Chapter III: Part II: , from its revival on December 19, 1594. Typical of the (1)

Elizabethan theater would be the performance of Part II of a play the day after Part I. We should have been particularly fortunate in seeing the _Tamberlaines_, for these performances were to be the last in this revival. On Friday, November 14th, we could have attended the premiere of _A Toy to Please Chaste Ladies_, which proved to be a moderately successful piece. _The Seven Days of the Week_, a very successful play, which had opened the previous June, would receive its fourteenth performance on Saturday, and was to continue to hold the stage until the following December 31st, totaling twenty-two performances in all. There was to be no playing on Sunday, which was usual, nor on Monday, which was unusual.

From Tuesday through Thursday, November 18th-20th, we should have seen _Crack Me This Nutte_, _Barnardo and Fiametta_, and _Wonder of a Woman_, all recent plays. The first had opened as a new play the previous September 5th and enjoyed some success. In 1601 it would be revived. The second play had had its premiere several weeks earlier, on October 30th, and was not as successful as the first. The third piece also had opened recently, on October 16th, and it too had excited only a moderate response. On Friday, a week after its premiere, we would have had the chance to hear _A Toy to Please Chaste Ladies_ once again. It was to continue in the repertory for another year, with a total of nine performances, making it an average success. Finally, on Saturday, November 22nd, at the end of our two-week visit, _Seleo and Olempo_ was on the bill, a play which had opened initially the 5th of the previous March. This performance, its eighth, would bring it near the end of its run of ten performances. On February 19, 1596, a little less than a year after its opening, the play would leave the boards, its prompt-book lost in the dust of the Rose playhouse.

Thus, in two weeks we could have seen eleven performances of ten different plays at _one_ playhouse. On no day would we have found the theater repeating the play of the day before. Among the plays the majority, six of the ten, would have been new works, produced since the return of the company from its summer tour. Two others were carry-overs from the previous spring and two were older plays which had been revived. Nor would these plays have appeared regularly in the succeeding weeks. If we had remained in London for two additional weeks, we should have found some repetition of the plays we had already seen as well as some plays that would be new to us.

Again there would be eleven performances in two weeks.[4] Five performances would repeat works of the previous fortnight’s bill. The remaining six performances would have been divided among five plays: a new play for two performances; another play which had opened that autumn; two parts of a play from the previous spring, whose performances, like those of _Tamberlaine_, would have been arranged on successive days; and a play which would appear once and disappear. Altogether, in four weeks we should have been able to see fifteen different plays, only five of which would be repeated, and one of which would attain three performances. Most of the plays would be less than one season old, a few, holdovers from the previous season, and only two or possibly three could be considered “old” plays. Of the fifteen, two would have been completely new plays, and, in fact, the only play to have had three performances in four weeks would have been a recent addition to the repertoire, _A Toy to Please Chaste Ladies_.

The alternation of the plays was irregular. The choice of play from day to day must have followed the exigencies of the moment. Over an extended period, on the other hand, a broad pattern may be observed. A new play or revival usually opened to a good house despite the doubling of admission prices. Several days or a week later a second performance would be given, and then, depending on the enthusiasm of the audience response, the play would be repeated several times a month at first, then less frequently, the intervals between performances becoming longer and longer until the play would be presented once a month. Within a year or a year and a half, it would fade from the theater. Such was the usual course. Naturally, a popular work would continue longer and be revived more often, whereas a “flop” would leave the boards almost immediately.

In the total winter season from August 25, 1595, through February 28, 1596, of which we have considered four weeks, the company gave one hundred and fifty performances of thirty different plays. Eighty-seven performances, or 58 per cent of the total, were of the fourteen new plays produced that season. Five performances, 3.3 per cent, were of one play, _The Jew of Malta_, revived that season. Forty-six performances, or 30.7 per cent, were given by the eight plays from the previous season which were less than a year old, counting from December 1, 1594. Only twelve performances, 8 per cent, were of the seven plays which were more than a year old. This distribution, which is similar for all the seasons covered by Henslowe’s records, emphasizes how dependent the company was on the continuous addition of new plays to its stock in order to maintain itself in London.

The sheer volume of production is staggering. How strenuous the demands must have been upon the actors! Although we are familiar with the extensive repertory which an opera singer must command, at least it is a repertory which in large measure has assumed classical limitations. The Elizabethan actor, on the contrary, had to remember the old and learn the new at the same time. He had to retain the lines of the older plays, for not only might he wait weeks and months between performances of a particular play, but occasionally he might be asked to give a single performance of a long neglected play.[5] He also had to commit to memory an amazing number of new plays each season. In the three-year period from June 5, 1594, to July 28, 1597, a leading actor of the Lord Admiral’s company, such as Edward Alleyn or Thomas Downton, had to secure and retain command of about seventy-one different roles, of which number fifty-two or fifty-three were newly learned.

The manner in which the acting companies secured new plays has been fully discussed by Greg and Chambers[6] so that a brief summary will suffice. Sometimes the actors would buy a finished book, as evidenced by the purchase of _Strange News Out of Poland_ for £6 on May 17, 1600. However, the more usual way of dealing with the impecunious poets who supplied them with scripts was for the Admiral’s men to approve a plot outline of a play, upon which approval they would pay the playwright or playwrights an advance. As portions of the book were received, further advances were given until the entire work was submitted and full payment, usually £6 in this period, was made. Although the names of a large number of playwrights appear in Henslowe’s records, most of the new plays performed by the Admiral’s men came from the pens of less than a dozen men.[7]

Three different types of relationships seem to have existed between actors and the playwrights. In one type Shakespeare and Heywood, actors of their companies, presumably wrote for their own fellows exclusively. In another Ben Jonson went free-wheeling in his passage from one company to another and back again. Between these extremes was a man like Dekker who generally confined his writing to the Admiral’s men, at least at this time, although he did write occasionally for other companies.

