bidden ‘looke about you, your shop is on fire!’ As Alexander (V. iv. 71) tells Diogenes that he ‘wil haue thy cabin remoued nerer to my court’, I infer that the palace and the tub were at opposite ends of the stage, and the shop in the middle, where the interior action could best be seen. In Sapho and Phao the unity of place is not so marked. All the action is more or less at Syracuse, but, with the exception of one scene (II. iii), the whole of the first two acts are near Phao’s ferry outside the city. I do not think that the actual ferry is visible, for passengers go ‘away’ (I. i. 72; ii. 69) to cross, and no use is made of a ferryman’s house, but somewhere quite near Sibylla sits ‘in the mouth of her caue’ (II. i. 13), and talks with Phao.[95] The rest of the action is in the city itself, either before the palace of Sapho, or within her chamber, or at the forge of Vulcan, where he is perhaps seen ‘making of the arrowes’ (IV. iv. 33) during a song. Certainly Sapho’s chamber is practicable. The stage-directions do not always indicate its opening and shutting. At one point (III. iii. 1) we simply get ‘Sapho in her bed’ in a list of interlocutors; at another (IV. i. 20) ‘Exit Sapho’, which can only mean that the door closes upon her. It was a door, not a curtain, for she tells a handmaid (V. ii. 101) to ‘shut’ it. Curtains are ‘drawne’ (III. iii. 36; IV. iii. 95), but these are bed-curtains, and the drawing of them does not put Sapho’s chamber in or out of action. As in Campaspe, there is interplay between house and house. A long continuous stretch of action, not even broken by the act-intervals, begins with III. iii and extends to the end of V. ii, and in the course of this Venus sends Cupid to Sapho, and herself waits at Vulcan’s forge (V. i. 50). Presently (V. ii. 45) she gets tired of waiting, and without leaving the stage, advances to the chamber and says, ‘How now, in Saphoes lap?’ There is not the same interplay between the city houses and Sibylla’s cave, to which the last scene of the play returns. I think we must suppose that two neighbouring spots within the same general locality were shown in different parts of the stage, and this certainly entails a bolder use of dramatic foreshortening of distance than the mere crossing the market-place in Campaspe. This foreshortening recurs in Endymion. Most of the action is in an open place which must be supposed to be near the palace of Cynthia, or at the lunary bank (II. iii. 9), of Endymion’s slumber, which is also near the palace.[96] It stands in a grove (IV. iii. 160), and is called a ‘caban’ (IV. iii. 111). Somewhere also in the open space is, in Act V, the aspen-tree, into which Dipsas has turned Bagoa and from which she is delivered (V. iii. 283). But III. ii and IV. i are at the door of ‘the Castle in the Deserte’ (III. i. 41; ii. 1) and III. iv is also in the desert (cf. V. iii. 35), before a fountain. This fountain was, however, ‘hard by’ the lunary bank (IV. ii. 67), and probably the desert was no farther off than the end of the stage.[97] In Midas the convention of foreshortening becomes inadequate, and we are faced with a definite change of locality. The greater part of the play is at the Court of Midas, presumably in Lydia rather than in Phrygia, although an Elizabethan audience is not likely to have been punctilious about Anatolian geography. Some scenes require as background a palace, to which it is possible to go ‘in’ (I. i. 117; II. ii. 83; III. iii. 104). A temple of Bacchus may also have been represented, but is not essential. Other scenes are in a neighbouring spot, where the speaking reeds grow. There is a hunting scene (IV. i) on ‘the hill Tmolus’ (cf. V. iii. 44). So far Lyly’s canons of foreshortening are not exceeded. But the last scene (V. iii) is out of the picture altogether. The opening words are ‘This is Delphos’, and we are overseas, before the temple of Apollo. In Galathea and in Love’s Metamorphosis, on the other hand, unity is fully achieved. The whole of Galathea may well proceed in a single spot, on the edge of a wood, before a tree sacred to Neptune, and in Lincolnshire (I. iv. 12). The sea is hard by, but need not be seen. The action of Love’s Metamorphosis is rather more diffuse, but an all-over pastoral setting, such as we see in Serlio’s scena satirica, with scattered domus in different glades, would serve it. Or, as the management of the Hôtel de Bourgogne would have put it, the stage is tout en pastoralle. There are a tree of Ceres and a temple of Cupid. These are used successively in the same scene (II. i). Somewhat apart, on the sea-shore, but close to the wood, dwells Erisichthon. There is a rock for the Siren, and Erisichthon’s house may also have been shown.[98] Finally, Mother Bombie is an extreme example of the traditional Italian comic manner. The action comes and goes, rapidly for Lyly, in an open place, surrounded by no less than seven houses, the doors of which are freely used.

