Henry V and Tamburlaine

This year the ASC brings the remarkable histories of Shakespeare and Marlowe to life. History plays were immensely popular in Elizabethan England and always a safe bet at the box office. Of course, what made the history plays great wasn’t necessarily their accuracy, but rather the playwright’s methods of representing familiar stories on the stage. Today we examine some of the historical figures behind the title characters in William Shakespeare’s Henry V and Christopher Marlowe’s Tamburlaine the Great.

Henry V of England, born 16 Sept. 1366, was not, at the time of his birth, directly in line to become king. His father, Henry IV (formerly Henry Bolingbroke, just one of Edward III’s numerous grandsons), led the Lancastrian usurpation against Richard II, making himself king. Luckily for England, Henry V proved to be a remarkably gifted military commander and a domestic favorite, cementing his position as the country’s leader.

During the period of the 100 Years War with France, England needed a strong and able leader. However, not everyone was on board with Henry’s battle plans. Indeed, as depicted in the play, the government convicted and executed three traitors just six days before Henry’s army set sail for France. The Earl of Cambridge, Henry Scrope of Mashom, and Sir Thomas Grey, were convicted in the so-called “Southhampton plot,” an attempted assassination of the king.
Henry’s famous campaign proved favourable to the English with victories at Harfleur and Agincourt. Shakespeare’s play stages these campaigns, from the lofty promises of victory to his troops to the less-noble decisions to threaten Harfleur’s citizens and to execute French prisoners. After his victory, he made his way into the heart of France to negotiate with the French King Charles IV, who agreed to name Henry his successor and seal the deal with a marriage to the French princess Catharine. Charles was in poor health and had suffered some time from mental illness, so it seemed that Henry would outlive him and soon seize the crown with his French queen at his side. Unfortunately, a bout of dysentery killed Henry two months prior to the death of the French King. Henry never wore the crown of France, and he left an infant behind as King of England. England’s dominance of the French was short-lived, and Shakespeare chronicles the loss of Henry’s gains in the Henry VI trilogy.

So what of Marlowe’s Tamburlaine? Surely this character’s history couldn’t be as extraordinary as that of the great English king. Well, that’s true; it’s actually much more extraordinary. Marlowe’s play is loosely based on the life of Timur, a one-of-a-kind, hardcore Mongolian warrior. His name “Timur” comes from a word meaning “iron”. If that conjures up images from Rocky IV, then you’re getting the right picture. An exhumation of his remains confirms that he was broad-chested and tall with strong cheek bones. The Persians dubbed him Tamburlaine, which essentially translates as “Timur the lame” (he reportedly limped from a battle injury. The injury, however, doesn’t seem to have deterred his fierceness).

From 1383-1387, Timur stayed busy conquering Persia, while his sometimes-rival/sometimes-ally Tokhtamysh enjoyed a takeover of Moscow. Then, Tokhtamysh decided to get in on the Persian conquest, invading Timur’s Azerbaijan, a move which kicked off a decade-long war between the two ending in Tokhtamysh’s defeat at the Battle of Terek River in 1395. For some conquerors, this might have seemed like a grand enough accomplishment, but Timur was insatiable. Next, he set his sights on India.

Invading India in 1385, Timur demonstrated his tactical skill and prowess. In one instance, Timur repelled the attack of the Sulton’s 120 fully-armoured war elephants by strapping wood to his camels’ backs, lighting them on fire, and spurring the camels toward the elephants -- causing them to panic and trample their own army. He, like Henry, ordered the execution of prisoners on several occasions. If prisoners showed the slightest sign of revolt, he wouldn’t hesitate to execute tens of thousands at a time.

He finally saw defeat as he set out to conquer China, but was beset with fever and plague, succumbing to death Feb 15, 1405. He was survived by his son Shah Rukh and his Harem.

Two legendary warriors, two playwrights and two box offices smashes of the early modern period. Come and claim your seat in the Blackfriars Playhouse to witness Henry’s famous victories and Tamburlaine’s wild conquests.

by ASC Education Intern, Kyle Oram

"Here 'tis, here's a paper. Shall I read it to you?"

On Wednesday, July 20th, the ASC offices underwent a thorough reorganization. Cabinets, desks, bookcases all pranced about in a wild dance that somehow settled into a neat and tidy new arrangement. It was a good time for change. With the summer heat draining morale, headaches from debt ceiling debates, and post Harry Potter depression looming in the minds of every fan, our fearless leaders seemed to know instinctively that a change of scene would serve as a catalyst of new found creativity and bravado. It would seem these events in themselves would account for the recent changes in the office, but the insiders perspective suggests a different story... the story of a new intern, an intern with extraordinary ability in using... ellipses.

Starting July 5th the ASC offices would be forever changed. The events of July 22nd as it were, are no more than a physical manifestation of the literal transformation that began the day ASC intern Kyle Oram arrived. Heralding from Utah Valley University, this intern has embarked on a mission... a mission never before undertaken by interns past and present... The mission of the annotated bibliography on early modern theater structures! Upon arrival he began weaving a story that rivals in its scope and awesome wonder even the best theatrical trailers for Mission Impossible IV. In his daily work he combines the Tom Cruise run with DaVinci Code-esque research montages.

Given the extremity of his schedule in completing the impossible mission, we are unquestionable grateful to get a glance at his work, and bring you the Early Modern Theater book of the Week!
That’s right, each week, the interns’ blog will be featuring one of our heroic intern’s favorite references on the early modern theater. Today’s feature:
The Shakespearian Playing Companies by Andrew Gurr

The observant reader may offer a riotous objection to this selection, recalling that the bibliography is to deal with “Early Modern Theater Structures.” This book, by its title, indicates an examination of the companies rather than the structures in which they played. However, the construction of my bibliography has led to an interest that goes beyond structure to the actual workings of the Theaters and their relationship to the players and community. In this respect Gurr’s work always provides rich details. One particularly notable account details the penalties set forth in an actors contract working for Henslowe (pg 99). The evident priority in severity of punishment reveals something about the acting culture of the time. The theaters had been extant for decades by 1614 and the contract consequently was wisely specific.

• Rehearsal missed: 1 Shilling
• Failure to be dressed and ready for afternoon performances: 2 Shillings
• Judged to be drunk at playing time in the opinion of four sharers: 3 Shillings
• Failure to attend performance1 pound and forfeiture of his share of gallery takings: 10 Shillings
• Wearing any of the company's apparel outside the playhouse: 40 Pounds!!!
• Carrying on the legacy of Will Kemp... Priceless

There are some things money can't by, but for everything else there's Henslowecard.

This resource also provides unique anthologies of the companies at-a-glance. At the end of each chapter is a detailing of the companies plays, managers, players, playhouses and travelling records. It is a feature that makes this book invaluable in piecing together the history of the playhouses in Elizabethan England...
But you don’t have to take my word for it.

Ba dum duh!
-Kyle

"Come, sing me a bawdy song"

Who says that Victorians didn’t have a sense of humor? (Well, Oscar Wilde for one, I suppose.)

For a people often classified as uptight, dour, and repressed, Victorians certainly had a healthy love for the bawdy. One manifestation of this love of which I have only recently become aware is the so-called burlesque, specifically the highly intriguing Shakespeare burlesque. (That’s right; it’s not just a movie starring Cher and Christina Aguilera.) So, if you think satire and parody are modern conventions, think again. The Shakespeare burlesque of the nineteenth century took spoofing to a whole new, Mel Brooks-worthy level.

First of all, Shakespeare underwent a great resurgence of popularity in the nineteenth century, which expressed itself in everything from the most serious (and now legendary) performances of actors like Edwin Booth, to the broad caricatures of the burlesque. The Victorian burlesque, also known as a “travesty” or an “extravaganza,” was simply a parody of any well known opera or classical play – a musical comedy featuring fairly low-brow humor and women in tights. Although, to be fair, with any burlesque there was an assumed expectation of familiarity with the source material, implying a certain level of intellectual in-the-know.

One of the first Shakespeare burlesques was based on Hamlet: the 1810 Hamlet Travestie in Three Acts with Burlesque Annotations, after the manner of Dr. Johnson and Geo. Steevens, Esq. At the end of the show, Hamlet and Laertes square off in a boxing match rather than a duel, and all concludes with Hamlet gasping out, “Here goes, Horatio – going –going – gone!” More burlesques followed closely on Hamlet’s heels. Richard III became “A Merrie Mysterie in One Act;” The Tempest became The Enchanted Isle; and The Merchant of Venice became “Shylock, or The Merchant of Venice Preserved, An entirely new reading of Shakespeare, From an edition hitherto undiscovered by modern authorities, and which it is hoped may be received as the stray leaves of Jerusalem Hearty-Joke.” And let us not forget A Thin Slice of Ham Let! from the 1860’s.

Bad puns abounded in these works. Puns were the primary comedic weapon, and the worse the pun, the better the burlesque. In one take on Macbeth, Macbeth and Banquo appear first under an umbrella. Upon the witches greeting of "Hail! hail! hail!", Macbeth asks Banquo, "What mean these salutations, noble thane?" and is told "These showers of 'Hail' anticipate your 'reign'.” (Get it?)

Sheet music for the burlesque, Faust up to Date

Some select dialogue from this work:

Mephistopheles: "Along the Riviera dudes her praises sing."
Walerlie: "Oh, did you Riviera such a thing?"

Burlesques were usually written in verse, as exemplified in Gilbert Abbot A’Beckett’s Shakespeare burlesque King John (With the Benefit of the Act), when Hubert tells John of the mysterious appearance of multiple moons in the sky:

Hub. To night, my lord, they say twelve moons were seen,
Three pink, three orange, half-a-dozen green,
And in addition to this crowd of moons,
There have been five and twenty fire-balloons.
K. John. Oons! -- moons! -- balloons!
Hub. The people in the street,
Shake their heads frightfully, whene'er they meet;
And he that speaks, doth grip the hearer's button,
While what he says the other chap doth glut on.

Another trademark of the Shakespeare burlesque was large quantities of added music and songs. One 1859 burlesque of Romeo and Juliet contained some twenty-three musical numbers, including renditions of popular songs of the day, like "Buffalo Gals." At the end of A’Beckett’s King John, the glib conclusion runs:

Enter all the Characters for the Finale
Fate comes, we needs must take it, and not pick it,
Bring me the bucket, for I'm going to kick it.
Slow Music -- The King dies.

Lest this be too downbeat for anyone, though, John soon after rises to join in the song, declaring that he’d not “the slightest idea of dying.”

Frontpiece for the Shakespeare burlesque, King John (With the Benefit of the Act), featuring King John in his ridiculous, pseudo-medieval garb.

All things considered, this scenario isn’t too far removed from what Shakespeare’s original audiences would have witnessed: the tragic characters rising from the dead at the conclusion of a play to join in a merry dance. Elizabethan audiences loved a good song and dance, and sixteenth-century theatre frequently incorporated such things as an entertainment bonus. They also relished physical comedy, puns, and rude humor – staples of the burlesque. Plus, Shakespeare’s own comedies often venture into the realm of the burlesque themselves; just look at the “Pyramus and Thisbe” debacle in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. So, while the Shakespeare burlesques caused a good deal of controversy in their day for presuming to mock the sanctity of Shakespeare (Othello, the Moor of Fleet Street, anyone?), in truth they displayed a theatrical sense that the Bard himself probably would have enjoyed.

Natalie A.

Top Five Archive Finds

Over the past month the American Shakespeare Center offices have been turned upside-down, cleaned, and re-organized. In late May the education department tackled the archive, cataloging folder upon folder of pamphlets, programs, letters, pictures, and DVDs, all of which were neatly filed away in boxes to be moved to Washington and Lee University in Lexington, Virginia. Three weeks later Tou operations Manager, Darlene Schenk and I cleaned out an old filing cabinet containing tour information dating back to 1990.

During these two explorations of ASC history I came across many strange and wondrous things. Here are a few of my favorites.

1) Key rings

In the 1993 Midsummer Night’s Dream folder were three key rings. While there were no keys, each had a neon fob labeled “The Grey Ghost,” or, as one of the key chains proclaimed, “Grey Nissan Truck.” After asking around I discovered that “The Grey Ghost” was the nickname for the touring van back then.

Three of the drivers (actors in that year’s troupe) apparently decided to preserve their key rings for posterity. There were many things in the archive that made me ask “why did we keep this?” – including several scrawled-upon post-it notes and innumerable pieces of scrap paper. However, the key rings were by far the strangest. In an archive made composed mostly of paper, they really stand out.

2) Photos from yesteryears

Dr. Cohen, Jim Warren, John Harrell, Dr. Menzer… most people connected with the American Shakespeare Center know their names. I thought I knew their faces until my colleagues had to point them out to me in the many photos and DVDs we archived. For example, Mr. Harrell was once known as “John Chidester Harrell.” He also had long, curly, blonde hair. He is pictured in a 1992 article strumming away at his guitar, hair pulled into a ponytail, before a performance of Merchant of Venice.

Another favorite photo is of Jim Warren. He is in the background, giving a note to an actor. The photograph would not be remarkable if not for the fact that his hand is raised to scratch his nose, a habitual movement that survives to this day.

3) Money

Not really. I found touring contracts. Early on, they are one page and very straightforward: what show, when, where, how much it will cost. Over the years the contracts grew and grew, going from one page to nine pages, and the performance fees increased exponentially. Building the world’s only recreation of Shakespeare’s indoor theater may have had something to do with it, as it increased the company’s prestige and name recognition.

4) Thank-you notes

These were by far my favorite things to catalog. Lucky for me, there were (and are) hordes of them. The Shenandoah Shakespeare Express left in its wake happy teachers, ecstatic parents, and many a budding Shakes-nerd. One San Fransisco family rented the Emma Thompson Much Ado About Nothing after seeing the SSE’s production in 1994. The children were interested in “anything with Shakespeare,” but found the movie “much less enjoyable” than the SSE.

5) Letters from a Correctional Facility

Did you know that in 1994 the Shenandoah Shakespeare Express performed Taming of the Shrew for a prison? Dr. Thomas Berger of St. Lawrence University, a long time friend of the company, arranged for the SSE to perform for the inmates of the Riverview Correctional Facility in New York. According to Superintendent Barkley, Taming was reviewed in the inmate newspaper; unfortunately no copy of the review survives in our archive. The superintendent’s letters thank the SSE for their time and patience when dealing with the facility’s requirements. Apparently several props had to be changed, and the programs could not be given out because the SSE’s address was on the cover. “All in all,” writes Barkley, “the evening went smoothly and the audience enjoyed the production.”

--Jane J.

The Shakespeare Code: Part II

As I mentioned in “Part I” of this blog, I have recently stumbled into a slew of Shakespearean authorship theories, uncovering all sorts of speculative connections between Shakespeare and myriad secret societies, individuals, locations, etc. – “some serious and some fictional.” Since my previous blog explored the “serious” side of things, this one shall turn to the fictional. Of course, the amount of fiction out there about Shakespeare – the man and the myth – is vast, and I only have time to write one small entry. The book I read, which was also my introduction to modern Shakespeare-centric fiction, was Harvard professor Jennifer Lee Carrell’s Interred with their Bones. First, however, a warning: If this book happens to be on your “to read” list, proceed no further, as here be spoilers!

* * * * *

Written in the distinctive and oft-copied vein of The Da Vinci Code, Carrell’s book has all the requisite elements of Dan Brown’s thriller. It begins with the death of a scholarly mentor-figure who leaves behind a tantalizingly vague clue, sending the protagonist off on a race to uncover a trail of historical hints which could, in turn, lead to the revelation of a massive historic cover-up. Enter a relative (well, sort of, in Carrell’s case) of the deceased to assist the protagonist. Furthermore, the protagonist is affiliated with Harvard. There’s also a mysterious assassin. There’s a dogged policeman. There’s even the older Sir So-And-So figure, with a deep love and/or scary obsession for the subject matter who turns out to be a double-crosser. Now, I freely admit that I am a fan of Dan Brown. I do think it’s a mistake to take his fictional stories as gospel (so to speak), but I think he writes frothy and entertaining tales for the history buff. Personally, I wasn’t thrilled with Carrell’s writing style, nor with her heroine, the terminally underdeveloped and perpetually personality-less Kate Stanley. This blog post, however, is not meant to be my own review of Carrell’s book itself, but rather a rumination on the impetus behind it. The review on the invaluable website Mr. William Shakespeare and the Internet pretty well encapsulates my own feelings (except for the part about Carrell being a better writer than Brown, with which I would respectfully disagree).

Fiction is certainly an interesting, and I would say more appropriate, vehicle for putting forth theories on the “Shakespeare authorship question,” and Carrell’s contribution makes an appealing companion study piece to Amundsen’s Organisten. Like Amundsen in real life, Carrell’s characters are after Shakespeare’s lost manuscripts; in this case, the once documented but now lost Cardenio. Given my recent discoveries in this area, I was rather hoping the story would build up to a dramatic conclusion on Oak Island – but, alas, it was not to be. It goes almost everywhere else, though, from England to ghost towns of the American southwest to Washington, DC to Spain and back again. Along the way, Kate Stanley and co. find long lost letters in secret compartments, ciphers embedded in old texts, and manuscripts hidden in desert caves, among other adventures. Also like Amundsen, Carrell touches on the figure of Francis Bacon. In Carrell’s world, however, Bacon is only one part of a so-called “chimerical beast” – an entire committee of Shakespeares who pool their talents to create the plays. This tag-team of writers includes all the big candidates who have been put forth over the centuries: Bacon; Edward de Vere, Earl of Oxford; William Stanley, Earl of Derby; Mary Sidney, Countess of Pembroke; and the actor William Shakespeare himself.

Shakespeare + Bacon + de Vere + Stanley + Sidney =
William Shakespeare, famous playwright?

On a personal level, Carrell describes herself as “happily agnostic” in regard to the Shakespeare dilemma, but she also admits to having a distinct Stratfordian leaning. This confession, at least, makes me appreciate the fact that she’s not taking herself too seriously throughout Interred with their Bones; it’s meant to be fun, not fanaticism, and she’s not pushing an agenda. On her official website, Carrell calls the historical figures featured in her work “fantasias upon fact.” Indeed, one particularly interesting section of the site is devoted to “Fact and Fiction” and provides a thorough compendium of knowledge relating to the theories set forth in her story, including a great collection of links.

Without doubt, William Shakespeare of Stratford has had some famous doubters throughout history. And I don’t mean just Peter Amundsen. Henry James, Mark Twain, Sigmund Freud, and even the renowned modern Shakespearean actor Sir Derek Jacobi are counted among his non-believers. One of the most recent anti-Stratfordians to come out of the woodwork, however, is film director Roland Emmerich, whose upcoming movie Anonymous is a vehicle for his own, ahem, informed opinion. Thus, it seems only fitting that this film be the topic of the final part of my “Shakespeare Code” trilogy.

Natalie A.

Mother of the Bard

Here’s something I didn’t know: In 1914, Mother’s Day was first established as an official national holiday by US President and Staunton native Woodrow Wilson. But although the holiday with which we’re familiar might be a relatively new conception, a healthy appreciation of mothers is no new practice. As pillars of strength, pictures of gentleness, embodiments of love, and epitomes of wisdom, mothers throughout history have inspired and spurred their children on to greatness – when not achieving greatness themselves. True, there have been a few kooky ones in the mix, but on this holiday, I think it’s only fair to focus on the majority, those wonderful moms we all know and love.

The Christian Church, one of the dominant institutions of Shakespeare’s world, set the bar high with Mary, mother of all mothers, who was a symbol of love and understanding to countless men and women. Indeed, a predecessor of the modern Mother's Day may be found in the early Christian tradition of honoring the Virgin Mary, along with the church in which one was baptized, one's “Mother Church,” on the fourth Sunday in Lent. In the sixteenth century, this celebration was broadened to include human mothers and not just spiritual ones, and it became known as “Mothering Sunday.” As a particular bonus, the day was also declared a reprieve from Lenten fasting, so indulgent feasts were often prepared with mothers as the guests of honor. The traditional English Mothering Day treat was, and still is, the Simnel Cake, a fruit and spice cake topped with eleven balls of marzipan, representing eleven of the apostles – sans that troublemaker Judas. Today, Mothering Sunday is still celebrated in the UK and is the equivalent of our own American Mother’s Day.
Proud Mamas - Elizabethan sisters and their babies (ca. 1599).

Mothers, without question, did not have it easy in Shakespeare’s day. Elizabethan England was, despite the matriarch who lent her name to the age, a firmly patriarchal society. Yet women carried numerous responsibilities on their shoulders, while at the same time submitting in all formal customs to their men and masters – meaning they did a lot of the work with few of the perks. Not the least of these duties was the responsibility of bearing children (preferably of the male variety). Women ran a high risk of dying in childbirth, and, should they survive that ordeal, they had also to endure the all-too-likely chance that their child would then die in early life. Legally, a married woman’s rights were curtailed at every turn, and her position was subservient in every way to her husband. In fact, a mother had no legal guardianship over her children, unless appointed as such by her husband in his will. In spite of these official restrictions, though, many Elizabethan mothers were highly involved in the running of their household. They managed property, oversaw domestic duties, and planned for and negotiated their children’s education as well as (most important of all!) their marriage.

Shakespeare’s own mother provides us with an example of the strength required of Elizabethan women through the common trials and tribulations of the time. Mary Arden came from a respected, well-to-do family, yet in 1557, at seventeen, she married John Shakespeare, a mere yeoman farmer. John was an ambitious fellow, however, and he rapidly rose to prominence in his home village of Stratford, ascending from ale-taster (sounds like fun, but this was also a critical job in the days when water was usually too dangerous to drink) to Chief Alderman. But almost as quickly as he had risen John Shakespeare fell from social grace, becoming indebted and impoverished. One reason for this, which is still debated, may be that he and Mary faced public hostility for being Catholic at a time when England was predominantly Protestant. Elizabeth’s sister and erstwhile Queen of England, the fanatically Catholic “Bloody Mary,” hadn’t left Protestants well-disposed toward their Catholic neighbors. Still, through all of these socials ups and downs, Mary stood by her husband and her faith, while also dealing with the struggles of raising a family. Two of her daughters died in infancy before a son, William Shakespeare, was born in 1564. But the firstborn son caused his fair share of troubles for his mother. In 1582, Mary received what must have been the rather unwelcome news that eighteen-year-old Will had gotten the twenty-six-year-old Anne Hathaway pregnant. After a hasty marriage, Mary found herself a grandmother at forty-three. Luckily, things eventually began to look up for Mary and John, as their errant son made a name for himself as a playwright in London, and his parents were restored to some of their previous wealth and social standing. Mary died in 1608, seven years after her husband and eight years before her legendary son.

Mary Arden’s childhood home in Wilmcote.

Sadly, it’s up to our imaginations to theorize what influence Mary Arden might have had on the plays of her son. Mothers in Shakespeare’s plays run the gamut, from Lady Macduff to Lady Capulet; from Queen Margaret to Queen Gertrude. It's fair to say that not many of them are shining examples of benevolent motherhood; warm and fuzzy they are not, when they’re present at all. But they are all strong, in one way or another; they are all fighters. And even if what they are fighting for isn't always “right,” it's frequently on behalf of their children. So this Mother’s Day, pause for a moment, and – whether you’re feeling grateful your mom isn’t as quite as, shall we say, tempestuous as that Queen of the Goths, Tamora, or you’re admiring her Hermione-esque patience and tolerance – give credit where credit is due to mothers around the world and through history.

Natalie A.

Dedicated to my own mom – whom I’m slowly but surely bringing around to a reluctant enjoyment of that boring Shakespeare guy.

"In the spring time, the only pretty ring time."

“Perchance he’s hurt i’ th’ battle.” All’s Well that Ends Well, 3.5.86

While we here in Virginia have certainly been living recently with all the trials of

“The uncertain glory of an April day,
Which now shows all the beauty of the sun,
And by and by a cloud takes all away,”
(The Two Gentlemen of Verona, 1.3.85-87)

we may hope for a sunny, idyllic (and tornado free!) Easter this Sunday.

Like so many of our most popular holidays, Easter began as a pagan celebration, morphed into an intensely Christian holiday, and has today settled into an odd hybrid of the two – with a healthy dose of Cadbury Cream Eggs thrown in.

The name “Easter” is presumably derived from the Germanic goddess of fertility, Eostre, in whose honor festivities were held at the spring equinox to mark the advent of the season. Thus, Easter stems from the ancient tradition of celebrating the rebirth and renewal that comes at this time of year. In fact, two of the items most commonly associated with the holiday, eggs and rabbits, were both ancient symbols of fertility. (Well, not quite; hares were the original “Easter Bunny,” or “Osterhase,” but eventually were replaced by the better known – and cuter – rabbit.) And when these two unique objects combined, you got an egg-delivering rabbit that would become an indelible image of Easter through the centuries.

In keeping with the theme of rebirth, Easter was adopted by the Catholic Church at the Council of Nicea in 325 A.D. to celebrate the resurrection of Jesus. It does not, however, fall on the same date every year, but continues, in the pagan tradition, to be governed by the cycles of the moon. Easter is always on the first Sunday following the full moon of the vernal equinox on March 21. Yet Easter is really the culmination of a whole season of religious observances, beginning 40 days prior on Ash Wednesday. The following period of fasting and restraint, known as Lent, culminates in Holy Week, or the week leading up to Easter Sunday and encompassing Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, and Good Friday. This lengthy period of fasting could be where the tradition of hard boiling Easter eggs comes from, since that may have been the way in which the eggs were preserved through Lent, when consumption of meat, dairy, and eggs was forbidden. As you might imagine, by the time Easter itself rolled around, people were ready to feast and let loose.

An Elizabethan Easter

This year, Shakespeare shares a special bond with Easter, since the Bard’s birthday falls on the very same weekend. Although in the plays themselves, references to this spring holiday are limited to one: In Romeo and Juliet, Mercutio chides Benvolio, asking, “Didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter” (3.1.26-27)? This quip refers to the popular custom of the time of wearing one’s new clothes on Easter. This was a chance for people from all levels of society to show off their new garb, from simple to fantastic. For some, it was an especially momentous occasion, since it might be the only time they received new clothes all year. Today, people still like to show off their snazzy new “Easter bonnets” on the day.

16th Century Shepherds

Other activities which Shakespeare’s contemporaries would have enjoyed include various outdoor games and dancing. Morris dancing, in which belled and beribboned men would perform intricate dances to frighten away the spirits of winter, was especially popular. The practice of dying and decorating eggs is thought to have begun as early as the 13th century, and in Elizabethan England the colorful eggs were exchanged as gifts between young people. Small children would lay out nests at night, in which the Easter hare would deposit eggs for them to find the next morning – the predecessor of the modern Easter basket. The image of little Will Shakespeare laying out his Easter nest, hoping to find colorful treasures there in the morning, is a charming one.

Of course, what would any decent holiday be without some delicious food to help you celebrate? If you choose to pass up the chocolate bunnies and marshmallow Peeps for some more historical fare (or maybe you’d like to indulge in both, which may or may not be what I’ll be doing…), you might want to try the ubiquitous hot cross bun. Read the history of this baked good, which includes a reference to Ben Jonson’s Bartholomew Fair, here.

And Happy Easter to one and all!

Natalie A.

"Born under a charitable star."

It cannot be denied that, for a man of 447, William Shakespeare has held up remarkably well. Since his death in 1616, each subsequent generation has adopted the world famous playwright for their own, using Shakespeare’s words in some unique way to represent their own time. There are myriad ways in which he is still being discovered and exulted, this blog being one example amid thousands. This year, upon the birthday of the Bard, a whole collection of well-wishers are sharing their love at HappyBirthdayShakespeare.com, and my own tiny tribute will be among them.

Working at the American Shakespeare Center, I have had the opportunity to indulge my love both of Shakespeare and of history and to combine them in heretofore unimagined ways. As a historian, I have above all enjoyed placing the works of Shakespeare in a historical context. For me, coming to see the plays in the framework of their own place and time and not just as SHAKESPEARE’S PLAYS, floating in a timeless vacuum, was something of a revelation. Above all, it has helped to humanize William Shakespeare, the man. Discovering the ins and outs of early modern theatre – the business, the technical details, the glorious heights and monumental lows – and the comedic and tragic facets of daily life in Elizabethan England, is still an ongoing process in my work, and the findings often overflow into my writing here. In that vein, I thought I would take a look at Elizabethan birthdays, and April 23 in particular, since it carries with it the added weight of also being an important, stand-alone English holiday.

"It is my birthday."

Although it isn’t known for sure that Shakespeare was born on April 23, the name of baby Will, or “Guilemus filius Johannes Shakespeare,” appears in the baptismal record of the parish church in Stratford, England, on April 26, 1564. Since a child was commonly required to be baptized on the first Sunday or holy day following their birth, the 23rd is the commonly accepted date chosen as the one on which little Shakespeare entered the world. It is also St. George’s Day, St. George being the patron saint of England perhaps most famously invoked in Shakespeare’s own Henry V. Like many other aspects of the man’s life, however, the true date of Shakespeare’s birth will likely remain forever a mystery.

Although not the glut of presents, pointy hats, and party favors that they are today, a birthday would indeed have been a day of note in early modern England. After all, celebrating birthdays was a tradition which went back millennia; in his Histories, Herodotus says that the ancient Persians, presaging countless others down through history, liked to commemorate the occasion by eating “an abundance of dessert.” The tradition of making a cake to commemorate one’s birthday certainly existed in Shakespeare’s day, but there were likely no candles, due to the expense, and definitely no singing “Happy Birthday to You,” a jingle which didn’t appear until the twentieth century. The Elizabethans possessed an ever-growing love for sugar, which they had begun importing in increasing quantities from far off lands in the East and West, and which they incorporated into both their baking and medicine. On the day of his natality, Shakespeare might have enjoyed some Banbury cakes with family or friends, an original recipe for which appeared in the 1615 English cookbook, The English Huswife:

To make a very good Banbury Cake, take four pounds of Currants and wash and pick them very clean, and dry them in a cloth: then take three Eggs, and put away one yelk, and beat them and strain them with the Barm, putting thereto Cloves, Mace, Cinamon, and Nutmegs, then take a pint of Cream, and as much mornings Milk, and set it on the fire till the cold be taken awy; then take flowre, and put in good store of cold butter and sugar, then put in your eggs, barm and meal, and work them all together an hour or more; then save a part of the past, & the rest break in pieces, and work in your Currants, which done, mould your Cakes of what quantity you please, and then with that paste which hath not any Currants, cover it very thin, both underneath and aloft. And so bake it according to the bigness.

In addition to utilizing generous portions of sugar, this recipe also makes use of currants, and spices such as cinnamon and nutmeg, all popular ingredients of Shakespeare’s world. If you'd like to make some Banbury cakes in his honor, but all that “baking according to the bigness” sounds a tad daunting, try the friendlier, modern recipe.

If April 23 really was his true day of birth, it is tantalizing to imagine Shakespeare taking special pleasure each year in the St. George’s Day festivities, enjoying the fact that his own birthday was being celebrated by all across the country. After all, during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, St. George’s Day was a holiday of tremendous importance, on par with Christmas Day. There would have been music, dancing, and feasting, and men would often wear red roses, while the red cross of St. George’s flag would be flown proudly around the town.

In a compelling bit of symmetry, April 23 is also the day on which Shakespeare died, in 1616. Between these two matching bookends falls a life of soaring accomplishments and particular genius, as well as long, empty stretches of the unknown. So, whether you want to celebrate his life or his death, or anything that fell in between, there are lots of ways you can turn this Saturday, April 23, into a party! UNESCO has since declared April 23 “The Day of the Book,” in honor of the power of the written word throughout history, and especially of Shakespeare. It has also, unofficially, become “Talk Like Shakespeare Day,” so break out your “thees” and “thous,” and raise a glass to William Shakespeare…or to St. George, if you prefer. But don’t let the day slip by unnoticed.

And, while I won’t be around to see it, I like to think – and truly believe – that in another 447 years we will still be celebrating Shakespeare, in all his magnificence and mystery. (Unless, of course, we’ve discovered time travel…or cloned him.) Just look at all he has influenced; look at all there is to learn, and, should you accomplish that, all there is yet to find out. After all, as Ben Jonson declared in that oft repeated phrase from his own dedicatory poem to Shakespeare, “He was not of an age, but for all time!”

Natalie A.

The Shakespeare Code: Part 1

Where’s Dan Brown when you need him? Because Norwegian author and code-cracker Petter Amundsen clearly wants to be the next Robert Langdon. Along with fellow Norwegian Erlend Loe, Amundsen has written Organisten, or The Organ Player (Amundsen’s own profession). In the book, Amundsen claims to have discovered hidden ciphers within Shakespeare’s First Folio of 1623. These secret ciphers, according to the author, reveal not William Shakespeare but Sir Francis Bacon as the true creator of the plays. But Sir Francis was not alone in these endeavors. Instead, all text was created out of an editorial partnership between Bacon and the Rosicrucians (or the Brotherhood of the Rosie Cross), a secret philosophical society with ties to the Masons. And there’s more! The uncovered ciphers not only shed light on the true authors(s), but also lead the way to the long lost original “Shakespeare” manuscripts, hidden long ago, Amundsen believes, by Bacon and his Rosicrucian conspirators. Now, I was familiar with the Bacon-as-Shakespeare theory, but the whole Rosicrucian/Masonic element was a new one to me.

The cover of Amundsen’s book. The fact that he was able to lift from an arbitrary passage (Ben Jonson’s commendation of the Droeshout engraving of Shakespeare) his title word, “organisten,” would seem to rather take away from than lend credence to his other embedded findings.

Amundsen’s book is not yet available in English, but a brief foretaste of his findings may be found at BaconSocietyInc.org. In Shakespeare and the Rosy Cross: First Folio Breakthrough – Crucial Signatures Arose (Get it? Arose?), Amundsen asks the questions, “Might there have been a grander motive behind this issuance [of the First Folio] than merely the hope for pecuniary gain? Could someone else be sponsoring the publishers? Someone with an agenda?” Needless to say, Amundsen believes the answer is “yes.” The conclusion is reached that the Shakespeare First Folio was, in fact, both written and then published by the Rosicrucians, whose goal was to spread knowledge and free thought to all levels of British society through the medium of public theatre. As proof, Amundsen goes on to cite various pieces of evidence he has found within the text, each of which involves some complex number patterns that are, I am sorry to say, far over my head. They have something to do with 3 and 17, Pythagorean 3-4-5 triangles, and the number of times “rosie” appears in the First Folio.

The word “CROSS,” discovered in Cymbeline, 2.4.

For example, Amundsen has this to say about the appearence of ”rosie” in Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116: “Sonnet 116 is the only sonnet with a numbering typo. It reads 119, an error of three. [...] Following the pattern observed in the Folio we jump 17 sonnets ahead. Sonnet 133 has the word crossed as word 69. This is an increment of three from Rosie which was word number 66, 17 sonnets back. Please recall that the typo consists of a 6 made into a 9. 3 = C. 17 = R. Rosicrucians called themselves cabalists. This warrants a geomatrical calculation of their chosen name, Rosie Cross. 17+14+18+9+5 + 3+17+14+18+18= 133. Just like the number of the “crossed” Sonnet.” Indeed.

A documentary has even been made about Amundsen and his discoveries. Called Sweet Swan of Avon: A Movie about the Greatest Mystery in Global Literature, it was produced by the Norwegian company AS Videomaker and The British Shakespeare Company of London. The film is not yet available on DVD, but you can watch the introduction here. I could definitely picture this finding a place on the History Channel – perhaps between Ancient Aliens and MonsterQuest?

In the end, Amundsen’s research leads him to, of all places, Oak Island, Nova Scotia. This enigmatic island, it turns out, is the wellspring of a whole host of lost treasure myths and has been given the moniker “the Money Pit.” It is thought to be the resting place of everything from Blackbeard’s secret pirate hoard to Marie Antoinette’s jewels, and even possibly the Holy Grail and/or the Ark of the Covenant. So, is this the resting place of this lost literary treasure – Bacon’s original writings and trove of Rosicrucian knowledge? Unfortunately, the story is stuck in a cliff-hanger for now. Exploration for riches of all sorts continues today on Oak Island, but Amundsen has not yet managed to unearth these elusive documents.

One blogger’s finding (“BACon”!), highlighted in red.

However, Amundsen’s work has inspired others to (re)jump on the Bacon bandwagon, as this blog shows. There’s even a Facebook group dedicated in support of Amundsen’s findings, with the understated title, “The worlds [sic] most important treasure is buried on Oak Island!!!” But is it? All of this has gotten me thinking: the offices of the ASC are located in an old Masonic building. Coincidence? I think not.

Natalie A.

PS. Researching Amundsen and his book has unearthed my own, Oak Island-worthy hoard of fun and fascinating Shakespearean conspiracies, some serious and some fictional. Therefore, I hope to make this entry the first part in a planned trilogy dealing with more of these findings. So, stay tuned...

A Festival of Theses: The Sequel

It’s hard to believe, but it’s that time again. Yesterday, I found myself attending the Spring 2011 Thesis Festival at the Blackfriars Playhouse. Thirteen Mary Baldwin MLitt/MFA students were on hand to share their Shakespearean (and non-Shakespearean) discoveries, but, this time, instead of dead leaves crunching underfoot and the smell of various pumpkin-flavored beverages in the air, forsythia and daffodils were blooming and t-shirts outnumbered turtlenecks. The sense of scholarly excitement was the same, however, as students and professors and the curious public (like yours truly) gathered to hear what these graduate students had to say.

There was a glut of information at this spring’s Festival for someone of a history bent, such as myself. Before the day even began, my inner medievalist was already excited to see Shakespeare’s Chaucer, presented by Matthew Carter and featuring the illustrious authors themselves (in the forms of Kimberly Maurice and Maria Hart, admittedly). This examination of “source studies” looked at Chaucer’s Troilus and Criseyde as one of the inspirations for Shakespeare’s own Troilus and Cressida, while studying the different historical contexts out of which each sprung. England of Chaucer’s day was embroiled in the Hundred Years War with France and beset by plague, while Shakespeare was writing for “God fearing Englishmen who love a fight.” This, Carter theorized, caused Chaucer to focus on the romantic while Shakespeare embraced the military aspects of the story. Yet Carter pointed out that both works, frequently regarded in a strictly literary light, should also be appreciated as performance pieces, since that was the intention of their respective authors.

Another presentation with a medieval component was Maxim Overton’s The Pyrotechnique Story: Commanding Devils, Dragons, the Natural, and the Celestial, which looked at how the introduction of gunpowder to England in the late Middle Ages came to play a critical role on the early modern stage. Overton called the printing press and gunpowder the two most significant introductions to early modern England, and the two both played a role in the theatrical world. Unlike regular fire, which in earlier, medieval productions was often associated with heavenly figures, gunpowder and fireworks in an early modern show routinely symbolized devils and other evil characters. Overton even theorized that the dragon seen on the title page of Christopher Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus was a firework-powered property -- the same, in fact, used for an earlier play by Robert Greene on notorious “pyromancer” Roger Bacon.

Faustus and the possible firework-spouting dragon.

At the opposite end of the historical spectrum, Katy Mulvaney, in “They Won’t be Troubling Shakespeare but They’ll Do”: Contemporary Playwrights Writing for Shakespeare’s Globe, spoke about some more modern plays which have been performed at Shakespeare’s Globe in London, specifically Peter Oswald’s The Storm and Jack Shepherd’s Holding Fire! Mulvaney looked at how these contemporary shows play with early modern staging conventions (demonstrated by volunteer actors staggering about in supposed blindness on the brightly lit stage in a send-up of universal lighting) and also how the playwrights can harness anachronistic uses of the Globe space unheard of to Shakespeare and his fellows. Yet Mulvaney drew an intriguing link to early modern performances in the form of audience interaction. Modern theatre at the Globe may revive the feel of the more rambunctious, participatory audience of Shakespeare’s day through new techniques for involving audience members directly in a show. Mulvaney echoed this concept in her own presentation by calling on volunteers from the audience and planting actors throughout the playhouse. In this way, even contemporary productions at the new Globe are retaining the spirit of the Elizabethan theatrical experience.

I also enjoyed tremendously Mediated Dramaturgy: Using Technology to Improve Different Forms of Dramaturgy, by Paul Rycik, on the potential uses of media in dramaturgy (yet more on education and the digital world – what seems to be a running theme through my blog contributions), and The Physics of Contranymy: Indefinition, Sublim(inal)ity, and Play, by Zachary Brown, which, once I finally wrapped my brain around the topic, was a fascinating study of the repercussions of differences between the written and spoken word and the possible subconscious effect on this wordplay on an audience. As before, for a more in depth look at each of the thirteen presentations, check out the ASC Education liveblogs of Session 1, Session 2, and Session 3. Also as before, I had a great time at this event and would heartily encourage anybody and everybody with a glimmer of interest in Shakespeare, Marlowe, Middleton (any Elizabethan playwright), history, literature, fireworks (literal and rhetorical), or theatre (early modern or just plain modern) to come out to one of these festivals. Let’s put it this way: you could be a Lady Gaga fan, and there would have been something entertaining for you yesterday.

Natalie A.

Happened Upon Discoveries: Other People Who“Do It With The Lights On” (Even in 1917!)

The American Shakespeare Center has been ‘doing it with the lights on’ at the Blackfriars Playhouse in Staunton, Virginia since 2001. For ten years, this small theatre on Market Street has brought the staging conditions of Shakespeare productions and his contemporaries to life in a beautiful re-creation of Shakespeare’s Blackfriars Playhouse (the world’s only re-creation, in fact). As many of the preshow speeches dictate, the use of universal lighting creates a unique environment for audiences and actors in which “they can see you, you can see them and you can all see each other.” This essentially avant-garde brand of theatre is attributed to the loyalty the American Shakespeare Center has on early modern practices. The playhouses in Shakespeare’s period would have been lit by either sunlight or candlelight, neither of which could have been dimmed or altered for the purpose of the production. This knowledge allows the American Shakespeare Center to support academically their choice to keep the lights at the same level throughout each and every production. Living, studying, and working in this community has altered my conception of theatre forever. I was an English major whose only exposure to live Shakespeare performances was at Public Theatre’s Shakespeare in the Park in New York City. After eight months here now, I can’t really imagine seeing Shakespeare in the dark ever again. To be honest, I don’t know if I would enjoy theatre as much if the actors couldn’t see, talk to, and engage with me as an audience member. Theatre here is a continual conversation with the audience, and I cannot really imagine being shut out of that conversation ever again (although I still would like to see the Broadway Addams Family.)

To clarify my seeming divergence, the reason I have brought up our universal lighting practices and the American Shakespeare Center preshow is that universal lighting seemed to me as a characteristic of early modern theatre that common practice had abandoned until the American Shakespeare Center and places like it brought the conversation back into the light and the audience back into the play. Can we really believe that after proscenium arches and footlights the audiences was always in the dark? Can we as theatre audiences accept that the conversation just stopped until 2001 in Staunton, Virginia? Or rather, in 1988 when Dr. Ralph Alan Cohen and Jim Warren founded Shenandoah Shakespeare Express (the theatre company that would eventually become the American Shakespeare Center)? I am sure lights-on productions happened throughout those few hundred years of interim. This assurance turned into a hypothesis, and I started reading about the historical evolution of theatre and theatre audiences. I picked up a book of that same title, Theatre Audiences by Susan Bennett, and found one section that was of particular interest to me. In the section entitled “Historical Approaches to Theatre” she breaks down the evolution of theatre in terms of audience throughout history:

“A history of audiences in the theatre demonstrates, of course, a changing status. Medieval and sixteenth century audiences did not enjoy the power of the Greek audiences, but nevertheless still functioned in an active role. There was flexibility in the relationship between the stage and audience worlds which afforded, in different ways, the participation of those audiences as actors in the drama. With the establishment of private theatres in the seventeenth century, however, there is a move towards separation of fictional stage world and audience, and with the beginnings of passivity and more elitist audience came codes and conventions of behavior. In terms of English theater, audiences became increasingly passive and increasingly bourgeois. With the exception of the first forty years of the nineteenth century-when the working-class audience created noisy disturbances and occasional riots in the pits- this is a steady progression to a peak in the second half of the nineteenth century. After 1850, with the pits replaced by stalls, theatre design ensured the more sedate behavior of audiences, and the footlights first installed in the seventeenth century private playhouses had become a literal barrier, which separated the audience and the stage. As Michael Booth puts it, ‘After 1850 behavior improved, and complaints were eventually made, not of uproar in the pit and gallery, but of stolid indifference in the stalls.’ In the last hundred years, none the less, there have been many challenges and disruptions of the codes and conventions which demand passivity.”

After reading this breakdown, I realized that the evolution of theatre over the past hundred years was designed to make everyone behave and follow the rules of social conduct. With the lights off, your options are limited. Your choices are either to pay attention to what’s in the light, to make out with your date, or to fall asleep. Limiting the choices of the audience removed the conversational element the Blackfriars has completely from the plays. Susan Bennett goes on to mention the consequence of proscenium theatre: passive audiences. I thought of theatre productions where passivity in the audience was actively combated against. In the Blackfriars Playhouse, actors talk directly to audience members. They present questioning lines as questions and wait for responses. The actors even physically interact with audience members. This practice destroys the comfort zone that would traditionally foster a passive audience. I can recall numerous productions where this frees audience members, and pulls them further into the world of the play. I can also recall multiple instances where audience members are unsure of how to act. The American Shakespeare Center breaks three hundred years of theatre behavior rules, and they expect their audiences to forget the rules they were raised in and to see an early modern play without concerns for the code of etiquette. Audience members are invited to sit on stage, to answer the actors, and to look wherever they please. They can even get up and get a drink at the bar whenever they would like to. The American Shakespeare Center actors create the world of the play for the audience and then invite them to live in it fully instead of just observing a show.

As I continued reading Susan Bennett’s Theatre Audiences I came across the phenomenon in the twentieth century. Productions started dissolve the convention of the fourth wall and to shock audiences out of the stasis of passive observation. Throughout the fascinating list of avant-garde early twentieth century production style, I came across one that hit close to home. Susan Bennett explains the theatre style of Meyerhold’s production of Lermentov’s Masquerade, a production in Russia in 1917 that kept the lights on in the theatre throughout the production. I shared this exciting bit of information with my boyfriend, a former theatre professor and current Masters Student from New York who perked up at the mention of Meyerhold. I will fully admit I did not know who this man was. I was simply excited that people other than the American Shakespeare Center and early modern England had “done it with the lights on.” I proceeded to Google, as any good scholar would. I found that Meyerhold had worked in Russia and eventually took over for Constantin Stanislavski as director his theatre. For those of you who did not go to acting school, as I did not, Stanislavski is a big name in the acting world. He essentially invented the method of acting that directly opposed the Western method acting movement of the time:

Meyerhold's acting technique had fundamental principles at odds with the American method actor's conception. Where method acting melded the character with the actor's own personal memories to create the character’s internal motivation, Meyerhold connected psychological and physiological processes and focused on learning gestures and movements as a way of expressing emotion outwardly. Following Stanislavski's lead, he argued that the emotional state of an actor was inextricably linked to his physical state (and vice versa), and that one could call up emotions in performance by practicing and assuming poses, gestures, and movements. He developed a number of body expressions that his actors would use to portray specific emotions and characters. (Although Stanislavski inspired method acting, he was also at odds with it, because like Meyerhold, his approach was psychophysical).

From my reading and various discussions with actors I have gleaned that Stanislavski was instrumental in the evolution of acting as it exists today. Meyerhold was essentially his legacy in the world of Russian theatre and is now the link between their revolutionary production style and American Shakespeare Center’s choices to “do it with the lights on.” According to The Russian Theatre Under the Revolution by Oliver M. Sayler written in 1920, Meyerhold made many of the same choices in production as the American Shakespeare Center makes now. “In performance, it was sheer joy,--the joy of the theatre as theatre. You face Meyerhold's stage with no illusion that it is not a stage. Of course it is a stage! Why pretend it isn't? There it is, under the full lights of the auditorium, curtain removed and apron extended twenty feet beyond the proscenium arch. It's a play you shall see, a play, you who love the theatre for its own sake! No cross-section of life here, no attempt to copy life! No illusion here, to be shattered by the slightest mishap or by a prosaic streak in the spectator's make-up. It's a play you shall see, and you'll know it all the time, for you'll play, too, whether you realize it or not. The audience is always an essential factor in the production of drama.”

I was excited to make this discovery and to share it with all of you. I hope you find it as interesting as I did. I think that it is always nice to realize your world is far larger and more influenced than you originally thought. While the American Shakespeare Center is not the first modern theatre to keep the lights on the audience and to invite everyone into the world of the play, the ASC is in good company.

(K.A. Lenz)

Actor-Scholar Council 3/4/11

Last Friday’s council focused on 3 Henry VI, which opened last week. Actors in attendance included Tyler, Ben, Sarah, Greg, and Alli. The ASC is working its way through Shakespeare’s two tetrologies of history plays, doing a play from the War of the Roses each Renaissance season and play from the Henriad each fall season. Dr. Menzer, who led the council in Dr. Ralph’s absence, said that it has become fashionable among theatre companies to do the whole set of history plays in one season or festival. The Royal Shakespeare Company has done this twice in the past decade. I’m glad the ASC isn’t doing that, because I don’t think I could sit through eight two and a half hour plays.

The only character who appears in all four plays of this tetrology (the three parts of Henry VI and then Richard III) is Margaret, played by Sarah Fallon. Sarah feels the Margaret in Richard III (which the ASC will perform in the 2012 Renaissance season) is hard to understand unless a person has seen the Henry VI plays. Carrying the character through the tetrology proves difficult, partly because a year separates the staging of each play. Also, a lot of Margaret’s story in the first two parts revolves around Suffolk, who is killed at the end of Part 2. Instead of focusing on him, Margaret must now focus on her son Ned.

Greg, who previously played Suffolk, now plays the titular character. King Henry, he thinks, differs in this play from in the others. He sees the king as someone who never wanted for power or kingship and must try in vain to explain to those around him, who seek just that, that other things have greater import, such as stopping all the killing. Greg calls Henry a “good king, in the wrong play.”

Ben, who plays Richard Duke of Gloucester (later to be Richard III), also played the former duke of Gloucester, Humphrey, in parts 1 and 2. This correlation gives him a lot to draw on, especially in the contrast between the two. Humphrey always tried to do right (and gets killed for it—which explains why Richard at first thinks Gloucester too ominous a dukedom to accept), while Richard does only wrong. Ben argues that Richard only becomes so bloodthirsty after Clifford brutally kills his father and little brother. Before that, he focused on getting the crown for his father, York. With them dead, he feels free to be vicious. Viewers of last year’s Part 2 will remember that the seeds of viciousness were visible when Richard impaled Somerset on his sword and hoisted him over his head.

One part of rehearsing that makes history plays unique among the ASC show: they have tech rehearsals. All the fighting, sound cues, and stage directions make them more complicated. Henry VI Part 3 has over 70 sound cues, all of which are done live by actors. They have almost no down time backstage and must work hard to bring it all together. This show even included blood, mostly in the scene of Clifford’s death. The actor playing Clifford really wanted the blood, and the scene comes just before intermission, which gives the stage managers a chance to clean up the blood. The actors would have loved more gore, but technical, costume, and time constraints prevented it. Time constraints also prevented them from having a big celebration at the end of the play, when Edward gets crowned and everyone thinks the War of the Roses ends. While this leaves the ending more open to the violence of Richard III, the actors wish they could have ended with a jig.

The actors talked about the importance of heart and emoting in making the play work. By emoting, they keep from going into what Dr. Menzer calls “historical pronouncements,” or from making a blatantly allegorical scene seem overbearing. The actors need to find out how the action relates to their characters personally, and the audience will feel their emotion. The audience may not follow all the complicated family ties, but they understand the concepts, like family or civil war. If each actor knows how he or she feels and has a firm internal grasp on the character’s history and family, that will be enough.

Today’s podcast also featured a discussion of comedy in Henry VI Part 3, some hilarious banter from Dr. Menzer, and Greg’s fascinating extended conceit about . . . toast? So be sure to listen to the council’s podcast, available soon on the website.

Forgotten Folios and Private Portraits

As I was watching Antiques Roadshow the other night (yes, that is correct, I watch Antiques Roadshow), much to my surprise, amongst the Federalist furniture and Tiffany lamps, there unexpectedly appeared a partial first folio of Shakespeare’s plays. True, this was not the entire folio as it was first published by Shakespeare’s colleagues Heminges and Condell in 1623, of which some 219 are known to still exist of the original printing of approximately 750. Instead, this one had been re-bound sometime in the nineteenth century and contained only the complete first and third parts of Henry VI (the latter of which you may, coincidentally, see currently on the Blackfriars stage). Still, these two plays along, along with the remaining individual pages from several other plays, were valued at $40,000 to $50,000. ‘Swounds! See for yourself.

Now, of course, all first folios were at one point “privately owned.” Yet to see an original printing of Shakespeare’s work, partial or otherwise, appear from the dusty depths of someone’s attic was a shock. The idea of artifacts directly relating to the celebrated Shakespeare not all being appropriately stowed in various libraries or museums was one I, at least, had never before considered. A quick internet search of various auction houses and newspaper articles reveals, however, that pieces of Shakespeare are still out there to be had – if, that is, you have a cool couple million or so to spare. And, additionally, new items are coming to light fairly regularly, each one often changing or challenging the contemporary view of that elusive figure, William Shakespeare.

An interesting study of how the remaining first folios have changed hands and increased in value over time may be seen by following the path of those belonging to one Dr. Rosenbach. Rosenbach, an American antique book collector, purchased two in 1922, one for £8,600, the highest amount for a first folio ever paid up to that time. Previously, the same folio had sold in 1864 to a British baroness for £716. Rosenbach later sold his entire collection, which by then totaled 73 folios and quartos, to a Swiss banker for over one million dollars, as this Time article from 1952, entitled “Goodbye, Shakespeare,” explains. On an interesting side note: in the past, Rosenbach had purchased yet another first folio for Harry Widener, an American businessman who then inconveniently perished in the Titanic disaster. Widener’s private collection was subsequently donated to Harvard, where it, folio included, became available to the public. You may still see it there today.

New York Times headline from 1922

Almost sixty years later, folios are still floating around out there, continuing to grow in value. In 2006, a first folio sold at Sotheby’s in London for £2.8 million. As recently as December 2010, another one went up for auction, again at Sotheby’s. This copy sold for £1.5 million. Both sold to private collectors.

A Sotheby's employee handles a copy of Shakespeare's complete first folio

One form of Shakespearean material culture which continues to shake up the scholarly world whenever it emerges from private ownership is portraiture. The current exhibition at The Morgan Library and Museum in New York City, entitled “The Changing Face of William Shakespeare,” focuses on this very subject. The exhibit includes a portrait which, in 2009, was revealed to the world as a candidate for the only likeness for which Shakespeare may have sat in his lifetime. Believed to have been painted in 1610, when Shakespeare was 46, the image had hung for centuries in a house in Ireland belonging to the Cobbe family, and it wasn’t until its owner happened to spy a similar work at the National Portrait Gallery in Britain that a connection was made. Naturally, much controversy has arisen over the authenticity of the portrait. The subject’s elaborate dress and youthful appearance led many scholars to believe it was not Shakespeare but a gentleman by the name of Sir Thomas Overbury. The two sides of the argument are laid out in these two articles:

The New York Times VS. The London Times

The Cobbe portrait – the true face of Shakespeare?

So, is this dashing figure indeed Shakespeare? What new portraits might come to light down the road? Are there yet more unknown folios waiting to be discovered, tucked away in crowded bookshelves or hidden in the bottoms of boxes? Next to Shakespeare’s long lost, super secret diary? Well, maybe that’s wishful thinking. Then again, maybe I need to go home and clean out my basement…

Natalie A.

PS. For a more in-depth exploration of the first folio and its history, the Folger Shakespeare Library, in Washington, DC (which also owns about a third of those still in existence), provides an interactive online copy for your perusing pleasure.

How 3 Henry VI is like the Star Wars Prequels

In both the movies and the Henry VI plays an incompetent ruler is the source of the central conflict. Chancellor Valorum in episode 1 and King Henry VI in all three plays. Chancellor Palpatine rises to power just like the Yorkists. First he declares the current ruler incompetent in Episode one, making himself chancellor. In Part I, the whole court already sees Henry as incompetent because he is too young to rule. This allows the Duke of Gloucester and Cardinal Beufort to take control of the kingdom.

In Episode II, the Chancellor creates a galactic emergency as an excuse to create a huge army, then he corrupts a powerful warrior to get on his side, and then, when he has all the power in the universe, he declares himself Emperor and uses the military and his Sith lord to destroy the Republic. The Yorkists operate in much the same way. In Henry the Sixth, Part II, Richard Duke of York is proclaimed protector of the Realm. Similarly in Part II, the rebellion of Jack Cade is similar to the Separatist movement that allows Chancellor Palpatine to create an uprising as an excuse to create a vast army to defeat them.

In Part III, York uses his army, along with his powerful sons to conquer the kingdom. Richard, Duke of Gloucester, like Darth Vader, is wholly committed to evil and will stop at nothing to destroy the Lancastrians. When the Duke of York dies, all three of York’s sons become consumed with desire for revenge and vow to conquer the kingdom to revenge their father. Richard, like Vader, is also deformed from his sheer hate. Although Shakespeare dramatizes Richard as being born with deformity, the Elizabethans viewed deformity as a sign of evil from birth.

In both the plays and the movies, the ambitions of individual people raise an evil empire, seeking power and revenge. Just as the Sith wished to revenge their exile from the Jedi council, the Yorkists wish to revenge the deposing of King Richard II a generation earlier. In addition Richard Duke of York’s seeks revenge for the Lancastrians proclaiming his father a traitor.

And like the Star Wars prequels, the worst atrocity of The Wars Of the Roses is the slaughter of children. When Clifford kills York’s 10 year old son Rutland, and when the Yorkists kill Prince Edward, it is clear that both sides have gone to the Dark Side.

The great communist writer Jan Kott described this play as a dramatization of people who manipulate the Great Machine of history, and either thrive with its help, or become ground up in it. Over the course of the evening, the audience sees the rise and fall of two noble houses, as well as a series of civil conflicts that cover England in blood. Begun this Rose War has.

--Paul Rycik, dramaturgy intern for3 Henry VI