A Festival Theater

by JOHN MASEFIELD

1

BETWEEN the years 1585 and 1635 the literary movement known as the Elizabethan Drama sprang up, flourished, and began to decline. Within those fifty years Shakespeare and his fellows reached and passed their perfections, leaving behind them a body of work once loved, for long misunderstood, and, though now studied and somelimes praised, not often seen upon stages, and certainly not generally known.

It is said that the composer Bizet, perhaps in similar circumstances, wrote these words: —

Is not this tragical? No: only stupid.

It is probable that most men with a feeling for poetry, with a knowledge of its methods and a sense of its power upon the heart, would agree that the plays of those fifty years, the fruit of that little England, are among our fairest and finest achievements. They were left or presented to us in disorder; then neglected, if not condemned; then saved — often as by miracle — cared for, and made again intelligible by piety and scholarship; and they can now be seen to be something not found elsewhere, and our own.

They were designed for public performance: they cannot be truly known save in public performance. Some of them were for long years popular favorites upon the stage or mines in which popular actors quarried. Many await revival. Many of them might now please more than they pleased of old. This last fact is sometimes proved when a school or college, full of eager youth, revives here and there one or other of the neglected masterpieces.

It is not thus with the other arts. No one doubts that old buildings, old music, and old paintings are great and gracious things. A great and powerful body exists to preserve old buildings; old music is sought out and replayed; clever craftsmen pass their days making the instruments for which the old music was written — the lutes, recorders, virginals, spinets, harps, harpsichords, and serpents that played the old scores. In every city there are old paintings, reverently kept. Is it not strange that old poetry, an art powerful with deep delight, should have no such service, no such home, but be left here and there, to the chance piety of eager youth in some school or college?

Putting aside for the present the remarks often made — that nobody wants to see these old plays; that Shakespeare wrote the best of them; that Shakespeare is played sufficiently; that all the rest are dead; and that if any of the rest had been any good the theater would have played them, or still plays quite enough of them; and that most of them are in verse, old-fashioned, immoral, or all three together — might not their merits be tested with system and understanding, in the kind of theater for which they were designed, so that, at the least, the worst might be known about them? All supposed murderers are so tested with system and understanding, often to the absorbed interest of the nation, and, if found guilty, may appeal.

There are in England, the land that made these plays, in every year not less than thirty thousand students compelled to some knowledge of the plays in order to pass their examinations. There are, besides these, many thousands, perhaps even millions, who care for the theater, for poetry, literature, our past. Besides these, there are our kinsmen of the Dominions, to whom our past is very precious, who come here to know it; and many millions of others who speak and read our tongue. I have been asked by men of five foreign nations where and when these plays could be seen. How could I answer these enthusiasts?

Could I say that we were too wise to care for such things; that our present was too lovely to waste upon matters of the past; that, in short, we are Englishmen, not foreigners? Some answer had to be found. Bizet’s answer was all that I could give.

Eager lovers of these old plays have made efforts, and are still making gallant and loving efforts, to make them again alive upon the stage, and to please those who love them. The professional theater, as a whole, is too cruelly hampered by the risks of failure to attempt such adventure. The big attempt is made by the little company with the genius and the insufficient means.

In any age of man, the main appeal of the professional theater must be to the audience of the time with the work of the time. The audience of any time is mixed, the work liked by it is varied. In the terrible years in which men live now, the work most usually liked offers amusement. The theater of this time offers this, with skill, in plenty, and in much variety; though amusement can be but a small part of what a theater can, and should, offer. Some light and help, some glory and hope, should also be given in theaters here and there for hours that are not amusing.

If the appeal of the time be mainly for amusement, so be it. In these pages, I appeal for the work of another time that has a claim upon our attention and our reverence.

Today, any appeal for the work of another time must be also for the spirit of another time, for the England that will follow this time. What will that England have, that it is not prepared for now? Who of us would not wish that England to know her past, to love her poetry, and to reverence her spirit? Who of us would not love to think that that future England will know her birthright and show its splendor to the world? Who of us would not be glad if that England had in London a theater devised solely for the playing of these plays through most of the year, which would maintain always one or more traveling companies showing them in the provinces, in the Dominions, and to all who seek to know them all over the world?

It will be urged that, all the Shakespeare plays are already well known everywhere. One may reply that, even so, they are almost never seen as Shakespeare meant them to be seen. Who that has seen a William Pool production can be quite content with any other method?

It will be urged that almost no other plays of his time are really worth revival. It would be easy to name a hundred worth revival, and this without trenching on the anonymous works and masques, without touching the work of the lesser poets who began and ended the movement. The wealth of startling neglected work is not small.

Whatever first-rate subsidized repertory theaters a capital city may support, and each big city will soon have at least one, no repertory theater can play more than two or three of these plays in any year. The repertory theater has to attempt to show something of all the work of the world, from the time of Pericles until now, and this to the new society, long-starved and now eager to know what the theater has wrought in all that time. England can take but a share in a repertory that is universal, but England for fifty years was unique among the nations. The plays for which I appeal are the fruits of our passionate half-century—the growth of one tree at one time, our main achievement — and should be shown as such, in a house fitted for that purpose and for no other.

2

IF IT should be asked, “ Why should not some small existing theater be bought for this purpose by the nation and adapted to this use?” might it not be answered that a great nation might prefer to honor her greatest intellectual effort by a building of thanksgiving?

Of what nature should that building be, this theater of thanksgiving? If such a building can be wrought, might it not be made to have some resemblance to the famous Globe, built by the elder Burbage for his player-son and the company in which Shakespeare acted? Outwardly this was octagonal, within (perhaps) almost circular; forms possibly difficult in a modern building of the kind, but worth the keeping in memory and in some ways helpful for the special uses demanded.

Sentiment suggests some indication of the old outer form; and more certainly a close following of the known essential permanent stage equipment, with a sensible use of all modern improvements in stage use. For instance, all the audience should be comfortably seated off the stage, none standing round it, none sitting or lolling on it. The entire building should be roofed; modern lighting should be everywhere, and modern mechanical devices used for the appearance of spiritual beings.

Certain arrangements of the acting area are essential: —

1) A large stage projecting into the house, so that its lower two-thirds will have audience on three sides of it.

2) Two entrances for the actors at the back of this stage.

3) A permanent, strong, broad gallery or balcony above these doors running across the back wall of the stage; this gallery to be entered by a door or doors in the back wall.

These are the essentials of theShakespearean theater. The stage would have upon it such traps as might be helpful — say, one towards each side and a larger one, more central and further to the back. The doors leading off the stage would have to be rather wide and high, for many fitters, cars of triumphs, supposed dead bodies, processions of spearmen, men with banners, masques of dancers, wheeled deathbeds, and banquets on wheeled tables may have to enter by them swiftly and easily. Access to the gallery may in most cases be unseen by the audience, but in a play like Macbeth a temporary visible stair (much like a ship’s gangway) is helpful to the action. The Shakespearean theater had (and needed) few other adjuncts than lively poetry and players.

A thanksgiving theater worthy of its place in a capital city, and of its task as a revealer of lovely arts, should have both ease and elegance, even though it seat not more than one thousand people. Ease of access and escape are pleasing without, and necessary within, for very much space is needed in any modern theater for the permanent staff and the company of players. There would have to be dressing rooms for at least thirty actors and actresses, within easy reach of the stage. Besides dressing rooms, any company playing much together for a long time needs a greenroom for meeting and discussion; a rehearsal room of fair size, for the rehearsal of sub-plots and special scenes; and some adjunct or fitting to one of these large rooms for the serving of simple meals after long rehearsals, or between performances on the days when two are given.

The wardrobe rooms and property storage rooms take up much space, for ease of access saves time and trouble in both. Craftsmen’s rooms must be added to these for the wardrobe women and property masters, who have the tasks of cleaning, making, mending, changing, and refitting the robes, gear, and properties; here again, light and space save time and trouble. The electricians need a considerable store and working place; so do the various cleaners. One other craft room should be added: a print room, with a hand press on which the gifted youth of the company might print the programs, with such designs as they can compass among themselves. As what they will be doing will be of great interest to all students of English all over the world, these programs should be scholarly, and should be followed at least once in each quarter with the theater’s printed sheet commenting on each play performed, criticizing each production, and suggesting other plausible and interesting ways of treating the mentioned play or character. In a very short time these programs and quarterly sheets would be much sought. Re-publications of them in book form would be helpful to students all over the world.

Some of the best craftsmen in the theater at any time would be members of the company with a talent for these important parts of the art of the stage; but in any case a theater needs a permanent staff of hardly less than twenty persons, other than the players.

The director of the theater must have his room and an office for his secretaries. The box-office staff need other rooms. Other claims upon space come from cleaners, firemen, and those handy men and women, hardly ever praised, who can make-up, dress, prompt, and bear a hand generally, and love the life. All theaters of importance will have one or two such, in their years of luck. The audience demands space. Cloakrooms and lavatories take up much space. Modern use prescribes also a foyer, and sometimes even places for food and drink.

In most modern theaters there is a large space for the company of musicians who play the overtures, accompaniments, and incidental music.

In the old theater, music was not separated from the play but a part of it: the musicians were members of the cast and sat either on the stage or in the gallery. In any theater playing these plays today, a number of the players must be good singers and musicians, for the plays make much beautiful use of song, of recorders, oboes, strings, and sometimes of martial music, trumpets, cornets, and drums. Who would not love our players to have every accomplishment, to know and play and sing the ancient songs, and to dance the dances of which the later plays made such frequent use? Who can doubt that Shakespeare was a trained singer and musician ?

In equipping such a theater, there should be the firm foundation of a theatrical wardrobe and property-store, with costumes, headgear, footwear, weapons, and trinkets for one classical, two medieval, and three Elizabethan or early Stuart casts, as for Catiline, Sir Thomas Wyatt, Macbeth, Dr. Faustus, The Mad Lover, and The Wild-Goose Chase — say, 120 costumes with their appurtenances, and with the tools, paints, chemicals, and gear for their preservation, renewal, and repair. These should suffice for a beginning, and with skilled women in charge should last long.

Of scenery there need be none, but there would be a need for curtains for use as the tapestries of old time, for the curtaining-off of parts of the backstage (as in the tent scene of Richard the Third) or as beautiful and varied back-cloths. Several sets of curtains of different colors, but lovely to the eye, should be a part of the equipment of any such theater, a costly but enduring part.

The usual appliances for the making of stagethunder, and the phonograph with records of “ noises off” — crowds, battles, movements of troops — should be included. The actors and audiences of old time were fonder of tumult and loud noise than we are. Imitation noise was then a pleasing novelty, and loud noise a part of every general joy.

3

WITH the building built, decorated, furnished, lit, warmed, equipped, with the water running, all regulations complied with, and all ready for use, a large sum of money would have been expended, and this on the assumption that our people, in a mood of thanksgiving, have given the half acre of ground on which the building stands, and laid the roads by which it is approached. Let us suppose then that the feeling of thanksgiving has been strong in the nation, that the theater has been built, and that the question is no longer that of money or of space, but of direction and genius, without which theaters and nations come to squalor. A theater needs plays, direction, and players. We have had the plays for some centuries: what about the other matters?

Scholarly actors of very great ability and exquisite influence have not been rare in this land. In my own time there have been eight, any one of whom would have made such a theater worldfamous. Two of these are still living and wellqualified. Among the younger men, the theatergoers of this time could doubtless put forward another two. From among these four, those caring intensely would choose a good man.

Of the eight whom I have seen, I can truly say that four, given such encouragement and equipment, would have shown themselves excellent. Let us remember, too, that any such theater, closely watched by scholars from all over the world, would have wise promptings at all times and a great criticism at the time of each production.

Those actors with whom I have discussed this theater have been of one mind in urging that the company should be young, bringing now minds and ways to the re-creation of old joy. Few will doubt that this instinct of the theater is right, that the company should be wholly of young people, newly from their training, and all interested in the theater of the Shakespearean time. The eager ones would be well-known. Those young players who do not care for poetry, nor for the ancient kind of play, would not press forward in support.

Let us suppose, then, that some thirty young men and women, all trained in the arts of the theater, were ready to begin, and that thirty others, all a year younger and approved as aspirants, were eager to learn. The director would gather them together, explain his views of the Shakespearean stage in its main manifestations, urge the wonder of the opportunity, and set forth the plan to be followed. The opportunity is that of knowing intimately the masterpieces of a lively turbulent time, of splendid and varying energies; the plan is to make these known all over the land that made them, in all other English-speaking lands, and to students all over the world who seek to see this unusual theater.

As soon as the company has learned the full measure of its power, when it has proved itself and found what each player can do, then a full thirty of the sixty should go on tour in this land or elsewhere, while another thirty aspirants should enter from the training-schools.

In touring, the traveling companies will not often find the projecting stage that the Shakespearean players knew, but they should always take with them some light and strong means of providing the gallery above the back of the stage, with hands skilled in the erecting of this wherever they may perform. With any such traveling company a traveling staff of wardrobe and property-keepers with ample equipment will also be needed. There should also be one or more forerunners to visit each town before the company arrives, to speak in public in schools or elsewhere upon the plays (then shortly coming), and to make sure that the local press, libraries, and institutes know that our inspired past is (so to speak) at the door. These forerunners should also be young. Eager youth should be heard: there are ever eager young scholars who love these plays and wish others to share them.

4

IT WILL be asked, “But how can such a theater, so well-equipped, so well-staffed, be built, and then, when built, supported?”

May it not be asked, before any answer be attempted, whether the need for such a theater has not been felt, with ever-growing intensity, by all English scholars, by all readers of our literature, by all lovers of our country, for more than a hundred years? I can speak with knowledge of that need for fully sixty years. May it not also be asked whether the need be not greater now, when we are nearer than ever before to English-speaking people who partly share our history and use our language; when that history and tongue have become precious to millions overseas; and when, at home, minds and spirits in England are awakened as never for centuries? How can we better show to the world what we are now than by showing what we were when we stood with all manhood for great causes and invented all beauty for delight ?

Having asked these things, let us try to discover how the theater might be built. Admitting that it should be built, might it not be admitted that it should come as an act of thanksgiving by the nation that made the plays, this English people? There are some forty-three million English people at present living in England. If the theater were to come to life as a result of the thanksgiving and were give two performances a day on every weekday, in thanksgiving to the thanksgivers, it would take the players more than ten years to return thanks. Great numbers are involved. Would it be too savage an extortion, too wanton a tyranny, to set aside one penny a head in each year for six years for the building, equipment, and maintenance of this theater of thanksgiving? It is not like the mulctings forced upon us by wicked foreigners who would bomb us tomorrow if we could not bomb back. Thanksgiving is a giving in gladness so that there may be more gladness. This special thanksgiving is to show the gladness that held our people when we stood up against the tyrant and had not yet been enslaved by the fanatic. Let us suppose that it were enacted that each man, woman, and child in England should contribute one penny in this year. There used to be a Christmas carol: —

If each contributed only one half-penny, the theater could be well begun; with another half-penny, completed and opened; and with later half-pennies, established.

Before the building and equipment could be ready, the theatrical schools would have their sixty, ninety, or a hundred and twenty clever young players picked, specially trained, and eager as only young artists can be. The actors and scholars of the time would know well what fine mind should first direct their zeal, and the fine mind would have prepared a first year’s course to go all over the world.

I believe that the venture would be self-supporting from the first, if freed from certain heavy burdens of rating and entertainment taxation that work of such interest should not bear. Many want to see these plays, will gladly pay to go to them, and, having seen, will return. If some ask why this one theater should be exempt from burdens that other theaters bear, it may be answered that every land should have theaters not working for profit, not making dividends nor gladdening landlords, but making the citizens happy with beauty and eager to make other beauty.

This venture, being self-supporting, would sometimes lose, sometimes make profits. Sometimes it will happen that there will be a conjunction of profit with the presence of three or four full companies all together in England at one time. This will make possible festivals of the kind that all lovers of literature have longed for, perhaps for centuries.

Consider what festivals would become possible. The poets of the canon cared much for history. With three or four trained companies it would be easily possible to perform a consecutive pageant of twelve plays in one week of six acting days, showing the main passionate course of our history from the reign of Edward the Second to the christening of Queen Elizabeth. It would be easily possible to run through all Shakespeare’s great cycle of seven plays in four days and end the week with Richard the Third, or perhaps repetitions of King Henry the Fourth, Part 2. A festival might be devoted to the work of any one old poet. What reader would not rejoice at the chance of seeing in one fortnight the ten best plays of any one of those greater men, or the ten best plays chosen from the period, or the ten that best illustrate the currents running then in our poetry, the native growth, euphuism, the influences of France, of Italy, of Spain? If every reader would rejoice, surely every non-reader would rejoice, too, to see the plays instead of having to read them. The plays were meant to be seen and heard. The benefit to scholars would be past telling: the help to the critic and the student of texts would be beyond price. Great scholars have toiled for years to give us fitting texts of these plays. What instant help such performances would have given, and would still give, to them.

Among the many plays of that time are some that leave us in much perplexity. Performance and re-performance of these puzzles would reveal much of their nature. The scholar’s theories about them have been stated: the rival theories have not been contrasted in the action of the stage. Would not an occasional festival give much enjoyment by the showing of these differing views upon successive days? A producer of genius will make any production memorable. Who would not wish to have light of different strengths and colors turned upon Troilus and Cressida; The Return from Parnassus; The Two Noble Kinsmen; and those early plays in which a kindling scene must come from the great mind? Who has acted Sir Thomas More; Edward the Third; and the early play of King John?

What lover of old elegance would not rejoice to see at some festival the delicate hummingbird plays of John Lyly; the play of the Bees, by John Day; Summer’s Last Will and Testament of Nashe; and at the end, The Masque of Christmas? It will be objected that these things are only old poetry when all is said. They are: they are only old English poetry, the inspired utterance of old time, that gave joy to the Englishmen of that time. It will be said that those Englishmen, like that time, are dead, and what can we care for their inspiration — we, who have our own?

Inspiration, poetical inspiration, seems to some to be a perception of what is undying, and that this is of an intensity that is joy. Have we a great deal of joy at present? Would we not all give sixpence for a little more, when we all give so much more for what is not joy at all? Sixty young people giving joy: nothing like it has ever been seen. Should we not all wish the English to begin such a matter?

The suggestion is here. Living suggestions are not lost: minds are touched by them, and little by little the world is changed by them. The theater of thanksgiving will come in time: the sixty, or ninety, or a hundred and twenty young people will take these plays all over the world, and show the hearers what our forefathers knew, that they take the hearers into the undying.

Those hearers will be glad that their forefathers cared so for living things, and, being glad, will live more amply.