Two other Chapel plays furnish sufficient evidence that the type of staging just described was not Lyly’s and Lyly’s alone.[99] Peele’s Arraignment of Paris is tout en pastoralle. A poplar-tree dominates the stage throughout, and the only house is a bower of Diana, large enough to hold the council of gods (381, 915). A trap is required for the rising and sinking of a golden tree (489) and the ascent of Pluto (902). Marlowe’s Dido has proved rather a puzzle to editors who have not fully appreciated the principles on which the Chapel plays were produced. I think that one side of the stage was arranged en pastoralle, and represented the wood between the sea-shore and Carthage, where the shipwrecked Trojans land and where later Aeneas and Dido hunt. Here was the cave where they take shelter from the storm.[100] Here too must have been the curtained-off domus of Jupiter.[101] This is only used in a kind of prelude. Of course it ought to have been in heaven, but the Gods are omnipresent, and it is quite clear that when the curtain is drawn on Jupiter, Venus, who has been discoursing with him, is left in the wood, where she then meets Aeneas (134, 139, 173). The other side of the stage represents Carthage. Possibly a wall with a gate in it was built across the stage, dividing off the two regions. In the opening line of Act II, Aeneas says,

and we must think of him as advancing through the wood to the gate.[102] He is amazed at a carved or printed representation of Troy, which Virgil placed in a temple of Juno, but which Marlowe probably thought of as at the gate. He meets other Trojans who have already reached the city, and they call his attention to Dido’s servitors, who ‘passe through the hall’ bearing a banquet. Evidently he is now within the city and has approached a domus representing the palace. The so-called ‘hall’ is probably an open loggia. Here Dido entertains him, and in a later scene (773) points out to him the pictures of her suitors. There is perhaps an altar in front of the palace, where Iarbas does his sacrifice (1095), and somewhere close by a pyre is made for Dido (1692). Either within or without the walls may be the grove in which Ascanius is hidden while Cupid takes his place.[103] If, as is more probable, it is without, action passes through the gate when Venus beguiles him away. It certainly does at the beginning (912, 960) and end (1085) of the hunt, and again when Aeneas first attempts flight and Anna brings him back from the sea-shore (1151, 1207).

The plays of the Lylyan school, if one may so call it, seem to me to illustrate very precisely, on the side of staging, that blend of the classical and the romantic tempers which is characteristic of the later Renaissance. The mediaeval instinct for a story, which the Elizabethans fully shared, is with difficulty accommodated to the form of an action coherent in place and time, which the Italians had established on the basis of Latin comedy. The Shakespearian romantic drama is on the point of being born. Lyly and his fellow University wits deal with the problem to the best of their ability. They widen the conception of locality, to a city and its environs instead of a street; and even then the narrative sometimes proves unmanageable, and the distance from one end of the stage to the other must represent a foreshortening of leagues, or even of the crossing of an ocean. In the hands of less skilful workmen the tendency was naturally accentuated, and plays had been written, long before Lyly was sent down from Magdalen, in which the episodes of breathless adventure altogether overstepped the most elastic confines of locality. A glance at the titles of the plays presented at Court during the second decade of Elizabeth’s reign will show the extent to which themes drawn from narrative literature were already beginning to oust those of the old interlude type.[104] The new development is apparent in the contributions both of men and of boys; with this distinction, that the boys find their sources mainly in the storehouse of classical history and legend, while the men turn either to contemporary events at home and abroad, or more often to the belated and somewhat jaded versions, still dear to the Elizabethan laity, of mediaeval romance. The break-down of the Italian staging must therefore be regarded from the beginning, as in part at least a result of the reaction of popular taste upon that of the Court. The noblemen’s players came to London when the winter set in, and brought with them the pieces which had delighted bourgeois and village audiences up and down the land throughout the summer; and on the whole it proved easier for the Revels officers to adapt the stage to the plays than the plays to the stage. Nor need it be doubted that, even in so cultivated a Court as that of Elizabeth, the popular taste was not without its echoes.