Upon receipt of the play from the author, the actors put it into production without much delay. Of the eighty-eight new plays presented during this period by the Admiral’s men, Henslowe records data on the purchase of both the book and properties for twenty-eight of them.[8] Only one, _Polyphemus_, shows a substantial lapse between the final payment for the script on February 27, 1599, and the purchase of “divers thinges” for production on October 5, 1599. Since the purchase of these “divers thinges” only totaled 8_s._, the play may very well have been produced earlier, the later entry relating to properties or costumes which were added to the production. Of the twenty-seven other plays, the time between final purchase of the manuscript and the first indication of production extends from three to fifty-one days, the average duration being a little over twenty days. That many of the payments were for costumes which had to be tailored indicates that the time lapse was even less than the records show. For example, the longest delay, fifty-one days, came between the purchase of _Brute_ on October 22nd and the payment for “cottes of gyantes” for the same play on December 12, 1598. Probably the order for the coats had been placed considerably earlier.

Three special cases, those of _Two Angry Women of Abington_, Part II, and _Thome Strowd_, Part II, of the Admiral’s men, and _A Woman Killed with Kindness_ of Worcester’s men, demonstrate that in some instances production was begun before the writing was completed. The book of _Two Angry Women_ was paid for in full on February 12, 1599, although gowns had been paid for on January 31st and “divers thinges” on February 12th. Payment in full is recorded for _Thome Strowd_ on May 5, 1601, although suits had been bought on April 27th. Lastly, Heywood received £3 as final payment on _A Woman Killed with Kindness_ on March 6, 1603, although costumes had been paid for on February 5th and March 7th.

The entire conception of play producing reflected here is one of continuous presentation. As soon as a poet turned over his play to the actors, they would introduce it into the repertory with very little delay. There is no indication that special occasions provided the moment for unveiling a new play or that long-range planning for a season was part of the Elizabethan or Jacobean scheme. Immediate concerns, the nature of which we know too little, probably dictated the day-to-day program of the theatrical fraternity. Responsive to the vicissitudes of political, hygienic, and economic conditions, the players within their strictly traditional guild organization maintained an empirical, nontheoretical, professional attitude.

Let us turn back to the winter season of 1595-1596 to trace the introduction of new plays into the repertory. Four days after the opening of the season, on August 29th, _Longshank_ was presented. Six days later, on September 5th, it was followed by _Crack Me This Nutte_, another play followed on September 17th (_The New World’s Tragedy_), and still another on October 2nd (_The Disguises_). For the rest of this season there were premieres on October 16th (_Wonder of a Woman_), October 30th (_Barnardo and Fiametta_), November 14th (_A Toy to Please Chaste Ladies_), November 28th (_Henry V_), and in 1596 on January 3rd (_Chinon of England_), January 16th (_Pythagoras_), January 23rd (_Seven Days of the Week_, Part II), and February 12th (_Blind Beggar of Alexandria_). The longest interval between the production of new plays was thirty-five days, November 28th to January 3rd, though the intervening performances numbered only twenty. The shortest interval, of six days, occurred twice, at the beginning and near the end of the season. Obviously the lack of regularity, apparent in other aspects of production, also existed in the frequency with which new plays were presented.

Nor does the study of the year-to-year pattern reflect any greater regularity. For example, in December, 1594, three new plays were presented, in December, 1595, none, in December, 1596, four. The presentation of so many new plays in the latter year was owing without doubt to the absence of any new plays in November, 1596. Consequently, though we cannot determine a fixed number, we can calculate the average number of new plays introduced into the repertory in one year.

Over the three-year period 1594-1597 the actors of the Admiral’s company had an average interval of 14.7 days or roughly two weeks between the opening of new plays. While the interval ranged from two days to fifty-seven, the mean interval was 13 days. Thus it would be accurate enough to say that the company produced a new play every two weeks during the playing season. For the years 1597-1603 we have evidence of the number of new plays produced each year but not of the number of performances given. Consequently, to correlate all the evidence it is necessary to calculate not only the average intervals between premieres of new plays but also the average number of plays produced from 1594 to 1597. The _Diary_ reports the lists of performances continuously from June 5, 1594, to July 28, 1597, a total of three years and fifty-three days. Since 1596 was a leap year, the entire period consisted of 1,149 days during which fifty-four new plays were produced, averaging one play for every 21.3 days. Thus, about seventeen new plays were presented each year by the Lord Admiral’s men.

Chambers, describing the repertory of the Admiral’s men from 1597 to 1603, estimates that they added seventeen new plays in 1597-1598, twenty-one in 1598-1599, twenty in 1599-1600, seven in 1600-1601, fourteen in 1601-1602, and nine in 1602-1603. If we exclude the figures for 1602-1603, a season shortened by the death of Elizabeth, an average for the five years comes to 15.8 new plays each year. The unusually meager count of seven plays for 1600-1601 may reflect, as Chambers suggests, a reliance on the older repertory after Edward Alleyn’s return to the company. Or it might indicate that the company toured extensively that year.