Of all this wealth of forgotten play-making, only five examples survive; but they are sufficient to indicate the scenic trend.[105] Their affiliation with the earlier interludes is direct. The ‘vice’ and other moral abstractions still mingle with the concrete personages, and the proscenium is still the ‘place’.[106] The simplest setting is that of Cambyses. All is at or within sight of the Persian Court. If any domus was represented, it was the palace, to which there are departures (567, 929). Cambyses consults his council (1–125) and there is a banquet (965–1042) with a ‘boorde’, at the end of which order is given to ‘take all these things away’.[107] In other episodes the Court is ‘yonder’ (732, 938); it is only necessary to suppose that they were played well away from the domus. One is in a ‘feeld so green’ (843–937), and a stage-direction tells us ‘Heere trace up and downe playing’. In another (754–842) clowns are on their way to market.[108] The only other noteworthy point is that, not for the first nor for the last time, a post upon the stage is utilized in the action.[109] Patient Grissell, on the other hand, requires two localities. The more important is Salucia (Saluzzo), where are Gautier’s mansion, Janickell’s cottage, and the house of Mother Apleyarde, a midwife (1306). The other is Bullin Lagras (Bologna), where there are two short episodes (1235–92, 1877–1900) at the house of the Countess of Pango. There can be little doubt that all the domus were staged at once. There is direct transfer of action from Gautier’s to the cottage and back again (612–34; cf. 1719, 2042, 2090). Yet there is some little distance between, for when a messenger is sent, the foreshortening of space is indicated by the stage-direction (1835), ‘Go once or twise about the Staige’.[110] Similarly, unless an ‘Exiunt’ has dropped out, there is direct transfer (1900) from Bullin Lagras to Salucia. In Orestes the problem of discrete localities is quite differently handled. The play falls into five quasi-acts of unequal length, which are situated successively at Mycenae, Crete, Mycenae, Athens, Mycenae. For all, as in Gorboduc, the same sketchy palace background might serve, with one interesting and prophetic exception. The middle episodes (538–925), at Mycenae, afford the first example of those siege scenes which the Shakespearian stage came to love. A messenger brings warning to Aegisthus and Clytemnestra of the purpose of Orestes ‘to inuade this Mycoene Citie stronge’. Aegisthus goes into the ‘realme’, to take up men, and Clytemnestra will defend the city. There is a quarrel between a soldier and a woman and the Vice sings a martial song. Then ‘Horestes entrith with his bande and marcheth about the stage’. He instructs a Herald, who advances with his trumpeter. ‘Let y^e trumpet go towarde the Citie and blowe.’ Clytemnestra answers. ‘Let y^e trumpet leaue soundyng and let Harrauld speake and Clytemnestra speake ouer y^e wal.’ Summons and defiance follow, and Orestes calls on his men for an assault. ‘Go and make your liuely battel and let it be longe, eare you can win y^e Citie, and when you haue won it, let Horestes bringe out his mother by the armes, and let y^e droum sease playing and the trumpet also, when she is taken.’ But now Aegisthus is at hand. ‘Let Egistus enter and set hys men in a raye, and let the drom play tyll Horestes speaketh.’ There is more fighting, which ends with the capture and hanging of Aegisthus. ‘Fling him of y^e lader, and then let on bringe in his mother Clytemnestra; but let her loke wher Egistus hangeth’. Finally Orestes announces that ‘Enter now we wyll the citie gate’. In the two other plays the changes of locality come thick and fast. The action of Clyomon and Clamydes begins in Denmark, and passes successively to Swabia, to the Forest of Marvels on the borders of Macedonia, to the Isle of Strange Marshes twenty days’ sail from Macedonia, to the Forest again, to the Isle again, to Norway, to the Forest, to the Isle, to the Forest, to a road near Denmark, to the Isle, to Denmark. Only two domus are needed, a palace (733) in the Isle, and Bryan Sans Foy’s Castle in the Forest. This is a prison, with a practicable door and a window, from which Clamydes speaks (872). At one point Providence descends and ascends (1550–64). In one of the Forest scenes a hearse is brought in and it is still there in the next (1450, 1534), although a short Isle scene has intervened. This looks as though the two ends of the stage may have been assigned throughout to the two principal localities, the Forest and the Isle. Some care is taken to let the speakers give the audience a clue when a new locality is made use of for the first time. Afterwards the recurrence of characters whom they had already seen would help them. The Norway episode (1121) is the only one which need have much puzzled them. But Clyomon and Clamydes may have made use of a peculiar device, which becomes apparent in the stage-directions of Common Conditions. The play opens in Arabia, where first a spot near the Court and then a wood are indicated; but the latter part alternates between Phrygia, near the sea-shore, and the Isle of Marofus. No domus is necessary, and it must remain uncertain whether the wood was represented by visualized trees. It is introduced (295) with the stage-direction, ‘Here enter Sedmond with Clarisia and Condicions out of the wood’. Similarly Phrygia is introduced (478) with ‘Here entreth Galiarbus out of Phrygia’, and a few lines later (510) we get ‘Here enter Lamphedon out of Phrygia’. Now it is to be noted that the episodes which follow these directions are not away from, but in the wood and Phrygia respectively; and the inference has been drawn that there were labelled doors, entrance through one of which warned the spectators that action was about to take place in the locality whose title the label bore.[111] This theory obtains some plausibility from the use of the gates Homoloydes and Electrae in Jocasta; and perhaps also from the inscribed house of the ruffiana in Serlio’s scena comica, from the early Terence engravings, and from certain examples of lettered mansions in French miracle-plays.[112] But of course these analogies do not go the whole way in support of a practice of using differently lettered entrances to help out an imagined conversion of the same ‘place’ into different localities. More direct confirmation may perhaps be derived from Sidney’s criticism of the contemporary drama in his Defence of Poesie (c. 1583). There are two passages to be cited.[113] The first forms part of an argument that poets are not liars. Their feigning is a convention, and is accepted as such by their hearers. ‘What Childe is there’, says Sidney, ‘that, comming to a Play, and seeing Thebes written in great letters vpon an olde doore, doth beleeue that it is Thebes?’ Later on he deals more formally with the stage, as a classicist, writing after the unity of place had hardened into a doctrine. Even Gorboduc is no perfect tragedy.

‘For it is faulty both in place and time, the two necessary companions of all corporall actions. For where the stage should alwaies represent but one place, and the vttermost time presupposed in it should be, both by Aristotles precept and common reason, but one day, there is both many dayes, and many places, inartificially imagined. But if it be so in Gorboduck, how much more in al the rest? where you shal haue Asia of the one side, and Affrick of the other, and so many other vnder-kingdoms, that the Player, when he commeth in, must ever begin with telling where he is, or els the tale wil not be conceiued. Now ye shal haue three ladies walke to gather flowers, and then we must beleeue the stage to be a Garden. By and by, we heare newes of shipwracke in the same place, and then wee are to blame if we accept it not for a Rock. Vpon the backe of that, comes out a hidious Monster, with fire and smoke, and then the miserable beholders are bounde to take it for a Caue. While in the meantime two Armies flye in, represented with foure swords and bucklers, and then what harde heart will not receiue it for a pitched fielde?’