Until now we have considered only one company. Fortunately Henslowe served as banker for Lord Worcester’s men from August 17, 1602, to March 16, 1603, a period of 212 days. During that time they commissioned twelve new plays. A simple equation based on the ratio of 12 plays to 212 days as x plays are to 365 days yields us twenty plays as the total this company would have reached if they had continued to produce new works at the same rate for the rest of the year. However, since the period covered by the accounts was the most active part of the theatrical year, it is likely that the total would have been nearer to seventeen. Furthermore, the average interval between the openings of new plays by the Worcester’s men comes to 16.6 days. Allowing for the uncertainty of the length of this particular season, calculated as it is on expense payments, not actual performances, this average is in line with the earlier figure of 14.7 days between openings. Thus two of the three important public playhouses in London each presented about seventeen new plays a year, grouping them in two seasons so that a new play was presented every fourteen or fifteen days.

The evidence for the third of these companies, the Lord Chamberlain’s men, is scanty; to determine whether or not it followed the system of the other two companies is hazardous at best. As Greg aptly noted more than half a century ago, “We know practically nothing of the internal workings of the Lord Chamberlain’s company.”[9] Yet, here and there, links between this company and the others suggest that in general all of them followed the same repertory practices.

Between June 5th and 15th, 1594, the Lord Admiral’s and Lord Chamberlain’s men played together at Newington Butts. Henslowe’s performance list does not clarify whether they functioned as one company or two. In fact, only the excellent deduction of Greg, who followed Fleay in this, made it clear that the combination ceased after that date, for the list of subsequent performances proceeds without a break. Of the ten performances, five were of plays now generally ascribed to the Chamberlain’s men.

Fleay, extolling the virtues of the Chamberlain’s men at the expense of the Admiral’s, asserts that he has been unable to trace at any time “more than four new plays produced by [the former company] in any one year.”[10] This conclusion might stem from a recollection of a note by Malone: “It appears from Sir Henry Herbert’s office-book that the King’s company between the years 1622 and 1641 produced either at Blackfriars or the Globe at least four new plays every year.” He goes on: “ ... the King’s company usually brought out two or three new plays at the Globe every summer.”[11] Both statements indicate that no less than four plays were produced annually. A study of Herbert’s list of licenses supports them. From July, 1623, to July, 1624, licenses for thirty-five plays are recorded. Four may be discarded for our present purposes.[12] Of the remaining thirty-one, eleven were licensed for the Palsgrave’s company, seven (six new and one old) for the Prince’s men, eight (six new and two old) for the King’s men, four (three new and one old) for the Lady Elizabeth’s servants, and one for the Queen of Bohemia’s company. G. E. Bentley very persuasively accounts for the greater number of plays licensed for the Palsgrave’s men by pointing out that the fire at their playhouse, the Fortune, on December 9, 1621, deprived them of their prompt-books and that in 1623-1624 they were striving to repair the damage to their repertory.

The discrepancy between the six new plays of 1623-1624 and the estimated seventeen of 1594-1603 is not a mark of conflict in the evidence. Times had changed. The King’s men needed only a third of the new plays that they had produced in earlier years. The use of a private theater largely accounts for this change, for the seats of Blackfriars could be filled four or five times over by the audience from a single performance at the Globe. What is really significant is that the King’s men presented the same number of new plays as the Prince’s men, and that the practices of Shakespeare’s fellows were in harmony with those of other companies.

Only an idolatrous love of Shakespeare can lead us to conclude that from 1599 to 1609 the Lord Chamberlain’s men produced appreciably fewer plays than the other companies did. All were in lively competition, in which, as Platter noted, “those which play best obtain most spectators.” To maintain that the Globe company produced only four or five new plays a year, we must prove that Shakespeare’s plays were of such popularity that they could be repeated again and again while other companies had to change their bills daily. However, we have no evidence to show that this was the case. Certainly, Falstaff was a perennial favorite, but so was Barabas the Jew. A play such as _Richard II_ was old by 1601. _Twelfth Night_, or _Malvolio_, held the stage, it seems, but so did _The Spanish Tragedy_, or _Jeronimo_. Yet Henslowe’s schedule reveals that the old war horses such as _Jeronimo_, _The Jew of Malta_, _Faustus_, and _Tamberlaine_, altogether, provided no more than 11 per cent of the performances of the Lord Admiral’s company throughout the entire recorded period and no more than 6 per cent in any one year (see Appendix A, chart ii). We should like to think that Shakespeare’s work had more commercial appeal than Marlowe’s or Kyd’s. But can we suppose that it had a popularity, let us say, five or six times greater? A sobering thought on the enigma of popularity must strike us when we realize that _Pericles_ was, if its succession of quartos offers any evidence, more popular than _Antony and Cleopatra_, and that _The Winter’s Tale_, if Court performances are any measure, appealed to royalty more than _King Lear_. Furthermore, once we eliminate the plays which in all likelihood were given few performances, such as _Troilus and Cressida_, _All’s Well_ and _Measure for Measure_, we are left with too few Shakespearean plays to sustain a theatrical company in the London of 1600. A reference to the list of Court performances between 1603 and 1642 verifies the pattern reflected in Henslowe’s records. Aside from their first appearances before James, when they presented many old stand-bys, the King’s men usually offered the latest plays to Their Majesties, and when Shakespeare died, the works of other writers rapidly superseded his at Court.[13] Like the commonalty, royalty expected to see the current “hit.”