It is evident that the plays which Sidney has mostly in mind, the ‘al the rest’ of his antithesis with Gorboduc, are precisely those romantic histories which the noblemen’s players in particular were bringing to Court in his day, and of which Clyomon and Clamydes and Common Conditions may reasonably be taken as the characteristic débris. He hints at what we might have guessed that, where changes of scene were numerous, the actual visualization of the different scenes left much to the imagination. He lays his finger upon the foreshortening, which permits the two ends of the stage to stand for localities separated by a considerable distance, and upon the obligation which the players were under to let the opening phrases of their dialogue make it clear where they were supposed to be situated. And it certainly seems from the shorter passage, as if he was also familiar with an alternative or supplementary device of indicating locality by great letters on a door. The whole business remains rather obscure. What happened if the distinct localities were more numerous than the doors? Were the labels shifted, or were the players then driven, as Sidney seems to suggest, to rely entirely upon the method of spoken hints? The labelling of special doors with great letters must be distinguished from the analogous use of great letters, as at the Phormio of 1528, to publish the title of a play.[114] That this practice also survived in Court drama may be inferred from Kyd’s Spanish Tragedy, in which Hieronimo gives a Court play, and bids his assistant (IV. iii. 17) ‘hang up the Title: Our scene is Rhodes’. Even if the ‘scene’ formed part of the title in such cases, it would only name a generalized locality or localities for the play, and would not serve as a clue to the localization of individual episodes.[115] A retrospect over this discussion of Tudor staging, which is mainly Court staging, up to a point well subsequent to the establishment of the first regular theatres, seems to offer the following results. The earliest interludes, other than revivals of Plautus and Terence or elements in spectacular disguisings, limited themselves to the setting of the hall in which they were performed, with its doors, hearth, and furniture. In such conditions either exterior or interior action could be indifferently represented. This arrangement, however, soon ceased to satisfy, in the Court at any rate, the sixteenth-century love of decoration; and one or more houses were introduced into the background, probably on a Renaissance rather than a mediaeval suggestion, through which, as well as the undifferentiated doors, the personages could come and go. The addition of an elevated stage enabled traps to be used (All for Money, Gorboduc, Jocasta, Gismond of Salerne, Arraignment of Paris); but here, as in the corresponding device of a descent from above (Gismond of Salerne, Clyomon and Clamydes), it is the mediaeval grading for heaven and hell which lies behind the Renaissance usage. With houses in the background, the normal action becomes uniformly exterior. If a visit is paid to a house, conversation takes place at its door rather than within. The exceptions are rare and tentative, amounting to little more than the provision of a shallow recess within a house, from which personages, usually one or two only, can speak. This may be a window (Two Italian Gentlemen, Promos and Cassandra), a prison (Wit and Wisdom, Promos and Cassandra, Clyomon and Clamydes), a bower (Misogonus, Endymion, Dido, Arraignment of Paris), a tub (Campaspe), a shrine or tomb (Two Italian Gentlemen, Promos and Cassandra), a shop (Thersites, Promos and Cassandra, Campaspe, Sapho and Phao), a bedchamber (Gismund of Salerne, Tom Tyler, Sapho and Phao). Somewhat more difficulty is afforded by episodes in which there is a banquet (Mary Magdalene, Dido, Cambyses), or a law court (Conflict of Conscience), or a king confers with his councillors (Midas, Cambyses). These, according to modern notions, require the setting of a hall; but my impression is that the Italianized imagination of the Elizabethans was content to accept them as taking place more or less out-of-doors, on the steps or in the cortile of a palace, with perhaps some arcaded loggia, such as Serlio suggests, in the background, which would be employed when the action was supposed to be withdrawn from the public market-place or street. And this convention I believe to have lasted well into the Shakespearian period.[116]

The simplicity of this scheme of staging is broken into, when a mediaeval survival or the popular instinct for storytelling faces the producer with a plot incapable of continuous presentation in a single locality. A mere foreshortening of the distance between houses conceived as surrounding one and the same open platea, or as dispersed in the same wood, is hardly felt as a breach of unity. But the principle is endangered, when action within a city is diversified by one or more ‘approach’ episodes, in which the edge of the stage or the steps leading up to it must stand for a road or a wood in the environs (Promos and Cassandra, Sapho and Phao, Dido). It is on the point of abandonment, when the foreshortening is carried so far that one end of the stage represents one locality and the other end another at a distance (Disobedient Child, Mary Magdalene, Endymion, Midas, Patient Grissell). And it has been abandoned altogether, when the same background or a part of it is taken to represent different localities in different episodes, and ingenuity has to be taxed to find means of informing the audience where any particular bit of action is proceeding (Gorboduc, Orestes, Clyomon and Clamydes, Common Conditions).[117]