The plays we now regard as great literary works were struck off in the harassing atmosphere of a commercial enterprise. Most of the plays were failures or temporary successes. Most of those produced by the Admiral’s men played their few, in many cases very few, performances and passed away without any further trace but the notation by a shrewd businessman. Of the one hundred and thirteen plays listed by Henslowe between 1592 and 1597, sixty-seven would certainly be unknown without the _Diary_ and another twelve would probably be unknown (see Appendix A, chart i). However, among the thirty-four plays that would be otherwise known, only twenty-seven are extant, or about 24 per cent of the plays listed by Henslowe. By assuming that the twenty-nine extant Globe texts represent a similar percentage of the Globe repertory, we arrive at a conclusion that 116 plays were actually produced by the company between 1599 and 1609. But during these years the theater suffered closings of extraordinary duration because of the plague.[14] In addition, the Globe period is calculated from September, 1599, to March, 1609. Actual playing time, therefore, amounted to about seven and a half years. This estimate divided into the 116 new plays gives us a result of 15.6 plays as the average number of new works offered by the Globe company each year. Actually, in estimating these figures, some allowance must be made for Shakespeare’s superiority. How much, however, is virtually impossible to say. Nor is an actual figure necessary as long as we realize that the repertory systems of all three companies were fundamentally the same. In effect, the figures that we have for the Lord Admiral’s and Worcester’s men are a far safer guide to actual Globe practice than any other evidence.

As lovers of literature, we need be grieved little by the disappearance of 75 per cent of the plays, at least judging from contemporary response. Generally the plays that have come down to us were the more popular pieces. Either they were printed, or discussed, or alluded to. At the same time they were played more frequently. The seventy-nine plays which we know only through Henslowe provided 496 performances in five years. The other thirty-four played 403 performances in the same period. On an average we find the plays otherwise known to us played nearly twice as many performances as those mentioned by Henslowe.

Those pieces that attained popularity and whose stage life extended over a period of years run like strong threads through the repertory of an Elizabethan company. But between the strands there was much filler, plays which spoke their brief piece upon the platform and departed within a few months. Seven to eight performances were the average number for a play. Many did not attain even this many representations. Three out of every ten plays had no more than one or two performances. Less than one out of ten went beyond twenty performances. An extensive and actually wonderful process of winnowing out the chaff was at work. This process was the repertory system. As a result of it, the plays that could bring back an audience year after year survived to speak for the age (see Appendix A, chart ii).

The process of winnowing out the ineffectual pieces was supplemented by the custom of revivals. Periodically, plays of the recent past would be brought back to the stage for another run. Usually the pattern of performances for a revival would follow that of a new play: close-packed performances at first and a tapering off until representation ceased. _The Spanish Tragedy_, or as Henslowe entitles it, _Jeronimo_, offers a clear example of the process at work. In March, 1592, it was presented for three performances, in April, again for three performances, in May it reached its peak with five performances, and in June played twice. The hiatus in the summer and fall of 1592 interrupted the normal cycle. On resumption of playing in December, _Jeronimo_ appeared again, was repeated twice in January for the last times. These performances were by Strange’s men. Four years later, on January 7, 1597, the Lord Admiral’s men revived it as a “new” play, indicating that it had been substantially revised. Subsequent performances followed with diminishing frequency with intervals of 4, 6, 5, 9, 10, 28,[15] 14, 21, 26, 29 days. The play was further revived in September or October of 1601, this time with additions by Jonson.

Twenty plays in Henslowe’s list show definite evidence of revival, either during the 1593-1597 period or the 1599-1601 period. Only _Doctor Faustus_ shows continual performance from 1594 to 1597. Originally revived on October 2, 1594, it was performed from time to time by the Lord Admiral’s company which did not allow more than four months to elapse between performances. There was a later revival toward the end of 1602.

Among the nineteen remaining plays the manner of revival varied somewhat. Nine of them seem to have been altered or enlarged considerably for the revival. Usually these plays had been off the stage for several years. _Fortunatus_ was reworked by Dekker in November, 1599, after it had lain idle for three and a half years. _Jeronimo_, as we saw already, had not been offered for four years when it was revived as “new” in January, 1597. _Tambercame_, Part II, was three and a half years old when presented as “new” on June 11, 1596. Two of the plays, _Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay_ and _Phaethon_, show evidence of alteration as do the rest, but specifically for Court performances. Though there is no certainty that revivals in the public playhouse occurred at the same time, it is not unlikely, as we shall discover.

One advantage of the Elizabethan method of revivals--abetted by the absence of copyright laws--was that it enabled a writer to rework his own or someone else’s work. Through how many versions, for example, did the narrative of _Hamlet_ pass to reach its final stage? We know of three at least: the one played by the “Lord Admeralle men & Lorde Chamberlen” at Newington Butts on June 11, 1594; the one contained in the 1603 Quarto; the one announced as “newly imprinted and enlarged to almost as much againe as it was, according to the true and perfect Coppie.” The constant sifting of the repertory not only screened out hack pieces, it also provided time for the refinement of masterworks.

In instances where no proof of literary revision exists, there is evidence sometimes of theatrical revision. Four plays from four to six and a half years old were revived after 1597. The purchase of properties for them indicates that they received new productions. Of the last six of the twenty plays revived, only the cessation of playing and, after an extended lapse of time, the resumption of performances tell us that they were revived.

Revived plays, for all practical purposes, were treated as new. Instead of maintaining a play in continuous repertory over an extended period of time during which performances of the work would be given at regular intervals, the players permitted a work to fade out of the repertory for a time, to be restored later with or without changes for another cycle of performances. That this was also the method of the Lord Chamberlain’s men is attested to in a letter written by Sir Walter Cope to Sir Robert Cecil in 1604. Upon inquiring for a new play for the Queen, Sir Walter was informed by Richard Burbage that Her Majesty had seen their new plays, “but they have Revyved an olde one Cawled _Loved Labore_ lost.”[16] Whether or not this “olde play” had been presented since its performance at Court in 1597-1598, we do not know. But its description as an old play suggests that it had lain dormant for some time before its revival in 1604.

In the same letter Sir Walter complains of difficulty in finding “players Juglers & Such kinde of Creaturs” to perform for the Queen. Yet, according to the formula which appears in the Privy Council minute of February 19, 1598, the Lord Chamberlain’s men were permitted to stage plays so that “they might be the better enhabled and prepared to shew such plaies before her Majestie as they shalbe required at tymes meete and accustomed, to which ende they have bin cheefelie licensed.” Why were they not ready then? Just what was the relationship between the public players and the Court? To what extent did the players prepare their plays specifically for the nobility? More than one scholar has been tempted to demonstrate that particular plays were prepared for the Court or courtly occasions. Usually the demonstration has had to rely on allusions in a script, for external evidence indicates that such a practice was extremely rare.

For example, we can trace the career of _Fortunatus_ with minuteness. Its first performance is recorded in Henslowe’s _Diary_ on February 3, 1596; thereafter it runs through a normal cycle of six performances until May 26th. Between November 9th and November 30th, 1599, Dekker received £6 for rewriting the play. We may presume that it underwent a complete revision since £6 is the usual payment for a new work. On December 1st, he received an additional £1 for altering the work, and on December 12th £2 for “the eande of fortewnatus for the corte.” In addition, sometime between December 6th and 12th £10 were laid out “ffor to by thinges for ffortunatus.” The entries indicate clearly that a revival for the public playhouse had been planned, for which Dekker was commissioned to rewrite the play. The performance at Court could not have been the initial reason for the revival; otherwise the book would not have needed a new ending so soon. After the revision was completed, perhaps even before the Court performance had been spoken for, the play was publicly produced. Yet, when the company was called upon by the Queen in holiday season, it hurriedly had Dekker furbish up a graceful and complimentary conclusion for performance before the Queen on December 27, 1599.

While it is true that the plays chosen for Court performance had been proven _in_ public, it is equally true that the plays were geared _to_ the public. Usually with slight alteration, though occasionally with much, the essentially public play was readied for Queen Elizabeth, and later for King James and his family. The Admiral’s men paid Middleton 5_s._ for a prologue and epilogue for _Friar Bacon_ “for the corte” on December 14, 1602, surely a small sum to invest in pleasing a sovereign. Of course, for the holidays of 1599-1600, the company had paid Dekker fully £2 for alterations to _Phaethon_ for the Court. An additional pound was laid out for “divers thinges” for the Court. Yet when the play was brought out two years earlier £5 had been spent on its furnishings for public presentation.[17]

Few plays produced by the professional players received their first performances at the Court. Reference to the summary of court performances (Appendix A, chart iii) will show that, of 144 plays presented at Court between 1590 and 1642, only eight seem to have been intended especially and initially for the Court. Two were presented in 1620, five after 1629. Only one comes from the first decade of the seventeenth century.[18]

During the holiday season of 1602-1603 the Lord Admiral’s men gave three plays at Court. Presumably one of these was _As Merry As May Be_, for on November 9, 1602, John Day was given 40_s._ “in earneste of a Boocke called mery as may be for the corte” and on November 17th, Day, Smith, and Hathway were paid £6 more. What the occasion was for this extraordinary procedure we cannot now discover. The Admiral’s men were at Court on December 27, 1602, March 6, 1603, and possibly March 8th. On which of these nights _As Merry As May Be_ was played, we do not know. Considering the practice of the Admiral’s men, it is not impossible that, despite the entry by Henslowe, the first performance of _As Merry As May Be_ was at the Fortune.

All other plays, in one way or another, show the marks of public performance. In many instances insufficient evidence prevents us from concluding with any certainty whether or not a Court performance was initially envisioned; so many plays exist only as titles in the warrants. But where evidence appears, it supports the contention that public performance preceded Court performance. In eight cases we have the date of the licensing of a play by Sir Henry Herbert as well as the date of its first Court performance. Naturally, in each case the licensing came first. Herbert’s records give substantial support for the assumption that the plays were acted the day they were licensed.[19] For example, Malone notes against the license for July 29, 1629: “_The Northern Lass_, which was acted by the King’s Company on the 29th of July, 1629.” Moreover, for _The Witts_ by Davenant we have confirmation of public performance before Court performance. Licensed on January 19, 1634, the King having rejected some of the severities of Herbert’s censoring on the 9th, Mildmay saw it acted at Blackfriars only three days later, on January 22nd. On the 28th it was given at Court.[20]

The type of theatrical presentation especially conceived and executed for a courtly audience was different in tone and character from that of the popular plays. Masques and entertainments, in their symbolic spectacles, learned allusions, and elaborate compliments delighted royalty through novelty and flattery. Interspersed with debate, music, and dance, these forms bore but a cousinly relationship to the drama. Professional writers such as Jonson, who wrote masques, had to alter their methods, for works commissioned for royal pleasure demanded that the poet practice his art with a difference. Sixty years later we find the same dichotomy occurring in the work of Molière.

Being commercial enterprises, the public theaters must have directed their energies to satisfying the customer who paid best. Some simple calculations will demonstrate that the players were dependent far more upon their public than their Court receipts. The involved estimates in determining the basis for the income of the various companies have been undertaken elsewhere and need not be repeated here. Briefly, we can adopt the results of various scholars.[21] From 1594 through 1596 the average number of playing days per year, according to Henslowe’s _Diary_, was 195⅔ (1594, 206; 1595, 211; 1596, 170). Consequently, about two hundred playing days a year in London may be regarded as average. Baldwin concluded that the return to the actors for a 300-performance year was £1260. On this basis the income for the minimum of 200 playing days a year would come to £840. Harbage concludes that the average daily attendance at the Rose was 1,250 persons. Since he divides the total capacity of 2,494 into 870 persons in the yard at one penny, 1,408 persons in the penny-gallery, and 216 in the two-penny gallery (at two- and three-penny admissions respectively), the average daily attendance in each section yields 436, 705, and 108 persons each by a simple proportionate equation. The average daily income would then be £9.0_s._10_d._, the actors’ share being £7.2_s._5_d._ Consequently, by multiplying this figure by 200 we have the average yearly income for the actors of £1,424.3_s._4_d._ A final estimate, employing Harbage’s attendance figures of 1250 and John Cranford Adams’ arrangement of the Globe playhouse, yields an income to the actors of £8.12_s._5_d._ daily, exclusive of the Lords’ rooms, or £1724.3_s._4_d._ for 200 days. The Lords’ rooms brought them 37_s._6_d._ additional each day, or £375 a year. In estimating income for the Globe company, we must remember that at least five of the sharers of the Chamberlain-King’s men were also housekeepers and derived income from the playhouse directly.

From Elizabeth, and later from James, the Chamberlain-King’s men received £873 between 1599 and 1609, of which amount £70 was for relief of the company during plague time, and £30 for reimbursement for expenses incurred during unusually lengthy travel to and from the Court. Thus the annual average for playing was £77.6_s._, with the court payments in the later years substantially greater than in the early ones. Grants from Elizabeth never totaled more than 5 per cent of the income the company earned at the Globe.[22] Under James the percentage rose to a high of about fifteen by 1609. The increase in Court support, evident in these figures, ultimately led the Globe company to appeal increasingly to an aristocratic audience. But throughout the decade we are considering, the actors depended on the pence of a large, heterogeneous public more than upon the bounty of their prince.

The players certainly tendered courtesy and respect to the Court, which after all was their main defense against puritanical suppression. No doubt, at the behest of the sovereign, each company eagerly fulfilled the service required of it. The players’ well-being in and about London as well as their prestige depended to a significant extent on their relationship with the prince. Yet the historical, literary, and economic evidence does not support the attempts to demonstrate that such plays as _Macbeth_, _The Merry Wives of Windsor_, or _Twelfth Night_ were first presented at Court. For example, Leslie Hotson’s thesis that _Twelfth Night_ was a tribute to the ambassador, Virginio Orsino, Duke of Bracciano, has been challenged by Frances Keen who has reexamined the documents.[23] Except for _Troilus and Cressida_, it is not likely that any Shakespearean play of the Globe decade was given its premiere anywhere else than at the Globe.

I have dealt with the repertory system at length because insufficient attention has been paid to it. In reconstructing the staging of any company, the character of this system cannot be ignored. For the Globe company as well as for the other companies, the staging of plays was conditioned by the irregular alternation of plays, the large number of plays that had to be ready for performance at one time, the rapidity with which new ones were added to the repertory, the probability of revivals, and the reliance upon the public playhouse for theatrical well-being. Allowance for these conditions must be made in any discussion of the play, the stage, and the actor.

Chapter Two

THE DRAMATURGY

Shakespeare’s plays of the Globe years are the highest forms of drama to result from a century of evolution. The long-fought battle between popular and private taste was to go on, finally to the defeat of popular taste in the rise of the private theaters. But in the ten years of the Globe, before the King’s men saw their theatrical future in appealing to a Blackfriars trade, the artistic possibilities of the popular narrative drama were abundantly realized.

As the poet created the play, the actors rehearsed it--or very shortly thereafter. At the Globe playhouse the intimacy between Shakespeare and his colleagues gave unparalleled opportunity for artistic collaboration. Through changes in status and physical surroundings, they maintained warm personal and professional relations. From a common creative act arose the plays that Shakespeare penned and the productions that his friends presented. The record of this partnership is contained in the extant scripts, not merely in stage directions or in dialogue, but in the very substance of the dramatist’s craft, the structure of the incidents.

To know this structure of incidents is no simple matter. Little contemporary Elizabethan theory of the dramatist’s craft exists.[1] Of the few contemporary essays on poesy which treat the drama, Sidney’s The _Defence of Poesie_ (c. 1583), is not only the best known but also the most thorough. In measuring pre-Shakespearean drama by neoclassic standards, Sidney concludes that the early plays lack order. Yet the characteristic that Sidney so roundly condemned is the very one which, as we shall see, was so skillfully mastered by the turn of the century: the narration of an extended history covering much time and many places. By then classicism was no longer a fixed standard. This is nowhere more evident than in the words of Ben Jonson. The most classical of all the Elizabethan playwrights, with the possible exception of Chapman, Jonson contains in his remarks on the drama contradictory tendencies not fully reconciled in theory.

The chorus to _Every Man Out of His Humour_, a Globe play, provides the clearest expression of his views on the drama. Citing the precedent of the Greek poets, Jonson asserts, through the choral figure of Cordatus, that he does not see why the English poets should not enjoy “the same licence, or free power, to illustrate and heighten our invention as [the Greeks] did; and not bee tyed to those strict and regular formes, which the nicenesse of a few (who are nothing but forme) would thrust upon us” (Chorus, 267-270). Earlier, obliged to explain the absence of the traditional forms of classical drama, Cordatus remarks that there is no necessity to observe them. Yet, in setting the play in England, Cordatus quibbles over the nature of unity of place. He finds it acceptable for the author to have “a whole Iland to run through” but scorns those authors who, in one play, by showing “so many seas, countries, and kingdomes, past over with such admirable dexteritie ... out-run the apprehension of their auditorie” (Chorus, 279-286). Later in the play, despite his previous deprecation of classical authority, Jonson justifies the almost tragic scene of Sordido’s attempted suicide (III, ii) by resorting to the authority of Plautus (III, viii, 88 ff.). At another point he cites Cicero’s definition of comedy to demolish the citadel of romantic comedy (III, vi, 202-207). Throughout, Jonson maintains a double standard, eluding adherence to classical prescription when it suits him to do so, citing classical authority when it supports his practice, but at all times aware that mere imitation is neither possible nor desirable. For, it is significant to note, Jonson does not oppose classical form to no form at all, but “strict and regular” form to personal invention.

Dramatic theory of the Elizabethan period is particularly deceptive because the little that exists is usually classical in vocabulary and orientation. Baldwin has attempted to equate the use of classical terms with the creation of the equivalent form. He cites Jonson’s use of the critical terms _epitasis_ and _catastrophe_ in _Every Man Out of His Humour_, together with similar evidence from _The New Inn_, as proof that “Jonson knows and observes ‘the Law of Comedy’ as it has been laid down by the sixteenth century commentators on Terence.” The epitasis is variously defined as “the intension or exaggeration of matters” or “the most busy part of a comedy” or “the progress of the turbations ... the knot of error.”[2] However, these generalizations have little to do with the way in which a play is shaped. For that we must go back to actual models. At once we see that the terms cannot be applied to both Terence and Jonson, and yet mean the same things. The interplay between Simo and Davus in _The Woman of Andros_, as they attempt to outwit each other, produces a tightly drawn comedy of situation. The display of foolery which infuriates Macilente results in an ambling satirical comedy. Comparison discloses that not only in tone and content but also in function and effect the epitasis or the “busie part of the subject” differs in each case. Clearly, in no substantial way did the Elizabethans derive their dramatic forms from classical tradition.

In the absence of such a tradition and with the lack of a generally accepted alternative, the theory has persisted that Elizabethan drama lacks structural form. “The events ... are produced without any art of connection or care of disposition,” wrote Samuel Johnson of _Antony and Cleopatra_. Substantially the same charge has been leveled against Shakespeare’s plays in particular and Elizabethan drama in general. The art of Elizabethan drama, it is said, must be sought in the characterization, in the poetic expression, in the myth-making patterns of ideas, but not in the structure of events. In a currently fashionable form, this view is stated quite straightforwardly by M. C. Bradbrook. “The essential structure of Elizabethan drama lies not in the narrative or the characters but in the words.... [The structure] was purely poetic.”[3]

It is true that Elizabethan dramatic structure appears to be irregular in form and haphazard in progression. Conditions of presentation, described in the previous chapter, indicate that any conscious artistic purpose must have been difficult to pursue. The speed of composition, the prevalence of collaboration, and the absence of formal standards contributed to what might be called pragmatic dramatization. However, pragmatic dramatization did not necessarily prevent the appearance of distinctive dramatic forms. In fact, the winnowing process of the repertory system was evolutionary, ensuring the development of drama in response not to abstract theory but to the deeply ingrained artistic practices of the age.

I. PREMISES FOR A STUDY OF SHAKESPEAREAN DRAMATIC FORM

In her constantly stimulating book _Endeavors of Art_ Madeleine Doran introduces a new and provocative approach to the examination of Elizabethan dramatic structure. Adopting the thesis of Heinrich Wölfflin, expounded in his _Principles of Art History_, Doran extends it to apply to the literary artist. Wölfflin argues that “the art of one age differs from that of another because the artists have different modes of imaginative beholding ... [As a result], any change in representational content from one period to [another is] less important to the effect of difference than the change in style arising from difference in decorative principle” or way of beholding.[4] Thus, the intent of the art work is less evident in the subject treated than in the arrangement effected. In comparing the “modes of imaginative beholding” in Renaissance and Baroque art, Wölfflin differentiates the two styles in terms of five categories of visual opposites, one of which is diffusion of effect (multiplicity) versus concentration of effect (unity). This category is the one most relevant to a consideration of dramatic literature. By demonstrating that Renaissance art “achieves its unity by making the parts independent as free members [and by relating them through a] coordination of the accents,” Wölfflin reconciles the opposites of multiplicity and unity in a concept of “multiple unity.”[5]

In the Elizabethan age the recurrent and popular expression of this concept is found in the image of art as a “mirror.” Hamlet’s use of this image need not be quoted. Substantially it was anticipated by Jonson in _Every Man Out of His Humour_:

ASPER. Well I will scourge those apes;
And to these courteous eyes [of the audience] oppose a mirrour,
As large as is the stage, whereon we act:
Where they shall see the times deformitie
Anatomiz’d in every nerve, and sinnew,
With constant courage, and contempt of feare.
[Chorus, 117-122]

Both uses of the image reveal that the reflection is to be of the times and to be directed at the spectator. That the mirror is inherent in the thinking of the Elizabethan age not only as the purpose but as the _method_ of poetry is expressed even more clearly in Puttenham’s _The Arte of English Poesie_. In objecting to the mingling of the qualities of lightheaded or “phantasticall” men with poets, which “the pride of many Gentlemen and others” insist on to the derision of poetry, Puttenham writes that the poet’s brain “being well affected, [is] not onely nothing disorderly or confused with any monstruous imaginations or conceits, but very formall, and in his much multiformitie _uniforme_, that is well proportioned, and so passing cleare, that by [the mind], as by a glasse or mirrour, are represented unto the soule all maner of bewtifull visions.” Later: “There be againe of these glasses that shew thinges exceeding faire and comely; others that shew figures monstruous & illfavored.”[6] Here the poet’s mind, utilizing invention and imagination, is a mirror by which the soul receives vision.

The “mirror” had two principal functions in the Elizabethan period. One was to represent experience, in short, to achieve verisimilitude. Miss Doran demonstrates that the Elizabethans did not expect particular realism but universal truths. The other was to bring together many kinds of experience. Jonson clearly means to have the mirror turn this way and that in order to reflect a multiple image of the times. Shakespeare implies that in showing “virtue her own feature, scorn her own image,” the mirror held up to nature reflects the allegorical figure Virtue, at the same time as it reflects her evil sister, Scorn. The actual practices of the plays illustrate that the poets sought to project multiple aspects of a situation--Puttenham’s multiformitie--as it were by a mirror. Consequently, they tended to give equal emphasis to the various elements of the drama, that is, to produce a coordination rather than a subordination of parts. What “coordination of parts” means in dramaturgy may be seen by contrasting the relative dominance and integration of character, plot, language, and theme in classical and Renaissance drama.

In classical and modern “realistic” construction, plot, or the structure of incidents, is dominant. It is an imitation of an action to which character and language are subordinated. Although Francis Fergusson rightly points out the difficulty of defining the word “action,” nevertheless, he makes it clear that Aristotle specifies that plot is the prime embodiment of the action.[7] In this Aristotle describes the actual practice of ancient Greek drama. The incidents embrace the total significance of a play, for if plot, the structure of incidents, imitates the action which is the soul of tragedy, it must also contain the meaning of that action. Through plot the meaning radiates into character and language. Such a pyramid of emphasis, in which certain dramatic elements are subordinated, ensures genuine unity of action. If Greek drama did not always realize such an ideal form, it aspired toward such a realization.

In Renaissance construction, however, with its independent parts and coordinated accents, unity of action is not really possible. The structure of incidents does not implicitly contain the total meaning of the play. Character and thought have degrees of autonomy. They are not subordinate but coordinate with the plot. Therefore, the plot is not the sole source of unity. Instead, unity must arise from the dynamic interaction of the various parts of the drama: story, character, and language. Our task is to discover how this was accomplished.

Two habits of composition characterized the Elizabethan dramatists. First, the poets turned to popular romance and history for the sources of their plots. Baldwin saw one of the major problems of the dramatists to be the shaping of narrative material to dramatic ends, and this he believes was accomplished through the Terentian five-act structure. Both Hardin Craig and Doran regard the romantic story as the formative influence in English drama.[8] Following Manly, Doran sees the miracle play as the main source of the romantic story and, as such, a principal forerunner of the Elizabethan drama. Secondly, in utilizing these materials, “English dramatists almost without exception adopted the sequential method of action, and all the weight of classic drama did not prevail to change their minds about it.”[9] The importance of this factor in the molding of drama is further emphasized in Miss Doran’s suggestion that the source material, or the story, “is often the chief determinant of whether or not a play is well organized.”[10] A glance at the play list of the Globe’s company reveals that with the possible exception of _Every Man Out of His Humour_ and _A Larum for London_, story plays a decisive part in the flow of the drama. But so was story or fable the groundwork of ancient Greek drama. The differences arise from the ways in which the dramatists of each age treated their stories.

To begin with, the English dramatists retained a very large portion of a given story. They arranged but did not eliminate. In fact, they frequently supplied additional events. In _A Larum for London_ we find scene after scene illustrating the awful fate that befell the people of Antwerp at the hands of the Spanish. A copious montage of horrors passes across the stage. This multiplicity of events is a prime characteristic of this drama. To the Lear story Shakespeare adds the tale of Gloucester, to that of Helena and Bertram the story of Parolles.

Having taken a bustling story as his basis, the poet had to arrange all the events in dramatic order. According to Doran he had to find “a different method from the classical in two central problems of form: how to get concentration, and how to achieve organic structure, that is, how to achieve an action causally connected from beginning to middle to end.”[11] However, Bradbrook has rightly pointed out that in Elizabethan drama “consecutive or causal succession of events is not of the first importance.” With this observation, she dismisses narrative as not being one of the first concerns of the dramatists.[12] Certainly Bradbrook is right about the absence of Aristotelian causality, as the briefest review of most Elizabethan plays will show. The events leading to Cordelia’s death are without cause unless we choose chance as the cause. It is by chance she is captured, it is by chance that Edmund confesses too late.