After considering the classicist group of comedies and tragedies, I suggested that these, taken by themselves, would point to a method of staging at the Elizabethan Court not unlike that recommended by Serlio. The more comprehensive survey now completed points to some revision of that judgement. Two localities at opposite ends of the stage could not, obviously, be worked into a continuous architectural façade. They call for something more on the lines of the multiple setting of the Hôtel de Bourgogne, although the width of the Elizabethan palace halls may perhaps have accommodated a longer stage than that of the Hôtel, and permitted of a less crude juxtaposition of the houses belonging to distinct localities than Mahelot offers us. Any use of perspective, for which there is some Elizabethan evidence, was presumably within the limits of one locality.[118]

The indications of the Revels Accounts, scanty as they are, are not inconsistent with those yielded by the plays.[119] If the Orestes of 1567–8, as may reasonably be supposed, was Pikeryng’s, his ‘howse’ must have been the common structure used successively for Mycenae, Crete, and Athens. The ‘Scotland and a gret Castell on thothere side’ give us the familiar arrangement for two localities. I think that the ‘city’ of the later accounts may stand for a group of houses on one street or market-place, and a ‘mountain’ or ‘wood’ for a setting tout en pastoralle. There were tents for A Game of the Cards in 1582–3, as in Jacob and Esau, a prison for The Four Sons of Fabius in 1579–80, as in several extant plays. I cannot parallel from any early survival the senate house for the Quintus Fabius of 1573–4, but this became a common type of scene at a later date. These are recessed houses, and curtains, quite distinct from the front curtain, if any, were provided by the Revels officers to open and close them, as the needs of the action required. Smaller structures, to which the accounts refer, are also needed by the plays; a well by Endymion, a gibbet by Orestes, a tree by The Arraignment of Paris, and inferentially by all pastoral, and many other plays. The brief record of 1567–8 does not specify the battlement or gated wall, solid enough for Clytemnestra to speak ‘ouer y^e wal’, which was a feature in the siege episode of Orestes. Presumably it was part of the ‘howse’, which is mentioned, and indeed it would by itself furnish sufficient background for the scenes alike at Mycenae, Crete, and Athens. If it stood alone, it probably extended along the back of the stage, where it would interfere least with the arrays of Orestes and of Aegisthus. But in the accounts of 1579–85, the plays, of which there are many, with battlements also, as a rule, have cities, and here we must suppose some situation for the battlement which will not interfere with the city. If it stood for the gate and wall of some other city, it may have been reared at an opposite end of the stage. In Dido, where the gate of Troy seems to have been shown, although there is no action ‘ouer’ it, I can visualize it best as extending across the middle of the stage from back to front. With an unchanging setting it need not always have occupied the same place. The large number of plays between 1579 and 1585 which required battlements, no less than fourteen out of twenty-eight in all, is rather striking. No doubt the assault motive was beloved in the popular type of drama, of which Orestes was an early representative. A castle in a wood, where a knight is imprisoned, is assaulted in Clyomon and Clamydes, and the Shakespearian stage never wearied of the device. I have sometimes thought that with the Revels officers ‘battlement’ was a technical term for any platform provided for action at a higher level than the floor of the stage. Certainly a battlement was provided in 1585 for an entertainment which was not a play at all, but a performance of feats of activities.[120] But as a matter of fact raised action, so common in the Shakespearian period, is extremely rare in these early plays. With the exceptions of Clytemnestra peering over her wall, and the descents from heaven in Gismond of Salerne and Clyomon and Clamydes, which may of course have been through the roof rather than from a platform, the seventy or so plays just discussed contain nothing of the kind. There are, however, two plays still to be mentioned, in which use is made of a platform, and one of these gives some colour to my suggestion. In 1582 Derby’s men played Love and Fortune at Court, and a city and a battlement, together with some other structure of canvas, the name of which is left blank, were provided. This may reasonably be identified with the Rare Triumphs of Love and Fortune, which claims on its title-page of 1589 to have been played before the Queen. It is a piece of the romantic type. The action is divided between a court and a cave in a wood, which account for the city and the unnamed structure of the Revels record. They were evidently shown together, at opposite ends of the stage, for action passes directly from one to the other. There is no assault scene. But there is an induction, in which the gods are in assembly, and Tisiphone arises from hell. At the end of it Jupiter says to Venus and Fortune: