“SOMETHING RICH AND STRANGE”: ESTRANGEMENT AND ADAPTATION IN SHAKESPEARE’S ROMANCES By Emily Yates A DISSERTATION Submitted to Michigan State University in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of English—Doctor of Philosophy 2022 ABSTRACT This dissertation argues that Shakespeare’s romances reflect a critical nexus where self- reflexive dramatic techniques and constructions, generic intermixtures, and the social and political contexts of early modern England all come together to highlight and explore the idea and experience of estrangement, both as it is structurally imbricated within the plays and as they affected the audiences viewing them. That is, this dissertation shows how the key concept of “estrangement” connects to the romances—Pericles, Cymbeline, The Winter’s Tale, and The Tempest—in multiple ways: thematically, generically (in terms of medieval and other sources), experientially (in connection to the concept of the “encounter” in travel writing), performatively (in terms of the “distancing” effects on audiences), and spatially (in terms of the plays being conceived for two difference playhouses). Thus, the term “estrangement,” I argue, ushers a critical language to interpret the romances in terms of their distinctive features. In these late plays, Shakespeare presents “old tales” in estranging ways that invite a critique and interrogation of established systems of power, especially patriarchal rule. The romances allow audiences to see the “righting” of wrongs that cause estrangement and possible death. Spectacular and strange moments where the wives and daughters of male rulers shift between life and death are foundational to the plays; these women haunt their husbands and fathers as well as the plays themselves. Chapter 1 uses The Winter’s Tale to show how the romances are an estranged genre; they are haunted by medieval prose romances and miracle plays, and they playfully interrupt genre expectations of the early modern period. Chapter 2 uses Pericles to show how Shakespeare’s romances reflect the traveling culture of the period, particularly early modern globalization, and an interest in cultural geography. It shows how the play stages moments of “encounter,” which function as moments of estrangement for characters within the play. Chapter 3 argues that Shakespeare incorporates elements of the masque to create scenes of spectacle, often coinciding with the deus ex machina of a deity who helps solve the problems of the characters. The chapter shows how Jupiter’s descent in Cymbeline enables the audience to question the king’s power, especially since it is Jupiter’s intervention which enables the peace at the end of the play. Finally, Chapter 4 considers space and place in The Tempest, showing how Shakespeare was adapting his plays to be able to be staged in different London theaters. The final chapter also considers the estranged space and place of global and digital adaptations of the play being performed in the twenty-first century. Overall, this dissertation demonstrates that if we pay attention to the estrangements within Shakespeare’s romances, we see how they reflect the culture of the period, create a unique affective experience for audiences, and present spaces where difference and adaptation are championed. They leave space for readers and audiences to wrestle with the complexities of life and death, to be haunted by strong female characters, and to envision “brave new worlds.” Copyright by EMILY YATES 2022 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS I have many people to thank, as a project of this length and magnitude is not completed without the help of others. I want to thank my friends and family who have supported me in so many ways throughout my journey to completing this dissertation, especially my partner, Jerod, my mother, Carolyn, and my dear friend, Jessica. I also have to thank: my students who always inspire me; my fabulous “TAs,” Avery, Charlie, and Finnegan; my professors at both Michigan State and Notre Dame; my committee members (especially my chair, Dr. Jyotsna Singh) for their advice and guidance; participants at the OVSC and SAA (Shakespearean conferences) who saw portions of my chapters, gave me feedback, and pointed me to more new and exciting research; and last, but my no means the least, my writing group (Amrutha, Soohyun, and June) who have not only read my writing more than anyone else, but who have also given me constant support throughout this process and been the greatest of friends. v TABLE OF CONTENTS INTRODUCTION ...........................................................................................................................1 Shakespeare’s “Romances” .................................................................................................7 Estrangement......................................................................................................................15 Audiences ...........................................................................................................................23 Adaptation ..........................................................................................................................29 Chapters .............................................................................................................................32 CHAPTER 1: HAUNTING AND TIME IN THE WINTER’S TALE: GENRE EXPECTATIONS AND INFLUENCES OF THE MEDIEVAL ..................................................36 Genre and Time..................................................................................................................46 Medieval Prose Romances .................................................................................................59 Haunting and the Estranged Body on Page and Stage .......................................................69 CHAPTER 2: TRAVEL IN PERICLES: EARLY MODERN GLOBALIZATION AND CROSS-CULTURAL ENCOUNTERS .........................................................................................84 Cross-Cultural Encounters and Travel Narratives .............................................................93 Travels and Estrangements of Pericles ............................................................................103 The Dramaturgy and Staging of Pericles.........................................................................113 CHAPTER 3: (ANTI-)MASQUES IN CYMBELINE: THEATRICAL FORMS AND SPECTACLE ...............................................................................................................................126 Characterizing the Masque ..............................................................................................134 The Masque and Anti-Masque in Cymbeline...................................................................147 Cymbeline in Performance: To Stage or not to Stage Spectacle ......................................163 CHAPTER 4: PLACE IN/OF THE TEMPEST: (STAGE) SPACE AND ENVISIONING THE ISLAND GLOBALLY AND DIGITALLY .......................................................................169 Space/Place in Early Modern Stages and The Tempest ...................................................176 Sycorax’s Hauntings ........................................................................................................188 Digital Islands: The Tempest on Stages Today ................................................................194 CODA ..........................................................................................................................................208 WORKS CITED ..........................................................................................................................222 vi INTRODUCTION At the beginning of Pericles, Shakespeare’s first romance, the character of Gower says to the audience: To sing a song that old was sung From ashes ancient Gower is come, Assuming man’s infirmities To glad your ear and please your eyes. (1 Chorus.1–4)1 These few lines begin to define the genre of Shakespeare’s romances—an endeavor which shapes much of this dissertation. Gower begins by acknowledging that the upcoming tale is not new—it is in fact “old.” Shakespeare’s romances are plays that present “old tales” from the medieval period, from early modern travel writing, and from other sources in new ways. Gower as a character is an embodied narrator. Being that the Gower in this play is the medieval poet John Gower, he seeks to acknowledge and address the strangeness of his appearance, especially given the fact that he has long been dead. His appearance at the beginning of the play can be viewed as one of many moments common to travel narratives of the early modern period where characters experience “wonder” in an encounter. He explains that he has come from “ashes” and assumed “man’s infirmities” in order to bring the audience his tale. His body literally brings to life Shakespeare’s use of medieval sources for his romances. His body, then, is estranged from the world of the living; he may be dead, but he has come to “glad” the ears and “please” the eyes of the audience. An embodied narrator who reappears as a chorus is rather unique in Shakespeare’s plays2, and Gower’s stasis as being both dead and alive, being a kind of ghost or haunting presence, is important to the romances. 1 All references are from the Arden edition, third series, edited by Suzanne Gossett. 2 Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet has an opening chorus, and Henry V has a reoccurring chorus, but in neither of these plays (or in other plays in the Shakespeare canon) is the narrator or chorus a recognizable literary character in and of itself, embodied in a way similar to Gower. 1 Estranged bodies, or haunting presences within the romances, however, are most often attached to wives and daughters, and this dissertation following the processes of estrangement and adaptation within the plays and beyond illuminate the importance and the power of these women. This dissertation interrogates the genre of Shakespeare’s romances by first tracing their generic origins and contextual, historical sources in the medieval period and then by relating them to other genres, aesthetic forms, and cultural elements they incorporate. In doing so, it approaches the romance not as a fixed and stable generic category, but rather as a form that evolved and mutated through varied influences in different periods. For instance, Shakespeare’s “romances” were not explicitly categorized as “romances” until the nineteenth century.3 It was not until The New Shakspere Society grouped these plays as needing different classification in 1874 and Edward Dowden named them “romances” in 1877 that they became identified as such (Mowat, “What’s” 129). Ever since, there has been a shared understanding of certain commonalities in these late plays. Thus, I demonstrate that the romances are an estranged genre, separated from the Folio categories of comedy, history, and tragedy due to their distinct complexities and forms. In beginning as a genre study, this dissertation simply argues for the importance of genre. Christopher Cobb articulates why genre studies are important: “genres function as vehicles for attitudes, ideas, and values: they are ‘patterns of thought.’ Writers take up genres as received 3 I have selected these four plays because I find them the most closely linked, but this is not to ignore the fact that some later scholars include Henry VIII, The Two Noble Kinsman, and/or Cardenio as romances. For example, Howard Felperin notes that “[c]ritical and theatrical recognition of Pericles, Cymbeline, The Winter’s Tale, The Tempest, and Henry VIII as a distinguished and wholly Shakespearean group, though long delayed, has not been denied” (3) and Simon Palfrey addresses his own policy of inclusion in his study by saying, “I have chosen not to look in detail at The Two Noble Kinsman and Henry VII” (31). These three plays are not always included because Cymbeline, The Winter’s Tale, Pericles, and The Tempest were the original four deemed “romances,” but Henry VIII being written in Shakespeare’s “late period,” The Two Noble Kinsman’s clear connection to chivalric romance (with the plot coming from Chaucer’s “The Knight’s Tale”) and Cardenio’s connection to Miguel de Cervantes’ Don Quixote (a famous parody of the romance tradition) all mark them as worthy of future study. 2 patterns, which they may repeat or revise as they work out a contemporary response to past values” (19). What then, were the “patterns of thought” of Shakespeare’s romances? What were some dramatic commonalities and concerns shared by these plays? Keeping in mind the seemingly arbitrary nature of this categorization, this dissertation reconsiders the genre, arguing that the romances reflect the culture of the period and create a unique affective experience for audiences in the early modern period and today. First, the romances reflect the culture of adaptation on the stage of the early modern period with their interest in staging “old” tales from the medieval period. Second, they reflect a culture of early modern globalization and an interest in travel, travel narratives, and cross- cultural encounters. Third, they reflect a culture of new and burgeoning forms of theatrical art, where masques and new, innovative forms of staging and dramaturgy were being presented on different stages. Altogether, these different “cultures” helped created a unique affective and cognitive experience for audiences, where elements of the past, present, and future came together in complex manipulations of temporality and chronology. This is still true for audiences today, in different ways. The old genres and forms represent the “old” in performances of the romances, but in the adaptation on the stage these productions also signal the “present” and “future.” As this dissertation shows via case studies of twenty-first-century performances, the romances are utilized to provoke conversation about important and relevant topics of today, such as immigration, gender politics, cultural relations, and our future with the digital. Most importantly, the romances “estrange” audience in performance, at times distancing them from the plays and inviting critique. Scenes that play in more realistic or naturalistic ways within Shakespeare’s romances are juxtaposed with scenes that are spectacular (often like the kind of spectacle found in early modern masques) which can estrange audiences and invite them 3 to engage with the plays in different, more complex ways. Gower’s function as a chorus in the play, via a conflation of time periods, shows one of the ways that Shakespeare dramaturgically invites a different affective viewing perspective and experience for audiences. In incorporating elements from the early modern masque, as well as self-reflexive elements within his romances, Shakespeare disrupts audience expectations and emotions, allowing space for critique—critique in particular of male rulers because it is their decisions that lead to familial estrangements. Thus, Shakespeare’s romances highlight and invite critiques of power (especially patriarchal power), reflect on the complexities of life and death, and envision worlds and spaces that champion ideas and processes of adaptation and difference. The distinctive mixed genre of Shakespeare’s romances estranges them from the other plays in his canon, but as shown in the example of Gower, this process of estrangement is extended to other aspects of the plays. To sum up, estrangement, the key term underpinning my approach to the romance genre, connects to: how the plays are estranged due to their mixed genre; how the plays focus on the estranged, “haunted” bodies of characters that seemingly die and return to life; how the plot of the romances are focused on the thematic, familial estrangements of characters; how mental estrangements that come from cross-cultural encounters of characters are presented within the plays; and finally, how through these processes listed above, the plays enact estrangement for audiences dramaturgically. My conception of estrangement incorporates ideas and methodologies from performance, early modern criticism, and adaptation studies. For instance, a thread that connects these views of the romance genre focuses on characters returning from (near) death. Characters such as the (previously) dead medieval poet Gower, alongside Thaisa, Innogen, and Hermione experience moments of liminality between life and death. Their bodies are estranged—they are partly dead, 4 partly alive. Much like the plays, they seem to experiment with temporal continuities, while mediating between the past, present, and future. The romances as adaptations of old tales likewise participate in this conceptual manipulation of time, and they have been rebirthed / resurrected on stage for four hundred years. We all, as humans, (including Shakespeare’s audiences) must endure encounters with life and death, and the romances allow us to see the “righting” of wrongs that cause estrangement and death. We see male rulers change their ways. At the same time, these crucial moments where the women shift between life and death—key moments that enable the plays to shift towards reunion and reconciliation—are impossible to forget because they are spectacular and strange. The women in these plays haunt their husbands and fathers as well as the plays themselves. The circumstances of their estrangements and deaths, alongside real and threatened violence, are difficult to forget for both the characters within the plays, and the audiences watching the romances. Thus, Shakespeare simultaneously champions and embraces adaptation (of genre and form within the plays themselves and of ideas and actions for the male rulers), while at the same time leaving space for readers and audiences to question the rulers and the patriarchal power structures within which they negotiate their relations with women. This kind of questioning happens for readers and viewers of Shakespeare on page and stage. For over four hundred years, actors have been performing Shakespeare’s plays while scholars have simultaneously been studying the plays and the performances through various transmutations in different periods. Thus, in a broader sense, this dissertation expounds the value of studying Shakespeare’s romances on both page and stage. The quote that begins the title of this dissertation comes from The Tempest—“[s]omething rich and strange” aptly describes 5 Shakespeare’s romances because they are strange, as well as rich vessels for adaptation, experimentation, and exploration. With the interdisciplinary method of incorporating theory and ideas from performance studies, early modern criticism, and adaptations studies, this dissertation pays particular attention to the past, present, and future—evoking a self-consciousness about the passage of time. As such, the four chapters reflect this method by intermixing close readings with historical research and performance analyses of the romances in the twenty-first century. These performance analyses are mostly of productions from the Royal Shakespeare Company from the last twenty years. I choose to focus on the RSC because out of the “big three” British companies who produce Shakespeare (the National Theatre, the Globe, and the RSC), the RSC allows for the most experimentation and innovation.4 The final chapter incorporates analyses of performances that represent the current state of performance studies of Shakespeare, considering forays into the global and the digital, especially as they relate to location and space. In being so heavily invested in adaptation and self-reflexive representations of earlier sources themselves, the romances are both challenging and rewarding sites for explorations of difference, especially in global5 and digital performances.6 This introduction first reviews previous scholarly engagement with Shakespeare’s romances, showing that the romances as a genre have not gained enough scholarly attention and 4 The Globe has more recently been interested in adaptation and did have the “Globe-to-Globe” series, but the productions change quite a bit depending on the current artistic director. Being a theater which replicates Shakespeare’s Globe, productions are more often interested in original practices. The National Theatre does interesting work with Shakespeare, but they are not solely invested in Shakespeare. The RSC has consistently brought innovative, current, and interesting techniques and dramaturgical choices in their productions, especially for the romances. 5 For this dissertation, I am using “global” to mean plays not produced in English by British companies, as well as plays that have a certain global “reach.” 6 For the scope of this dissertation, I limit my explorations of Shakespearean adaptations to performances. There is much more to be said, however, about the romances in other forms/genres, including films, novels, paintings, etc. 6 that most recent studies focus instead on the category of “tragicomedy”. Then, the introduction further distinguishes romances as not being entirely subsumed within the broad label of “tragicomedy,” and instead deploys “estrangement” as theoretical lens. Next, it considers the composition and role of the early modern audience before considering modern audiences and this dissertation’s use of “adaptation.” Finally, a chapter breakdown details the ways in which the dissertation engages estrangement, and as a corollary adaptation, in the romances, and a final section explores the possibilities of the plays. Shakespeare’s “Romances” The Winter’s Tale, Cymbeline, The Tempest, and Pericles are estranged from the other plays in Shakespeare’s canon because they are indeed “strange.” Shakespeare wrote these “late” plays between ~1608 and 1611, and this late writing coincided with a “mixed genre.” That is, the romances broke generic conventions by not neatly coinciding with the previously conceived genres of history, comedy, or tragedy. As aforementioned, these tragicomedies even became the discussion of The New Shakspere Society which, in 1874, first grouped them together as needing classification (Mowat, “What’s” 129). By 1875, Edward Dowden in Shakspere: A Critical Study of His Mind and Art, stated that The Winter’s Tale, Cymbeline, The Tempest, (and Pericles in a footnote) had “a certain romantic element in each…they avoid the extremes of broad humor and of tragic intensity; they were written with less of passionate concentration than the plays which immediately precede them, but with more of a spirit of deep or exquisite recreation” (358–59). One of the first identified features and indeed “readings” of Shakespeare’s romances was that they focused on reconciliation and thus lent themselves to Christian interpretations. Dowden writes, that in these last three plays, “grievous errors of the heart are shown to us, and wrongs of man to man as cruel as those of the great tragedies, [but] at the end there is a resolution of the 7 dissonance, a reconciliation” (361). Finally, by 1877, Dowden officially added Pericles and said, “Let us, then name this group, consisting of four plays…Romances” (quoted in Mowat, “What’s” 130). Attributing the word “romance” in relation to the genre of these works does not begin, however, with the early modern romance. As Bryan P. Reardon notes in The Form of Greek Romance, “[r]omance is difficult to define,” but he goes on to use Gillian Beer’s formulation to attribute certain shared properties to “romance” including the following: love and adventure, a withdrawal from society, sensuous detail, simplified characters, a blend of the unexpected and the everyday, a happy ending, and a strongly enforced code of conduct (3). Reardon also attempts to look at Northrop Frye’s ideas about the prose romance—that is, Frye viewed the prose romance as something distinct from novels (4). Beer and Frye, however, are twentieth- century theorists, and Reardon ultimately sets these ideas aside to examine the “Greek-love- romance” of the late Hellenistic period, admitting that “the literary history of the form is difficult to establish, because of the insufficiency of our evidence” (7).7 The Oxford English Dictionary defines “romance” as: “[a] medieval narrative (originally in verse, later also in prose) relating the legendary or extraordinary adventures of some hero of chivalry. Also, the term was in extended use, with reference to narratives about important religious figures” (“romance, n.1”). Overall, the medieval romance was a genre of secular fiction 7 Cyrus Mulready explains the complexities and contradictions of defining the term romance: “Perhaps, contrarily, ‘romance’ has power as a label because of its variability and range. On a practical level, understanding the pliant ways that readers, publishers, and writers have used this term provides insight to one of the richest (and perhaps oldest) veins of storytelling. Romance also gives us a view of how those same traditions ultimately derive from more ancient and esoteric forms. As it relates to a theory of genre, too, romance has been indispensable. Two of the most important treatments of genre theory, by Northrop Frye and Fredric Jameson, center on romance as a literary and historical practice. To study romance is therefore to study the shapes and traditions of genre itself; to theorize romance is to provide a history and conceptual framework for how genres have worked and continue to work within storytelling practices” (“Romance”). 8 in the medieval period, and, as Helen Cooper notes, romances are “characterized by exotic settings, distant in time or place, or both; subject-matter concerning love or chivalry, or both; and high-ranking characters” as well as “quests; magic and the supernatural; a concern less with the communal good than with the individual hero’s inward thoughts, feelings, and aspirations, and, frequently, those of the heroine too; and a happy ending as normative, that ending often incorporating a return from an encounter with death” (10). A popular example would be Sir Thomas Malory’s Le Morte D’Arthur that includes distant time and place (based on earlier Arthurian legends), high-ranking characters (King Arthur and his court), magic (Merlin), and chivalry (the many knights). K.S. Whetter argues that defining a genre can be achieved by comparing it to others, and he states that “Romance has…often been compared to folktale, saint’s life and history. The genre it more resembles, however, [is] chanson [French song] or epic” (6). Thus, though Shakespeare never identified Cymbeline, The Winter’s Tale, Pericles, and The Tempest as romances, these plays have certain distinctive qualities—particularly themes, characters, and stories from medieval romances as listed above—that have led to a collective understanding of them as such. This is not to say, however, that Shakespeare was unaware of a romance tradition. Again, Cooper notes that “[f]or all the absence of the term ‘romance’ from Shakespeare, he was thoroughly familiar with the family resemblances and expectations of the form” (14). Whetter argues that Geoffrey Chaucer’s Tale of Thopas “is a brilliant parody of the genre of medieval romance” and as such, Chaucer “is relying on his audience’s awareness of the generic features of romances and their manuscripts…[and] neither Chaucer nor Thopas are unique in this” (1). The romance tradition, then, has deep historical roots prior to Shakespeare and notions of the genre here continued to evolve and mutate in criticism. 9 We can identify a constellation of unique features within Shakespeare’s late plays that connect them to these earlier traditions and their literary and cultural manifestations. Howard Felperin argues that “[t]he conventional motifs of classical and medieval romance—mysterious oracles, storms and shipwrecks, malevolent enchanters, and so on” are found in Shakespeare’s late plays (32–33). They have a “storybook” quality to them and ultimately a happy ending. To return to Cooper’s list, Pericles has multiple “exotic locations” (Tyre, Tarsus, Pentapolis, Mytilene, etc.); Cymbeline is in the distant past (ancient Briton); The Tempest includes magic (Prospero, Ariel, and Sycorax all practice magic or have magical qualities); and The Winter’s Tale includes a character who encounters near death but returns at the end (Hermione becoming a statue and transforming back into a live woman at the end of the play). These characterizations from Felperin comes from his text, Shakespearean Romance (1972), which is part of a brief period of early modern criticism that focused in-depth on Shakespeare’s romances. The late 1800s classification of the plays as romances, Pericles’s later attribution to Shakespeare in terms of authorship, and the critical view of The Winter’s Tale and/or Cymbeline by some scholars as (a) “problem play(s)” have collectively contributed to a lack of scholarship and critical attention compared to Shakespeare’s other plays, and thus an estrangement of the romances from the rest of the Shakespearean canon. It was Philip Edwards in 1958 who declared that “[i]t would be vainglory to suggest that recent criticism has succeeded in justifying the large claims it has made for Shakespeare’s Romances. Though we may be convinced, because of the constant insistence, that the Romances are important, it is hard to point to the critic who has shown where the importance lies” (1). He called for a “critical language capable of interpreting the Romances” (18). Edwards elaborated that Dowden (as well as his contemporaries like Strachey and Wilson Knight) focused on Shakespeare as a poet, but more contemporary (1950s) 10 criticism focused on economics and pm Shakespeare as a playwright (citing people like Ashley H. Thorndike and G.E. Bentley who focused on theatrical conditions of the stage); Edwards also acknowledged a related critical trend of tying in the romances with myth, symbol, or allegory (4- 5). William Lawrence first began to answer Edwards’ call by explaining that in “problem plays,” a: perplexing and distressing complication in human life is presented in a spirit of high seriousness…the theme is handled so as to arouse not merely interest or excitement, or pity or amusement, but to probe the complicated interrelations of character and action…the ‘problem’…is one of conduct, as to which there are no fixed and immutable laws. (4) He further explains that the term “problem play” can be applied to plays that “do not fall into the category of tragedy, and yet are too serious and analytic to fit the commonly accepted conception of comedy” (5). While the romances fall into this category, so do other plays by Shakespeare and his contemporaries. These other plays, seen as “problem plays” by Shakespeare—like All’s Well that End’s Well and Measure for Measure—likewise reveal intermixtures of comedy and tragedy. It is important to note, then, that “problem plays” should be viewed as a larger category that describes many of Shakespeare’s plays. The romances, however, are a subset of this category, more deeply invested in different aspects of estrangement and related to adaptation. Thus, the term “estrangement,” I argue, ushers a critical language to interpret the romances in terms of their distinctive features. They almost hyperbolically experiment with the boundaries of genre and form, pushing the possibilities of theatrical representation (at the time) to its limits. They also share distinct connections to the medieval prose romances and miracle plays, as well as early modern masques all reflecting the conception of “estrangement” shaping them that other 11 “problem plays” do not possess. This kind of distinction of the romances as their own category or genre, then, was not really explored at any length until the 1970s. Early modern criticism of the 1970s and 1980s brought full-length studies that studied the romances as romances. That is, they did not broaden the scope to other “problem plays” but instead, sought to define and illustrate the unique aspects of Pericles, Cymbeline, The Winter’s Tale, and The Tempest as a group. Many of these studies continued to read the romances in terms of the allegorical and symbolic: Hallett Smith, Howard Felperin, Douglas Peterson, and to a lesser extent Barbara Mowat all addressed the symbolic in their answer to Edwards’ previous call. Felperin, for example, argues that the “tempest, be it natural or social, that turns out for the best, functions in the narratives of these early voyagers in much the same way that the felix culpa functions within Christian history: as a kind of divinely staged peripeteia through which potential tragedy turns into tragicomedy” (253). Demonstrating this boom in criticism, Felperin explains in his monograph from 1972, “[m]ore has been written on [the romances] in the past three and a half decades than over the previous three and a half centuries” (3). In the 1990s and 2000s, criticism of the romances as such slowed down, with scholars like Heather James, Simon Palfrey, and Valerie Forman focusing more broadly on “tragicomedy,” Shakespeare’s “late plays,” or other categories that do not focus exclusively on the four romances.8 Curiously, some of the few recent texts that explicitly invoke the term “romance” come from essay collections by Harold Bloom that at times even undermine the 8 See, for example: John G. Demaray’s Shakespeare and the Spectacles of Strangeness: The Tempest and the Transformation of Renaissance Theatrical Forms (1998), Valerie Forman’s Tragicomic Redemptions (2009), Staging Early Modern Romance: Prose Fiction, Dramatic Romance, and Shakespeare (2009, edited by Mary Ellen Lamb and Valerie Wayne), and Edward L. Risden’s Shakespeare and the Problem Play: Complex Forms, Crossed Genres and Moral Quandaries (2012). 12 category. For example, Bloom in 2000 argues that the four plays, especially The Tempest, are often politicized or otherwise obscured from their “comic splendor” (10). Three monographs from the last twenty years most relevant to this dissertation are Christopher J. Cobb’s The Staging of Romance in Late Shakespeare: Text and Theatrical Technique (2007), Cyrus Mulready’s Romance on the Early Modern Stage: English Expansion Before and After Shakespeare (2013), and Seth Lerer’s Shakespeare’s Lyric Stage: Myth, Music, and Poetry in the Last Plays (2018). First, Cobb’s texts mirrors some aspects of this study, as he is interested in the performance of the romances, but his focus is on The Winter’s Tale and the idea of “transformations.” He argues that “ultimately beneficent human transformations can take place in and through performances of romance plays” and that Shakespeare’s late plays “challenge performers, spectators, and the resources of the literary genre of romance, seeking to discover how it is possible that people can improve their lives. They risk failing to satisfy performers and spectators in order to create an opportunity for such discovery” (11, 13). I do not disagree that the romances are challenging in performance and that they show transformations, but my focus on estrangement, which I detail later, highlights specific political and cultural possibilities of the romances in their invited critiques of patriarchal structures. Further, this dissertation focuses equally on all four romances, showing their interconnections. Second, Mulready’s monograph argues that “romance, as it developed from its roots in medieval narrative into a stage genre, offered material and formal resources through which the English envisioned overseas commercial and imperial expansion,” however, he wants to “unmoor” it from Shakespeare (2). This study is similarly interested in the ties of the romances to the medieval, but I, again, make a case for this study’s use of “romance” to apply to Shakespeare’s romances specifically, highlighting the plays’ connections with haunting and 13 revivification, even while acknowledging their medieval contexts. And further, while the second chapter of this dissertation looks at intersections between the romances and early modern travel, it focuses on travel narratives in a variety of aspects, not simply on commercial expansion. Finally, Lerer’s text’s focuses on the musical and lyrical elements of the late plays and argues that they “dramatize how poetry tries to resist patronage, how the machinations of the stage reveal the machinery behind illusion, and how increasingly improbable plots and resolutions test the faith and patience of an audience or reader”; in sum, he focuses on the lyric genre, analyzing how “Shakespeare dramatizes tensions between the social and the aesthetic” (viii, xi). While Lerer’s approach is in part, similar to this dissertation in considering the stage, his scope is more general, focusing on poetry, music, and politics. Lerer focuses on the failure of music in relation to meaning in the plays; he connects the feelings created by this failure in relation to changing social roles of myth and music in the seventeenth century, drawing his attention to Ovid and other Roman poets (xii). In his discussion of Cymbeline, for example, he focuses particularly on the “place of beauty in the exercise of power” and when talking about audience response, he suggests Simon Forman’s plot-summary based review of the play is a result of the play’s complicated structure and ultimately indicative of Cymbeline’s ability to engage with the lyric voice of the Roman Poet, Catullus (143–45). Unlike Lerer, this dissertation emphasizes estrangement running as thread through the plays, while illuminating the processes of adaptation and productions of difference. Instead of the late plays showing the failure of art in some impermeable way, they invoke a cultural politics of difference. One such difference is gender, and my focus shifts towards the wronged women in the plays and how Shakespeare invites the audience to explore differences in power. Lerer seems invested in the experiential aspects of the play in purely aesthetic terms, seeing the “social” and 14 “aesthetic” as distinct spheres. I argue that critical and affective responses invoked by the romances enable their audiences to think about the machinations of power being dramatized, as much as about generic transformations, and particularly to thus consider the role of marginalized characters such as Caliban and Innogen. Lerer focuses on the aural in the plays and argues that the music can function as a moment of ironic distancing (xi). This ironic distancing evokes a similar distancing to this dissertation’s conception of performative estrangement; it is important to note, however, that this distancing is not limited to music or the aural but instead can also be combined with stylized, dramatic set pieces like Jupiter descending from a cloud in Cymbeline and the wedding masque in The Tempest. Estrangement This dissertation shows how the key concept of “estrangement” connects to the romances in multiple ways: thematically, generically (in terms of medieval and other sources), experientially (in connection to the concept of the “encounter” in travel writing), performatively (in terms of the “distancing” effects on audiences), and spatially. Considering the multiple definitions of “estrange” and “estrangement” from the OED helps to further conceptualize the complex, multi- faceted structure of the romances, and how the concept informs the plays. The OED defines “estrange” as “(1) to remove (permanently or for a length of time) from an accustomed abode, haunt, association, or occupation; to keep apart from experience of or acquaintance with anything…to render alien (2) to regard or treat as alien; to sever from a community; to remove (possessions, subjects) from the ownership or dominion of any one, and (3) to alienate in feeling or affection,” (“estrange, v.”). “Estrangement” is defined as “[t]he action of estranging; the condition of being estranged; separation, withdrawal, alienation in feeling or affection” 15 (“estrangement, n.”). This range of definitions enable us to view possibilities of meaning-making in the romances. As aforementioned, the romances are an estranged genre from the rest of the canon. Being so strange and so different from Shakespeare’s other plays, they were retroactively placed into their own category. Plot-wise, the characters within Shakespeare’s romances are often estranged from their families and indeed removed from their accustomed abodes—children and wives are separated from their fathers and husbands via banishment and (near) death. Many of the women in the romances, then, are severed from their communities. A character like Innogen in Cymbeline finds herself alien as she cross-dresses and assumes an altered identity of the male “Fidele” when she travels away from her home to Wales. In plays like Pericles, we see the title character experience an alienating moment of encounter as he meets with different nations and people on his travels. The characters in the romances also suffer from alienation in terms of affection and feeling—Leontes in The Winter’s Tale imprisons his wife because he believes she is “an adulteress” (2.1.78). Estrangement in relation to performance and stage practices also stems in part from Bertolt Brecht’s verfremdungseffekt, translated as the “alienation effect” or “estrangement effect.” This view of estrangement is connected to “defamiliarization” first popularized by Russian formalists in the early twentieth century. Viktor Shklovsky discussed the nature of fiction in his “Art as Device,” stating that the purpose of art is to “lead us to a knowledge of a thing through the organ of sight instead of recognition. By ‘enstranging’ objects and complicating form, the device of art makes perception long and ‘laborious’” (6). This concept of 16 defamiliarization can also be seen in Derrida’s concept of différance in Margins of Philosophy, Freud’s notion of the uncanny, and Brecht’s verfremdungseffekt.9 Brecht’s verfremdungseffekt is achieved by utilizing specific dramatic techniques (like signs, songs, illustrations, actors breaking out of character to lecture, etc.) in order to distance the audience and keep them aware of being in the theatre and therefore develop a critical attitude. Brecht’s creation of this term came from his desire to create theatre that was not naturalistic and that thereby disallowed audiences from personally connecting with the characters. In “A Short Organum for Theatre,” he explains that the audience members should be able to keep their intellect free and mobile so that a “critical attitude” can form (190–91). Brecht aimed to denaturalize social structures and hierarchies. In estrangement, the viewer “recognizes its subject,” but as Brecht explains, also makes it “seem unfamiliar” (192). Brecht was certainly inspired by Shakespeare; he argues that a play should seek to experiment with the historical in order to distance the audience. He explains that “[i]f we ensure that our characters on the stage are moved by social impulses and that these differ according to the period, then we make it harder for our spectator to identify himself with them” (190). This can be seen in Pericles which, like the other romances, plays with the historical estrangement of time; it is set in the early time of the Roman Empire and is adapted from the Apollonius of Tyre section of Confessio Amantis, a text written by the medieval poet, John Gower. Another technique that Brecht suggests is “knott[ing] together” the individual episodes of play in a way that is “easily noticed” and thereby presenting a “play within a play” (201). This is very true of Pericles as well with the use of Gower as narrator and a generally episodic construction. 9 This can also be seen in Darko Suvin’s text, Metamorphoses of Science Fiction: On the Poetics and History of a Literary Genre, where he argues that science fiction is the “literature of cognitive estrangement” (15). Chapter 3 reviews these ideas in more detail. 17 Additionally, Prospero constantly references time within The Tempest, and The Winter’s Tale includes “Father time” transporting us 16 years ahead. Many characters in the romances present themselves in estranged psychic, physical, and emotional states where they push and experiment with the boundaries of gender, race, and human identity. Innogen uses her agency as the male Fidele to travel and advocate for herself and her choices; Hermione becomes a statue after being imprisoned for a false accusation of adultery; Thasia appears to die in childbirth but is raised from the dead by Cerimon. Thus, the dramaturgy of the plays and their use of metatheatrical and spectacular techniques invoke responses of estrangement in the audience that in some ways mimic Brecht’s verfremdungseffekt because audiences are distanced from the play and not kept in a “trance.” A key difference is that in his romances, Shakespeare overall does not bring attention to form solely by the inclusion of music, signs, or other Brechtian effects; instead, Shakespeare dramatically juxtaposes the spectacular with the mundane and naturalistic, constantly disrupting the expectations of audience in terms of genre and performance techniques. One example is The Tempest’s opening storm being followed by Prospero’s long, expositional scene in 1.2. Since Brecht was heavily influenced by Shakespeare’s theatre, it is not surprising to say that Shakespeare also employed anti-illusionist, self-reflexive techniques that created powerful estranging affects/effects as evident in the romances. There are a few key differences, however, when discussing Shakespeare's romances alongside Brecht. First, Brecht largely discusses Shakespeare’s tragedies, specifically mentioning at various times Coriolanus, Antony and Cleopatra, the Merchant of Venice, Macbeth, King Lear, and Richard III. He does not discuss the comedies or romances, and this most likely relates to the fact that Brecht was trying to use theatre in Germany (and elsewhere) to work through political issues of the second world war. 18 Brecht left Nazi Germany before WWII, and his play Mother Courage and Her Children, for example, is regarded as a classic anti-war play. Second, some examples of Brecht’s estrangement effects include signs with text, music, and a minimalistic set. Shakespeare’s romances were unique in that the majority of them were conceived for multiple playing spaces, particularly the Blackfriars indoor playhouse that allowed for elaborate and spectacular sets and costumes. Brecht did not invoke the spectacular in the same way as Shakespeare. Third, the plot and themes of Brecht’s most famous plays are often tragic, focusing on war; Brecht was interested in dialectics and exposing the effects of war and the conditions of the working class. The romances do not focus on any singular political agenda, and are more nuanced in their exploration of travel, estrangement, and the roles of rulers and nations. They function in a meta-theatrical and estranging way by consciously moving back and forth between high spectacle with scenes like Jupiter descending in thunder and lightning, and scenes based in harsh reality like Posthumus talking to the jailer in Act 4 of Cymbeline. What is similar in my evocation of Brecht’s estrangement effect found within the romances, then, is some of his goals for the audience. Brecht wanted the audience to be estranged and somewhat distanced from the performance of the play and not closely identify with the characters. If an audience member empathized with a character or felt that a character’s actions were understandable via a particular time or cultural framework, then that audience member would not critically reflect on the themes, meanings, and messages in the play. As Margot Heinemann suggests in her reading of Brecht and Shakespeare, Brecht believed that for a “critical attitude to develop, people must be able to imagine the characters acting differently from the way they do” (238). And indeed, in their mixed genre, adaptations of medieval prose 19 romances, and dramaturgical construction, the romances invite audiences to question the characters and believe they could have acted differently. Other scholars have noticed this sense of “distancing” as it relates to the romances which is key to my concept of estrangement. Alison Thorne, for example, argues that the romances display a skill in maneuvering “the spectators, through the production of pathos, delight and wonder, into a complex affective response, one poised as finely between imaginative involvement and detachment as between serious and light-hearted moods” (6). Hallett Smith in Shakespeare’s Romances suggests that “by their ‘distancing,’ [the late plays] by their constant reminders of artifice, by their theatrical contrasts and displays, break up this participation which is so essential to ritual or, for that matter, to tragedy” (209). Douglas Peterson in Time, Tide, and Tempest argues that the plays require a “ritualistic participation of their audiences” and that “a ‘distance’ must be maintained between audience and play, for the effectiveness of the narrative depends upon the audience's awareness of themselves as spectators” (10, 13). Kiernan Ryan suggests that the comedies and romances “stimulate in the spectator an awareness that both the stage world and the lived world it transposes are provisional versions of experience which invite revision, not inviolable instances or definitive editions of what life is or might be like” and “[a]s with all the defamiliarising devices embedded in Shakespeare's drama, the aim is to charge the ways of life transformed upon the stage with historicity, and so sharpen our sense of their transience and susceptibility to change” (37). This dissertation adds to these observations by viewing varied possibilities of “distancing” through the lens of estrangement, connecting form to content. That is, Shakespeare’s romances, in their disruption of genre and form, champion the concept of adaptation and estrange audiences by moving them away from expected genre conventions. 20 In refusing to stay within an accepted and known genre, in writing plays that are staged on multiple stages, and in invoking an intermixture of old as well as new forms within the early modern period in terms of the medieval romance and miracle play, the courtly masque, and travel narratives, Shakespeare, then, keeps the audience engaged and estranged with/from the romances. The romances invite early modern audiences to explore the similarities and differences of the stories presented to those from the medieval period rather than emotionally connect with the protagonists within an unchanging viewing experience. The plays also invite early modern audiences to reconsider genre conventions when seeing a play like The Winter’s Tale that suddenly shifts from a tragedy into a light, comedic pastoral. In all, the romances reflect experimentation and difference which encourages the audience to accept these differences while at the same time asking them to critically reflect on the power relations being presented, such as the actions and choices of patriarchal rulers. This encouragement to critical reflection mimics in its own way Brecht’s aim in this theatre. At the same time, however, Shakespeare has his romances end with families reuniting and patriarchal order being restored. This might be cited as evidence that these plays are not revolutionary or that they prevent any subversive political readings, but instead, I argue that these endings leave questions for audiences—what/whose order is being restored and how should this be viewed? Thus, this ambiguity passes on to the audiences and readers who may be disoriented and estranged by these changes, but it also forces them to think more fully about the change, difference, and contradictions they have viewed and read. The idea of estrangement is key here because the dramatic techniques, use of the medieval, and mixed genre of the plays all distance the viewers from completely emotionally identifying with the characters. Like Brecht might say, the audience members are not in a 21 “trance” throughout the play and thus they can question characters and think critically. Unlike the tragedies where Shakespeare gives characters like Lady Macbeth, Hamlet, or King Lear emotional interiority, the characters of the romances like Pericles, Cymbeline, and Leontes appear more emblematic and archetypal, with any glimpses into their inner lives only elusive and fleeting. Without this crucial interiority, their decisions can more easily be questioned. Audiences might at first question Lear’s method of dividing his kingdom, but by the end of the drama, he is a man who is worn, tired, and aware of his mistakes. His circumstances are particular to him. Leontes, however, lacks this emotional interiority and though he eventually mourns for Hermione, his decision is more easily questionable with even the oracle telling him that he is wrong. He does not disclose any inner psychic struggles that lead him to question his actions. The wronged women of these plays haunt the rulers who do not disclose their full motivations. Shakespeare's romances, then, reflect a critical nexus where self-reflexive dramatic techniques and constructions, generic intermixtures, and the social and political contexts of early modern England all come together to highlight and explore the idea and experience of estrangement, both as it is structurally imbricated within the plays and as they affected the audiences viewing them. Thus, I take up ideas of estrangement in Shakespeare’s romances in terms of themes, plots, dramatic techniques, genre, and the broader early modern social milieu and use them to show how Shakespeare productively asks the audience to re-think categories of race, gender, class, and power. Both The Tempest and Pericles, for example, take the audience beyond Europe, and allow both early modern audiences and audiences today to reconsider how they view race and power as it relates to travel, refugees, and colonization. The mistreatment of all of the 22 daughters and most of the wives in the romances invites the audience to critique patriarchal rulers and re-examine how power has been enacted through time. Audiences To further explore and explain the unique affective, estranging experiences which the romances invite, we can look to the social and cultural conditions of the early modern period. In examining these conditions, we can see how audience reactions to the plays reveal the power of plays and their potential impacts. Reviews of the plays by audience members, pamphlets and critical responses written by anti-theatricals, and letters to the city government and the Master of the Revels, are examples of what I call the “social and cultural conditions.” At the time the plays were staged, Puritans, preachers, and other anti-theatrical polemicists spoke out against the performance of plays overall, worrying that the presentation of a “lie” would only breed sin.10 The underlying basis for much of the anti-theatrical rhetoric was the fear of the influence and power of embodied words and dramatic illusion that transformed God-given identities. That is, the poetry was said out loud by an actor on stage. Naysayers could already complain about the content of plays, but with the growth of commercial theatre, the viewing of these plays and the presentation of a “lie” (an actor pretending to be something or someone he was not) made their influence worse. Some anti-theatricals wrote pamphlets declaring their disapproval of the stage, and others wrote to the Master of the Revels and the government of London asking to halt the erection of new stages.11 The spectacular nature of the spells and witches in Macbeth, the performance of gender in plays like As You Like It (boys and men playing women; boys playing 10 In Gosson’s Playes Confuted, he states that it is “sinne in the Gentiles to set out Playes, in Chirstians it is a presumptuous sinne, because we see better ways and take the worse, we knowe their corruption, and allowe them.” 11 There are multiple letters in the “Remembrancia” addressed to the Privy Council that ask for the removal of stages or the disapproval of more being built, and most cite fear of the plague and immorality of the theater as reasons (City of London). 23 women playing men), the graphic murders in plays like Tamburlaine or Titus Andronicus, and even the depictions of politics, royalty, and social power more broadly created this negative perception of the stage. Furthermore, the performance of gender, magic, violence, and other matters created a space where audiences could question and explore previously held notions. Thus, the performance of words on stage had influence on the social and political level. One apt example of the anti-theatrical sentiment can be found in the words of Henry Crosse, an early modern preacher, who summarizes the moral/mental and physical threat that the performances of plays in public theaters had on the populace: Now the common haunters are for the most part, the leaudest person in the land, apt for pilferie, periurie, forgerie, or any rogorie, the very scum, rascallitie, and baggage of the people, theeues, cut-purses, shifters, cousoners; briefly, an uncleane generation, and spaune of vipers: must not here be good rule, where is such a broode of hell-bred creatures? for a Play is like a sincke in a Towne, whereunto all the filth doth runne: or a byle in the body, that draweth all the ill humours unto it.12 Crosse believes that theatre-goers are often the “leudest” people in the land and that their sin breeds more sin; he uses the interesting phrase “a Play is like a sincke” to liken people to the filth that goes down the drain. This kind of language shows not only Crosse’s interest in affect, but also in the physical, bodily harm of plays. “Humours” is a reference to the ancient theory that the four different humuors (blood, yellow bile, black bile, and phlegm) within the body require balance for health. Crosse believes that a play can physically ail those who watch it. Thus, what appeared on the stage, and what was said on the stage had power and effect over the cultural zeitgeist. The audience of Shakespeare’s plays was diverse and consisted of members from the large urban artisan class, the citizen class of merchant and manufacturers, and the literate class of 12 Alfred Harbage also discusses this quote in Shakespeare’s Audience. 24 schoolmasters, scriveners, and clergy (Gurr, Shakespearean 50). A few numbers can account for the wealth of people who were London and who saw plays: in 1576, London had 150,000, but by 1642, London had 350,000 people; during the seventy or so years of London commercial theatre, there were as many as a million visits to the playhouse a year; an average of 1000-1500 people each day went to a theater like the Rose (Cook 52; Gurr, Shakespearean 195; Harbage 32). In terms of their behavior, Harbage notes that while the afflictions most often associated with audiences were frays and riotousness, the fact that theaters continued to exist suggest that this was not commonplace (101). Early modern accounts of audience reactions within the period sometimes include descriptions of actual performance, but at other times, these accounts are indirect and refract through other debates generated by anti-theatrical tracts and debates about poetry and theatre. They also can be found within the plays themselves. Their dramaturgy and internal cues nonetheless suggest complex responses that may have reflected pressing political debates and social issues of the times like the relationship between art and politics, the purpose of plays as they relate to morality or the didactical, and the implications of realties of staged performance like views of gender connected to cross-dressing male performers or the implications of staging witchcraft or other immoral acts and characters. Accounts from playgoers (often ambassadors and travelers) such as John Manningham, Nathaniel Tomkyns, Thomas Platter, and Simon Forman provide ideas of playgoing overall as well as reviews of specific performances. We can get a sense of the attitudes and compositions of audiences who went to plays and we can get a sense of how some audience members interacted with plays. Tomkyns’s account of a performance of the Late Lancashire Witches reveals how plays can directly reflect on concerns of their time period. Tomkyns suggests that the play’s focus is 25 topical since “the witches [are] still visible and in prison here,” that the play is “full of ribaldrie and of things improbable and impossible” and that it “provoke[s] laughter, and is mixed with divers songs and dances, [and as such] it passeth for a merrie and excellent new play” (quoted in Gurr, Playgoing 113). The early modern audience thus found that plays could provide commentary on contemporary social and political issues; the plays also provided laughter and entertainment. Platter, a Swiss physician, suggests that Londoners learn of foreign affairs via plays: “the English pass their time, learning at the play what is happening abroad; indeed men and womenfolk visit such places without scruple, since the English for the most part do not travel much, but prefer to learn foreign matters and take their pleasures at home” (170). He also details the customs of playgoing, explaining that “daily at two in the afternoon, London has two, sometimes three plays running in different places, competing with each other, and those which play best obtain most spectators” (166–67). There were many laws connected to theatre, actors, and the performance of plays. One was the Statue of 1572 which “required each acting company to be authorized by one noble or two judicial dignitaries of the realm” (Gurr, Shakespearean 27). This was connected to ideas of players being vagabonds. In effect, acting companies had to be registered and thus were (to some extent) beholden to their authorizer. Plays and theaters were also subject to the Privy Council (which required playhouses to be licensed) as well as the Master of the Revels (117). The Master of the Revels could censor plays since he oversaw licensing them for printing and performing. The censoring, however, attributed to some of the delightful wordplay in Shakespeare’s plays that sought to “get by” the censor. The Master also enforced plague regulations and prohibitions on playing during Lent (76). The Edict of 1598 strengthened the Master’s position and also 26 limited the number of London companies (73). The building of playhouses outside of the city of London was in part an attempt to dodge laws and regulations of the city. People like Phillip Sidney saw benefits in theatre, when he argued in the late 1500s that poetry (re: plays) were better than history or philosophy because poetry was the best at inspiring virtue. Sidney wrote that, “as virtue is the most excellent resting-place for all worldly learning to make his end of, so poetry, being the most familiar to teach it, and most princely to move towards it, in the most excellent work is the most excellent workman” (“Defense”). Sidney’s Defence of Poesy (or Apology for Poetry) was likely a reaction against anti-theatrical people like Stephen Gosson and his text, The School of Abuse, which discussed the dangers of melodrama and comedy on stage. Gosson is just one of many anti-theatricals and puritans who had negative perceptions of the theater. Many people viewed the theater as a place for bawdry and viewed the idle playgoer as a lawless person who did not have to work during the day. The theater was a place where the mind was “ravished with sinful pleasure,” and plays were good for “infect[ing] young wits with vanitie and needlesse fopperie” (Crosse). The plays appealed to the senses and to sensual desire. Gurr notes that “[t]he spokesmen for Puritan London described playhouse audiences as riotous and immoral; the poets described them as ignorant and willful; the City Fathers regarded them as riotous and seditious (Shakespearean 196). 13 The anti-theatrical movement consisted of writers including William Prynne, Stephen Gosson, Henry Crosse, William Rankins, John Northbrooke, and Philip Stubbes14 who argued 13 Gurr states that if these characterizations were true, playhouses would have closed earlier than 1642; these statements nonetheless provide an overview of the rhetoric surrounding the perception of the stage. 14 Stubbes wrote Anatomy of Abuses in 1582, John Northbrooke wrote a treatise against plays about other idle pastimes in 1577, William Rankins wrote A Mirrors of Monsters in 1587, Henry Crosse wrote Virtue’s Commonwealth in 1603, Stephen Gosson wrote The School of Abuse and Plays Confuted in Five Actions in 1579 27 that plays and theatre presented falsehoods.15 Anti-theatricals objected to the fact that plays could bring out the worse aspect of actors, that plays lent themselves to the mockery of authority, and that plays presented images that are immoral (Barish 4). The anti-theatricals did not censor their strong distaste for theatre and theatre-goers. Philip Stubbes, for example, wrote that plays were the “feasts of Sathan, the inuentions of the deuil, & Councels haue descried verie sharply against them, and polluted bodies by these filthie occasions haue on their death beddes confessed the daunger of them, lamented their owne foule and greeuous faulles, and left their warning for euer with vs to beware of them.” To Stubbes, plays were deeply connected to evil, and though they may influence some playgoers initially the real “truth” comes out when these playgoers lie in their deathbeds. The words “danger,” “warning,” and “beware” demonstrate some of the rhetoric behind theatre that emphasizes its influence. Stubbes does not want to just condemn the performance of plays, he also wants to warn everyone about them. This thus suggests that he believes that they are quite powerful, and like the devil, tempting. These anti-theatrical attacks on plays and the theatre gained responses, like Thomas Heywood’s Apology for Actors from 1612 that discusses the important role of actors in society from the ancient Romans and Greeks to the contemporary early modern period. As a response to claims of the ungodliness of theater, Heywood explains that plays are written “to teach the subiects obedience to their King, to shew the people the vuntimely ends of such as haue moued tumults, commotions, and insurrections, to present the with the flourishing estate of such as liue and 1582, and William Prynne wrote Histriomastix: The Player’s Scourge in 1633. Others involved in the ongoing debate about the vices of theatre include Anthony Munday who wrote A Second and Third Blast of Retreat from Plays and Theaters in 1580 and Thomas Lodge who responded to Gosson’s Apology in 1579. 15 In the third action of Playes Confuted in Five Actions, Gosson states that, “in Stage Playes for a boy to put one the attyre, the ge|sture, the passions of a woman; [...]or a meane person to take vpon him the ti|tle of a Prince with counterfeit porte, and traine, is by outwarde signes to shewe them selues otherwise then they are, and so with in the compasse of a lye, which by Aristotles iudgement is naught of it selfe and to be fledde.” 28 in obedience, exhorting them to allegiance, dehorting them from all trayterous and felloniuous strategems.” To Heywood, plays are actually valuable teaching tools that reinforce proper morality. Audience reactions to plays—both direct and indirect—in the early modern period, thus produced a discourse that provides a sense of audience expectations and responses. This discourse included pure documentation of plot as seen in Forman’s “reviews” of the plays, an explanation of the relevance of the plays to the period as seen in Tomkyns’s account, findings of moral instruction as seen in multiple reviews, and at times, condemnations of the harmful effects of playgoing as seen in the writings of the anti-theatricals. Shakespeare’s romances produce marvel in us, and perhaps they also confuse us with their unique and mixed form; either way, they help us as the audience (as audience of the times) engage with theatre in different ways, thinking about its form as well as its content, and presenting us with the familiar in unfamiliar ways. Adaptation Shifting from the early modern texts and audiences to audiences today, this dissertation also looks to the relatively new critical field of adaptation studies. An important aspect of the experiences of estrangement involves processes of adaptation. The history of this field shows beginnings with discussions related to adapting novels to film16, and its most recent explorations focus on theorization, transmedia, the transcultural, transnational, global, appropriation17, and 16 A few different theories and theorists appear in reference to discussions about adaptation: Derrida and re-readings, Barthes’ death of the author, Bakhtin in terms of performance and translation, and Latour’s actor-network theory. 17 See Julie Sanders’ Adaptation and Appropriation where she argues that “[a]daptations and appropriations deserve to be seen as influential and agenda-setting in their own right, and in the process they acknowledge something fundamental about literature and art: that their impulse is to spark thoughts, associations, relationships, and stimulate emotional response” (212) or Pascal Nicklas and Oliver Lindner’s Adaptation and Cultural Appropriation. 29 performance.18 A common thread amongst all of these discussions of adaptation is an attention to Shakespeare; this attention includes articles that discuss Shakespeare films, a reflection on how Shakespeare himself was an adapter, the frequent use of Shakespearean plays as examples for theories or terms, and the argument that the study of adaptations of Shakespeare is a worthy pursuit that also represents the “new Shakespeare.”19 Deeper interconnections between adaptation studies and Shakespeare studies did not form until the late twentieth and early twenty-first century, and many of these discussions dealt with global Shakespeare and appropriations. Christy Desmet and Robert Sawyer edited the collection, Shakespeare and Appropriation in 1999 which slowly started multiple responses and further engagements with Shakespeare and adaptation/appropriation. 20 Within the past two years, there has been a growing interest in Shakespeare and adaptation, with many books and edited collections often focusing on the digital and intermedial,21 while others branch out to adaptation- adjacent subjects.22 18 See, for example: Theatre and Adaptation: Return, Rewrite, Repeat by Margherita Laera; Adapting the canon: Mediation, visualization, interpretation by Ann Marie Lewis and Silke Arnold-de Simine; and The Routledge companion to adaptation edited by Dennis R Cutchins, Katja Krebs, and Eckart Voigts-Virchow. 19 In Screen Adaptation, Deborah Cartmell and Imelda Whelehan argue in Chapter 2 that Shakespeare on film is the “new Shakespeare.” 20 Newer texts on Shakespeare and adaptation include: Margaret Jane Kidnie’s Shakespeare and the Problem of Adaptation, OuterSpeares: Shakespeare, intermedia, and the limits of adaptation (edited by Daniel Fischlin), Thomas Cartelli’s Reenacting Shakespeare in the Shakespeare Aftermath: The Intermedial Turn and Turn to Embodiment, and Sandra Young’s Shakespeare in the Global South: Stories of Oceans Crossed in Contemporary Adaptation. 21 Recent and forthcoming texts include: Pamela Bickley and Jennifer Stevens’ Studying Shakespeare Adaptation - from Restoration Theatre to YouTube (2020), Joyce MacDonald’s Shakespearean Adaptation, Race and Memory in the New World (2020), Playfulness in Shakespearean Adaptations (edited by Marina Gerzic and Aidan Norrie 2020), Alexa Joubin’s “Screening Social Justice: Performing Reparative Shakespeare against Vocal Disability” in Adaptation (2021), Variable Objects: Shakespeare and Speculative Appropriation (edited by Valerie M. Fazel and Louise Geddes 2021), Reto Winkler’s “Hacking Adaptation: Updating, Porting, and Forking the Shakespearean Source Code,” Jo Eldridge Carney’s Women Talk Back to Shakespeare: Contemporary Adaptations and Appropriations (2022), and The Arden Research Handbook of Shakespeare and Adaptation (edited by Diana E. Henderson and Stephen O’Neill 2022). 22 Adaptation-adjacent Shakespeare texts include: Eric S. Mallin’s Reading Shakespeare in the Movies: Non- Adaptations and Their Meaning; Elisabeth Bronfen’s Serial Shakespeare: An Infinite Variety of Appropriations in American TV Drama; Alexa Alice Joubin’s Shakespeare and East Asia; Magdalena Cieślak’s Screening Gender in 30 This dissertation’s view of adaptation integrates ideas of theatre and adaptation from multiple disciplines. First is Linda Hutcheon’s Theory of Adaptation. As the title suggests, Hutcheon defines adaptation by explaining that it is both a process and a product and that, “[t]o deal with adaptations as adaptations is to think of them as…inherently ‘palimpsestuous’ works, haunted at all times by their adapted texts” (6). 23 Second is Douglas Lanier’s view of rhizomatic24 adaptations in his text, “Shakespearean Rhizomatics: Adaptation, Ethics, Value.” Lanier argues for placing any adaptation of Shakespeare within a rhizomatic web of adaptations wherein each adaptation remains distinct while at the same time bending towards one another (28). This model allows us to understand the play and adaptation as informing and influencing interpretations of each other. Lastly is Marvin Carlson’s Haunted Stage25, which discusses how theatre is always a haunted practice. Thus altogether, I am interested in a view of adaptation focused on resurrection and the estrangement that comes from such a resurrection. This connects to the return to life of the women in the romances. My view of adaptation is invested in the haunted, the re-rewritten, the ghostly—how Shakespeare’s tales continue to haunt us. With this comes avenues of exploring history, as well as themes and characters that continue to resonate with audiences. Shakespeare’s Comedies: Film and Television Adaptations in the Twenty-First Century; Johnathan H. Pope’s Shakespeare’s Fans: Adapting the Bard in the Age of Media Fandom; Jeffrey R Wilson’s upcoming Shakespeare and Game of Thrones; Lockdown Shakespeare: New Evolutions in Performance and Adaptation (edited by Gemma Kate Allred, Benjamin Broadribb, and Erin Sullivan); and Louise Geddes and Valerie M. Fazel’s The Shakespeare Multiverse: Fandom as Literary Praxis. 23 Though Hutcheon looks at adaptation more broadly, she does use Shakespeare as an example, explaining how “Shakespeare transferred his culture’s stories from page to stage and made them available to a whole new audience” (2). 24 His use of this term indeed connects to the theories by Deleuze and Guattari. 25 This also connections to Jacques Derrida’s Spectres of Marx and Alice Rayner’s Ghosts: Death’s Double and the Phenomena of Theatre. I discuss this conception of adaptation and haunting further in chapter 1. 31 Chapters Each of the chapters of this dissertation open like this introduction—they highlight a key moment in each play, typically the return from death to life of a character or the key moment that changes the genre and tone of the play fundamentally, leading to its ending in resolution and reconciliation. Each chapter also explores a different aspect of the process of estrangement shaping the play as well as the audience responses on contemporary productions. As aforementioned, alongside close readings and historical context, each chapter also ends with an analysis of a twenty-first century performance of each highlighted romance by the Royal Shakespeare Company. Chapter 1 uses The Winter’s Tale to show how the romances are an estranged genre; they are haunted by medieval prose romances and miracle plays, and they playfully interrupt genre expectations of the early modern period. They are estranged from the early modern categories of plays (as presented in Shakespeare’s First Folio) of comedy, tragedy, and history. I show how Shakespeare’s romances came to be known as such because they were “strange”; this strangeness indeed led to nineteenth-century scholars estranging (or categorically separating) them from his other plays. In The Winter’s Tale, the character of Hermione is falsely accused of infidelity by her husband, Leontes, and she is imprisoned and estranged from him. Though later perceived to be dead, her character haunts the play in the remaining acts, and it is her miraculous transformation from statue to human that turns the tale from the tragic to the reconciliatory. Like the other romances then, the play is of a mixed genre. Chapter 2 shows how Shakespeare’s romances reflect the traveling culture of the period, particularly early modern globalization and an interest in cultural geography. Pericles and its interest in staging travel and cross-cultural encounters shows how the moment of encounter 32 dramatizes and experience of disorientation and estrangement. This chapter demonstrates how the romances uniquely reflect the changing political, cultural, and literal geography of early modern England and its imperial imaginings in 1607-1613, particularly through the incorporation of travel writing like that of Sir Walter Raleigh. Shakespeare is thus not only adapting stories from the medieval period, but he is also adapting experiences of encounter and geographical and cultural explorations found in contemporary travel documents. I focus my ideas on the cross- cultural encounters that the Mediterranean geography and epic storyline of the play necessitate within a larger conceptual framework of travel and estrangement. I argue that in moments of “encounter,” each member of the encounter experiences a level of estrangement, related to the concept of the uncanny, finding things both familiar and unfamiliar. Chapter 3 continues the discussion of Shakespeare adapting ideas in contemporary travel writing by turning to a different contemporary inspiration: the burgeoning artistic form known as the “masque.” The early modern masque was a lavish and spectacular form of performance with minimal acting, music and dance, elaborate set designs, and often exotic and allegorical themes. I argue that Shakespeare incorporates elements of the masque to create scenes of spectacle, often coinciding with the deus ex machina of a deity who helps solve the problems of the characters. I show how Jupiter’s descent in Cymbeline enables the audience to question the king’s power, especially since it is Jupiter’s intervention which enables the peace at the end of the play. Chapter 4 considers space and place in The Tempest, showing how Shakespeare was adapting his plays to be able to be staged in different London theaters. Focusing on Shakespeare’s stage and theatrical practices of the early modern period, it shows how the romances were unique in that they were explicitly written for both the large, public Globe as well as the smaller, private Blackfriars. The chapter also shows how this play—the last solely- 33 authored play by Shakespeare—reflects an adaptation of his own romance genre; Shakespeare pushes this genre to the limits. For example, in the previous three romances, patriarchal rulers make decisions that estrange them from their wives and young daughters. In this case, Prospero’s wife is absent, and his daughter remains with him physically and mentally. Instead, Caliban, a character who is presented as possibly half-human, half-fish, and famously read as a colonial subject in postcolonial criticism, takes the place of the estranged, abandoned daughter. Thus, Sycorax because the estranged mother haunting the play. Further, a detailed look into Caliban’s view of the island of the play reveals the importance of space and place to the romances, especially the estranged space of the island. The chapter also considers the estranged space and place of global and digital adaptations of the play in performance, analyzing alongside an RSC production, the Chinese/Taiwanese production of The Tempest from 2004 directed by Hsing-kuo Wu and Hark Tsui and the zoom production of The Tempest by Creation Theatre in 2020 which utilized the web-conferencing platform to digitally bring theatre to people locked-down at home due to the pandemic. *** Geraldine Heng argues that medieval prose romances have “a hand in the shaping of the past and the making of the future” and I argue that this should be extended to Shakespeare’s romances (7–8). The continued performance of these plays in theaters today make them influential as they stay in the past with ties to the medieval, remain in the (early modern) present with the incorporation of masque forms, persist in the twenty-first century through performance, and think to the future as they envision the strange and fantastical. Shakespeare’s romances focus on estranged characters and estranged bodies like the half- fish, half-human Caliban and the abandoned/estranged daughters Marina, Innogen, and Perdita; 34 the focus on these characters in the second half of the plays only works because the romances are a mixed genre. That is, the first half of the plays can play as tragedies, focused on the flawed decisions and actions of patriarchal rulers, but the second half of the plays focus on the daughters, wives, and other “subjects” of those in power. Thus, these plays stage and enact differences. Within their form and staging, Shakespeare’s romances blend the old and the new, the familiar and the strange; this technique, though based on disruption, creates a space where earlier notions can be challenged. That is, the romances are not completely “new” or radical—in fact, they deliberately include elements of earlier forms and narratives. But in their mixed genre and form, the romances suggest that the “old” should also be revised and reconsidered. To end, I, like Shakespeare, look to The Tempest. At the very end of the play, Shakespeare gives Prospero an epilogue which has long been read as Shakespeare’s farewell to theatre. This ending speech in many ways harkens back to Gower’s opening chorus. Both are octosyllabic and include rhyming couplets.26 Both also address the audience: Gower came from ashes to glad our ears and please our eyes, and Prospero explains that his project was “to please” (Epilogue.13). He directly addresses the audience and gives power to them: “I must be here confined by you, / Or sent to Naples” (Epilogue 4–5). It is the power of applause “the help of your good hands” and praise “[g]entle breath of yours my sails” that will decide Prospero’s ending travels. Thus, within this epilogue, Shakespeare harkens back to the opening chorus of Pericles, highlights the importance of audience, blurs the lines between fantasy and reality, and further establishes The Tempest as a palimpsestuous text that is “rich and strange.” 26 Gower’s opening chorus follows iambic tetrameter. Prospero’s epilogue does not have a consistent meter and a few lines have seven syllables, but both the opening chorus and ending epilogue stand out because they are not iambic pentameter and more closely related to each other. 35 CHAPTER 1: HAUNTING AND TIME IN THE WINTER’S TALE: GENRE EXPECTATIONS AND INFLUENCES OF THE MEDIEVAL Shakespeare’s romances are haunted by the supposed deaths of women who have suffered from familial estrangements. The patriarchal rulers of the romances enact banishments, imprisonments, and abandonments which estrange their wives and daughters both emotionally and physically; and yet, it is these same wives and daughters who haunt both the male rulers as well as viewers/readers of the romances. The estranging phenomenon of “haunting” distinguishes Shakespeare’s romances from other tragicomedies of the early modern period. Specifically, it is the body of the mother or daughter figure within the romances that reflects and represents these familial, emotional, and haunting estrangements. At times in the plays, she is alive, and at other times she is seemingly dead. Shakespeare’s presentation of time within the romances—including compressions, truncations, stoppages, etc.—also aids in the enactment of these hauntings textually, allowing time to pass so male rulers can mourn the deaths of their wives (and in two of the romances, for their daughters to age into young adults). In both The Winter’s Tale and Pericles, the large gap in time brings attention to the prolonged estrangements of the families. The manipulation of linear time, in part, enables the female characters to exist in a liminal state between life and death, not quite ghosts, but still figures which haunt. And further, this strange presentation of time reveals another distinguishing aspect of the romances, which can lead to the psychic estrangement of audiences watching the plays. Within The Winter’s Tale, for example, embodied Time appears at the top of act four to “fast- forward” time; incorporating this character in and of itself brings attention to the strangeness of time in the play. The estranging phenomenon of haunting, specifically of wives and daughters of the male “main” characters within Shakespeare’s romances, is most evident at the end of The Winter’s 36 Tale when Hermione, an estranged wife, returns to life to reunite with Leontes, her now repentant husband. At this extraordinary moment in the play, Paulina tells the statue of Hermione: ’Tis time; descend; be stone no more; approach. Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come, I’ll fill your grave up. Stir -- nay, come away; Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him Dear life redeems you. You perceive she stirs. [Hermione steps down.] (5.3.99–103) Paulina’s opening reference to time here has multiple meanings: the music at this moment may be in perfect “time,” but so too is it the time for Hermione to return to life. With a series of declarative statements, Paulina instructs Hermione to change from a stone statue to a living woman. This moment of Hermione’s statue returning to life has often been of interest to scholars, with connections to audience belief27; mimesis, art, and drama28; contemporary early modern events29; and even religion30 being noted. This chapter explores the concept of haunting in relation to Shakespeare’s own generic adaptations within his romances within the context of the bodies of the estranged mothers and daughters on stage. Thus, I expand on my concept that the lens of estrangement highlights how the romances are rendered “alien” for readers, viewers, and scholars as they intermix genres and deviate in forms that often seem dissonant and arbitrary; they defy their “normal condition” and genre 27 Douglas Peterson argues that Hermione’s statue coming to life shows the importance of audience belief in the play (204); Martin Mueller argues that “the audience is expected to be sophisticated about the recognition of Perdita, but naïve about the resurrection of Hermione…Shakespeare deliberately flatters his audience into the delusion of blasé omniscience only to plunge them into naïve surprise” (229). 28 Douglas Peterson views the play as a “speaking picture,” arguing that “the mimetic superiority of the art of drama [occurs] in the final scene” (205); Valerie Forman argues that “the value of the statue as a statue (that is, as a pure work of art) gives way to the theatrics of it coming to life, which is the mixing of art and life—that is, theater, a medium that depends on the literal embodiment of artistic value” (108). 29 David M. Bergeron in “The Restoration of Hermione in The Winter’s Tale” mentions that two of the wedding masques at the wedding festivities of Princess Elizabeth in 1613 included statues coming to life and participating in the festivities (129). 30 Réne Girard mentions how the statue scene at the end is connected to the resurrection (63). 37 expectations. This dissertation focuses on how estrangement and adaptation appear in and shape the plots, characters, dramatic techniques, the “encounter,” audience response, and the genre of the romances themselves. This chapter focuses most sharply on generic31 and audience estrangement via the “hauntings’ as stated above. Hermione’s transformation from statue to human is just one of many key scenes in Shakespeare’s romances when a woman’s body shifts between life and death. As John Pitcher notes in the Arden introduction to the play, “[f]or twenty years Shakespeare kept the ghosts separate from the women who wouldn’t die. Then at the end of his career he brought them together in The Winter’s Tale, in the same person, the queen Hermione” (3). Hermione’s return is one of spectacle and, as Paulina suggests, “marvel.”32 Hermione’s return to life has been read as the representation of the god-like capacity of the playwright, and this chapter considers this in relation to Shakespeare’s own adaptations of previous materials in his creation of the romances. Sidney R. Homan discusses the aesthetic of The Winter’s Tale, arguing that Leontes “is given metaphors of art and the theater” (72) and that the “unveiling seems to praise the artist as a creator second only to the gods” (73). This moment of a statue returning to life is also certainly a reference to some of Shakespeare’s main sources for this play: Robert Greene’s Pandosto and Ovid’s 31 As discussed in the introduction, though the romances were strange enough to be placed within their own genre by 19th century scholars, scholarship surrounding Shakespeare’s romances reveals that it is difficult to define this genre—and thus the romances have been defined in different ways. Dowden first identified the plays as having a romantic element within them in 1875; Philip Edwards in 1958 identified trends of highlighting Shakespeare as a poet as well as theatrical conditions and economics of the plays; the 1970s critics tied the romances to myth, symbol, and allegory; and more recent scholarships has focused on the category of "tragicomedy," aspects of music and lyric in the plays, as well as stage spaces (see pp.7–11). 32 Mario DiGangi, summarizing ideas from Bruce Smith, argues that: “Shakespeare’s contemporaries tended to respond to statues in one of three ways: they revered them as objects of religious devotion, interpreted them as embodiments of philosophical ideas, or marveled at their verisimilitude” (361). 38 Metamorphoses.33 Jonathan Baldo’s “The Greening of Will Shakespeare,” does well to show how Shakespeare adapts Greene’s text, arguing that the “statue trick may serve as a metaphor for the larger contrivance that is the play itself: the necromantic way Shakespeare has with an old text like Greene’s as he coaxes it to move and breathe through the lively art of theater, making a wintry narrative green again in the fullness of his stagecraft” (14). While the relationship to Pandosto has been a staple of source studies in the play, especially the choice of Shakespeare for the character of Hermione to live, in this chapter I want to explore new source materials that highlight generic estrangements. Thus, rather than focusing on how Shakespeare adapts or manipulates Greene or Ovid34, this chapter looks at the connections between Shakespeare’s romances and medieval texts, specifically medieval prose romances and medieval miracle plays.35 Baldo’s concept of Shakespeare’s “necromantic way” of adapting Greene’s Pandosto for The Winter’s Tale also applies to Shakespeare’s adaptation of medieval texts in this play, as well as his other romances. Nearly all of Shakespeare’s plays include the adaptation of older texts, but 33 Earlier plays of Shakespeare can also be seen as influences/intertexts; Leontes’ jealousy can easily be compared to Othello, and Leontes’ treatment of his daughter and his questionable decisions as king—particularly focused on his mental capacities—can be tied to King Lear. John Pitcher in his introduction to the play explains that Shakespeare’s “innovations in genre were achieved most often inside his plays, and between earlier plays and later ones. It is generally agreed that for The Winter’s Tale, the key influence was King Lear” (19). 34 For other (older) studies that describe Shakespeare’s adaptation of Greene’s Pandosto and Ovid’s Metamorphoses, see: Joel Davis’ “Paulina's Paint and the Dialectic of Masculine Desire in the Metamorphoses, Pandosto, and The Winter's Tale,” Watson Nicholson’s “Pandosto and The Winter’s Tale,” John Lawlor’s “Pandosto and the Nature of Dramatic Romance,” Darryll Grantley’s “‘The Winter’s Tale’ and Early Religious Drama,” Inga-Stina Ewbank’s “From Narrative to Dramatic Language: The Winter’s Tale and Its Source,” Martin Mueller’s “Hermione’s Wrinkles, or, Ovid Transformed: An Essay on The Winter’s Tale,” and Donna C. Woodford’s “Nursing and Influence in Pandosto and The Winter’s Tale.” 35 Mario DiGangi summarizes these influences quite well: “the three literary traditions that conveyed romance themes and conventions to English Renaissance readers [include]: Hellenistic (Greek) prose romances written in the third century C.E.; medieval chivalric romances such as Thomas Malory’s Mort D’Arthur; and late medieval morality plays and miracle plays that dramatized the lives of Christian saints” (135). 39 the influence of medieval texts on the romances are what distinguishes them from other plays and genres.36 Hermione’s revivification thus also serves as a metaphor for Shakespeare’s incorporation of medieval prose romances and medieval miracle plays, presenting old material that is the same but not entirely similar to The Winter’s Tale. Significantly, Shakespeare is staging this material in a new and estranging fashion; he is bringing this old material back to life in order to highlight the importance of the daughters and wives in these tales and to invite critique of the male rulers. Shakespeare incorporates themes and plots from medieval romances in his romances, and importantly, these plots center around travel which Shakespeare exploits as a catalyst for physical estrangements.37 Shakespeare also incorporates ideas from medieval miracle plays, which include the martyrdom and revivification of women. These medieval plays are obviously tied to Christianity, but Shakespeare instead connects the revivification of women in his romances to the gods and the supernatural. Thus, the influence of medieval prose romances and miracle plays emerging in the romances illuminate this dissertation’s view of estrangement. Shakespeare’s romances’ presentation of haunting women, and the dead never quite dying38 unite Geraldine Heng’s views of medieval romances and Marvin Carlson’s ideas of the haunted stage39 —approaches from medieval and performance studies, respectively, that I utilize 36 King John and Macbeth are two non-romances that are also tied to the medieval period, but these ties are only with historical figures and time period. Their themes, construction, and plots do not engage in the same way with the medieval period as the romances do. In this way, they are not as connected to estrangement, and they do not as complexly weave together influences from the medieval period. 37 I explore the connection between travel and the romance genre in detail in chapter 2. 38 In his introduction to The Winter’s Tale, John Pitcher explains “that the dead don’t die” is important to Shakespeare’s romances; “The need to believe in the truly impossible (life after death) and to take consolation and even pleasure from it, is part of our humanity” (21). 39 Though Carlson naturally mentions earlier theories of ghosting and haunting in theatre studies, it is worth noting Alice Rayner’s Ghosts: Death’s Double and the Phenomena of Theatre from 2006 which focuses directly on ghosts (as dead characters who haunt living characters), psychoanalysis, and “ghostly theatricality: repetition, the double, matter, and memory” (xxxviii–xxix). 40 to define and analyze the distinct genre of Shakespeare’s romances. Heng argues that a “romance’s preferred method is to arrange for an apparatus of the intimately familiar and pleasurable—figures of gender, sexuality, and varieties of adventure—to transact its negotiations with history, addressing what surfaces with difficulty, and exists under anxious pressure, through a loop of the familiar and the enjoyable” (3). In the same way, Shakespeare’s romances adopt earlier forms and earlier plays and present audiences with the “familiar,” but at the same time, they envision characters that must adapt as well as liminal characters like Hermione and the cross-dressed Innogen that press on the boundaries of what it means to be a human and what it means to be a woman, respectively. Audiences are thus presented with both the familiar and unfamiliar, an estranging phenomenon. Concepts of haunting and estrangement appear within Carlson’s The Haunted Stage: Theatre as Memory Machine which continues a longer tradition of examining the idea of ghosts and haunting within the theatre. At the beginning of his book, Carlson outlines previous notions of performance as it connects to haunting: Herbert Blau has observed that a universal of performance is “its ghostliness, its sense of return, the uncanny but inescapable impression imposed upon its spectators that ‘we are seeing what we saw before;’” Richard Schechner argues that performance is “restored behaviour” or “twice-behaved behaviour;” and Joseph Roach relates “performance to surrogation” (1–2). In the invocation of the uncanny we can already see 41 how Carlson’s idea intersects with Brecht’s verfremdungseffekt40—both theories discuss how theatre can present the familiar alongside the unfamiliar to great effect.41 This notion of the familiar and unfamiliar also has similarities with Freud’s notion of the uncanny and Derrida’s notion of hauntology42. What differs in this dissertation’s use of the term “estrangement” is the effect on audience members as well as the term’s distinctive connections to the romances. That is, Freud mentions that the uncanny is frightening, but this is not necessarily the case for dramaturgical and thematic estrangement in the romances; for the characters within the play and for audiences watching the play, estrangement creates wonder, often pleasurable, and invites critique or reflection, respectively. Further, Derrida’s hauntology, in being an ontology, focuses on the nature of being, but this dissertation’s view of estrangement is specific to Shakespeare’s romances, considering its intersections with the generic, thematic, performative, and spatial aspects of the experience. Thus, Carlson’s view of “haunting,” is most useful in defining the estrangement within Shakespeare’s romances, and as experienced by the audiences watching the plays. Carlson argues that all theatre is “a cultural activity deeply involved with memory and haunted by repetition” and that “[e]verything in the theatre, the bodies, the materials utilized, the language, 40 For more on Brecht, see pp. 16-20 of the introduction. In short Brecht argues that his verfremdungseffekt is achieved by utilizing specific dramatic techniques (like signs, songs, illustrations, actors breaking out of character to lecture, etc.) in order to distance the audience and keep them aware of being in the theatre and therefore develop a critical attitude. It is related to notions of the uncanny and seeing the familiar alongside the unfamiliar. 41 To see another framework for applying Brecht’s ideas to older texts, see Elin Diamond’s “Gestus and Signature in Aphra Behn’s The Rover”; Diamond explains that Willmore, the Willmore, the play’s “rover,” steals a portrait when he arrives at his courtesan’s door and she is not there, and Diamond argues that this gesture can be read as Brechtian “gest”, or a “moment in performance that makes visible the contradictory interactions of text, theater apparatus, and contemporary social struggle” (519). She also mentions how Brecht’s reading of Coriolanus explores “a textual system in which author, apparatus, history, and reader-spectator each plays a signifying role” (520). 42 Freud explains that the uncanny is “that species of the frightening that goes back to what was once well known and had long been familiar” (124). Derrida’s hauntology, a portmanteau of “haunting” and “ontology” and using the ghost of old king Hamlet as an example, describes how ideas (in this case, Marxism) can haunt future societies (again, in this case, Western society). He explains that “Hamlet already began with the expected return of the dead King. After the end of history, the spirit comes by coming back [revenant], it figures both a dead man who comes back and a ghost whose expected return repeats again and again” (Specters of Marx 10). 42 the space itself, is now and has always been haunted, and the haunting has been an essential part of the theatre’s meaning to and reception by its audiences in all times and all places” (15). Thus, audiences are presented simultaneously with the familiar and unfamiliar when watching drama.43 For example, women dying is common in Shakespeare’s plays, but Hermione’s status as statue is unusual; similarly, cross-dressing women is not uncommon, but typically women like Rosalind from As You Like It or Portia in The Merchant of Venice do not face such harrowing circumstances as waking up in a grave with a beheaded corpse, which Innogen faces in Cymbeline. Hermione’s transformation thus represents a moment of spectacle common to Shakespeare’s romances where a character shifts between death and life. This shift often coincides with a genre shift in the play—previously displaying tragic elements in the first three acts with Hermione’s imprisonment and Perdita’s abandonment, the play incorporates the pastoral44 and comic elements in the last two acts and ends in the familial reunion unique to the romances. It is this intermixture of genres that includes presumed deaths of women which defines the romances and make them an estranged genre. Thus, to sum up, Shakespeare’s romances are an estranged genre with estranged women that can estrange audiences. 43 Carlson suggests that drama, “more than any other literary form seems to be associated in all cultures with the retelling again and again of stories that bear a particular religious, social, or political significance for the public” (8). This is true of Shakespeare’s romances in performance, but it is also true of these plays in terms of their investments in adaptation and haunting, ties to the medieval and earlier genres/forms. We can see this with Pericles retelling the tale of Apollonius of Tyre, Cymbeline retelling the history of King Cunobeline, and The Winter’s Tale retelling Ovid’s Pygmalion and Greene’s Pandosto. Audiences both in the early modern period and today, however, do not necessarily encounter a Freudian “fear” when being presented with the familiar and unfamiliar. Instead, this combination provides comfort in the use of old tales while at the same time leaving space for critique, especially when seeing themes, genres, forms, and ideas that seem more unfamiliar. 44 John Pitcher explains that in “literary pastorals, aristocrats, soldiers and even kings unburdened themselves for a while: by taking a holiday among their inferiors, they could play at being childlike again” (31). A contemporary play that was also in the style of pastoral tragicomedy was John Fletcher’s The Faithful Shepherdess (1606). 43 The Winter’s Tale, more than any of Shakespeare’s other romances, highlights the wrongs of Leontes and shows the wrenching effects of familial estrangements as well as the importance and strength of the female daughters and wives of male patriarchal rulers. It is the extended time spent estranged from their wives and daughters that make patriarchal rulers adapt their thinking. As I will detail more in chapter 3, this changed thinking still leaves room for audiences to critically reflect on the actions of these rulers. In seeing an adaptation of earlier material from medieval prose romances, medieval miracle plays, or from earlier plays by Shakespeare, the audience is invited to experience a kind of haunting of the past—witnessing similar stories as a palimpsest. Shakespeare thus uses the haunted female body to highlight the wrongs of the male rulers and to create stage space for the explorations of different possibilities and power differentials. The romances are not simple “old” tales, and they reward readers and viewers who consider their ties to the past (especially to medieval sources) and their complicated constructions. Their estranged genre invites further adaptation and experimentation in performances particularly because moments like Hermione’s transformation from statue to human trouble theatre artists, while at the same time invite innovation. Jane Barnette in Adapturgy: The Dramaturg’s Art and Theatrical Adaptation argues that: At the heart of every theatrical adaptation…is a process of transformation that is often experienced as both numinous and uncanny…With full recognition that the purpose of most theatre practice today is no longer religious (or even sacred), the process of adaptation for the stage nevertheless stirs up a kind of numinous [that which conjures both fear and fascination] energy, one that is often read or interpreted as uncanny (39). 45 45 Barnette further explains that “the nature of adaptation—insofar as it is ‘repetition without replication,’ or the presentation of something that is not the original, but also not-not the original—is itself uncanny or unheimlich. In saying so I do not mean to embrace Sigmund Freud’s overarching psychoanalytic theory so much as capture what he has said about fiction in his 1919 essay on the uncanny. Namely, I am interested in the paradox that ‘in the first place a great deal that is not uncanny in fiction would be so if it happened in real life; and in the second place that there are many more means of creating uncanny effects in fiction than there are in real life” (40). 44 Since Shakespeare’s romances are already tied so closely to the concept of adaptation both generically and thematically, explorations and adaptations in performances on the stage become even more remarkable, evoking a range of audience responses as outlined above. Thus, this chapter begins by examining the estranged genre of Shakespeare’s romances, explaining how the representation of time in truncated, non-chronological trajectories contributes to their unique intermixture of comic and tragic moments. This estranged genre interrupts generic expectations, and to offer a wider context, the chapter then critically examines theories of genre46 and genre expectations from Aristotle, Heywood, and Sidney, especially in connection to the dramatic shifts in time within Shakespeare’s romances that allow characters like Hermione to haunt other characters in the play. Next, the chapter examines how Shakespeare’s romances incorporate elements of medieval romances and medieval miracle plays, particularly in ways that highlight the estranged, wronged women in the plays. It concludes by considering how Hermione’s missing and reappearing body haunts audiences of past and future productions. I examine in particular the 2021 Royal Shakespeare Company production of The Winter’s Tale, because it makes choices in performance which highlight both the “strange” presentation of time within the play as well as the estranging, haunting presence of Hermione; it utilizes the shift in culture of 1950s to 1960s England with the space race and hippies to highlight the play’s estranged genre, and it incorporates moments where the actress playing Hermione reappears on stage when she is not present in the original text, to emphasize her haunting presence. Altogether, the production shows how the themes of estrangement within The Winter’s Tale remain interesting and relevant to audiences today. 46 The scope of this chapter is limited to exploring and interrogating the Folio categories of comedy, history, and tragedy, saving other genres (such as travel writing) and forms (such as masques) to subsequent chapters. 45 Genre and Time The manipulation of time—often in strange or unexpected ways—is important to the romances overall, and to The Winter’s Tale in particular.47 It is the compression of the passage of sixteen years of time earlier in the play that makes it possible for Hermione (transformed from statue to human), Leontes (transformed from formerly jealous king to a repentant husband of Hermione), and Perdita (transformed from a banished baby to a teenage daughter of Leontes and Hermione) to reunite. Embodied time literally appears at the top of act 4 to “fast-forward” the play by over a decade to allow Perdita to survive her abandonment in Bohemia and grow up and be at an age to marry. As typical of the first three Shakespearean romances, the daughters of male rulers become the focus of the last few acts of the play, and the mothers/wives function as haunting presences to both daughters and husbands, and in this play, only appearing again onstage at the very end.48 The fast-forwarding between acts 3 and 4, then, also allows enough time for Leontes to think through the estrangements he has caused his family, given that his wife and daughter are both dead to his knowledge by the end of act 3. The opening lines of act 4 of The Winter’s Tale includes embodied “Time” addressing the audience. Time begins by saying: I, that please some, try all; both joy and terror Of good and bad, that makes and unfolds error, Now take upon me, in the name of Time, To use my wings. Impute it not a crime To me or my swift passage that I slide 47 Douglas Peterson devotes a large portion of his book, Time, Tide, and Tempest to time within the romances, explaining that “[o]ne finds throughout Shakespeare, and especially in the romances, the metaphorical figures which represent time in its various dimensions -- as Revealer, Destroyer, Renewer, and Occasion” (18) and that “[t]hrough the right use of time fathers and their children may participate in the generative process by which the social and natural orders are sustained. By enduring tempestuous time patiently they prove their trust in a purposeful and just universe. By knowing when as well as how to act, and by acting promptly when occasion presents itself, they defeat Time the Destroyer” (62). 48 I will discuss The Tempest’s exceptionalism in chapter 4. Prospero’s wife is so estranged she is not present or even mentioned in the play at all and thus never “returns.” 46 O’er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried Of that wide gap, since it is in my power To o’erthrow law, and in one self-born hour To plan and o’erwhelm custom. (4.1.1–9) Time begins by acknowledging that it is strange and against “custom” and “law” for sixteen years to so swiftly past. Time goes as far as to suggest that some might accuse this movement of time of being a “crime,” acknowledging that “the growth” of the gap in these years will be “untried.” He also notes his (and the playwright’s) power to “o’erthrow law.” Though Time is indeed trying to quickly explain this gap, or “fast-forwarding” of time, the explanation in and of itself brings attention to the fact that time has been made strange. In this way, the audience (through both the character of embodied Time and through this speech) is reminded that time in this play disrupts chronological expectations in its strangeness. This presentation of Time primes the audience for other strange forms and customs that will later occur, such as the sudden shift to the pastoral in this act. While the laws mentioned might simply reference the laws of science, they can also be read as a reference to Aristotelian time—the notion that a play should occur in one location and occur in “real time” (or a short period of time). With these legal terms, then, Shakespeare clearly and playfully establishes that this sort of “fast-forwarding” is unusual and unexpected in this context. Time does not stop here with the explanation, but continues to act as a narrator, saying: I turn my glass, and give my scene such growing As you had slept between. Leontes leaving – Th’effects of his found jealousies so grieving That he shuts up himself (4.1.16–19) Here, Time brings attention to the feelings and actions of Leontes, reemphasizing his jealousy but also his grieving, presumably of the loss of his wife and daughter. His estrangement from his family is such that he shuts himself up; Time in this way “closes” the door of the story of 47 Leontes for the moment. The audience is told of his feelings and actions and given no further information about him. Thus, though readers receive the feelings and actions of Leontes, they receive no further details. In a way, Leontes is almost “stuck” in time, remaining a jealous and sad man. As the speech continues, Time quickly shifts the focus of the audience to the new generation, setting up the genre shift. Directly after the line of Leontes shutting himself up, Time speaks imperatively to the audience/readers: —imagine me, Gentle spectators, that I now may be In fair Bohemia, and remember well I mentioned a son o’th’ king’s, which Florizel I now name to you; and with speed so pace To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace Equal with wondering. (4.1.19–25) To facilitate the change in location and genre, Time first asks the audience to “imagine me” in “fair Bohemia” and then introduces the characters who will be a large focus in the next acts: Florizel and Perdita. From a “dead” Hermione and a grieving, shut-in Leontes, the play shifts to the youthful pair within a regenerative, pastoral world. Time concludes the speech by again making multiple direct references to the passage and purpose of time, and directly addressing the audience, setting their expectations. Time asks the audience to allow the passage of time and that: If ever you have spent time worse ere now; If never, yet that Time himself doth say He wishes earnestly you never may. (4.1.30–32) Thus overall, Time in this speech is a disrupting force that hurries the story along. Time directly addresses the audience, playfully acknowledging the disruption and strangeness of the intrusion. Shakespeare brings attention to Time and time via his writing style—this speech includes 16 48 rhyming couplets, bringing attention to the 16 years that have passed. This is what is needed, however, for the play to make a genre shift. The play then shifts towards the comic and the pastoral in the scenes in rural settings, and like Shakespeare’s other romances, it ends in reconciliation and reunion. The First Folio (1623) did not include a category of “romance” and Shakespeare never identified Cymbeline, The Winter’s Tale, Pericles, and The Tempest as romances. The nineteenth-century labeling of the plays as “romances” occurred because scholars viewed the plays as “different” and not fully representative of the three Folio categories of comedy, history, and tragedy; in this way, the romances in their naming are plays emerging from conditions of alterity and estrangement that separate them from the rest of Shakespeare’s canon. The mixed genre of Shakespeare’s romances with their various influences represents an experimentation with the possibilities of drama. They constantly shift and turn, offering a different dramatic experience that is often unexpected and complex.49 This in turn allows for an exploration of formations of difference, not just generically, but also in terms of identity— different races, groups, and ideologies are represented in these plays. The dramatic construction of the plays themselves reflect this investment in adaptation. Shakespeare’s romances, more so than any of his other plays, function as palimpsests where traces of earlier forms remain.50 A keen viewer of Shakespeare’s romances might constantly be haunted by the traces of these earlier works.51 In order for change to happen and for the plays to move towards the comic, characters must adapt their ideologies. King Cymbeline, for example, must relent and pay his 49 Barbara Mowat, for example, suggests that the romances help “us to experience – rather than merely to become intellectually aware of – the wonder and complexity of story, of drama, and of life” (Dramaturgy 94). Simon Palfrey suggests that the romances “seek out and test new decorums” (viii). 50 Linda Hutcheon argues that thinking about the perspective of reception allows us to experience adaptations as palimpsests (8). For more, see p. 31 of the introduction. 51 For more on audiences and the experiences of audiences, see chapter 3. 49 taxes to Rome, and he must adapt his thinking about how best to run his nation and his family. Prospero must forgive and end his plot for vengeance. Pericles and Marina must constantly adapt to new surroundings to survive, and Leontes must adapt his jealous mindset and begin to care for and believe the women in his life. For the romances, the wrongdoings of characters were previously dramatized within the framework of a tragedy whose traces linger and are thus not as easily forgotten. This differs from comedies which end in order being restored, couples uniting, and all of the previous trouble largely being forgotten.52 Wrongdoings in comedies are often not as serious as those in the romances, and most importantly, they rarely include the presumed death of a character. Evanthius, Thomas Heywood, Aristotle, and Phillip Sidney all provide evidence of the differences between the genres of “comedy” and “tragedy,” and the expectations of these genres within the early modern period overall. Shakespeare, of course, does not follow the “rules” found within these texts, but this helps establish generic expectations of the period. The beginnings and endings of plays are key to defining their genre. In his introduction to The Winter’s Tale, John Pitcher explains that, “Shakespeare appears to have in mind a famous definition in Latin [of comedy] by Evanthius, a grammarian of late antiquity” who said of comedy, “prima turbulenta, tranquilla ultima,” which has been translated directly as “the beginning is turbulent, the end tranquil,” more indirectly as tragedy depicting life as something to be fled and comedy something to be seized, and in another way, as comedy beginning with a tempest and ending in peace (17). This view of how comedies and tragedies begin and end can 52 As discussed in the introduction, there are other plays by Shakespeare such as All’s Well That Ends Well, Measure for Measure, and Troilus and Cressida that shift dramatically in terms of tone and generic mode. Shakespearean plays dubbed the “problem plays” or “tragicomedies” shift in genre. The romances can be viewed as a subset of these larger groups, that are united in particular by their connections to estrangement and their highlighting of women. 50 also be seen in Thomas Heywood’s An Apology for Actors. Heywood explains that the difference between the genres is the matter of sequence: “Comedies begin in trouble, and end in peace; Tragedies begin in calmes, and end in tempest.” The beginning of the romances generally begin in turmoil, but their “storms” can often be mid-play. Their endings might seem calm in their moments of reconciliation, but this calm is tainted by the memory of real and threatened violence. The storm, or tempest in The Winter’s Tale, for example, is placed mid-play, when Perdita is left for dead in Bohemia, right before embodied Time appears to fast-forward the action. Before the famous stage directions of “Exit, pursued by a bear,” Antigonus speaks to the baby Perdita and then comments on the ensuing weather: “The storm begins […] / I never saw / The heavens so dim by day” (3.3.48, 54–55). Here, Shakespeare emphasizes the gravity of this storm. Antigonus not only mentions that there is a storm brewing, but that he has never seen the sky so dark. This storm, thus, is extraordinary. Though strangely placed mid-play, this storm would retrospectively identify the play as being closer to a comedy since the next two acts are “calmer” as compared to the first three. The other romances likewise either begin with storms (such as the aptly titled Tempest) or otherwise have more tumultuous opening acts (Cymbeline and Pericles). At the same time, The Winter’s Tale and Shakespeare’s other romances seem more like tragedies in relation to everyone fleeing, particularly in connection to the estrangement of the families at the center of the plots. In the same speech to Perdita, Antigonus moves from the ocular to the aural noting a “savage clamour,” saying, “Well may I get aboard. This is the chase. / I am gone for ever” (3.3.55–57). That is, the noise is so loud that he decides he should quickly return to the ship. He is not the only one who tries to flee within the play—fleeing also occurs in 51 the first three acts of the play; Leontes flees to his home, locking himself away, Hermione is locked up in a tower, and Perdita is abandoned in Bohemia. Fleeing also occurs in the other romances: Prospero and Miranda begin the play estranged from their family and former life in Milan, having fled for their lives. Pericles and Marina are constantly traveling, trying to survive, and Innogen in Cymbeline also flees in order to reunite with her lover. Aristotle’s Poetics, which Shakespeare playfully alludes to in the speech by Time, also helps define the genre expectations of the early modern period, particularly in relation to characters and their behavior. Aristotle defined comedy as “an imitation of persons who are inferior; not, however, going all the way to full villainy, but imitating the ugly, of which the ludicrous is one part” (23). The characters within Shakespeare’s romances are inconsistent in terms of whether they are “inferior” or full of “villainy.” Leontes in particular seems to veer into “full villainy” when he refuses to believe the innocence of his wife and calls for his baby daughter to die; The Winter’s Tale, then, begins as a tragedy based on the actions and intentions of Leontes. The audience might thus expect Hermione to remain dead and for Leontes to experience grief. Yet, Leontes, like many of the characters in the romances, functions more like an archetype of a ruler and lacks clear and consistent emotional interiority through which we can judge him. Leontes wrongly accuses Hermione of infidelity but unlike Othello who has an intelligent, scheming Iago masterfully laying out clues to convince him of Desdemona’s supposed wrongdoing, Leontes has an oracle literally telling him he is wrong. Shakespeare includes this extraneous device to further emphasize that according to a “wise” character, “Hermione is chaste, Polixenes blameless, Camillo a true subject, Leontes a jealous tyrant…” (3.2.130–31). Leontes’ response is that “[t]here is no truth at all i’th’ oracle” and that he has “too much believed [his] own suspicion” (3.2.138, 148). 52 Overall, little insight into Leontes’ headspace is provided, and thus he can more easily be viewed as a patriarchal ruler making rash decisions and not listening to reason. The Winter’s Tale has further connections to King Lear, as both have old male rulers making ill-advised decisions. Yet, Lear has multiple soliloquies that present his thoughts and feelings—and the character is often read as going mad due to old age. Leontes is not presented as particularly old, and he gets few soliloquys. Thus, if audiences are at all haunted by the connections to this earlier play, the comparison only deepens Leontes’ flawed and cruel, yet mysterious decisions. The characters within Shakespeare’s other romances are likewise inconsistent in Shakespeare’s portrayal of their behavior and morality. King Cymbeline appears villainous with his ties to the queen and the banishment of his daughter in the first few acts, but his changed behavior at the end makes it more challenging to view him as a character full of villainy. Iachimo is practically a parody of a villain in Cymbeline, as is the queen. Innogen, like the other estranged daughters in the romances, appears innocent. The characters within The Tempest lean more towards the comic since none of them seem to be “villains,” though Prospero’s power, his treatment of the shipwrecked Italians at the beginning, and his treatment of Caliban overall could be considered forms of potential villainy. Finally, in Pericles, the opening scenes with Antiochus certainly depict the incestuous king as a villain, but the title character and his daughter, Marina, do not appear so villainous. Aristotle’s definition of tragedy further cements the mixed genres of the romances. Aristotle defines tragedy as the changing from “good fortune to bad” for characters (38). The fortune of characters in the romances most often turn from bad to good—or at least “better” and thus they might be qualified as comedies with this definition. Order is restored and families are reunited at the end. Aristotle argues that tragic characters should have consistency, but the male 53 rulers within the plays lack this consistency (43). Beginning with feelings of revenge (Prospero), jealousy (Leontes), adventure (Pericles), and avoidance (Cymbeline), these men shift towards forgiveness (Prospero), repentance (Leontes), settling/reuniting (Pericles), and acceptance (Cymbeline). They thus lack consistency—it is their change in behavior that in fact makes the romances seem strange. Considering Aristotle’s definition of tragedy, Shakespeare’s romances appear more tragic within the first few acts, and more comic in the last acts. Aristotle defines tragedy as “a process of imitating an action which has serious implications” and “an imitation not of men but of a life, an action, and they have moral quality in accordance with their characters but are happy or unhappy in accordance with their actions” (25, 27). The actions within the first half of the romances indeed have “serious implications,” largely the estrangement of wives and daughters from the husbands and fathers. Again, in Perdita’s case, she is left for dead. Thaisa in Pericles is thrown overboard because she is presumed dead, and her daughter, Marina, is left to be raised by a couple who are strangers to her. King Cymbeline banishes Innogen’s love, Posthumus, and his previous actions led to his estrangement from his sons. And yet, these actions with serious implications are reversed when the genre shifts in the latter parts of the plays. Perdita survives and the sheep-shearing festival and Autolycus’ songs open act 4 of The Winter’s Tale; Thaisa is revived by Cerimon; and Marina survives multiple attempts on her life. Innogen is eventually reunited with Posthumus. If the focus is brought to the women connected to the men in the romances, they operate more as tragic figures through the beginning acts, with their fortunes quickly turning from good to bad: Hermione shifts from queen to an imprisoned and “dead” woman, Thaisa shifts from a princess to an abandoned and “dead” woman, Innogen shifts from a beloved daughter to an 54 estranged and cross-dressed women navigating a new land practically by herself, and Miranda (via Prospero’s exposition in 1.2) shifts from the daughter of a duke in Milan to a girl growing up almost alone on an island with a character (Caliban) who she claims tries to rape her. It is only the very final scenes of the romances that turn towards resolutions reminiscent of the comedies for the women in the romances. Perdita goes from abandoned to betrothed in The Winter’s Tale, Marina goes from a victim of sex-trafficking to a woman of renown in Pericles, Miranda goes from an ignorant victim of attempted sexual assault to betrothed in The Tempest, and Hermione and Thaisa both return to life and reunite with their families in The Winter’s Tale and Pericles. Though there are these final couplings of the daughters, their previous treatment (and the treatment of the mothers) remains a haunting presence. Another way to examine the genre of the romances is to consider class, as defined by Phillip Sidney. In his Defence of Poesy (published in the late 1500s), Sidney reveals how expectations of class or the types of matters fit within each genre, saying that comedy is associated with “private and domestic matters” whereas tragedy “opens the greatest wounds, and shows forth the ulcers that are covered with tissue; that makes kings fear to be tyrants, and tyrants manifest their tyrannical humors.” Shakespeare’s romances are at once focused on the private and domestic matters of families as well as drastic actions that make these rulers appear at times like tyrants. Leontes accuses his wife of infidelity—this not only wounds his relationship with her, but it also interrupts his diplomatic relationship with Polixenes. His refusal to believe the oracle’s defense of Hermione’s fidelity reads much like a tyrant, refusing to listen to wisdom. Sidney further explains that tragedies stir “the affects of admiration and commiseration, teacheth the uncertainty of this world, and upon what weak foundations gilden roofs are builded.” The romances do expose the faults of these male rulers, but instead of 55 someone like Lear losing his mind and his daughters or the Macbeths losing their power, sanity, and lives, these rulers lose their families and senses temporarily. At the very end, the “dead” and/or estranged wives and daughters return, and the rulers adapt their thinking and their actions, seeking forgiveness and order. This strange combination of comedy and tragedy thus leaves the audience with a unique ending with both reconciliation, and unresolved issues. Prospero says to Antonio “I forgive thee / Unnatural though thou art” as he encloses everyone in his magical circle (5.1.78–79). Still, there are the upcoming nuptials of Miranda and Ferdinand to attend to and matters still to be settled in Milan. King Cymbeline must pay Caesar (“we submit to Caesar, / And to the Roman empire”), deal with the death of his wife (“promising / To pay our wonted tribute, from the which / we were dissuaded by our wicked queen”), and answer for his mistreatment of Imogen (5.5.459–62). Marina, Thasia, and Pericles are reunited, but both women were abandoned, and they have all spent 14 years apart. Hermione transforms back into human form and Perdita is found, but it is difficult to forget Leontes’ previous terrible treatment of his wife and daughter, and he even suggests that each must “answer to his part / Performed in this wide gap of time since first / We were dissevered” (5.3.190–93). In Pericles and The Winter’s Tale in particular, a significant amount of time has passed within the play, but old wounds are not necessarily healed; that time has been spent in tragic estrangement. Cymbeline, too, has shadows of betrayal. Thus, a lack of resolution can also be attributed to the fact that it is gods and goddesses, and divine intervention overall—combined with spectacle—that enable the reversals of fortune (and of life and death) to occur. Fulke Greville in 1611 emphasized this perspective when defining tragedy. Emma Smith, citing Fulke Greville, explains that tragic theory includes: the role of God or the gods. Greville proposes that classical tragedies show ‘the disastrous miseries of man's life and so out of that melancholic vision, stir horror, or 56 murmur, against Divine Providence’. Greek tragedy, therefore, provokes protest. We, like its protagonists, rail at the gods, wondering why they have allowed this to happen, why they are punishing the human world with such exquisite cruelties…On the other hand, Greville writes that contemporary tragedies show ‘God’s revenging aspect upon every particular sin, to the despair, or confusion, of mortality’. It is true that in Shakespearean tragedies, many characters end up dead in the end. Titus, Tamora, Othello, Macbeth and Lady Macbeth, Claudius, and Hamlet, are just a few of the sinners in the tragedies that die. There are also casualties of these sinners, often women and family members such as Desdemona, Lady Macduff, Ophelia, and Lear’s family. Audiences might “rail” at the gods, or feel horrified in Shakespeare’s tragedies, but in the romances, the gods serve as helpful dei ex machina. Further, in the romances, the characters who nearly die and/or who come back from death—including Thaisa, Hermione, and Innogen—are the wronged women. It is not the gods who are questioned in these tragedies—it is the patriarchy. In fact, it is often the work of gods or goddesses to “right” the wrongs of these rulers and restore order. The temple of the goddess Diana in Pericles offers Thaisa safe harbor, and the goddess herself appears to Pericles in a dream to tell him where to find his wife. As I will detail in the third chapter, it is the descent of Jupiter in Cymbeline that provides Posthumus the information needed to live and to help the play end comically. In The Tempest, Prospero functions like the god in the play, but his vengeance famously turns towards forgiveness towards his sinful enemies. It is Caliban and Sycorax who haunt the play. Finally, in The Winter’s Tale, one might argue that Hermione is the closest character to be represented as a goddess, or perhaps Paulina whose call for music enables Hermione’s transformation. It is the lack of a strong external deus ex machina in the play that makes Leontes’ poor judgement stand out even further. Perhaps the Oracle of Apollo could be placed as a god-like figure, but this figure seemingly has little power since Leontes quickly 57 dismisses the oracle’s judgement. In the opening scenes of the play, then, it is Leontes who holds the power, and audiences are invited to “rail” against his actions. Yet, Hermione and Perdita’s survival and the turn in act 4 to the pastoral, make the play more comic, and less tragic. The romances’ intermixture of genres complicated the play’s reception in its own time, as reflected in the personal testimony of people such as Simon Forman. Simon Forman noted three performances of Shakespeare’s plays—Macbeth, The Winter’s Tale, and Cymbeline—at the Globe Theatre in 1610–11. His “review” of The Winter’s Tale included details of the plot: 1611 the 15 of May, Wednesday Observe there how Leontes the king of Sicilia was overcome with jealousy of his wife with the king of Bohemia, his friend that came to see him; and how he contrived his death and would have had his cupbearer to have poisoned, who gave the king of Bohemia warning thereof and fled with him to Bohemia. Remember also how he sent to the Oracle of Apollo and the answer of Apollo, that she was guiltless and that the king was jealous, etc., and how except the child was found again that was lost, the king should die without issue. For the child was carried into Bohemia and there laid in a forest and brought up by a shepherd and the king of Bohemia his son married that wench. And how they fled into Sicilia to Leontes, and the shepherd having showed the letter of the nobleman by whom Leontes sent was that child, and [by] the jewels found about her, she was known to be Leontes's daughter, and was then 16 years old. Remember also the rogue that came in all tattered like colt pixie, and how he feigned him sick and to have been robbed of all that he had and how he cozened the poor man of all his money, and after came to the sheep-shearer with a pedlar’s pack and there cozened them again of all their money. And how he changed apparel with the king of Bohemia his son, and then how he turned courtier, etc. Beware of trusting feigned beggars or fawning felons. Forman’s opening comments about the play reveal how the popular “jealousy” narrative left a strong impression on him. He mentions Leontes being “overcome with jealousy,” and details how Leontes wanted the King of Bohemia, Hermione, and Perdita all dead. After mentioning the events that accounted for the shift in genre—Perdita’s betrothal to Florizel and her being 16 years old—Forman appears to try and find some morality within the play. 58 Forman’s “review” of The Winter’s Tale, then, significantly shows how one viewer of the play wrestled with the estranged genre typical of Shakespeare’s romances. Expecting a villain or character worthy of judgment given the play’s tragic opening, Forman must adapt and turn his judgment toward Autolycus53 in the last two acts, since Leontes’ villainy has been made strange in the final two acts—or at least, Leontes’ villainy is inconsistent with his previous actions and the expected trajectory of a tragedy. Forman’s avoidance of many details related to the comic and pastoral elements of the play likewise suggests that he is attempting to conceive of the play in a tragic framework. The estranged genre of the romances—which intermix comedy and tragedy, and end in reconciliation—thus create a unique affective experience for audiences. This intermixture of comedy and tragedy, however, are not the only genres which Shakespeare incorporates in his romances. As the next section shows, medieval prose romances are key in defining Shakespeare’s romances. The incorporation of themes, plots, and ideas from medieval prose romances help form the “haunted” and “estranged” genre of Shakespeare’s romances, which in turn emphasizes the haunting role of estranged wives and daughters in the plays. Medieval Prose Romances The compressed temporal structure of The Winter’s Tale allows the play to shift between the tragic and comic, but the strange presentation of time is also critically tied to Shakespeare’s romances as it relates to the influence of medieval prose romances. Early modern audiences would be familiar with medieval prose romances, and thus in watching Shakespeare’s romances, 53 Stéphanie Mercier accounts for this strong focus on Autolycus by arguing that “Forman’s subjective re-investment in the plot material and pointed concentration upon Autolycus in the review suggest that he, albeit unconsciously, may have read the rogue as a staged version of himself” (“First-Time Stage to Page” 187). For more on Forman and The Winter’s Tale, see: Christopher Baker’s “‘Perform’d in This Wide Gap of Time’: A Stage History of The Winter’s Tale.” 59 they would be reminded of, even haunted by these “old tales.” The past, as manifested via the influence of medieval prose romances, then, haunts the present characters on the stage, inviting a kind of Brechtian, distancing effect for audiences. To show how Shakespeare adapts characters, plots, and themes of medieval prose romances for his late plays, a definition of this term is warranted. To many, the term “romance,” invokes the modern sense of romantic love; however, the term meant much more in the medieval period. An early definition of “romance” is: “[a] medieval narrative (originally in verse, later also in prose) relating the legendary or extraordinary adventures of some hero of chivalry. Also in extended use, with reference to narratives about important religious figures” (“romance, n. and adj. 1”). Applying this definition to Shakespeare’s romances, the patriarchal rulers would be classified as heroes of chivalry. Pericles, for example, participates in chivalrous actions at the beginning of the play. The male rulers in Shakespeare’s romances, however, are not always chivalrous. In fact, they make flawed, arbitrary decisions that harm the women in their life. As discussed earlier, they enact banishments and imprisonments which estrange them from their families. Shakespeare’s adaptation of the concept of romance in this sense thus brings further attention to the questionable actions and judgments of these men. The word “romance” as it comes to be associated with a literary genre in the medieval period can be challenging to define. As Geraldine Heng explains, “[r]omance, of course, has no beginning, no identifiable moment or text in which it is possible to say, here is the location of the origin” (1). In fact, some of the earliest texts dubbed “romances” are third-century Greek romances. A review of medieval prose romances and criticism of medieval romances, however, reveals that there are key features that help define this genre, though there is a debate in medieval 60 scholarship on how to define this term, or perhaps rather what to include and exclude. This is much like the scholarly debate about how to define Shakespeare’s romances. Shakespeare, exploits the characters, plots, and themes of these medieval tales, and both follow a longer tradition of “classic” or well-known characters or figures like King Arthur reappearing again and again in a variety of formats: oral storytelling, poems, prose, etc. The medieval romances, much like fairy tales, were often passed down orally and were known by a large majority of the populace regardless of class or position.54 These were “safe,” comforting, and familiar stories, but in this experimentation with medieval sources, Shakespeare structures audience responses to experience wonder, surprise, and unexpected emotional twists and turns, thereby experimenting with the expectations of the audience in his unique re-working of familiar generic materials. Shakespeare even brings attention to oral storytelling and the passing down of stories in 2.1 of The Winter’s Tale when Mamillius begins to tell Hermione a tale. He explains to her that: MAMILLIUS A sad tale’s best for winter. I have one Of sprites and goblins. HERMIONE Let’s have that, good sir. Come on, sit down, come on, and do your best To fright me with your sprites. You’re powerful at it. MAMILLIUS There was a man— 54 Helen Cooper explains that many scholars believe that classical authors like Virgil are important for the study of the Renaissance, but she believes that the medieval romances are more important because the former were only available to the elite whereas the latter were available to all and the early modern public grew up hearing these tales; because they were passed down orally, that is, those who could read or understand English were able to enjoy them as forms of evening entertainment or even as tales for children. She argues that the lack of records speaks to the widespread and well-known nature of the romances (7). 61 HERMIONE Nay, come, sit down; then on. MAMILLIUS Dwelt by a churchyard—I will tell it softly, Yon crickets shall not hear it. (2.1.25–31) Here, Shakespeare brings attention to both oral storytelling and the play itself when Mamillius explains that a sad tale is best for winter55. Mamillius’ opening lines also connect this tale to fairy tales and concepts of haunting, life, and death. A “sprite” is an “incorporeal or immaterial being; a disembodied spirit or soul; (now usually) spec. a supernatural creature or spirit, typically portrayed as small and often mischievous, and frequently associated particularly with a specific location or natural feature; an elf, a fairy” (“sprite, n.”). A “goblin” is a “small, ugly, gnome-like creature of folklore, fairy tales, and fantasy fiction; in early use considered as malevolent or demonic, in later use often as merely mischievous. Sometimes more generally: any imaginary being invoked to frighten children” (“goblin, n.1”). Thus, sprites and goblins have ties to both fairy tales and to the supernatural. Mamillius’ reference to a man in a churchyard also connects to the idea of ghosts and haunting since a churchyard includes “[t]he enclosed piece of consecrated ground in which a church stands, formerly almost universally used as a burial ground for the parish or district, and occasionally still used for Christian burials or memorials when space permits” (“churchyard, n.”). This moment of pseudo-foreshadowing can be tied to Hermione’s later haunting presence in the play and her transformation from statue to human. She might also be seen as a creature, or a soul connected to her statue-form. Attributing the “extraordinary” to medieval romances can be seen in Paul Strohm’s attempt to define the origin and meaning of Middle English romances. He explains that the term 55 In mentioning “winter,” Shakespeare also provides commentary on seasonal shifts: a tragedy is best for winter, a comedy or pastoral better for the spring, etc. 62 “romance” within the medieval period shifted from a term used to identify works in the French language to a term tied to a distinct form and specific content that functioned more as a genre. The earliest romances from the twelfth century were defined by their “use of the vernacular, their attention to love relations and to the inner life of their characters, and their interest in describing extraordinary events and things” (Strohm 2, my emphasis). In the later twelfth century, the term began to apply to the deeds of a single protagonist and by the thirteenth century, “romans” was being used for both form and content, and it was attributed to a group of recognized heroes (4, 7). Finally, by the fourteenth century, “romaunce” was used to emphasize the French antecedents and how there was a turn towards content being the determining factor regardless of language (8). This period also included a move towards fancy and love, and thus Strohm suggests that “[m]odern critics have therefore been true to the medieval conception of romans/romaunce in identifying the presence of fanciful, marvelous, and especially amorous elements as characteristics which help to distinguish these narratives from historical narratives and gestes” (12). Though “love” might more commonly be attributed to the modern idea of “romance,” the “marvelous” is most important for Shakespeare’s incorporation and adaptation of this genre in his romances.56 K.S. Whetter and Helen Cooper represent two extremes within medieval scholarship attempting to define the genre; the former seeks to find a concise definition while the latter seeks to expand it, accounting for mutation and adaptation. Whetter believes that the essential “features of English romance are the combination and interaction of love and ladies and adventure, 56 An expansion on this sense of the marvelous appears in Geraldine Heng’s explanation of the style of medieval romances. She argues that much scholarship on medieval romance reveals particular “affective styles and trajectories (a dreamlike aura, or sense of ‘the marvelous,’ avoidance of final closure or heroic fatalism, fantastical landscapes or episodic progressions, or an economy of pleasurable delay and deferral of the end)” (4). 63 culminating in a happy ending” (7).57 This concise definition might seem useful, but Cooper’s idea of “family resemblance” better accounts for the diversity in the genre. Cooper explains that the romance genre “is best thought of as a lineage or a family of texts rather than as a series of incarnations or clones…A family changes over time as its individual members change, but equally, those individuals can be recognized through their ‘family resemblance’” (8). Thus, this resemblance might be evident in “a certain shape of nose or mouth, or colour of hair…even though no one of those is essential for the resemblance to register” (8). This simile is useful because it acknowledges the evolution and ever-changing nature of the romance genre and it allows for smaller deviations within the Shakespearean romances too. Though creating too wide a definition can lead to the genre losing any defining features, too narrow a definition unnecessarily restricts certain texts from study. Cooper’s idea of “family” resemblance is most apt for this study; it allows the defining of particular noses, hair colors, eye shapes, etc. that constitute the “romance” face. Cooper explains that romances can be characterized as having “exotic settings, distant in time or place, or both; subject-matter concerning love or chivalry, or both; and high-ranking characters” as well as “quests; magic and the supernatural; a concern less with the communal good than with the individual hero’s inward thoughts, feelings, and aspirations, and, frequently, those of the heroine too; and a happy ending as normative, that ending often incorporating a return from an encounter with death” (10).58 This latter element is key in understanding the strange and estranging endings 57 As Whetter explains, he aligns himself with Dorothy Everett and John Finlayson who seek a clear definition of the medieval romance genre and not with Helen Cooper, Corinne Saunders, and Ad Putter who argue for a “family resemblance” view of the romance (5). Whetter concedes that there is an element of the “marvelous” within the romances, but he states that “we can consider the marvellous more an aspect of the adventure element than a primary feature in its own right” (68). 58 Cooper’s text also uses the concept of “memes” to track common elements within the romances. The memes she includes are: quest and pilgrimage, providence and the sea, magic that doesn’t work, fairy monarchs/fairy mistresses, desirable desire, women on trial, restoring the rightful heir, unhappy endings. 64 of the romances. They allow for the return from death.59 The elements of the medieval prose romances can function in a disruptive or estranging way when applied to Shakespeare’s romances. Out of all four of the romances, it might be argued that Pericles most directly invokes the medieval attributes. The plot of the play in many ways borrows from John Gower’s own book 8 of Confessio Amantis where a husband is separated from his wife at sea during a tempest, which is in itself an adaptation of the story of Apollonius of Tyre. Pericles begins with the embodied medieval poet Gower, rising from “ashes” to “sing a song that old was sung” and serving as narrator of the play (1.1.1–2). In turn, Gower further explains that this song: …hath been sung at festivals, On ember eves and holy days, And lords and ladies in their lives Have read it for restoratives. (1.1.5–8) The mention of singing the song at festivals and of lords and ladies reading it for “restoratives” could certainly be a reference to the performance of medieval prose and verse romances. Linda Marie Zaerr in Performance and the Middle English Romance explains that the medieval verse romances are tied to the minstrel performance tradition.60 These lines also align with the idea of medieval romances being in the cultural imaginary of the early modern public. Cymbeline, like Pericles, stands out for having additional ties to this earlier period. Though most scholars indicate that Cymbeline uses as a source Holinshed’s Chronicles (and that itself Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia Regum Brittanie), the play is also connected to Chaucer’s “Franklin’s 59 Melissa Furrow further acknowledges elements of the supernatural and the marvelous (alongside “knightly or noble or royal blood”, chivalric adventure, “manifesting of identity”, modeling of courtly behavior, and love- centered plots) and adds to these elements: romance heroes as exiles, endings with the reintegration of the hero into a society he leads, marriage and establishment of a ruling family, heroes establishing peace, locations of Britain, France, or Rome, a claim to be true but knowledge of them being fiction, interlaced narratives, and episodic organization (57-61). 60 A fiddle-player herself, Zaerr seeks to speculate on instrumental options for the performance of the romances, explaining that the harp and fiddle, and perhaps briefly the lute were used in performance. 65 Tale”; both Chaucer’s tale and Shakespeare’s play are texts that function as “romances built out of the remains of Geoffrey of Monmouth and ancient Briton history” (Scala 141).61 Types of characters like rulers (royals and nobility) are prominent in both medieval and early modern romances, and some even have the same characters such as Pericles/Apollonius from Gower’s Confessio Amantis and Cymbeline/Cunobeline from Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia Regum Britanniae. Overall, one can agree then that Shakespeare’s romances include themes, motifs, settings, and sometimes even characters from the medieval romances. The Winter’s Tale, however, covers all of the “facial features” of the medieval romances and also centrally focuses—more than the other romances—on the return from death to life of the wronged woman. 62 The elements of love, shipwrecks, the return from the dead, royalty, distance in time and place, exotic locations, magic, and travel from medieval prose romances appear again in The Winter’s Tale. Familial love is important to the play, as is romantic love since Leontes’ jealousy leads to the imprisonment of Hermione. Her transformation is evidence of a person returning from “death.” Leontes and Hermione are king and queen, and are thus royalty, and the play opens with the diplomatic travel of King Polixenes. The location of Bohemia can be viewed as distance in time/place as well as an “exotic” setting. The Bohemia of The Winter’s Tale is basically a fictional place. It is described in the play as “a desert country near the sea” but Bohemia was a land-locked country in central Europe and part of the Holy Roman Empire. Contemporary playwright, Ben Jonson, famously said to a friend: “Shakespeare in a play brought in a number of men saying they had suffered shipwreck in Bohemia, where is 61 See also Deanne Williams’s “Shakespearean Medievalism and the Limits of Periodization in Cymbeline.” 62 The medieval also appears in The Winter’s Tale via other sources and contexts. According to Louise M. Bishop, “In The Winter’s Tale, Shakespeare augments his treatment of Robert Greene’s Pandosto, the play’s acknowledged source, with a model of successful female eloquence found in [Chaucer’s] The Tale of Melibee to tweak Greene’s literary reputation” (232). 66 no sea near, by some hundred miles” (200, quoted in Halleck). Shakespeare may, however, been aware of this, and thus purposefully experimented with, or “played around” with the exoticness of the location. This Bohemia was so distant in time and place, and so exotic that it ventured towards the fictional and strange. The other romances likewise include these facial features. Travel and adventure appear in Pericles when the title character sails the Mediterranean, in Cymbeline when Innogen cross- dresses and sets off for Wales, and in The Tempest with the backstory of Prospero and Miranda being banished to the island.63 Shipwrecks appear in the other romances, as do distant times and (exotic) places. Shipwrecks centrally figure in both Pericles and The Tempest, and nearly all four plays have distant times and exotic places. Pericles has multiple “exotic locations” (Tyre, Tarsus, Pentapolis, Mytilene, etc.) and Cymbeline is in the distant past (ancient Briton). The Winter’s Tale and Pericles include fourteen (plus) year time gaps between acts three and four, and The Tempest stands out as being one of the few Shakespearean plays that follows the Aristotelian notions of space and time. Love is prominent in all romances, especially familial love between husbands and wives and husbands and daughters. The love between King Cymbeline and his daughter is tested when he banishes her lover. The Tempest shows a father and daughter living together on an island, and Pericles’s epic journey follows his finding, losing, and reuniting with his wife and daughter. Though not all early modern scholars acknowledge the influence of the medieval romance, many discuss medieval romance themes and motifs implicitly or explicitly. Howard 63 The travel seen with the romances also connects to the earlier medieval romance genre. As Geraldine Heng notes in discussing Mandeville’s Travels, “it is the fragmented character of travel romance narrative—the apparently indiscriminate tendency to collect atomized and diversely unrelated scraps of narrative bric-á-brac—that enables the creation of one of the most imaginative acts of cultural domination available in the Middle Ages (242). I explore this further in the next chapter on Pericles. 67 Felperin, for example, argues that, “[t]he conventional motifs of classical and medieval romance – mysterious oracles, storms and shipwrecks, malevolent enchanters, and so on” are found in Shakespeare’s late plays (32–33). Kay and Jacobs in 1978 largely agree with Felperin by stating the romances have: “large time-spans, riddles, shipwrecks, the strange loss and recovery of children, rural and court settings, extremes of characterization, [and] happy endings embracing incipient tragedy” (1). Alison Thorne discusses medieval romantic themes alongside ideas of redemption when she states that the romances include “the loss and recovery of royal children; flawed rulers who, after enduring many years of hardship, find redemption through the restitution of their families; miraculous twists of fate, reunions and resurrections of characters presumed dead engineered by some divine agency, providence force or mage-like figure” (1).64 Though I have emphasized the key influence of the medieval romances on Shakespeare’s romances, there are other genres and mixed-genre texts that have also influenced these plays, given that they so highly embrace adaptation and experimentation. Geoffrey Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales (c.1400) with its chivalry and travel and well as Edmund Spenser’s Faerie Queene (1590) filled with the epic quests of knights and the incorporation of magic followed in varying ways the romance tradition.65 Sir Phillip Sidney’s Arcadia (c.1580s) includes elements of the tragicomic with a journeying character named “Pyrocles”, as well as some plot points that connect to The Winter’s Tale. Euripides’ Alcestis and the aforementioned Greene’s Pandosto are also often cited as sources for The Winter’s Tale.66 Even earlier was Boccaccio’s Decameron, 64 See also Jody Enders’ Death by Drama and Other Medieval Urban Legends in which she looks at the anthropological, psychological, religious, phenomenological, and folkloric questions related to early performance practice (2). 65 Shakespeare’s The Two Noble Kinsmen, a play that some scholars classify as a romance directly follows the plotline from Chaucer’s Knight’s Tale. 66 See more about Euripides in John Pitcher’s introduction to the Arden edition of the play, pp.11-15. 68 Holinshed’s Chronicles, Plutarch’s Lives, and earlier eastern sources for many of the Italian narratives that Shakespeare adapts for many of his plays.67 Therefore, Shakespeare’s romances were certainly not the only tragicomic plays within the period that included elements of romance. As Hallett Smith notes, there was a “vogue of the romantic play” in the earlier modern period, though only a few of the plays survive.68 Shakespeare’s romances, however, mediate between the past, present, and future largely within the context of mixed genre and medieval influences. The medieval influence was not only present within Shakespeare’s romances in terms of medieval prose romances, but also in terms of miracle or saints plays, particularly in evoking the wronged woman and the haunted, estranged body. Haunting and the Estranged Body on Page and Stage In addition to the romance genre in prose, medieval drama also contributed to the form and themes within Shakespeare’s romances, as for instance, saint’s plays, or conversion plays of the period often showed the “miraculous power of a saint that enabled him to admonish sinners or convert the heathen” (Bevington 661). The plays mixed “biblical and fabulous elements” and thus often included a more literal interpretation of the phrase deux ex machina (662). One example is the play Mary Magdalene from the Digby Manuscript. This play was “based in part on Scriptural narrative, mingled with much that is pure fiction: journeys across oceans, the separation of a husband and his wife, the seeming death of the wife, her miraculous recovery 67 For more on Eastern sources for Shakespeare’s plots, see Walter Cohen’s “Eurasian Literature” from Comparative Early Modernities in which he argues that Shakespeare’s ties to Bocaccio’s Italy and Italian narratives can be linked concurrently to a “South Asian tradition” and that “in both eastern Asia and Western Europe, the vernacular tale, with antecedents in ancient Indian – often Buddhist – oral narratives, plays an important role in the prehistory of the novel and a significant one in the prehistory of drama” (53, 56). 68 Smith explains that in the earlier period of 1570-1585, there were thirty known romantic plays, but the only three that have survived are Clyomon and Clamydes, Common Conditions, and The Rare Triumphs of Love and Fortune (14). 69 from death, a touching reunion, and the like” (661). This description reads strikingly like Pericles and The Winter’s Tale, particularly in relation to their oceanic journeys, seemingly dead wives (Thaisa and Hermione) and the return to life of these wives that coincide with their reunion with their families.69 These miracle plays were especially important influences on Shakespeare’s romances in relation to the renewal of life and the haunted body of falsely accused heroines. As Kathy M. Krause explains in the forward to Carol J. Harvey’s Medieval French Miracle Plays: Seven Falsely Accused Women: “The basic plot involves a virtuous heroine who is falsely accused of a crime and/or threatened with incest and is driven into exile” (12). Harvey argues that the “persecuted heroine was one of the most prevalent motifs or plot-types in medieval literature” and many of the miracles drew upon wrongly persecuted women (13, 24).70 These plays themselves were adaptations of folktale motifs, and many drew upon the “archetypal folk theme of the wrongly persecuted woman, falsely accused of adultery, treason, or murder, threatened with an incestuous marriage, exiled or otherwise victimized” (24–25). Iwasaki mentions that the “emblematic tradition of ‘Veritas filia temporis’ tends to come into association with the tradition of the Calumniated Wife Cycle of medieval romances” (253). Hermione in The Winter’s Tale is of course imprisoned and exiled from her husband and her children, and, as the oracle and the final scene prove, she was falsely accused of adultery. 69 Bevington even explicitly argues that the genre of Saints’ plays contributes to the “dramatic romance of the English Renaissance, including Shakespeare’s Pericles and The Winter’s Tale” (663). He also summarizes that “humanist drama is derived in many important ways from medieval literature and especially from traditions of courtly entertainment. Medieval romance and Chaucer’s tales offered models for nonreligious love stories and fabliaux that were suitable for the stage” (968). 70 Harvey indicates that “major source of our knowledge of miracle plays is the two-volume Cangé Manuscript…a remarkable record of dramatic production comprising forty miracles arranged in chronological order of performance from 1339 to 1382” (17). 70 Another unique aspect of these falsely-accused-heroine miracle plays which were similar to Shakespeare’s romances were their depiction of male characters and the resolutions to the plays overall. Male characters were presented as “weak and gullible” while others were “unjust, violent or lustful” (Harvey 146). Leontes, Prospero, Pericles, and Cymbeline all seem unjust in the beginning of Shakespeare’s romances, and the former two display violence. Resolution of the miracle plays included the intervention of the divine, and the women often invoked Mary in prayer and “Our Lady” would resolve “the woman’s trials and tribulations” (24). Shakespeare’s romances also include the divine, but different gods and goddesses and types of interventions are staged.71 Despite all of this, the men in the miracle plays “are evidently deserving of God’s mercy” as “all are miraculously reunited with their lost wives or daughters” (147).72 Given that these medieval miracle plays were explicitly written to fit within the framework of Christian religion, it follows that God’s mercy would be the force that forgives all. This is not as clear cut in Shakespeare’s romances even though they do involve reconciliation and redemption. When comparing Shakespeare’s romances to the medieval miracle plays, it seems that Shakespeare’s adaptation and experimentation with different genres and forms invite a stronger critique of the men and patriarchal structures in the plays. Harvey argues that medieval miracle plays provided a “dramatic space within which the dominant discourse could be challenged, royal authority undermined and royal power destabilized” (156). This is also true of Shakespeare’s romances, and to a higher degree because it is not a merciful God helping the men 71 I discuss the intervention of the divine further in chapter 3 in connection to early modern masques. In short, The Winter’s Tale includes the Oracle of the Apollo and Hermione as a goddess-like figure herself, Pericles includes the goddess Diana, Cymbeline include the god Jupiter, and The Tempest has the god-like Prospero as well as Juno, Ceres, and Iris in Ferdinand and Miranda’s wedding masque. 72 See also: Claudia Olk’s “Vision and Desire in Mary Magdalene and The Winter’s Tale.” 71 and women, but a variety of deities strangely providing a deus ex machina. 73 To put it another way, the men in Shakespeare’s romances get a different focus—seemingly divorced from God’s divine mercy, their reunions with their families seem more strange and thus open for reflection and critique. The gods come into to fix the familial, physical, and emotional estrangements of the families, and these estrangements are emphasized by the fact that the romances themselves are an estranged genre. The morality and/or religious framework displayed within Shakespeare’s romances thus remains ambiguous. Further, noticing the medieval influence on Shakespeare’s romances thus highlights the important role of the women in the plays, particularly the wives and daughters.74 The figure of the falsely accused heroine is most fully explored in The Winter’s Tale via Hermione, and intersecting themes of estrangement and abandonment can also be seen in Perdita’s story. Antigonus leaving the baby Perdita in Bohemia not only shows the most extreme case of estrangement in terms of daughters in Shakespeare’s romances, but it also shows how the phenomenon of haunting connects to Shakespeare’s dramatic telling of this scene. Before Antigonus’ exit, previously discussed in relation to genre, Antigonus lands on the shore of Bohemia and says: “Come, poor babe. / I have heard, but not believed, the spirits o’th’ dead / May walk again. (3.3.14–16). This discussion of the “spirits o’th’ dead” is reminiscent of Mamillius’ earlier dialogue with Hermione where he began to introduce his tale for winter; 73 Mario DiGangi mentions how this critique of Leontes can be compared to King James’ view of authority in the early modern period: “James’s description of the free monarch in the [sic] The True Law exists in a complicated and oblique relationship to Shakespeare’s depiction of sovereignty in The Winter’s Tale. Both James and Leontes make rhetorical arguments on behalf of monarchical power, but whereas the ‘defensive’ James presents carefully ordered claims supported by textual citations, the ‘aggressive’ Leontes is less concerned to justify the theoretical basis of the royal authority to which he demands obedience” (240). 74 See also: Marla Carlson’s Performing Bodies in Pain: Medieval and Post-Modern Martyrs, Mystics, and Artists in which she “investigates performances of bodily suffering: live events in the course of which a performer either simulates or actually experiences physical pain” (2); each chapter “compares a particular variety of twenty-first- century suffering to similar performances of pain from the late Middle Ages” (2). 72 Mamillius mentioned sprites and goblins, and here, Antigonus more directly mentions spirits of the dead. The former scene had more of a fairytale, child-like quality due to its particular supernatural descriptors. This scene thus has a more adult tone with “spirits.” Mamillius begins by saying he previously did not believe in ghosts or the supernatural, but what he saw the night beforehand might bring this previous belief into question. Antigonus opens up the possibility of ghosts, and specifically the haunting presence of Hermione when he continues to say, “If such thing be, thy mother / Appeared to me last night, for ne’er was dream / So like a waking” (3.3.16–18). In the rational world, Antigonus’ observation would not make sense, but Shakespeare makes sure to include the fact that this apparition did not seem like a dream to Antigonus; what Antigonus believes was a dream (or perhaps nightmare) seemed more like waking reality. Thus, though the physical body of Hermione is not on stage and indeed not in the fictional world of the play in acts three and four, her haunted body, or spectral presence remains. Antigonus provides more details of this encounter, giving the ghostly Hermione a particular appearance, which could be interpreted in different ways. Antigonus recounts: “To me comes a creature, / Sometimes her head on one side, some another” (3.3.18–19). This description of the ghostly Hermione has elements of horror. While “creature” could merely reference a human being, it could also reference an animal (“creature, n.”). As Justin Kolb points out, “creature” had even more meanings in the early modern period: “creature denoted anything intentionally made” and thus “straddled the line between the creations of God and man, foregrounding the centrality of poesis and design to early modern ideas of nature and artifice” (45). Here, Hermione is thus simultaneously a dream, a ghost, and a created character on the stage. The capaciousness of Shakespeare’s language continues with Antigonus’ description of 73 her head being on “one side, some another.” This could be natural movement, or it could indeed be reminiscent of an unfriendly, horrifying ghost. Antigonus continues his description of this encounter by mentioning the emotion, appearance, and actions of Hermione: I never saw a vessel of like sorrow, So filled and so becoming. In pure white robes, Like very sanctity, she did approach My cabin where I lay, thrice bowed before me, And, gasping to begin some speech, her eyes Became two spouts; the fury spent, anon Did this break-from her… (3.3.20–26) Hermione is sad, and, similar to Antigonus’ previous lines of never having experienced a moment so much like a “waking,” he has never seen a “vessel” so full of “sorrow.” At the same time, he mentions the beauty of Hermione, and her white robes which could be read as innocence or ghostliness. He also describes her actions of bowing three times before him (suggesting subservience or ritual) and of crying so violently that her eyes seemed like overflowing “spouts.” Whether Hermione at this moment is a horrifying ghost, or the guilt within Antigonus’ subconscious, she is haunting the characters and the play, remaining present in a form estranged from her physical body. And finally, after providing the audience a description of the appearance, feelings, and actions of this ghostly Hermione, Shakespeare also gives her lines, albeit via Antigonus. Antigonus recounts that the apparition told him to name the baby Perdita and that he would never see his wife, Paulina, again (3.3.26–35). Antigonus does as he is told laying the baby Perdita down “in a mantle, with a box and letters” according to the stage directions which indicate her name and “character” (3.3.46). Antigonus is then famously “pursed by a bear” and never seen again, providing a stark contrast to this earlier scene of sorrow. This is one example of a moment 74 where Shakespeare uses a stark tonal shift to estrange audiences; if the audience is about to be entranced by the scene of Perdita’s abandonment, they cannot stay there too long because either comedy or fear follows it with the spectacle of Antigonus running away from a bear.75 The pastoral scenes within act 4 help enable the resolution and reconciliation at the end of the play when Hermione’s presence, and her physical body return. In most of Shakespeare’s romances, pastoral motifs in locations such as Wales and Bohemia, are where the estranged daughters travel, and they contribute to the intermixture of genres within the plays.76 While Perdita is off in a pastoral world, Leontes is left to consider his actions. The opening of act 5 includes Leontes speaking of his wrongs and of Hermione. In 3.2, Leontes had previously vowed to visit the graves of Hermione and Mamillius daily, and in 5.1, Cleomenes tells Leontes he has “done enough, and have performed a saint-like sorrow” (5.1.1–2). Leontes explains that he cannot forget his vices and the wrongs he did to Hermione (5.1.6–12). After further discussions and reunions, the play draws to a close with the famous scene where the statue of Hermione returns to human form, to which I also return. Paulina’s description of the statue of Hermione reveals the strangeness of the queen’s form. In a different way from the spectral presence which appeared before Antigonus, this Hermione nonetheless appears both alive and dead. Paulina explains that: As she lived peerless, So her dead likeness I do well believe Excels whatever yet you looked upon, 75 It is interesting to note that Helen Cooper states that the “abduction of a child by a bear or some other wild animal is an example of a romance motif” (3). In an article in Notes and Queries, Teresa Grant, discusses the usage of bears in Jonson’s masque, Oberon, The Faery Prince (a masque that was performed the same year as The Winter’s Tale); she states that the court had captured two polar bears from the arctic a few years earlier and the bears used in the masque might have been these tamed polar bears. Thus, while this bear chase could simply be an actor in a bearsuit (Henslowe’s Diary accounts for the company having such a suit), it could perhaps also have been an actual bear in the early modern period! For more on masques and this kind of estrangement in performance, see chapter 3. 76 For more on the pastoral on Shakespeare’s plays, see David Young’s The Heart’s Forest: A Study of Shakespeare’s Pastoral Plays, especially chapter 4 which discusses The Winter’s Tale. 75 Or hand of man hath done. Therefore I keep it Lonely, apart. But here it is: prepare To see the life as lively mocked as ever Still sleep mocked death. Behold, and say ’tis well. [Draws a curtain and reveals the figure of Hermione, standing like a statue.] I like your silence; it the more shows off Your wonder. (5.3.14–22) Paulina’s attempt to describe Hermione reflects the complicated state of her body—her body looks “lively” but also like “death” or at least “sleep mocked death.” Her body is made strange, existing in a state which is seemingly alive and dead, real and unreal. Shakespeare further emphasizes this key moment in the play by further emphasizing Hermione’s strange body and by dramaturgically inviting the audience to experience wonder. Paulina directly tells Leontes to “prepare” to see whatever is behind the curtain and thus wait in anticipation, but this instruction can also be “heard” by the audience of the play. Paulina tells Leontes to “behold” what is before him, and after hearing his silence, she claims that this silence reflects his wonder.77 In a tragedy, Hermione would have long been dead. Yet here, she is life- like and preserved. Leontes’ shocked and awed reaction continues to show how Hermione’s body functions like a ghost and estranges Leontes and the audience. He exclaims: Her natural posture. Chide me, dear stone, that I may say indeed Thou art Hermione—or, rather, thou art she In thy not chiding; for she was as tender As infancy and grace. But yet, Paulina, Hermione was not so much wrinkled, nothing So aged as this seems. (5.3.23–29) In many ways, the statue is familiar and looks like Hermione—her “posture” is the same and Leontes directly says “[t]hou art Hermione.” And yet in another way, the statue is not quite like 77 For more on the experience of “wonder” within Shakespeare’s romances, especially in connection to travel and encounters, see chapter 2. 76 Hermione; it looks like an older version of her, it has wrinkles and looks “aged.” This would make sense if the statue were a “live” person, but in this case it seems strange because it suggests that the statue is somehow aging or was created with the forethought that Leontes would see it sixteen years later. Her statue serves as metaphor for Shakespeare’s unique genre of the romances: the remnant (or palimpsestic layering of the influence of medieval texts) remains partially in view, but with the change in age, the figure is brough forward in time. Leontes even comments that there must be “magic” involved that has made the statue appear in this way and that has likewise made Perdita appear as still as stone, presumably in awe (5.3.39–42). As Leontes and Polixenes continue to admire the statue, noting its life-like features, Paulina threatens to draw the curtain, but Leontes wants to kiss the statue. This is a moment where Shakespeare builds dramatic action and, in many ways, “slows” time. Time was sped up earlier for over a decade to pass and for Perdita to grow, but now we as the audience must slowly watch this moment unfold. Paulina first threatens to draw the curtain according to the stage directions at 5.3.59, and this back and forth of Leontes requesting to continue gazing at the statue and Paulina threatening to draw the curtains continues for over 20 more lines. Finally, Paulina says: Either forbear, Quit presently the chapel, or resolve you For more amazement. If you can behold it, I’ll make the statue move indeed, descend And take you by the hand. But then you’ll think— Which I protest against—I am assisted By wicked powers. (5.3.85–91) Here, Paulina issues a warning to leave the chapel unless Leontes is prepared for more amazement. She claims that she can make the statue move and descend and take Leontes by the hand. She suggests that the statue can return to life, or at the very least, move in a human way. 77 After assurances, Paulina agrees to awake the statue and begins so by demanding music: “Music, awake her; strike! [Music sounds.]” (5.3.98). Seemingly by mere command, Hermione “descends” and begins to stir, embracing Leontes and returning to life. Curiously, Hermione does not speak at first—Polixenes, Camillo, and Paulina provide “commentary” to the scene. It is not until Perdita goes to get her mother’s blessing that Hermione speaks again, asking Perdita about her life. The attention is thus turned to her daughter since Perdita is the character that enables Hermione speech. Thus, crucially this ending scene with its haunted spectral affects also shows the key influence of medieval prose romances and miracle plays upon the genre of the play, as well as the unique challenges of staging such a scene within a play that has a mixed genre. The manipulations of time within the play enables this unique reunion; exploring the possibilities of these key scenes—Hermione’s spectral presence before Antigonus and Hermione’s descent and transformation from statue to human—further demonstrate Shakespeare’s investment in adaptation and estrangement as well as ways that the romances highlight the haunting presences of wives and daughters. Hermione’s transformation and presence shows how the medieval sources are reincarnated in the play, and on the stage. The mixed genre of the play, and its key scene of Hermione’s transformation, created challenges for performances of The Winter’s Tale. In the 1700s, the play was cut in half, focusing only on the pastoral Act 4. Macnamara Morgan adapted the play into The Sheep- Shearing: or, Florizel and Perdita in 1754 and David Garrick abbreviated it further with his Florizel and Perdita in 1756 which opened with a feast in Bohemia (Pitcher 108). By the 1800s, 78 the play was reunited with its beginning acts, but director John Philip Kemble started a tradition of making Leontes mental state a key aspect of the performance (Pitcher 109–10).78 If attention is returned to staging Hermione’s body and to twentieth- and twenty-first- century performances of the play, Carlson’s view of the haunted stage provides an important lens through which we can see Hermione’s return to life. Though Hermione’s body as a statue coming back to life can be connected to haunting and estrangement, another important element of haunting can be viewed in terms of actresses who portray this role. Carlson in discussing the haunted body and the haunted productions explains how the production of Shakespeare’s play creates a unique experience for audiences. Celebrities or well-known actors often play the roles of the leading characters in Shakespeare’s plays and with each new performance and reinterpretation, the viewer is haunted by their remembrances of previous productions of the same play. Leontes is a haunted character: at the Royal Shakespeare Company, he has been played by Ian McKellen (1976), Patrick Stewart (1981), Jeremy Irons (1986) and Antony Sher (1999) (“The Winter’s Tale Timeline”). The portrayal of Hermione complicates things further: in 1969, Judi Dench played the role for the Royal Shakespeare Company, and she returned again in a 2015 production of the play by Kenneth Branagh in the West End, this time playing Paulina. One recent production of the play that explores ideas of haunting and the strange representation of time is the 2021 Royal Shakespeare Company production.79 The production explored the strange, truncated presentation of time within The Winter’s Tale, explaining on the RSC website that the production is: “Set across a span of 16 years, from the coronation to the moon landings” (“About the Play”). The costumes and sets were reminiscent of the 1950 and 78 For a detailed discussion of the performance history of the play up until 1976, see Dennis Bartholomeusz’s The winter's tale in performance in England and America, 1611-1976. 79 This performance was filmed and made available for online streaming. 79 1960s80, and the propriety and perhaps rigidness of Britain in the 1950s with an emphasis on monarchy and the queen’s coronation was thus smartly juxtaposed with the hippie movement of the 1960s—an apropos translation of the pastoral, sheep-shearing festival in Shakespeare’s original play. In 3.3 of the RSC 2021 production, Hermione haunted the scene. The scene opens with dark lighting and smoke, and Antigonus and the Mariner enter holding flashlights. The sounds of wind and the crying Perdita permeate the space. The set includes a large grid of metal fencing or caging upstage which stretches from the ground all the way to the ceiling. As the two men talk, the silhouettes of women appear behind these grids. Eerie music, heavy with violin adds to the strangeness of the scene. Beyond a tragedy, the scene appears to be part of a modern horror film. After Antigonus finishes recounting the words of the ghostly Hermione, the figures upstage behind the gates turn around and begin to open the gates in front of them. The women walk forward and then turn around, slowly walking backwards facing away from Antigonus and the audience. They then begin to turn, miming the holding of the baby Perdita in a pseudo dance as they slowly walk downstage. The storm grows bigger, and flashes of lightning reveal that the five women include Paulina. At the point when Antigonus is to be pursued by a bear, a spotlight appears upstage center, showing the body of Hermione. She at first stands still, potentially foreshadowing the end scene when she will appear centerstage as a statue. After Antigonus proclaims that he is gone forever, the five women slowly exit, a white cloth drops from the ceiling floating in the wind, and Hermione steps forward capturing the cloth. Ethereal music is played as Hermione wraps the white cloth around her hands—it slowly begins to resemble a 80 Paulina’s “trial” included an actor using an old film camera to “broadcast” the scene in black and white. 80 baby bundle and she places the bundle in a bassinet. She may not technically be alive in this moment, but she is still caring for her child. In embracing the importance of Hermione to the play, the 2021 RSC production thus emphasizes the haunting presence of the queen by allowing her body to also appear in 3.3. This reemphasizes the haunting presence of the character within the play and reaffirms her innocence and her virtuous nature. Kemi-Bo Jacobs (who plays Hermione) commands the stage and time seems slow and eternal when she appears. This scene is dark and dramatic and only allows for a brief transition with the Shepherd and Clown (and Time’s monologue) before the bright lights and cheerful spirits of Autolycus dominate the stage and move the play towards comedy. The transition between acts 3 and 4 by the 2021 RSC production creatively adapts Time as chorus. Multiple actors appear on stage, sharing the lines. One actor also translates everything into BSL (British Sign Language). By the end of the monologue, all actors gradually and quietly leave the stage which is then harshly juxtaposed with Autolycus’ entrance on a moped. Played by Anne Odeke, this female Autolycus sings and plays songs reminiscent of Chuck Berry. She has an afro, red round glasses, corduroy pants, and multiple necklaces—she is most definitely evoking the hippie movement of the 1960s. During her opening speech and song, she even playfully holds a skull a la Hamlet with a sort of wink towards the audience. This stark contrast makes the world of act 4 seem completely different than that of the previous three acts. The ending scene of the 2021 RSC production utilized dramatic costume, lighting, and music cues to emphasize the spectacle of Hermione changing from statue to human. The scene opens with Hermione on a raised platform, veiled in cloth, wearing robes reminiscent of a Greek statue. Large curtains that extend from top to bottom of the stage surround her, emphasizing her important presence in this moment. Hanging lights of various lengths light up the stage, almost 81 appearing as stars. A line of candles upstage add reverence to the scene and when Paulina proclaims “Behold”, three of the curtains drop putting Hermione fully on display. On the stage, elements of “haunting” as described by Marvin Carlson abound. Hermione as statue is uncanny and strange. Based on Shakespeare’s words, she is a statue; while the actress in this production remains still, she nonetheless looks human. And yet, as the scene continues, the stillness of Kemi-Bo Jacobs becomes eerie. After the lengthy discussion and reactions of Perdita, Leontes, and others, Hermione’s descent is emphasized various ways. When Paulina calls for music, the remaining four curtains quickly drop to the floor and the lighting quickly shifts, with the spotlight fully on Hermione, and the other characters surrounding her blanketed in shadows. Ethereal music, reminiscent of that from 3.3 begins to play as Paulina speaks to the statue. The music slowly builds as Hermione begins to stir and to turn to life again. As the family embraces, Leontes grabs Hermione’s hand, but she looks confused—not necessarily happy. This certainly encapsulates the strange endings of the romances where all is supposed to be happy, but instead things are complicated.81 I argue that it is these “strange” moments within the romances that continue to make them compelling for modern audiences. Staging scenes like Hermione’s descent are a challenge, and attempting to reconcile (or not reconcile) acts 1–3 with acts 4 and 5 presents opportunities for performers to explore power dynamics today. The RSC production explored such power dynamics in a different milieu, thinking about how Britain transformed in the 1950s and 1960s, and it explored Hermione’s haunting, estranged presence, through the use of music and staging.82 81 The ending of this production was also quite stirring. The actors all stood together on the stage, but given that the theatre was empty (this being filmed during the pandemic), there was no clapping or cheering from the audience. 82 It is worth noting that this production, like many productions of Shakespeare’s romances, received mixed reviews. Arifa Akbar of The Guardian gave it three out of five stars, and noted specifically the filming of the drama: “There are a couple of instances in which the camera is employed self-consciously but they add little to the drama…”; Peter 82 The next chapter turns to other challenging scenes in performance as it considers the travels of Pericles. Though this chapter shows the haunted worlds of Shakespeare’s romances, formed by the intermixture of genres and cultural forms, particularly medieval prose romances and miracle plays, I return again to genre in a different way with Pericles. The next chapter considers the historical and cultural conditions of the early modern period, particularly as they relate to early modern globalization and travel writings. Thus, alongside the play, I read travel writings and examine the influence of the travel genre to see how the romances incorporate ideas of estrangement and wonder as found in travel documents of the period. This chapter also has medieval affiliations because the medieval prose romance’s interest in travel and journeying is further explored in connection to early modern globalization and travel writing of the early modern period. The next chapter shows that Shakespeare not only adapted the past, particularly in connection to medieval prose romances and miracle plays, but he also adapted genres and ideas from his contemporary present. Thus, his own audiences were hailed by the play as travelers. Kirwan likewise notes that “stage director Erica Whyman and screen director Bridget Caldwell have made surprisingly few concessions to the medium [of film]” (“The Winter’s Tale”). 83 CHAPTER 2: TRAVEL IN PERICLES: EARLY MODERN GLOBALIZATION AND CROSS-CULTURAL ENCOUNTERS Within Shakespeare’s romances, travel is connected to diplomacy, “discovery,” exploration, and the potential colonization of new lands, while at the same time being the catalyst for the physical and mental estrangement of characters within the plays. At times, these encounters can reflect a form of what early modern scholarship has dubbed “wonder” or the “marvelous” which intersects with this dissertation’s view of estrangement. Traveling characters within the romances experience moments where they see the familiar and unfamiliar—where they experience a moment of estrangement as it relates to encountering the foreign or regarding something as “alien.” That is, these late plays show characters traveling to new locations, and meeting new people; the plays thus represent differences as they relate to nationality, race, geography, etc. Travel also facilitates the ending reunions and reconciliations of families, unique to the romance genre. In Pericles, this reunion occurs due to a prior revivification of Thaisa. In 3.1, Thaisa is thrown overboard after giving birth to her daughter because Pericles and the other sailors believe she is dead. Unknown to Pericles (but known to audiences of the play), Thaisa washes ashore, is brought back to life by Cerimon, and leads a life in reverence to the goddess Diana at her temple in Ephesus. At the end of the play, the title character along with his presumed-to-be-dead wife, Thaisa, and his estranged daughter, Marina, are reunited. This ending reunion of the family thus leaves all in astonishment: THAISA: You are, you are, O royal Pericles! [Faints.] PERICLES: What means the nun? She dies. Help, gentlemen! CERIMON: Noble sir, If you have told Diana’s altar true, 84 This is your wife. PERICLES: Reverend appearer, no, I threw her overboard with these very arms […Thaisa Rises.] THAISA: Are you not Pericles? Like him you spake, Like him you are. Did you not name a tempest, A birth and death? PERICLES: The voice of dead Thaisa! THAISA: That Thaisa am I, supposed dead And drowned. (5.3.14–19, 32–36) In a moment of doubling, Thaisa faints, or “dies,” once again upon seeing her husband. As Pericles explains, he believed her to be dead, and yet here she appears alive and well. Shakespeare emphasizes her earlier “death” with Pericles’s use of the phrases “she dies” and “voice of dead Thaisa.” Even after Cerimon and Thaisa both explain the circumstances, Pericles still refers to his wife with the latter phrase. Comparable to Hermione’s statue returning to life in The Winter’s Tale as discussed in chapter 1, this wife has returned to life and returned to her husband and family.83 And, like Hermione, Thaisa haunts the characters within the play after her supposed death. Following the scene of Cerimon’s aid in bringing her body back to life, she does not feature in the play until the end, thereby emphasizing her estrangement from her family. She is nearly forgotten as the rest of 83 For more on the miraculous in Pericles, see: Melissa Beth Schubert’s “Shakespeare’s Miracles” (2014 Dissertation) where she argues, in reference to the first three of Shakespeare’s romances, that “Shakespeare re- engages a dramatic and literary tradition entrenched in late medieval religion, evokes strong anti-theatrical and iconoclastic sentiment, and re-appropriates visually-charged dramatic events for a verbally-advanced dramatic culture” (abstract); Hannibal Hamlin’s “The Acts of Pericles: Shakespeare’s Biblical Romance” in which he discusses the biblical allusions and Christian resonances of Pericles, arguing that “the stories of Jonah and Paul, combine with the Apollonius stories, reverberations of Augustine’s conversion, and vestiges of medieval religious drama, specifically the miracle or saint play” (141); and Tom Bishop’s “Sacred and Theatrical Miracles in the Romances” in which discusses how the romances all include supernatural intervention accompanied by spectacle. 85 act 3 and act 4 follow the travels of Pericles and Marina. Yet, Shakespeare’s dramatic choice for Thaisa to return to life and reunite with her family at the end of the play is what helps form the unique genre of Shakespeare’s romances. The romances are preoccupied with life and death, especially that of estranged wives and/or daughters of patriarchal rulers. While Chapter 1 considers this in relation to the estranged genre of the romances and their ties to the aesthetics and content of medieval romances and medieval miracle plays,84 this chapter focuses on how these familial and generic estrangements occur, particularly in relationship to travel writings from the early modern period. Pericles, Thaisa, and Marina have all travelled far for this ending reunion to occur, and the goddess Diana has facilitated this travel by telling Pericles in a dream to go to her temple. Unlike The Winter’s Tale or Cymbeline where families are reunited at their “home,” (Paulina’s home in Sicilia and the King’s court in Briton, respectively) this family reunites at Diana’s temple of Ephesus—not Pericles’s home in Tyre or even Thaisa’s homeland of Pentapolis. Thus, travel, particularly to a “foreign” land is the primary means of reunion here. Travel accounts covering journey, explorations, and encounters serve as a prescient and pertinent context for approaching Pericles, given the popularity of the travel genre in the period. They were written for the commercial companies and for the entertainment and edification of those who did not travel, but nonetheless could imagine the strange world and accompanying marvels. Thus, Shakespeare’s audiences were familiar with the experiences of travel writing and of being hailed as potential travelers by plays (as by the travel texts). Furthermore, this reunion of Pericles, Thaisa, and Marina takes place after travels in which the characters experience encounters with other people across different lands and cultures. 84 For more on Pericles, the medieval, and genre, see Maurice Hunt’s “A Looking Glass for Pericles.” 86 The physical travels of the characters in Pericles and this final moment of reunion in ancient Greece thus encapsulate this chapter’s focus on Shakespeare’s romances and the ways in which they intersect with travel, early modern globalization, and cross-cultural encounters. The physical separation and estrangement of the familial unit in Pericles occurs via sea travel. Pericles first leaves his homeland in search of adventure, meets his wife in a different land, is separated from his wife and daughter at sea, and continues to travel. After her birth on the ship, Marina is sent to one land, is kidnapped by pirates, and brought to another land. Travel within the other romances likewise leads to the physical estrangement of families.85 These estranging moments of “encounter” for characters within the play relate to Stephen Greenblatt’s conception of “wonder” in the early modern period. Greenblatt argues that wonder is a “central feature in the whole complex system of representation...through which people [in the early modern period] apprehended, and thence possessed or discarded the familiar, the alien, the terrible, the desirable, and the hateful” (Marvelous 22–23).86 In both Pericles and early modern travel narratives, travelers experience a sense of estrangement as they encounter the familiar and unfamiliar. The romances thus enact these moments of “wonder” or “estrangement,” drawing audiences who may have already experiences accounts and writing about travel and exploration. Instead of trying to differentiate these terms, this chapter instead suggests that this kind of “psychic” estrangement is another one of the many forms of “estrangement” found in the play, and that more importantly, audiences of the plays in the early modern period and today 85 In The Winter’s Tale, Hermione is jailed in a tower, and her baby daughter, Perdita, is abandoned in Bohemia. In Cymbeline, the king banishes Innogen’s lover which leads to her traveling to Wales. The Tempest begins when the travel has already occurred—Prospero and Miranda have already arrived on the island of The Tempest from their former home in Italy after Prospero’s dukedom was usurped by Antonio. 86 Suzanne Tartamella’s “Shakespeare the Escape Artist” also discusses Greenblatt’s view in relation to “wonder” but argues that it takes on a suprarational character within the play (481). A related, but different view of the “marvelous” and “strange” within the play can be found in Lorena Laureano Domínguez’s “Pericles’ ‘unknown travels’” which looks at the relationship between Freud’s ideas of the “uncanny” and space within the play. 87 watch and vicariously experience these estrangements. Thus, this chapter also looks at the burgeoning discourse of early modern travel writing alongside Pericles and Shakespeare’s romances to explore the psychic estrangements and geographical dislocations experienced by characters and travelers on and off the stage. This chapter’s focus on the theme of travel in the play connects with recent scholarly work from early modernists that discuss travel, geography, and place within Pericles,87 as well as early modern scholarship of travel writing88, and “encounter” studies89 overall. This is in contrast to early scholarly discussions of the play that were often reduced to authorship debates.90 Once the play was accepted as part of the Shakespeare canon, other scholarly engagements placed it with the romances, tying them to Christian morality91 or connecting them to myth, symbol, and allegory.92 Douglas Peterson in Time, Tide, and Tempest, for example, argues that Pericles is “a 87 See for example: Suzanne Tartamella’s “Shakespeare the Escape Artist: Sourcing the East in Pericles, Prince of Tyre,” Constance C. Relihan’s “Liminal Geography: Pericles and the Politics of Place,” Lorena Laureano Domínguez’s, “Pericles’ ‘unknown travels’: the dimensions of geography in Shakespeare’s Pericles,”; Joanne M. Rochester’s, “Space and Staging in the Digby Mary Magdalene and Pericles, Prince of Tyre,” and Peter Whitfield, Mapping Shakespeare’s World. 88 Consider, for example, Gerald MacLean’s “Early Modern Travel Writing: Print and Early Modern European Travel Writing,” Nandini Das’ “Early Modern Travel Writing: English Travel Writing,” Eva Johanna Holmberg’s “Shaping strangers in early modern English travel writing,” Jennifer Linhart Wood’s Sounding Otherness in Early Modern Drama and Travel: Uncanny Vibrations in the English Archive, and the introduction to Jyotsna G. Singh and Ivo Kamp’s Travel Knowledge: European ‘Discoveries’ in the Early Modern Period. 89 Consider, for example, Sabine Schulting, Sabine Lucia Muller, and Ralf Hertel’s Early Modern Encounters with the Islamic East: Performing Cultures; Aske Laursen Brock, Guido van Meersbergen, and Edmond Smith’s Trading Companies and Travel Knowledge in the Early Modern World; and Laurence Publicover’s Dramatic Geography: Romance, Intertheatricality, and Cultural Encounter in Early Modern Mediterranean Drama. 90 Pericles was excluded from the 1623 folio and is now generally regarded as a collaborative text between Shakespeare and George Wilkins. Suzanne Gossett’s introduction to the Arden edition and Roger Warren’s introduction to the Oxford edition both come to this conclusion, though earlier scholarship has rejected the play as Shakespeare’s or inversely claimed it to be solely authored by him. Gossett explains that the play does not appear in the First Folio but “has always been published, from its first appearance in a quarto in 1609, with Shakespeare’s name on the title-page. It is the only one of the seven plays first added in a supplement to the Third Folio (1664) that has been accepted into the canon, and it has appeared in all collections of Shakespeare’s works since the nineteenth century” (1). See also Lucy Munro’s “Young Shakespeare/Late Shakespeare: The Case of Pericles.” 91 See for example Richard Finkelstein’s “Pericles, Paul, and Protestantism” or E.M.W. Tillyard’s Shakespeare’s Last Plays. 92 See for example Northrop Frye’s A Natural Perspective, D.G. James’s The Dream of Prospero, and Derek Traversi’s Shakespeare The Last Phase. For a comprehensive examination of criticism of the romances in the first half of the twentieth century, see Philip Edwards’ “Shakespeare’s Romances 1900–1957.” 88 dramatic elaboration of the tempest emblem and its variants. The world of the play represents life as ‘a lasting storm’ of adversity into which all men are born. The sudden and unexpected tempests (real and metaphorical) which beset Pericles and Marina in that world represent the mischance that puts constancy to the test” (71). Despite this recent interest in travel in Pericles, not enough critical attention has been paid to the play, especially as it relates to travel and travel writing. Another romance—The Tempest—has dominated this discussion of travel, previously being read within the context of colonial history (via a postcolonial lens) or against texts like William Strachey’s A True Reportory of the Wracke and writings/explorations of the New World. Critical works such as Peter Hulme and William H. Sherman’s The Tempest and Its Travels charts the play’s “implicit cartographies in order to provide resources for understanding the world of the play, and the play’s own journeys through the early modern and modern worlds” (xiv). This chapter does not forget or discount this critical history; instead, it seeks to bring similar attention to Pericles by analyzing the important affects/effects of travel in the play on page and stage, in both the early modern period and today. What distinguishes Pericles from The Tempest and other plays in Shakespeare’s canon is that the title character is not a colonizer of a place, he is merely a traveler. At times he is “Prince of Tyre” commanding a ship, and at other times, he is merely a man washed ashore divested of his armor and wealth. Thus, Shakespeare places him in positions of power and in positions without power during his travels. The power relations are thus in constant flux. This contrasts with The Tempest where Prospero is always in power, often being interpreted as a director or puppet-master of the others on the island. This is why The Tempest is often interpreted in a 89 colonial context with Prospero as a colonizer. In Pericles, however, the title character adapts his actions and behaviors to survive in different scenarios and power structures. Additionally, unlike the majority of the plays in Shakespeare’s canon, Pericles presents peoples and places outside of Europe, particularly Western and Southern Europe. 93 That is, audiences of the play get to see and envision these different nationalities and geographies in watching the play. The Tempest takes place on a fictional island, and Twelfth Night in a fictionalized Illyria, so the only other plays with specific geographies outside of Western Europe, particularly locations in Africa and Asia are: Troilus and Cressida (Turkey), (part of) Othello (Cyprus), Antony and Cleopatra (Egypt and other locations), The Comedy of Errors (Turkey), and Pericles. Most notably, Pericles, in staging so many travels of its title character, incorporates multiple locations. Pericles travels to Tyre, Pentapolis, Mytilene, Antioch, Tarsus, and Ephesus throughout the play—all locations in the ancient world, now in modern-day Lebanon, Libya, Greece, and Turkey. Representing this extensive travel itinerary alongside different kinds of encounters, Shakespeare invites the audience to view a multicultural Mediterranean absent of a later colonial power dynamic. Instead of staging a western European man always in power over other peoples or nations (like Prospero ruling his island in The Tempest), Pericles is a man from modern-day Lebanon who is at times in power, and at other times, is at the mercy of others. Thus, I continue the critical conversation around travel in Pericles but place the cross- cultural encounters that the Mediterranean geography and epic storyline necessitate within a larger conceptual framework of “estrangement.” The first chapter focused on the estranged genre 93 The Merry Wives of Windsor, Cymbeline, and the histories take place in London (with occasional jaunts to other UK locations, France, or Wales). Titus Andronicus, Romeo and Juliet, Julius Caesar, (part of) Othello, Coriolanus, (part of) The Winter’s Tale, The Merchant of Venice, Much Ado About Nothing, The Taming of the Shrew, and The Two Gentleman of Verona all take place in Italy. As You Like It and All’s Well That Ends Well take place in France, Hamlet in Denmark, Macbeth in Scotland, Measure for Measure in Austria, and Love’s Labour’s Lost in Spain. A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Timon of Athens, and The Two Noble Kinsman take place in Greece. 90 of the romances94, and the next chapter focuses on the dramatic constructions within the romances that utilize spectacle to create unique affective experiences for audiences. This chapter focuses on the thematic separation of characters both physically and emotionally created via travel and the unique psychological experience faced and displayed by characters in cross- cultural encounters as they face strangeness and detachment. Audiences then and now follow Pericles as he encounters peoples across the Mediterranean. These encounters include marvel from both Pericles and the people whom he meets, and at many times, they reflect experiences of estrangement reminiscent to those found in travel narratives from the early modern period. As I put Pericles into conversation with travel writing, I highlight how both focus on travelers adapting their behavior and speech in these complex moments. Pericles participates in a broader trend of the early seventeenth-century of presenting plays about travel, and as Claire Jowitt and David McInnis note, “accounts of travel and voyaging at home and abroad, and dramas engaging with them, became the most popular and easily accessible sources of information about this newly envisage-able wider world for a nation for armchair travellers” (11).95 The stage, then, became a place for the early modern English audiences to experience, learn about, and navigate experiences of travel and cross- cultural encounters. While some people in the early modern period may have traveled, and others read popular travel accounts in print culture, Shakespeare’s plays, including Pericles, were 94 A main source of Pericles is the Apollonius of Tyre section of the medieval poet, John Gower’s, Confessio Amantis. Apollonius of Tyre “is generally assumed to be Greek in origin, though its earliest extant text is in Latin. It is the only romance to appear in Old English; versions appear in Gower’s Confessio Amantis and in the course of the Gesta Romanorum…and a further translation, King Apollyn, was printed c.1510…” (Cooper 35). David Bevington notes that the Digby Mary Magdalene, a saint’s play, included “journeys across the oceans, the separation of a husband and his wife, the seeming death of the wife, her miraculous recovery from death, a touching reunion, and the like”; thus, the genre of the Saint’s play made a “contribution to dramatic romances of the English Renaissance, including Shakespeare’s Pericles and The Winter’s Tale” (663). Finally, Pericles is also often connected to ancient Greek romances and the epic genre. Howard Felperin, for example, cites third-century prose narratives / Greek Romances (like Longus's Daphnis and Chloe) as precursors to the Shakespearean romance genre (10). 95 See also John Gillies, Shakespeare and the Geography of Difference. 91 presented to a large audience; and, in contrast to printed material or actual travels, they allowed (and still allow) for imaginative possibilities, being fiction. The audience watches Pericles adapt to the estrangements of his family, of his travels, and of his encounters. After first examining travel and travel writing of the early modern period, this chapter then looks at travel in the romances and in Pericles specifically, focusing on moments when the title character is in power and without power. Next, it considers the estrangements of travel in connection to the dramaturgy of the play, showing how characters such as Gower and dramatic techniques such as dumb-shows create the conditions for audiences to be estranged from the play in a Brechtian way. Audiences can therefore critically reflect on the cultural context and actions of these characters.96 Shakespeare creates a unique affective experience for audiences of the play which invites them to join Pericles on his travels while at the same time critically reflecting on the power relations presented. This is largely achieved by intermixing moments of spectacle and the self- reflexive with moments more grounded in the lived reality of the characters. This “back-and- forth” of form, and the mixed genre of Shakespeare’s romances overall enable audiences to reflect on the play as a play, and critically reflect on what is happening. Audiences are mentally estranged from ever fully immersing themselves in the play both due to Pericles’s relative flat character and due to the incorporation of spectacular and self-reflexive moments. To see these different kinds of estrangements in action, the final section looks at the 2006 Royal Shakespeare Company production of Pericles which demonstrates the benefits and pitfalls of staging travel and cross-cultural encounters on the stage. This production found creative ways 96 That is, the dramaturgy of the play creates the conditions which invite audiences to distance themselves from emotionally connecting with the characters, therefore critically reflecting on the themes of the play. This view of estrangement is fully explored in chapter 3. 92 to literally allow the audience to “travel” on the stage and utilized costumes and color-conscious, cross-racial casting to reflect a multicultural Mediterranean (with adapted time periods and spaces). This production shows how Pericles provided (and continues to provide) a stage space for audiences to consider important topics such as immigration and the treatment of refugees. If we notice its estrangements, Pericles ultimately invites us as readers and viewers to join the title character’s travels across space and time while at the same time critically reflecting on and envisioning different peoples, groups, identities, nations, and power relations presented. Cross-Cultural Encounters and Travel Narratives Travel within Shakespeare’s romances overall is multi-layered; it is connected to banishment, physical estrangement, as well as psychic and epistemological uncertainties. Medieval scholar Geraldine Heng notes in discussing Mandeville’s Travels, “it is the fragmented character of a travel romance narrative – the apparently indiscriminate tendency to collect atomized and diversely unrelated scraps of narrative bric-á-brac –that enables the creation of one of the most imaginative acts of cultural domination available in the Middle Ages” (242). Many medieval romances involve quests and the travel of characters to different lands. This too is true of Shakespeare’s romances: The Winter’s Tale opens with diplomatic travel involving Polixenes, King of Bohemia, traveling to Sicilia to visit King Leontes and Queen Hermione of Sicilia; throughout Pericles, the title character travels between locations in the ancient Mediterranean, including diplomatic travel; and on a meta-level, The Tempest is often read in connection to the discovery of America.97 Shakespeare’s romances, then, stage cross-cultural encounters, sometimes connected to diplomacy, but at other times connected to “imaginative acts of cultural domination.” 97 That is, Caliban is seen as a colonial subject because Prospero lands upon the island of The Tempest and proceeds to enslave Caliban and teach him “his language.” For more on this reading and The Tempest, see chapter 4. 93 Scholars have noted the connection that travel has to Shakespeare’s romances: Hallett Smith suggests a potential back-and-forth relationship between travel writing and Shakespeare’s romances, saying that “[p]erhaps travelers’ tales coincide with the landscape of the romances because the travelers themselves were prepared by the romances for what they found in the new world” (142); Valerie Forman suggests that the “late plays” focus on “expansion, both geographic and economic” (64); and Martin Orkin observes that the late plays all “present travel and geographic change of one or other kind” (5).98 When Shakespeare wrote the romances, and Pericles in particular (being the first romance), England was in a moment of early modern globalization which included a series of travels and cross-cultural encounters. Ivo Kamps and Jyotsna Singh’s Travel Knowledge: European “Discoveries” in the Early Modern Period, explains that “travels during the early modern period, undertaken by the Portuguese, the English, the Dutch, and others to the Ottoman Empire, the Far East, Africa, and the Americas initiated a series of cultural (as well as economic and military) encounters, exchanges, and confrontations” that lead to colonialism and postcolonialism (1–2). By 1607 (the presumed year that Shakespeare wrote Pericles99), the East India Company had already embarked on two voyages and Sir Walter Raleigh had initiated multiple voyages to the Americas. Such journeys were accompanied by writings which documented these experiences. Nandini Das notes that travel writings ranged from “advice literature and cartographic collections, to hefty compilations of information that catered to real and armchair travellers alike. 98 Jowitt and McInnis also note that travel writing helped to provide new ideas to playwrights of the period (11). See also Jean-Pierre Maquerlot and Michèle Willems’ Travel and Drama in Shakespeare’s Time. 99 A note on authorship: Pericles was excluded from the 1623 folio and is now generally regarded as a collaborative text between Shakespeare and George Wilkins. Suzanne Gossett’s introduction to the Arden edition and Roger Warren’s introduction to the Oxford edition both come to this conclusion, though earlier scholarship rejected the play as Shakespeare’s or inversely claimed it to be solely authored by him. Within this chapter, I will refer to the author as “Shakespeare” though I acknowledge this critical consensus on the play being co-authored. 94 The latter ranged from standard classical exemplars such as Ptolemy’s Geography and Pliny’s Natural History, to encyclopedic accounts like the Fardle of Facions (1555)” (78). Other popular travel texts included: Sebastian Münster’s Universal Cosmography (first published in German in 1544 and later English in 1561), Giovanni Battista Ramusio’s Delle navigationi et viaggi (1550– 9), and Theodor de Bry’s Les grands voyages, or ‘The Discovery of America’ (1590–1620) and the Petits voyages, or the ‘India Orientalis’ series (1598–1634) (78). Richard Hakluyt’s Principal Navigations, Voyages, Traffiques and Discoveries of the English Nation (1589) 100 and Samuel Purchas’s Hakluytus Posthumus, or Purchas his Pilgrimes (1625) compiled narratives that inspired English travel and trade (79). Within many of these travel writings were narratives that included moments of encounter which can viewed as psychic estrangement. In this case, encounters led to the psychic estrangement of travelers as they grappled with seeing the familiar and unfamiliar. In Marvelous Possessions, Greenblatt discusses these moments of encounter in terms of “wonder” and “marvel,” saying that when “we wonder, we do not yet know if we love or hate the object at which we are marveling; we do not know if we should embrace it or flee from it” (20). He views the marvelous as a recognition of the other in the self (25). Thus, travelers would first find similarities in a foreigner, but then makes the foreigner alien thing in order to destroy or incorporate it (35). In the writings by and about Sir Walter Raleigh’s “Third Voyage to America” from 1586, for example, “strangeness” is frequently referenced. Tobacco, or “Vppowoc” is described as making the people in the Americas perform “strange gestures, stamping, sometime dancing, clapping of hands, holding up of hands, and staring up into the heavens, uttering therewithal, and 100 For more on Hakluyt, see Daniel Carey and Claire Jowitt’s Richard Hakluyt and Travel Writing in Early Modern Europe. 95 chattering strange words and noises” (210–11). Raleigh’s frequent usage of “strange” reflects his wonder as well as the foreignness of this experience. The narrative continues to state that “[w]e our selves, during the time we were there, used to suck it after their manner, as also since our return, and have found many rare and wonderful experiments of the virtues thereof” (211). Thus, though the observed activity in the cross-cultural encounter is viewed as “strange,” it produces wonder and eventually an experimental change in the behavior of these English travelers. They choose to incorporate this cultural practice.101 Estrangement in early modern travel writings as it relates to detachment or “making alien” has also been identified by Kim Hall. In Things of Darkness, Hall discusses this detachment when analyzing the curious and figurative language found in travel narratives from people such as Leo Africanus. Hall argues that the “‘strange matter’ [in this case, the inclusion of ‘unseemly’ and ‘sexual’ material] stimulates Leo’s own most figurative language. He uses not only metaphors but a whole fable to clarify his own estranged detachment from the negative material he recounts” (33). Travel writers can be likened to an audience of Pericles since they are simultaneously part (physically) of the experience (in a theater or in a foreign country) and also detached observers (not an actor in the play or a citizen of the country). In detaching themselves from what they observe, the writers separate themselves from the lived reality of the moment in an effort to write about their travels in a way that intrigues their patrons. Hall further argues that “Leo becomes the epitome of the self-fashioner in his ability to rise above being defined by the negative traits of his native country” (33). Hall is referencing Greenblatt’s Renaissance Self-Fashioning, where he coins the term to describe the process of constructing 101 For a different take on these ideas, see Jonathan Sell’s Rhetoric and Wonder in English Travel Writing, 1560- 1613 in which is argues that we should not argue about whether travel writing was true, but instead focus on what kinds of truth it presents. He focuses on rhetoric and the “representation of wonder, that psychosomatic response most frequently regarded as symptomatic of an encounter with the new” (3). 96 one’s identity (and changing it accordingly) based on accepted norms of a particular environment.102 This kind of self-fashioning as it relates to the performative can also be found in Pericles’s bifurcated identity and different self-presentations within Tarsus and Pentapolis within the play. London’s cosmopolitan, global audiences would have heard of such accounts, read about them, and also have possibly encountered cultural ‘others’ in the city itself. When he arrives at Tarsus, Pericles functions more like a diplomat, offering to aid the starved people. He explains “We have heard your miseries as far as Tyre / And seen the desolation of your streets” (1.4.88–89). After acknowledging the woes of the people of Tarsus, Pericles explains that his ships “[a]re stored with corn to make your needy bread / And give them life when hunger starved half dead” (1.4.96–97). When all kneel and offer their prayers, Pericles tells them to rise, explaining he looks not for “reverence, but for love” (1.4.101). Pericles holds and displays power in this interaction and uses it to pursue a beneficent action. He also lowers himself slightly by asking for love, not reverence. He does not desire to be treated like someone holy or someone demanding obeisance. This gift also assures him safe harbor and welcome, and begins his future relationship with Cleon and Dionyza. In contrast, Pericles as “foreigner” is most apparent in his encounters in Pentapolis which lead to his marriage with Thaisa. In 2.1, Pericles washes ashore in Pentapolis after enduring a tempest which has left him with “[n]othing to think on but ensuing death” (2.1.7). He is estranged from his home and is a “stranger in a strange land.” His opening lines depict him as extremely vulnerable at this moment, divested from his ship, his possessions, and his crew. He 102 Hall also discusses Leo’s attempts to become a boundary or liminal figure between Africa and England, and the fact that early modern travel narratives often emphasized differences as it related to geography (32). Shakespeare, however, seems to focus most heavily on custom, wealth, and class as it relates to difference in Pericles. 97 concludes that “death in peace is all he’ll crave” (2.1.11). Pericles in this moment has been stripped of his power with no possessions remaining. It is in this powerless moment that Pericles encounters the fisherman in Pentapolis who speak with and aid him. He first observes the men, seeing that they might have some sympathy for him, and overhears the third fisherman mentioning how he is “thinking of the poor men that were cast away before us even now” (2.1.18–19). Shakespeare writes multiple asides for Pericles in this scene. When Pericles listens to the fisherman talk, he provides commentary that shows how he is processing this moment of encounter where he experiences the familiar and unfamiliar. When the fishermen speak of a proverb, Pericles notes that it is “A pretty moral” reflecting his recognition and understanding (2.1.35). When the fishermen mention King Simonides, Pericles’s questioning aside of “Simonides?” emphasizes that he is in a foreign land (2.1.44). Shakespeare emphasizes Pericles’s ability to adapt his actions and language in cross- cultural encounters when he begins to speak like the fishermen. He begins to fashion a new identity in Pentapolis. He reflects on his identity and the best way to present himself, concluding that “What I have been I have forgot to know; / But what I am want teaches me to think on” (2.1.69–70). He realizes his identity in this place has changed and he must change with it. He indeed makes a performative change in his speech; he shifts from verse to prose as he continues to converse with the fisherman. The fishermen have the “power” in this exchange because Pericles has nothing. At this moment, he is like the people of Tarsus in 1.4. The roles have reversed and now the fisherman of Pentapolis—and later the court—are the ones helping him. The first fisherman offers him clothing, compliments, and food: …an I have a gown here! Come, put it on, keep thee warm. Now, 98 afore me, a handsome fellow! Come, thou shalt go home, and we’ll have flesh for holidays, fish for fasting- days and moreo’er puddings and flapjacks, and thou shalt be welcome (2.1.76–81) It is after this warm welcome that the fishermen bring Pericles his armor which they found in a net, restoring some of his power to him. With his armor, he is marked as a knight, and this armor is crucial for the next scene when he enters the tournament for Thaisa’s hand in marriage. This scene with the fishermen also shows Pericles adapting to the culture of the fishermen, at least in terms of language. Being the Prince of Tyre, Pericles has heretofore spoken in verse, but after his interactions with the fishermen, he shifts to prose. In lines 93–111, Shakespeare gives Pericles prose; when learning that Simonides is the king of Pentapolis, for example, Pericles says, “He is a happy king, since he gains from his subjects the name of good by his government” (2.1.100–101).103 Linguistically, Pericles quickly assimilates to the culture of the fishermen in Pentapolis, and in doing so, is reunited with his armor and informed of the tournament. When Pericles enters the tournament for Thaisa’s hand in marriage, his foreignness is literally put on display, and the court experiences the estrangements of cross-cultural encounters as they identify the strangeness of Pericles’s presentation and presence. The tournament begins with each potential “suitor” for Thaisa presenting himself before the court, displaying his shield and armor. When the first knight passes by, for example, Thaisa immediately recognizes him as “A knight of Sparta” (2.2.18), and similarly for the second and third knight—they are “A prince of Macedon” and “of Antioch” respectively (2.2.24, 28). Once the sixth knight (Pericles) passes by the court, however, Thaisa says “He seems to be a stranger” and the second lord candidly 103 In her introduction to the Arden edition, Suzanne Gossett notes that previous scholars and editors have tried to find ways to make these lines work as prose, but as Boswell notes “these speeches cannot be forved into metre without…violent alterations” (note for lines 93-111 on page 232). 99 agrees that “He well may be a stranger; for he comes / To an honoured triumph strangely furnished” (2.2.41, 50–51). Thaisa’s comment marks Pericles as foreign because his nation of origin is not evident as compared to the previous knights, and the second lord suggests that the rusty, tempest-tossed armor befits a stranger as it is strange. The term “stranger,” is used twice in fairly quick succession, followed by the phrase “strangely furnished,” emphasizing Pericles’s foreignness. The second lord’s comment further implies that Pericles might be of lower social background since his armor is so unusual. The court of Pentapolis, then, recognizes Pericles as a knight within the context of the tourney, but in this cross-cultural interaction he is still foreign. Pericles’s experiences of power differentials, and fashioning of identity as seen in his actions in the play reflect Shakespeare’s nuanced approach to depicting travel as a condition of flux and change. Pericles’s travels change how he acts, moves, and thinks about his world. Audience members and readers get to see Pericles adapting to his new environment and being an “alien” in another land. Importantly, Pericles is also not the central figure in 2.2. That is, unlike earlier moments in the play where Pericles leads the action and gets an appropriate number of lines for being the main character, in this scene, Pericless’ role is less central. He is talked about by others but does little talking himself. Pericles appears in this scene but says nothing. He has less power in this moment, thus breaking up any kind of plot that might present him as all powerful (like the god-like Prospero in The Tempest). Instead, the audience sees Pericles as a stranger in a strange land. In the first act, Pericles is powerful and beneficent to the starving people of Tarsus, but by the second act, he has little power, being at the mercy of the fishermen at Pentapolis and the whims of the court. The ancient Mediterranean setting, varied locations of the play, and moments of both diplomacy and powerlessness via cross-cultural encounters thus add depth and resonance to the 100 setting of the multicultural Mediterranean.104 This vision responds to and engages the views of travelers within travel narratives of the early modern period—with some complexity. As Martin Orkin puts it, “in addition to exploration and contact with the New World, and to say nothing of interaction with seventeenth-century Europe, England [in the early modern period] is engaged in ongoing conquest and colonisation of Ireland, travel in the Mediterranean and trade with Africa and the East, entailing often either negotiation or confrontation with the Ottoman Empire” (5). Traveling at this time served a variety of intents—at times it supported colonization, while at others, trade. Encounters with the “foreign” occurred within a range of situations and settings in the early modern period, but Pericles specifically includes multiple moments that highlight the title character’s interactions within different power structures. The setting of Pericles thereby reflects England’s interactions with the empires far east, particularly the Ottoman Empire that extended across the Mediterranean, and Shakespeare begins to represent the complexities of these interactions through the travels of Pericles. Daniel Vitkus argues that: English travelers in the Islamic world were neither pilgrims nor crusaders: rather, their motives were defined by the peculiar position of Protestant commercialism in a Mediterranean world that was multicultural and multireligious, but devoid of Protestant rulers. This sense of being the isolated Other, strangers in a strange land where Roman Catholicism, Orthodox Christianity, and Judaism were all tolerated under Islamic role, positioned English writers as radically different, and yet these English writers often wished to befriend and emulate the powerful Muslims that they encountered. (35) 104 It is true that other early modern plays such as Shakespeare’s Othello and Marlowe’s The Jew of Malta include aspects of multiculturalism via racial and ethnic difference, but these plays end in tragedy with key characters dying and/or suffering. Pericles, being a Shakespearean romance, ends comically with order being restored and the main family being reunited. 101 Though Shakespeare does not focus on religion within Pericles, the play does present scenes where the main character is an isolated Other, where he must befriend and emulate the local people. Shakespeare’s view of the Mediterranean people within the play, however, remains unclear and ambiguous. The “villains” of the play, Cleon and Dionyza, are from Tarsus, but within the context of the play, Tarsus is merely a city struggling to feed its citizens. In the early modern period, Tarsus would have been controlled by the Ottoman Empire, and thus under Islamic rule. For the English, people under Ottoman rule would likely have been viewed as a threat. Other early modern plays such as Robert Greene’s Selimus (1594) and Robert Daborne’s later play, A Christian Turned Turk (1612) demonize the Ottoman Empire. This is not true for Pericles. Pericles himself is from Tyre, in the Levant in modern-day Lebanon. The play overall seems disinterested in the religious affiliation of its characters. The play’s setting in the ancient world also provides historical distance from the contemporary Ottoman Empire. Early modern audiences might have had particular views and encounters with Turks and people from the Mediterranean, as evident in the “Turk plays” including Othello, but this ancient setting distances the audience, making it more challenging to make direct comparisons, yet evoking the Multicultural geography and culture within a national imaginary. Thus, Shakespeare leaves the early modern audience with questions and possibilities. Though Shakespeare’s view of Mediterranean people is unclear, it is important to note how Pericles presents productive and complex ways of engaging with other nations and the cultural zeitgeist. Othello, for example, might present complexity in being a “noble Moor” who fights the Turks in Cyprus on behalf of the Venetians, but he is constantly treated as foreign and “othered” by the Venetians. He rarely has real power. Pericles, on the other hand, experiences 102 moments of power and moments where he acts as a beneficent diplomat/prince alongside other moments of humility where he is at the mercy of the people upon which shores he lands. His identity is more nuanced, and his power is unstable. Unlike The Tempest which can and has been read as a kind of colonialist narrative with Prospero as a master and Caliban a slave, Pericles’s politics remain unclear. Although he is a patriarchal ruler, Pericles’s power is not absolute, and he must experience what it is like to be viewed as a stranger and be estranged from his homeland. However, Pericles is not the only character that travels in the play. Born on a ship, Marina moves from the sea, to Tarsus, and then later Mytilene. Being an estranged daughter in a romance, Marina’s travels are harrowing. In 4.1 right before Leonine is about to murder her, pirates enter and sell her to a brothel. Bawd tells Marina she shall “taste gentleman of all fashions” (4.2.72–73). When the character Lysimachus enters the brothel, Marina (similar to her father with the fishermen) adapts her language and uses her rhetoric to escape prostitution. She tells Lysimachus that “If you were born to honour, show it now” and pleads “O, that the gods / Would set me free from this unhallowed place” (4.5.96, 103–104). Her rhetoric convinces Lsyimachus—he says “I did not think / Though couldst have spoke so well” (4.5.107–108)—and he even gives her gold for being so virtuous. Though brief, Shakespeare’s inclusion of Marina’s travels within the play not only highlight her as a character, but also adds to the vision of a multicultural Mediterranean, presenting the audience with a variety of peoples and cultures.105 Travels and Estrangements of Pericles The travels of Pericles and Marina show how Shakespeare incorporates themes from contemporary texts (via travel writings) and the general cultural milieu of the period as it relates 105 For more on travel of women in the early modern period, see Patricia Akhimie and Bernadette Andrea’s Travel and Travail: Early Modern Women, English Drama, and the Wider World. 103 to early modern globalization. This connects to the psychic estrangements of moments of “encounter,” but the travel and estrangements in the play also demonstrate Shakespeare’s romances’ overall focus on the estrangement of families via the physical travel and separation of the characters. Travel in Shakespeare’s romances that is connected to the physical and mental estrangement of characters (especially the separation of fathers from their daughters and wives) coincides with psychic and epistemological uncertainties which are characteristic of their intermixed genre. Specifically, daughters such as Perdita and Marina are abandoned as babies, left to fend for themselves, and wives such as Thaisa and Hermione are separated from their husbands and daughters. These physical estrangements are almost always connected to a patriarchal father making decisions and following through with direct or indirect actions which lead to these estrangements. Adapting to new cultures and environments is critical for the women in the romances to survive these estrangements.106 Thus, in all of Shakespeare’s romances, the physical and emotional estrangements of families, catalyzed by travel, invite a critique of the male characters. Thus, the theme of travel in Pericles can also be read in connection to how Shakespeare’s romances invite critiques of male rulers. In Act 3, Pericles and his pregnant wife, Thaisa, get on 106 In Cymbeline, the king’s rejection of Posthumus leads his daughter to travel and chase her love to Wales (adapting via cross-dressing as a boy). This play also has a secondary plot with Belarius (previously known as “Morgan”) being banished by Cymbeline, and in retaliation, stealing Cymbeline’s two sons and traveling into the country to live in a cave. Cymbeline is thus physically estranged from his sons until all is revealed and all are reunited at the end of the play. In The Winter’s Tale, Leontes’ mistrust of his wife, Hermione, leads to her banishment, trial, and presumed death. Hermione’s child, Perdita, (born in jail) is estranged from both of her parents as Antigonus takes her away on a ship to prevent her father from killing her; Perdita’s travel to Bohemia includes her being abandoned on a rocky, bear-infested shore. Her survival involves her growing up in a different land. In The Tempest, Prospero maintains a connection with his daughter, but his wife is so far estranged, she is famously absent from the narrative. In The Tempest, things are slightly different because the estrangement has already taken place—due to the betrayal of his brother, Prospero is banished to sea, washing ashore on the island where Caliban resides. Miranda must spend her formative years on this strange island. In this final romance, Shakespeare focuses more on estrangement from nation, home, and culture (more on this in chapter 4). 104 a ship, setting sail for Tyre—Gower indicates at the top of the act that if Pericles does not return home soon, the men of Tyre will mutiny: The men of Tyrus on the head Of Helicanus would set on The crown of Tyre, but he will none. The mutiny he there hastes t’appease, Says to ‘em, if King Pericles Come not home in twice six moons, He obedient to their dooms, Will take the crown. (3.Chorus.28–33) At this point, Pericles has been absent from his nation for quite some time—having travelled to Antioch, Tarsus, and Pentapolis, and having conceived a child who is now about to be born. A great tempest begins to rock the boat, and the pregnant Thaisa gives birth to Marina. Lychordia, Thaisa’s maid, claims that Thaisa has died in childbirth; passing over Marina to Pericles, Lychordia says “Take in your arms this piece / Of your dead queen” (3.1.17–18). Just thirty lines later, the first sailor says that the “queen must overboard” because the sea and wind “will not lie till / the ship be cleared of the dead” (3.1.47–49). Pericles’s first response reflects some level of resistance to this declaration. He answers, “That’s your superstition” (3.1.50). He does not personally identify with this belief and offers up resistance to this separation. Then again, Pericles’s resistance to the orders of the sailors is not long held. After the first sailor explains that he and the other sailors are “strong in custom” and thus Thaisa’s body must be thrown “overboard straight” (3.1.52–53), Pericles responds, “As you think meet” (5.1.54). That is the extent of the resistance. The use of “custom” here is often discussed amongst scholars.107 “Custom” can mean “[a] mode of behaviour or procedure which is widely practised and accepted (and typically long established) in a particular society, community, etc.” but can 107 For an editorial overview of the differences between the quarto and folio version of this line, as well as the argument that the word “custom” is most appropriate, see the notes on p. 284 of the Arden edition, edited by Suzanne Gossett. 105 also be connected to law, meaning “[a]n established usage (esp. of a particular region or commercial group) which by long continuance has acquired the force of a law or right” (“custom, n. and adj.”). A generous reading of Pericles’s easy acceptance of the suggestion to throw Thaisa’s body overboard invokes an attention to being culturally sensitive. The “community” of sailors has long established that dead bodies cannot be kept on the ship and thus even a prominent woman like Thaisa must face the same fate. Then again, Pericles has earlier suggested that this is not a custom but a “superstition.” Thus, even being a man who often sails across the Mediterranean, Pericles does not necessarily believe that bodies should be thrown overboard. Thaisa’s “death” and Pericles’s quick adoption of the sailors’ “custom” thus leads to the first physical and emotional estrangement of one of his family members. The most Pericles can offer is a quick speech, lamenting Thaisa’s death, followed by a swift entombment into a coffin with “spices” and “jewels” to honor her (3.1.56–67). Pericles’s swift decision and seeming acceptance of this estrangement might be explained as appropriate for the circumstances, but the next physical and emotional estrangement from his daughter leaves more room for critique. Right after he laments Thaisa’s death, Pericles tells a sailor to “[a]lter thy course for Tyre” and “make for Tarsus” because “the babe / Cannot hold out to Tyrus. There I’ll leave it / At careful nursing” (3.1.74–78). Without a second thought or a moment for reflection, Pericles decides that he cannot possibly take care of his baby daughter. Instead of arranging for Lychordia, Thaisa’s nurse, to help with her care, or really any other solution, he decides that he will leave his daughter in the care of others in Tarsus—a land that is not his home, nor the home of his wife. Thus, in the matter of just a few minutes, Pericles becomes estranged from both his wife and daughter. 106 Within the plot of the play itself then, Shakespeare shows how the quick decisions of a male ruler can lead to a broken family. Again, though Pericles’s actions might be able to be explained given the context (and thus, critique by readers and audience members quelled), Shakespeare problematizes Pericles’s poor decisions by making Thaisa not in fact dead. In the very next scene, two servants enter with a “chest” which they show to the “physician,” Cerimon. This chest is Thaisa’s coffin and within it, a note. The note is accompanied with a “bag of spices” and a “passport”108 which points towards Thaisa’s rank and possibly Pericles’s respect and love for her (3.2.64–65). The note states: I King Pericles have lost This queen, worth all our mundane cost. Who find her, give her burying: She was the daughter of a king. Besides this treasure for a fee, The gods requite his charity. (3.2.69–74) Pericles has attempted to arrange for the proper burial of his wife, and yet, Cerimon comments on “how fresh she looks” and suggests that she can be recovered (3.2.78). Shakespeare even includes a judgement from the magician; Cerimon mentions that “[t]hey were too rough / That threw her in the sea” suggesting that the men were too hasty (3.2.78–79). With the help of “rough and woeful” music and words of encouragement, Thaisa is revived (3.2.87). Cerimon confidently declares “this queen will live” and observes her beginning to “blow [bloom] into life’s flower again” (3.2.91–94). Thaisa’s revival is a moment of spectacle common to Shakespeare’s romances, and it is this spectacle that begins the dramatic irony within the play—the audience is aware that Thaisa is in fact alive, but Pericles continues to suffer, believing his wife to be dead. It can only be 108 As Gossett notes in the Arden edition, this is not a passport in the modern sense, but instead a note used for Thaisa’s presumed travel to the world of the dead. 107 speculated whether Pericles’s deferment of Thaisa’s burial at sea would have led to a different outcome, but Cerimon’s quick revival of the queen and his comment on the “roughness” of the sailors leaves the audience with questions. Additionally, at this moment Shakespeare shows Thaisa washing up on a shore far away from her home—separated from her newborn baby and her husband. With only the help of Cerimon’s words, she must spend the rest of the play at Diana’s temple in Ephesus. Shakespeare does not include any scenes later in the play where Pericles searches or inquires about what happened to Thaisa’s coffin or body. For two acts, then, Shakespeare invites the audience to reflect on this estrangement, watching Pericles continue to have mobility and a “life” while Thaisa silently suffers, estranged from her family and her home. In the next scene, Shakespeare again invites critique of Pericles, this time in connection to his daughter. Marina is placed with Cleon and Dionyza at Tarsus. Pericles presumably trusts this couple because he gave them and their nation corn earlier in the play, helping them to survive famine. Essentially, he knows that they owe him a favor, or that they would hopefully be friendly towards him. He asks the couple to give Marina “princely training, / That she may be mannered as she is born” and claims that until she be married, he will not cut his hair (3.3.16–17, 28–30). These wishes and actions seem honorable, but perhaps not equivalent to what has transpired. Shakespeare does not include much additional dialogue to further humanize Pericles or help the audience understand his decisions. In fact, this scene between Pericles and the couple consists of merely 42 lines. The fast pace of the play results in Pericles quickly pawning off his daughter to people who are more strangers than friends to him. Cleon confirms that he will take care of the child (3.3.18–26) and Dionyza confirms that “I have one [a child] myself / Who shall not be more dear to my respect / Than yours, my lord” (33–35). No further time is spent with the baby Marina. Pericles’s implicit trust in Cleon and Dionyza can easily be questioned by the 108 audience because Shakespeare again creates a turn in the plot that discredits them as worthy adoptive parents.109 Just as Thaisa was raised from the dead, thus bringing into question her swift removal from the ship (and Pericles’s life), Marina is not in fact cared for by Cleon and Dionyza. At the top of Act 4, Gower tells us that “Cleon’s wife with envy rare / A present murder does prepare / For good Marina” (4.Chorus.37–39). Dionyza is so jealous of the attention that Marina gets (as compared to her own biological daughter) that she decides Marina must die.110 Shakespeare further emphasizes Marina’s innocence, describing her as “good,” and provides the audience with further evidence to help sympathize with her as a character. As Dionyza speaks with Leonine, the hired murderer, he says “I will do’t, but yet she is a goodly creature” (4.1.8). Beyond the murder plot, Marina is not happy living with Cleon and Dionyza. Gower indicates that “Lychorida, our nurse, is dead” (4.Chorus.42) and, at the beginning of act 4, Marina laments, “This world to me is as a lasting storm, / Whirring me from my friends” (4.1.18–19).111 The maritime imagery fits the play, but it also succinctly shows that Marina has heretofore experienced the world as one full of tumult. She is estranged from both her mother and father and furthermore finds no comfort from friends. Her entire world is turbulent and chaotic. With the murder plot told to the audience by Gower and the establishment of Marina’s 109 Gossett notes that Pericles’s abandonment of Marina may have historical connections: “Separation from children was a very public cause of contention between King James and Queen Anne. She had refused to come to England until she could reclaim Prince Henry from the Early of Mar, with whom his father had insisted he be placed shortly after birth. At the time of Pericles Anne was eager to have her surviving children with her. In 1606 and again in 1607 she had lost an infant daughter. In 1608 her only remaining daughter, Princess Elizabeth, who had been sent away at three months and once in England had lived in another family, finally came to court” (“Introduction” 139– 140). 110 A similar plot line appears in Cymbeline. The queen, functioning as a wicked stepmother within the play, plots the death of her step-daughter, Innogen. The daughters in Shakespeare’s romances who face separation from their mothers (and estrangement within their families overall) face death either by natural elements, murderous plots from evil “replacement” mother figures, or other evil people within the lands they are raised or to which they travel. 111 Douglas Peterson notes that “[t]he lasting storm introduces old and enduring questions about appearance and reality and cosmic justice. In the absence of belief the lasting adversity of the world appears to be evidence of divine indifference” (71). 109 sadness, Shakespeare introduces another twist in the plot: Marina escapes the planned murder, but only because she is kidnapped by pirates who then sell her to a brothel. The abandoned child who grew up in a “lasting storm” is sex trafficked and travel (via kidnapping) continues to estrange her from any kind of family. Thus, Shakespeare crafts the plot in a way that invites audience members and readers to judge Pericles’s actions, which can produce dissonance and estrangement in the audiences navigating their experience of the play. The abandonment and estrangement of Pericles’s wife and child seem to be flawed and unthinking choices; his wife is not dead, but alive, and his daughter must try and survive a murder plot and sex-trafficking due to his choice to leave her with Cleon and Dionyza. Pericles’s abandonment of his daughter is emphasized through the literal lack of his presence on stage in the following act (Act 4). Nearly all of Act 4 is focused not on Pericles, but Marina; Pericles is mentioned by name by Gower in the chorus of Act 4—“Imagine Pericles arrived at Tyre, / Welcomed and settled to his own desire” (4.Chorus.1–2)—and then he reappears only via dumb-show in 4.4. In a rare moment where Gower as narrator interrupts mid- act, Pericles is said to be “now again thwarting the wayward seas […] To see his daughter, all his life’s delight” (4.4.10–12). Since Cleon and Dionyza believe Marina to be dead (Leonine lies to them and claims she is dead), they share this sad news with Pericles when he arrives. Further emphasizing Pericles’s abandonment of his daughter, Shakespeare does not give Pericles words in 4.4. Instead, a dumb-show occurs: Enter PERICLES at one door, with all his train, CLEON and DIONYZA at the other. Cleon shows Pericles the tomb, whereat Pericles makes lamentation, puts on sackcloth, and in a mighty passion departs. Pericles’s “mighty passion,” depending on how it is performed, could draw sympathy, but it is challenging to forget that this is the first time Pericles has seemingly inquired about his daughter. 110 No earlier scenes and no other narration from Gower provide such information, and thus Pericles has shifted from abandoning his daughter in 3.3 to being absent in 4.Chorus through 4.4. After only a brief appearance in the dumb-show, Gower says that Pericles “swears / Never to wash his face nor cut his hairs” due to the death of his daughter, but this is the extent of his mourning (4.4.27–28). The play quickly turns to 4.5 where the focus is again on Marina in the brothel, and Pericles remains absent. While Gower gives direction to the audience, his presence also distances and estranges them from the experiences of the play. Shakespeare thus emphasizes the physical and mental estrangement of Pericles from his daughter and wife, showing the tragic circumstances of their separations; but, the play ends with the reunion of the family, and thus a possible redemption for Pericles. There are no “absolute” or “final” deaths—the only deaths are those which Pericles imagines. In Act 5, the entire family is reunited. Pericles arrives in Mytilene and eventually realizes Marina is alive when she sings for him and tells him her life story. The “music of the spheres” puts Pericles to sleep and the goddess, Diana, appears in a vision, telling Pericles he must go to Ephesus (5.1.217, 227–36).112 At Diana’s temple in Ephesus, Pericles finds Thaisa, and introduces Marina to her. The play quickly ends, and Gower ties up loose ends via an epilogue. Thus, all is again “right” at the end of the play, but the quick shift in tone, and the emphasis on Pericles’s abandonment and estrangement of his family invite audiences and readers to think about the lingering memory of near tragedy. As Simon Palfrey notes, “Pericles spends much of the play, in one sense or another, stateless, estranged, savage” (78). Physical and emotional estrangement is built into the plot of Pericles and sympathy is built for wronged 112 Gossett notes that focusing “on Diana alters the male-centered Christian reading of Pericles. Early modern Bible readers and churchgoers would have known Diana as the goddess whose votaries repelled St. Paul’s missionaries, crying ‘Great is Diana of the Ephesians’ (Acts, 19.28)” (“Introduction” 118). For more on deus ex machina and spectacular/divine intervention in the romances overall, see chapter 3. 111 female characters. The audience spends the last two acts of the play with the knowledge that Thaisa is still alive, and Marina faces harrowing circumstances. In fact, Marina functions as more of a “main” character in the final two acts of the play and the audience gets to see her perspective of the world. Even if Marina’s life seems to be a “lasting storm,” Shakespeare gives her stage space and a critical role in the ending of the play. The audience/readers get to see these two women fight for survival while Pericles continues in his own pursuits. This dramatic irony invites critical reflection of Pericles’s choices. Thus, focusing on travel and its relationship to the physical and emotional estrangements of characters via the plot reveals how Shakespeare invites a critique of Pericles’s decisions in the audience. In the first three acts, the audience follows Pericles’s journeys, observing his decisions, and these decisions lead to the estrangement of his family. Being exposed to travel narratives, early modern audiences would be familiar with the marvels and dangers afforded by these voyages. In the play, travelling helps create this family unit, but it is also travelling that breaks them apart. Most often, it is the characters’ choices in cross-cultural encounters that either contribute to their physical/emotional estrangements or aid in their survival. It is Pericles’s choice to quickly adopt the “custom” of the sailors that leads him to throw Thaisa overboard, and it is Pericles’s choice to ask Cleon and Dionyza to raise Marina (a connection previously made with his diplomatic travel in Tarsus) which ultimately leads to her horrible childhood. In order to explore both the psychic estrangements of characters in the play experiencing the foreign, and the physical and emotional estrangements of separated families, this final section analyzes the dramaturgy of the play and how it creates estranging experiences for both the early modern audiences and audiences today. 112 The Dramaturgy and Staging of Pericles Pericles’s locations and presentations of different cultures allow the play to be incredibly relevant today. Jowitt and McInnis argue that “geopolitical changes in the Middle East, alterations in, and debates about, the economic and political landscape of the European Union, as well as alterations in the global economic order, as Asia has started to regain the position it held in the Renaissance, have all added important new dimensions to studies of both travel writing and early modern drama” (13). Just as the early modern stage allowed audiences to envision different cultures and locations within Pericles, the stage today offers a space to explore cultural difference in performance. Chapter 3 explores this intermixing of forms and performance more fully, but in short, this view of the romances uses Bertolt Brecht’s conception of the verfremdungseffekt (often translated as the “alienation” or “estrangement” effect) to analyze how Pericles allows audiences to keep their intellect “free and highly mobile” so that a “critical attitude” can form (191).113 This estrangement allows the viewer to recognize its subject, but as Brecht explains, also makes it “seem unfamiliar” (192). This is not to say that Pericles directly reflects this twentieth-century theory; instead, Brecht’s view of estrangement helps distinguish and define moments where Shakespeare enables a critique of Pericles. 113 Shakespeare’s setting of Pericles in the ancient Hellenistic world mirrors Brecht’s ideas of the historical estrangement of time, and the episodic construction of the play mirrors Brecht’s ideas of “knot[ting] together” individual episodes in a way easily noticed. Gower as narrator/chorus of the play likewise makes this “knotting” noticeable. For more on Shakespeare, Brecht, and Pericles see Margot Heineman’s “How Brecht Read Shakespeare,” Howard Felperin’s Shakespearean Romance, Mythili Kaul’s “Pericles: Shakespeare’s Parable for the Theatre,” and Doc Rossi’s, “Brecht on Shakespeare: A Revaluation.” 113 Other scholars have observed this “distancing” mechanism within Pericles. 114 Constance Relihan explains that “in creating a romance so dependent upon locations whose relation to Europe may be considered liminal, and by emphasizing the drama’s Otherness through the distancing mechanism of Gower’s narrative control, Shakespeare undermines interpretations of the play that see it affirming both James I’s reign and time’s ability to heal and restore” (72). Constance C. Relihan thus identifies how Shakespeare makes Pericles strange—it includes liminal locations and includes Gower as chorus.115 Jane Hwang Degenhardt argues that Pericles specifically reveals the: audience’s role not just as passive but as active participants in the making of performance. In this way we recover an interactive relationship between plays and their audiences, one in which audiences retain their own agency as discerning viewing subjects who decide when to detach or to give over to the sway of performance, and playwrights, for their part, retain agency in helping to guide their audiences through these interactions by entraining and rewarding certain viewing practices. (105) Pericles certainly invites a complex and unique affective experience that includes detachment, or, as I suggest, estrangement. In this way, the play’s content mirrors its form. The characters experience estrangement emotionally and physically, as well as through cross-cultural encounters; the dramaturgy thus supports this by asking audiences to also experience estrangement as it relates to their own interactions and views of the play. The opening of act three of the play (coincidentally or not, also where many scholars cite Shakespeare “taking over” from George Wilkins116) demonstrates this kind of dramaturgical estrangement. Gower’s narration fast-forwards time, separates action and speech with a dumb- 114 For Shakespeare’s romances overall, Hallett Smith in Shakespeare’s Romances suggests that “by their ‘distancing,’ [the late plays] by their constant reminders of artifice, by their theatrical contrasts and displays, break up this participation which is so essential to ritual or, for that matter, to tragedy” (209). 115 The majority of Shakespeare’s plays do not include a chorus, and thus Gower’s role as chorus stands out. 116 Gossett mentions that “Almost all readers of Pericles note a striking change in the quality of the poetry at the beginning of the third act” (“Introduction” 62). For a more detailed account of this scholarly debate, see pp. 62-70 of Gossett. 114 show, and employs other techniques that estrange audiences by constantly disrupting a more “immersive” mode of reception. Gower begins the chorus using archaic, medieval words no longer in use in the early modern period like “y-slacked” and “eyne,” mentally bringing the audience back to the medieval period and even medieval romances (3.Chorus.1,5). This can be estranging because it takes the audience “out” of the present and back to the past. After Gower recounts the marriage of Pericles and Thaisa, he fast-forwards time and self-reflexively asks for the audience to jointly envision his forthcoming tale with him: “Be attent, / And time that is so briefly spent / With your fine fancies quaintly eche” (3.Chorus.11–13). Other moments of self-reflexivity occur via the multiple dumb-shows included within the play. Dumb-shows are not new to Shakespeare—Hamlet famously includes one in his “Mousetrap”—but Pericles deploys multiple dumb-shows throughout the play.117 Instead of watching characters physically moving across the stage and participating in dialogues, the actors/characters mimetically enact scenes. For example, in this chorus at the beginning of Act 3, Gower sets up the dumb-show by saying: “What’s dumb in show I’ll plain with speech” (3.Chorus.14). Here, Gower is explicitly setting up this dichotomy between action and speech. He tells the audience that a dumb show will convey some of the information of the scene, and afterwards, he will complete his conveyance of information via a continuation of his chorus. Thus, with characters “acting” out various scenarios devoid of speech, the dumb-shows (much like Gower as chorus) invite the audience to disengage from the “main story” or “main method of delivery” of information in the play. 117 The dumb-show within Hamlet is also more about the internal; the title character wants to “catch the conscious” of King Claudius. In Pericles, the dumb-shows are more external, functioning in conjunction with travel, and change of place and time for the play overall. 115 Near the end of Gower’s chorus in act 3, Shakespeare brings attention to the form of the play again by reuniting action and speech of the actors/characters. Gower’s narration also demonstrates how Shakespeare invites the audience to “join” Pericles on his adventures. Gower says: And what ensues in this fell storm Shall for itself itself perform. I nill relate, action may Conveniently the rest convey, Which might not what by me is told. In your imagination hold This stage the ship upon whose deck The sea-tossed Pericles appears to speak. (3.Chorus.53–60) Here, Gower continues his trend throughout the play of telling the audience to “imagine” a scene, but then he deviates and allows it to also “actually” take place as he narrates.118 It is important to note that the scene is not presented twice; rather, he speaks in present tense, saying “Pericles appears”, and helps the audience imagine the scene, and then “transfers” the scene to the actors. This presentation of verse, action, and then verse connected to action at the opening of act three shows how Shakespeare highlights and emphasizes these different forms of performance. Gower as chorus/narrator brings attention to the cognitive experience of envisioning a setting (the sea) and an event (a tempest) on presumably a stage clearly devoid of either of these elements.119 Pericles importantly creates a stage space where audiences can view and envision different geographies, nations, and peoples while at the same time maintain a critical attitude 118 For more on Gower as narrator, see F. David Hoeniger’s “Gower and Shakespeare in Pericles.” 119 As I expand upon in chapter 4, many argue that Pericles could have been written with both the Globe and Blackfriars in mind; though the latter playspace could possibly provide a more elaborate setting, these lines would nonetheless bring attention to the play as a play. For more on the performance possibilities of these two playhouses, see Sarah Dustagheer’s Shakespeare’s Two Playhouses: Repertory and Theatre Space at the Globe and the Blackfriars, 1599-1613. 116 where they reflect on the estrangements of the characters. At the beginning of the play, Gower acknowledges that this tale is nothing new—it has been sung many times before, and he himself is a long-dead medieval poet. And yet, the song or tale is happening again here on the stage and will continue to occur again and again in performance. It is a tale for the ages, with continued relevance. In 4.4, Gower suggests that he takes and the audience’s imaginations across space and time: “from bourn to bourn, region to region” (4.4.3–4). As much as this was important and exciting for early modern audiences, it is still important today. The inconsistent popularity of Pericles as seen in its performance history reveals the difficult, but potentially rewarding challenges of staging a play that enact experiences of travel and cross-cultural encounters. In the 1600s, the play was incredibly popular; the quarto of the play suggests it was “sundry times acted by / his Maiesties Seruants, at the Globe.”120 Gossett notes that an anonymous pamphleteer mentioned the large crowds who went to see the play: Amazde I stood, to see a Crowd Of Ciuill Throats strechd out so lowd; (As at a New-play) all the Roomes Did swarm with Gentiles mix’d with Groomes, So that I truly thought all These Came to see Shore or Pericles (“Introduction” 2, quoted from Chambers) According to Carlo M. Bajetta, sometime between 1606 and 1608, the Venetian ambassador saw a performance of Pericles and invited the ambassador of France to also come see the play. Perhaps the Mediterranean geography and moments encounter within the play were of interest to international travelers like ambassadors. The play continued to have popularity in revival and 120 See the quarto by William Shakespeare, titled: The late, and much admired play, called Pericles [etc.] 117 adaptation through the 1600s, but then the play was largely neglected, and it did not gain interest again for centuries.121 Performances of Pericles in the last thirty years, however, have found promise in the potential multiculturalism of the play.122 In a 2018 adaptation of the play by the National Theatre and directed by Chris Bush, the play was used as a means to engage with various local communities. This adaptation included “a huge company [of over 200 people] of all ages across London” who, according to the promotional materials joined “together with professional artists to breathe new life into this classic tale in a musical version on the Olivier stage” (“Pericles”). Director Emily Lim explained that Pericles was the best fit for the aim of creating a production that included the community because it’s “a story about realising who you are and what your home is through the people you love; there's lots of travel and adventurous stuff like pirates; and there are different worlds to explore. Company members have each hooked onto different parts of the story, but - as one of our associates said – we’re altogether united through the mythology.” In talking about the diversity in the company, Lim explained that “we’ve got about 200 in the company: around 130 from the community organisations, then six professional actors, a professional band, and seven cameo groups brought on board to represent London's cultural breadth and diversity - the latter are all semi-professional or amateur” (Swain). The production included: the Ascension Eagles (cheerleaders) performing in a scene with a parade, the London Bulgarian Choir singing a lament for Pericles, and members of community organizations like the Faith & Belief Forum, the Havering Asian Social and Welfare Association, and CORAM (just to 121 In comparison to Shakespeare’s other plays, the play still is not a favorite. Across the Globe, the Royal Shakespeare Company, and the National Theatre in the past 20 years, Pericles has been performed only a handful of times. 122 For more on the performance history of Pericles, see Suzanne Gossett’s “‘Tell Thy Story’: Mary Zimmerman’s Pericles.” In this article, Gossett argues that Pericles is either produced in one of three ways: reading the play as a romance, imposing a political meaning, or emphasizing the play’s deficiencies by further deconstructing it in performance (184). 118 name a few) playing roles on the stage (“Public Acts”). Thus, this production represented diversity in many ways, including age, race, gender, and ability, showing how the play stages the coming together of different communities. Recent productions also use the character of Gower to diversity the stage as it relates to race, gender, and culture. It seems that for Pericles in particular, directors and production companies are finding success in presenting Gower not as a famous, English, medieval poet but instead as a magical or spiritual leader from other cultures. In a 2005 production of the play at the Globe, Black actor Patrice Naiambana played the role of both Gower and Cerimon, performing the narrator as a West African storyteller; in the 2015 performance of the play at the Stratford Shakespeare Festival, the character of Diana took over Gower’s lines, and was played by a woman (Marion Adler) dressed as a nun; in the 2016 production of the play, directed by Trevor Nunn for Theatre for a New Audience, the Black actor Raphael Nash Thompson played Gower.123 The play thus enables a global, multicultural world which can be adapted and enacted on the stage. One of the most notable productions as it relates to travel, estrangement, and Gower, was the Royal Shakespeare Company production in 2006 directed by Dominic Cooke. This production emphasized the estrangements in travel by presenting different “cultures” within its geographical locations, it diversified the stage via “color-conscious” casting, and it included the unique production choice of being staged in “promenade” where the audience literally traveled/moved across the stage at various points in the play. In its adaptation, it invites important questions still relevant to performances of the play today: In what ways does Pericles necessitate a more diverse stage as it relates to casting, and in what ways can such diversity 123 Consider also Adrian Noble’s Royal Shakespeare Company production of the play in 2002; this production highlighted the Levantine setting and included a multiracial cast but was viewed by some as “orientalizing.” 119 quickly turn to presenting caricatures of the different Mediterranean peoples and nations it envisions? And, in what ways can production choices like staging the play in “promenade” effectively emphasize the bifurcated, estranging affective experience that the written play suggests? The RSC production used the different geographical locations that the play affords the audience to diversify the stage in terms of space, place, and culture. It sought to distinguish the different geographical locations by giving them their own unique “culture.” Peter Kirwan observed: As Pericles reached shore after shore, we [the audience] appeared to be going on a journey around that continent- Antioch was a military-run state, Tyre a ceremonial tribal land of robes and pyjamas, Pentapolis a European colony presided over by the ex-pat Simonides, Ephesus a spiritual retreat for hippies and ‘white rastas’, while Mitilene was a seedy red light district populated with transvestites and prostitutes, where white men and women attempted to exploit a young black girl. (“Pericles”) In particular, the depiction of a military-run state, a European colony, and a red-light district all effectively modernize Pericles’s interest in the presentation of different power relations. In this production Gower was played by a Black actor, Joseph Mydell, and portrayed as African. Other major and minor characters were also played by actors of color: Pericles (Lucian Msamati), Marina (Ony Uhiara), Antiochus (Clarence Smith), Cleon (Maynard Eziashi), Dionyza (Frances Ashman), and Leonine (Mark Theodore), to name a few (“Past Productions”).These casting choices thus gave actors of color the main roles within the play but gave other actors of color the roles of the “villains” (Cleon and Dionyza). This production thus displayed both the productive possibilities as well as the pitfalls of using Pericles to diversify the stage in terms of a cross-racial, multi-ethnic cast. The production created distinctions between the nations, and included a stage peopled by actors of color, but it 120 struggled to represent Pericles and Gower as African much beyond the color of their skin. While Peter Kirwan observed how Msamati as Pericles “sang a lament in an African language for his deceased wife and had an excellent emotional range,” Ayanna Thompson importantly points out that this production never found specificity in its portrayal of Pericles as African. Thompson explains how the “African-ness” of the early scenes was “established through the use of black actors who were employing African accents and outfits,” but Dominic Cooke—alongside the majority of reviewers of the production—failed to really interrogate this production choice (“To Notice” 3). There was no note in the program about these choices, and Thompson explains that “[w]hile Pentapolis, as an all-white kingdom, was being established through elaborate stagings, the African kingdoms were left under-attended because there was the assumption that the race and color of the actors would semiotically convey place” (8).124 This portrayal of the African kingdoms thus shifted towards caricature, not fully thinking through and realizing the meanings conveyed when relying largely on skin color to distinguish different nations and places. Making different cultures seem like cartoons or caricatures is one pitfall that productions of Pericles must avoid. It can be all too easy, however, due to the fast pace of the play. In preparation for a performance of Pericles at the American Shakespeare Center in 2014, director Jim Warren sent the following note to his actors: “In an attempt to differentiate the many locations in the play, some productions turn the characters in the various locations into cartoons. We’re not going to do that.” Production companies can thus productively utilize the multicultural potential of the play but must look out for the oversimplification or even cartooning of cultures. Though the RSC production at times oversimplified its presentation of different cultures, it succeeded in utilizing dramatic techniques to emphasize the estrangements within the play. 124 For a history of colorblind casting, and other discussions of related casting practices, see Thompson’s, Colorblind Shakespeare: New Perspectives on Race and Performance. 121 The production created a pseudo-Brechtian experience of estrangement via its “promenade” staging. As reviewer Michael Billington noted, “in the hero’s peregrinations around the Med, it perfectly suits the prom style” (“Winter’s Tale/Pericles”). During the performance, members of the audience were able to move between the actors. Peter Kirwan explains that the ground floor of the auditorium was “completely covered over, providing a standing space for about 100 members of the audience to move among the actors and be right in the middle of the action” and that the opening of the play began with audience members “being pushed into lines and held at gunpoint by the rebel soldiers of Antiochus” (“Pericles”). As for Gower, he stood among the audience and ushered them around. Thus, both physically and mentally, audiences were asked to travel across the stage. Including members of the audience on stage avoids replicating a “fourth wall” or even the separation of actors and audience via a raised stage like that of the Globe or Blackfriars. Audience members are more connected to the play and function as voyeurs or observers—an estranging experience where they are and are not part of the play. Kirwan states that “the audience were continually energised and unsettled, and as a result completely gripped by the events” (“Pericles”). Though connection via proximity might lead the audience to feel more empathy for characters, it also at the same time presents potential complicity. Does the audience intervene when pirates appear? Can they allow Bawd and Pander to force Marina into prostitution? Despite these flaws, the production represents productive possibilities of Pericles on the stage today. The play both in the early modern period and today presents a protagonist with unstable power who must adapt to new environments. As Thompson observes in reference to the RSC production, “[s]pecifically staging Pericles’s journey as beginning in east Africa and 122 moving north and west through the Mediterranean, the director […] evoked the way in which the issues of displacement, migration, and estrangement have become pertinent in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries” (“To Notice” 3). This production shows why Pericles is and should be performed on the stage today: it presents the opportunity for a diverse stage and its dramaturgy invites the estrangement of audiences and critical reflection on important issues like immigration. Other Shakespearean plays on the stage today incorporate color-conscious casting and re-envisioned spaces, but Pericles needs no overarching re-envisioning. The characters and locations of the play are from various locations across the Mediterranean. Though the early modern and twenty-first-century performances of Pericles offer a fiction, they nonetheless enable audiences to see and envision a multicultural world. They invite conversations and ask audiences and theatre companies to think about difference as it relates to nation, space, and place. Today, more and more production companies are choosing to produce Pericles. The RSC had plans to produce the play in summer 2020, though these performances were postponed due to the COVID-19 pandemic. This renewed interest in performing Pericles can certainly be attributed to the play’s themes (which center around estrangement), and its staged moments of cross-cultural encounters across the Mediterranean. To conclude, I would like to further consider the productive possibilities of Pericles as a work invested in travel and estrangement on both page and stage. The play presents and supports a complex cultural geography, and Gower as narrator invites the audience to join in this envisioning. The unique dramaturgy of Pericles leaves room for critical reflection: Pericles seeks refuge quite a few times in the play and Marina is raised by others—how do we as audiences and readers treat and view refugees? Pericles seeks help from other nations and at other times offers help. How do we interact with other nations? Do we reject other cultures or embrace them? 123 Characters like Cleon and Dionyza who treat the abandoned, foreign Marina poorly are burned to death in their palace, but characters including Pericles, Marina, and Thaisa who adapt to their new surroundings find a happy ending. Pericles is undervalued and overlooked as one of Shakespeare’s “race” plays. Performances of Pericles can “glad [our] ear[s] and please [our] eyes” (1.Chorus.4), and at the same time invite audiences then and now to experience estrangement alongside Pericles as they join him in his journey across space and time. Performance studies scholar Marvin Carlson, speaking of audiences viewing plays on the stage, argues that “the present experience is always ghosted by previous experiences and associations while these ghosts are simultaneously shifted and modified by the processes of recycling and recollection” (2). He believes that “any theatrical production weaves a ghostly tapestry for its audience” (165). The character of Gower within Shakespeare’s play could be considered a ghost—he is a long-dead (both today and in the early modern period) poet who rises from ashes to tell the audience his tale. For centuries, he was likely played by an old, white man, but now, his character is becoming a space for embodied difference as it relates to race, gender, and culture. And not just Gower, but the entire cast of the play can and should be embodied by actors that reflect difference as it relates to race, gender, and ability. Due to the cross-cultural encounters that Pericles stages, and its connections to travel narratives, the play allows audiences to be ghosted by a diverse set of characters and spaces/places. Pericles’s unique ability to present diversity and equity suggests many other productive possibilities in future performances. If scholars and artists pay attention to the estrangements within the play alongside its unique dramaturgy, we will be able to show Shakespeare’s continued importance and relevance to audiences today. 124 The first two chapters of this dissertation explore the unique genre of Shakespeare’s romances. The next chapter looks to form, specifically the incorporation of the early modern art form known as the masque within Shakespeare’s romances. Using Cymbeline as an example, I further expand on my argument that Shakespeare mixes both genre and forms in the romances to create plays that “estrange” or “make strange.” 125 CHAPTER 3: (ANTI-)MASQUES IN CYMBELINE: THEATRICAL FORMS AND SPECTACLE In the last scene of Cymbeline, the characters of Belarius, Arviragus, and Guiderius face a strange circumstance. The “boy” they know as Fidele whom they thought was dead and whom they threw into a pit, is now alive and standing before them. They exchange questions: BELARIUS: [to Guiderius and Arviragus] Is not this boy revived from death? ARVIRAGUS: One sand another Not more resembles that sweet rosy lad Who died and was Fidele. What think you? GUIDERIUS: The same dead thing alive. BELARIUS: Peace, peace, see further. He eyes us not, forbear. Creatures may be alike. Were’t he, I am sure He would have spoke to us. GUIDERIUS: But we see him dead. (5.5.120–26) Though only “dead” for a brief period, Innogen (cross-dressed as the boy “Fidele”) is another woman in Shakespeare’s romances who has a pivotal scene in which her body exists in a space between life and death, and this liminal existence is staged as spectacle. Her death is not a “real” death—she ended up in a grave because she took a potion that made her body have all the markers of a corpse. Like other women in Shakespeare’s romances, she reappears at the end of the play to be reunited with her family. Being King Cymbeline’s daughter, Innogen in some ways resembles the daughters of The Winter’s Tale and Pericles (Perdita and Marina), but she more closely resembles the wives (Hermione and Thaisa) since her body exists in this liminal space between life and death. 126 The contradictory statements of Belarius, Arviragus, and Guiderius in this moment in Cymbeline highlight the haunting presence of the wives and daughters in the romances. It is the physical and emotional estrangements of the daughters and wives of patriarchal rulers that leads to these near-death experiences; the “return” to life of characters like Hermione, Thaisa, and Innogen create estranging moments for characters. That is, these moments are “strange, unusual, wonderful” (“estrange, v.”). Cumulatively, they constitute the distinctive world of Shakespearean romances, drawing on elements of tragedy and comedy, and yet evoking marvelous and extraordinary intermixtures. Here, Belarius questions whether the body he sees before him is that of the dead Fidele, and after Arviragus agrees and questions his brother, Guiderius responds that this figure is the “same dead thing alive.” This kind of contradictory statement reveals the strangeness and wonder of the moment—a dead thing is actually alive. Even when Belarius tries to assure his “sons” that this must not be Fidele because “[h]e would have spoke to us,” Guiderius still insists “[b]ut we see him dead.” The word “died,” “death,” and “dead” (twice) appear in this moment of wonder. These three men are audience and witness to this strange moment, and like Leontes seeing the statue of Hermione and Pericles seeing the presumed-to-be-dead Thaisa, they are all amazement. Innogen/Fidele functions as a spectacle—a dead person walking. This chapter analyzes the process and impact of such spectacles in Shakespeare’s romances, tying them specifically to the influence of the early modern aesthetic form of the masque. I argue that in his romances, Shakespeare juxtaposes scenes that show the grittier, lived experiences of characters with scenes that include spectacle and deities that function as dei ex 127 machina for the plays.125 The genre of the romances, with its intermixtures, necessitates a mechanism for keeping the women alive, allowing the plays to end in reconciliation and reunion. These spectacles help achieve this escape from tragedy. The deus ex machina can be likened to the transition to masque proper where the king’s/queen’s powers are reaffirmed and praised. And the seemingly impossible is made possible, like pleasure reconciling into virtue as seen in the eponymous Jonson masque. For the romances, the “royalty” are gods and deities including the goddess Diana (Pericles), Juno, Ceres, and Iris (The Tempest), and Jupiter (Cymbeline). (The oracle at Apollo and Hermione herself both function this way in The Winter’s Tale.) The impossible being made possible, as seen in early modern masques, is replicated in the resurrections of the romances where the women return or appear alive again at the end of the plays. Shakespeare’s romances, then, devalue or lessen the power of the male rulers. It is characters such as Leontes, Pericles, and Cymbeline that create the estrangements of their families, and it is the power of the gods that fix these estrangements and help the families reunite. The distinct genre of the romances shows Shakespeare incorporating ideas, genres, and other cultural forms from the past (medieval romances, medieval miracle plays, and other older sources) as seen in chapter 1. The emphasis on travel and travel narratives, as discussed in chapter 2, shows Shakespeare’s ties to contemporary early modern travel writing. The inclusion of spectacle and masque-like elements within the romances as shown in this third chapter reveals how Shakespeare incorporates contemporary aesthetic forms and popular entertainments on the early modern stage. Shakespeare is thus adapting old stories, the contemporary zeitgeist, as well as new and innovative forms of theatre in his romances. 125 For more on the appearance and performance of gods on the stage, see Dustin W. Dixon and John S. Garrison’s Performing Gods in Classical Antiquity and the Age of Shakespeare. 128 At the same time, I suggest that this juxtaposing of spectacle with scenes sans spectacle (mimicking a masque and anti-masque) creates a unique affective experience for audiences both in the early modern period and today. A key connection between the influences of the medieval romances and the masque in Shakespeare’s romances is the effect of “disruption.” That is, in utilizing elements from medieval prose romances and contemporary masques, Shakespeare disrupts the expected progression of the story or the expected genre of the play, which in turn creates a possible estranging experience for audiences. The play, previously featuring tragic elements, turns towards the comic; specific to the genre of the romances, the play ends in reunion and reconciliation. And the play, previously grounded in the lived reality of its characters, suddenly incorporates elements of the supernatural and spectacular to bring back the “dead” or resolve the protagonist’s problems. This resolution and reconciliation are what distinguishes the romances from Shakespeare’s other tragicomedies.126 Thus, the form of the romances invites the audience to be estranged from the plays; in an implicitly Brechtian sense, these scenes of spectacle interrupt the expected mode and narrative of the play, inviting the audience to self-reflexively view the play as a play. This emphasizes these power differentials in the plays, with the male rulers needing the assistance of deities to ensure that order is restored, and at the same time highlights the estrangements of the families and the harrowing circumstances of the wronged women. A sense of disruption and the affective experience of the romances in performance has been debated amongst scholars, with different threads suggesting that Shakespeare’s romances 126 Plays like Measure for Measure, All’s Well That Ends Well, and Much Ado about Nothing (among others) have a mix of tragicomic elements, but they do not have the specific elements of Shakespeare’s romances. All’s Well that Ends Well explores darker themes in the beginning and “ends well,” and Much Ado about Nothing has Beatrice demanding the death of Claudio, but there are no dei ex machina. Duke Vincentio might function as a deus ex machina in Measure for Measure, but he is not a god. An important distinction in the romances is that the gods highlight the wrongdoings of male rulers and patriarchal structures, thereby disrupting power structures. 129 involve participation of audiences, a blend of involvement and detachment, a kind of metatheatrical/metacritical awareness of the stage, and/or an invitation to experience different modalities. As discussed in the introduction, Douglas Peterson believes that the romances require a “ritualistic participation” of the audiences where distance must be maintained between audience and play (10, 13), Christopher J. Cobb believes that the plays, in exploring features of different genres, change what is possible for a human to do (23), and Kiernan Ryan believes the plays stimulate “in the spectator an awareness that both the stage world and the lived world it transposes are provisional versions of experience which invite revision” (37). This chapter thus builds on Peterson’s idea of the romances utilizing metatheatrical elements to distance audiences and invite a unique form of participation, Cobb’s idea of the romances emphasizing human transformation, and Ryan’s idea of the romances inviting the concept of revision, but centers these ideas around how the form of the masque and antimasque as adapted by Shakespeare’s romances creates this kind of distancing. The romances dare to suggest that theatre can allow estranged and poorly treated women to return from the dead and reunite with their families. The romances also open-up traditional stories, allowing more marginalized figures like Caliban, Hermione, Innogen, Marina, and Perdita to challenge the constraints placed on them and play a more significant role in the play. It might seem like these plays are focused on fathers—on male, patriarchal rulers. These men indeed play significant roles in the plays and even inform the title of two of them (Pericles and Cymbeline), but the wives and daughters play an equally significant role. And, it is the spectacular, masque-like elements of the plays that help shift their genre, highlight the wrongs done by the men, and give these marginalized characters significance. 130 In focusing on the estrangements of the characters and of the audience, the marginalized characters within the romances are highlighted, perhaps even championed for some readers/viewers. In the early modern period, the newly penned plays and newly erected stages literally created a physical and mental platform for new ideas and new messages to be performed before a diverse group of Londoners. Performances of plays on the stage constituted a prominent social phenomenon that had potential influence on the thought and perceptions of audience members on topics like global expansion, government, social power, and gender (among others). In Renaissance Self-Fashioning, Greenblatt argues that in the “sixteenth century there appears to be an increased self-consciousness about the fashioning of human identity as a manipulable, artful process,” and thus, as the populace went to plays, they were able to see identities formed on the stage (2). The romances in particular highlight wronged women as well as the enslaved Caliban.127 This chapter uses Cymbeline as case study to study the impact of the form of the early modern masque on Shakespeare’s romances. Previous scholarly attention to Cymbeline has surrounded a few different topics: scholars have focused on the play’s mixed genre128, its 127 For a more detailed exploration on the composition and behavior of Shakespeare’s audience, see pp. 23-29 of the introduction. 128 Views of the genre of the play from the eighteenth and nineteenth century from scholars and critics included praise as well as denouncement. In Characters of Shakespeare’s Plays, William Hazlitt states that “Cymbeline is one of the most delightful of Shakespeare’s historical plays. It may be considered as a dramatic romance…” and that the “pathos in [the play] is not violent or tragical, but of the most pleasing and amiable kind” (1–2). Catherine M.S. Alexander notes that “Charles Cowden Clarke recalls seeing a young John Keats in the 1800s reading the play and noticing his eyes filling with tears…[and] it is often said that Tennyson felt such affection for the play that at his death in October 1892 he was buried with a copy of Cymbeline in his hand” (135). Samuel Johnson’s famous review of Cymbeline argued that the play had much “incongruity” and that “[t]o remark the folly of the fiction, the absurdity of the conduct, the confusion of the names, and manners of different times, and the impossibility of the events in any system of life, were to waste criticism upon unresisting imbecility, upon faults too evident for detection, and too gross for aggravation” (162). This review is emblematic of other responses to the confusion of Cymbeline; that is, this late play is viewed as convoluted, messy, and absurd. Johnson specifically states that characters act in irrational and anachronistic ways and that many of the events seem so spectacular and fortuitous that they read as unrealistic. 131 historical context129, its ties to ancient Britain130, and intersections with colonialism131, empire132, and gender and sexuality133. Many of these topics intersect with my view of estrangement, but for this chapter, I focus on Cymbeline’s intersections with the masque. In doing so, my analysis also focuses on the stylized and spectacular effects/affects that further illuminate the contexts listed above. To begin, Cymbeline’s scenes in Wales distinctively function as an “anti-masque,” reminiscent of the contemporary masque “For the Honour of Wales,” and near the end of the play, Jupiter’s descent in thunder and lightning functions as a deus ex machina which leads to the reunion of the family. I use Cymbeline as a case study because its scene with Jupiter descending clearly reflects spectacular, masque-like elements, and this disruption dominates our experience of the play. I also focus on Cymbeline due to its ties to Italy. Since early modern masques were influenced by Italianate styles and practices, the integration of masque-like forms in Shakespeare’s romances contribute to their estranged genre and form. These familiar stories are “made foreign” or “made strange” by the incorporation of these Italianate influences. This coincides with the narrative of Cymbeline as well, since the character of Iachimo and the backdrop of Rome stand out in the play, juxtaposing the otherwise British and Welsh characters 129 Chapter 3 of Douglas Peterson’s Time, Tide, and Tempest discusses the “legendary” history of Cymbeline. 130 Joan Warchol Rossi argues that “far from providing only a convenient ‘epic’ context, the story of Cymbeline, Britain, and Rome in Holinshed’s Chronicles of England, Scotland, and Ireland suggested to Shakespeare several strands of his play and may even have provided the germ of its romantic plot” (104). 131 Mary Floyd-Wilson argues that the play “resurrects some of the ethnological concerns of Marlowe’s Tamburlaine” and in Jonson’s Masque of Blackness (161), and how the play presents the “racial myth of Anglo- Saxon origins” where the English appear as a “superior and naturally civilized race, unaffected by Britain’s ancient history of mingled genealogies and military defeats” (163) 132 William Maley in “Postcolonial Cymbeline: Sovereignty and Succession from Roman to Renaissance Britain” argues that the play is a nativity play, not on Christ, but on the birth of Britain (34). 133 Jodi Mikalachki’s famous political reading of the play as constructing the nation, “The Masculine Romance of Roman Britain: Cymbeline and Early Modern English Nationalism” includes readings of the play in terms of issues of “gender and sexuality, taking both as constitutive of the nationalism the play articulates” (303); Chapter 6 of Martin Orkin’s Local Shakespeares: Proximations and Power, titled “ ‘…that most venerable man which I / Did call my father’” discusses male cognition and corporeality as it intersects with justice and accountability in the play. 132 and geographies. Iachimo represents the kinds of anxieties associated with foreign invasion in early modern Britain, and the ending when King Cymbeline pays his taxes to Rome presents not only a reconciliation of the core family of the play, but also a reconciliation with these foreign influences. The ending with Cymbeline’s reconciliation with Rome, then supports King James’s vision of a Pax Britannia.134 Therefore, Cymbeline also reflects contemporary politics, especially concerns about the foreign and unfamiliar. In the romances, as stated earlier, the stage was and is a space to question patriarchal rulers, see wronged women, experience difference culturally and geographically, and explore the limits of theatre. This chapter thus details the disruptive and estranging influences of the divine, supernatural, and spectacular via early modern masques to show how Shakespeare experiments with form. Chapters 1 and 2 focused on two different genres, and this chapter furthers this discussion by looking at some specific mechanisms for these genre shifts. As a means to fully understand Shakespeare’s innovations and experimentations, the chapter first describes and analyzes Jacobean masques, focusing on their form and purpose. After looking at how masque-like elements appear in Shakespeare’s romances, the chapter then considers the masque and anti-masque as seen in Cymbeline, especially as how it may intersect with “For the Honor of Wales.” It ends by discussing the depiction of spectacle in performances of Cymbeline, focusing on the 2016 Royal Shakespeare Company production directed by Melly Still. This production illustrates the difficulty of staging spectacle within the romances and shows how an approach that includes Brechtian distancing effects and concepts of haunting can 134 Heather James argues, for example, that “the potential for precipitous (‘headless’) action in defining the British nation jeopardizes the glorious peace promised in the play by Jupiter; simultaneously, it questions the styled ‘peace- maker’ and royal absolutist who wished to import not only the Augustan pax Romana but also the deified and central status of the nation’s ruler” (152). 133 make the scene of Jupiter’s descent possible and digestible for a twenty-first century audience unfamiliar with early modern masques. Characterizing the Masque The early modern masque was a unique and popular art form that combined dance, song, and spectacle. Masques as a form of dramatic entertainment reached their height in prominence in James’ court (1603–25) and thus intersected with Shakespeare’s middle and later writing periods of his career. The inclusion of the divine and the dramatic deployment of the spectacular as found in Jacobean masques are used in Shakespeare’s romances to enable the reunion of their core families; that is, the plays begin with tragic circumstances and estrangements/separations, but end with reconciliation and redemption. In most of these endings, Shakespeare includes the sudden intervention of the divine to solve the problems of the mortal characters, and these scenes include spectacle; thus, the masque form helps facilitate the romances’ unique shifts in genre. Two collaborators of some of the most well-known and elaborate masques of England in the Jacobean period were Inigo Jones and Ben Jonson, and Jonson’s satirical poem “An Expostulation with Inigo Jones” helps define this unique artistic form. The poem demonstrates the complications of the collaborative nature of masques as well as particularities of the masque form: The majesty of Juno in the clouds, And peering forth of Iris in the shrouds! The ascent of Lady Fame which none could spy; Not they that sided her, Dame Poetry, Dame History, Dame Architecture too, And Goody Sculpture, brought with much ado To hold her up. O shows, shows, mighty shows! The eloquence of masques! What need of prose, Or verse, or sense to express immortal you? You are the spectacles of state! […] O, to make boards to speak! There is a task! Painting and carpentry are the soul of masque! 134 Pack with your peddling poetry to the stage, This is the money-get, mechanic age! (33–42, 49–52) One important element to masques was the spectacular, and Juno floating “in the clouds” is one such elaborate and spectacular image that a masque might recreate135. Masques include “Poetry” (though most often a short and limited script), as well as elaborate “Architecture” and “Sculpture” in the form of set design and props to form spectacle. Unlike popular and public theatre with minimalistic stages at early modern playhouses like The Fortune or The Globe, masques allowed designers like Inigo Jones to create elaborate architectural pieces for indoor theaters or spaces at court. The “eloquence” of the costumes and sets of masques could inspire awe, and the point of the masque was a “spectacle of state.” That is, members of the court could go on display as they participated in the performance. Masques often focused on the allegorical and were written in praise of the current monarch and/or were created and staged upon request of a member of the court. Alongside the poetry performed by actors, the members of the court would often participate in song and dance. Though masques include poetry, they rely on stage machinery: “Painting and carpentry are the soul of masque.” In his own discussion of a selection from Jonson’s “Expostulation” in English Civic Pageantry136, David Bergeron explains that poetry and allegorical themes can be seen as the “soul” of the masque and painting and carpentry can be seen as the “body” of the masque, thereby necessitating the unique collaboration between architect (Inigo Jones) and poet (Ben 135 The character of Juno alongside Ceres and Iris appear in the masque in The Tempest. 136 Bergeron’s text looks at the large category of “civic pageantry” which he defines as “entertainments that, like the public theatre of Shakespeare's time, were generally accessible to the public, as contrasted with the private theatre or the court masques” (2). Thus, civic pageantry, masques, and plays in the early modern period all had distinct forms and purposes. 135 Jonson) (243). 137 Jonson, of course, is being satirical in his poem when claiming that “painting and carpentry are the soul of the masque,” since he as the writer values the poetry. One Jacobean masque that demonstrates these elements well is Jonson’s The Masque of Blackness (1605).138 The set for the masque included a landscape with woods and an artificial sea with waves alongside tritons, sea maids, and seahorses. Jonson’s description details the elaborate spectacle of the set: consisting of small woods, and here and there a voide place filld with huntings; which falling, an artificiall Sea was seene to shoote forth, as if it flowed to the land, raised with waues, which seemed to mooue, and in some places the billow to breake, as imitating that orderly disorder, which is common in nature. In front of the Sea were placed sixe Tritons, in mouing, & spright|ly actions, their vpper parts humane, saue that their haires were blew, as pertaking of the Sea|colour: their desinent parts, fishe, mounted aboue their heads, and all varied in disposition. From their backs were borne out certaine light pieces of Taffata, as if carried by the winde, and their Musique made out of wreathed shels. Be|hinde these, a paire of Sea-Maides, for song, were as conspicuously seated… This set description suggests this masque stage/theater was utilized to host multiple locations— both a woods area with a void as well as a sea were present. This artificial sea is spectacular and surely technically challenging because, as Jonson indicates, it was created to mirror the realistic movement of waves. Multiple levels were used to create this effect, and there was space to put actors, dressed as “Tritons” in front of the sea. Described as half-human, half-fish, these tritons perhaps provided inspiration for The Tempest’s Caliban. Additionally, Jonson’s mention of the 137 The history and progression of the masque form is an interesting one. David Bevington indicates that “[c]ourtly ‘mummings’ or ‘disguisings,’ forerunners of the Elizabethan masque, similarly feature semidramatic recitation and dancing with elaborate costuming and scenic effects” (968–69). David Bergeron indicates that English civic pageantry was popular in the days of Henry VIII and Elizabeth I, but King James and King Charles much preferred the more “private” courtly masques (5). Thus, in England, entertainments started as largely public affairs and progressively moved more private. Eventually, however, Charles I lost interest in the masque and it faded in popularity and practice. 138 Though outside the scope of this dissertation, this masque also speaks importantly to views of race and nationality in the period. 136 detail of “Taffata” reflects the luxury found in the costumes, with taffeta being an expensive and delicate fabric. The forced-perspective and interest in three-dimensional set design can be seen in Jonson’s further explanation of the sea which he explains “was of Maister YNIGO INOES his designe, and act.” Jonson indicates that the sea flowed forth from “the terminaton, or horizon of which (being the leuell of the State, which was placed in the vpper end of the Hall) was drawne, by the lines of Prospectiue, the whole worke shoo|ting downewards, from the eye; which decorum made it more conspicuous, and caught the eye a far of with a wandring beauty.” This perspective “trick” foreshadows the later transformation of theater into a proscenium arch form where such three-dimensional set designs are possible. One might liken these effects to elaborate CGI in movies today as both rely on spectacle and present audiences with fantastical images. Masques, then, were an artistic form that utilized innovative technologies that pushed at the boundaries of what was possible in theatre. Ben Jonson’s later masque, Pleasure Reconciled to Virtue (1618), reveals a progression of spectacle. Jonson indicates that the scene “was the mountain Atlas, who had his top ending in the figure of an old man, his head and beard all hoary and frost as if his shoulders were covered with snow; the rest wood and rock.” Creating a set that mirrors a huge man crouched and looking like a mountain certainly suggests a talented and inventive set designer and crew. Out of Atlas comes “cymbals, flutes, and tabors” alongside Comus with his head crowned with “roses and other flowers.” Though this description of Atlas and Comus is already spectacular, Orazio Busino, a Venetian ambassador, provides us even more detail that Jonson leaves out of his description: in the middle of the theatre there appeared a fine and spacious area carpeted all over with green cloth. In an instant a large curtain dropped, painted to represent a 137 tent of gold cloth with a broad fringe; the background was of canvas painted blue, powdered all over with golden stars. This became the front arch of the stage, forming a drop scene, and on its being removed there appeared first of all Mount Atlas, whose enormous head alone was visible up aloft under the very roof of the theatre; it rolled up its eyes and moved itself very cleverly (quoted in Orgel, Jonsonian 150) Busino tells us of green cloth carpeting a large area as well as a curtain painted with stars, and both of these details reflect a deeper interest in the use and manipulation of space, in many ways bringing the world of the theater closer to the viewer. Most surprisingly, Busino indicates that the oversized head of Atlas even rolled its eyes and moved! This detail suggests that some level of mechanics or elaborate machinery was indeed used in masques. Masques created a unique theatrical experience for audiences. Stephen Orgel in The Jonsonian Masque explains that the experience of the audiences was one of marvel: the form was unfamiliar to early modern spectators and included “moveable settings, perspective scenes, [and] complex machinery” (3). One of the chief characteristics of the masque was that it breached the “barrier between spectators and actors, so that in effect the viewer became part of the spectacle,” achieved via the revels and dances at the end (3, 6). Key elements of the masque exploited by Shakespeare include the incorporation of the divine, moments of spectacle, and staging of scenes that invite elaborate or complex set pieces. Thus, being a new and unfamiliar form, Shakespeare’s incorporation of masque-like elements in his romances (and an actual masque in The Tempest) created conditions for the psychic and emotional estrangements of audiences. Set pieces and spectacles as presented in masques created marvel for early modern audiences, thereby estranging, or distancing them from a typical or formulaic theatrical experience. Recent scholarly work on masques and early modern court performances has continued conversations on the unique dramatic forms presented in performance, but has also turned towards considerations of the experience of the early modern 138 audience in watching and engaging with masques. The volume Performances at Court in the Age of Shakespeare edited by Sophie Chiari and John Mucciolo, for example, considers drama, music, dance, and other entertainment in relation to the material and environmental conditions of early modern performance. The essays in part II build on the “revisionist view that [King] James was politically engaged when viewing plays and on Dutton’s findings that Shakespeare’s longer plays were probably revised for court performance” (6).139 Lauren Shohet argues that “to understand the scope of the masque, we must consider reception and interpretation as much as production and intention,” thereby considering the distribution and reception of the script of the masque (16); Shohet’s monograph thus looks at “early modern accounts of encounters with masques that illuminate what seventeenth-century sensibility could make of masque experiences…” (18).140 This chapter also examines reception, but specifically the reception of masque-like elements in the performances of the romances for audiences, both in the early modern period and today. Some members of the early modern audience might be familiar with the masque, but their incorporation within plays on the stage would certainly disrupt expectations. Most audiences today are ignorant about early modern masques, but the spectacles in Shakespeare’s romances still make the plays “strange” in performance. 139 Amy Rodgers’ “The Language of Looking: Making Sense Speak in Jonsonian Masque” argues that the influence of masques was both scenic and lexical and that the circulation of “the spectacular” occurs first in discourse and then later through staging technologies: “audial description bleeds into the visual and tactile realms, creating a sensory continuum. A tension arises between the desire to delimit sensory boundaries and the descriptive impracticality, even impossibility, of doing so. This discord […] mirrors a shift occurring in the seventeenth-century discourse about how the spectator ‘takes in’ or processes different sorts of theatrical events” (32, 30). 140 For a fuller review of literary criticism related to the masque, see Shohet, pp.2-4. For more on how other plays (beyond Shakespeare’s romances) incorporated or repurposed sections of court masques, see Tiffany Stern’s Documents of Performance in Early Modern England. 139 One potential early modern audience member that showed disdain for Shakespeare’s romances and their spectacles was Ben Jonson. In the Induction to his play, Bartholomew Fair, Jonson wrote a critique of the characters and dramatic forms found in Shakespeare’s late plays: If there be never a servant-monster i’ the Fair, who can help it? he says; nor a nest of antiques? He is loth to make nature afraid in his plays, like those that beget Tales, tempests, and such-like drolleries, to mix his head with other men’s heels, let the concupiscence of jigs and dances reign as strong as it will amongst you; yet if the puppets will please anybody, they shall be intreated to come in. Here, Jonson alludes to Shakespeare’s The Tempest and the character of Caliban with the term “servant-monster” as well as the term “tempest” itself; the reference to “Tales” can also be viewed as a reference to The Winter’s Tale. What is most curious in this part of the Induction is Jonson’s critique of “mixture.” He argues that Shakespeare’s romances mix “heads” and “heels”—the spectacle and the fantastical with the lowly and grittier, the latter of which is more akin to the characters and scenes in Bartholomew Fair.141 The play centers around a fair that actually takes place, and it stars a range of characters that one could see in London—certainly no kings, queens, knights, or noblemen. Some scholars argue that in Bartholomew Fair, Jonson presents an ambivalence towards theatre142, but this “take” on Shakespeare’s romances is instead hypocritical on Jonson’s part. Jonson suggests that masques function in one way (aligned with court and spectacle) and that plays function in another way (aligned with outdoor theatres and lived reality). Characters like Hero and Leander or Dionysius can only be presented in puppet form in Bartholomew Fair, because plays should not deviate too far from “reality,” or at the very least, mix “high” and 141 Jonas Barish argues that Jonson actually has a “deeply rooted antitheatricalism” and that he seeks to “detheatricalize the theater, to strip it of just those attributes which, in the eyes of most of its devotees, made it theater in the first place -- not only its gaudiness and bustle, but also its licentious ways with time and space, and its casual recourse to the astounding and the marvellous” (132, 136) 142 Melinda Gough states that nowhere “are Jonson’s attitudes toward the stage more seemingly ambivalent than in Bartholomew Fair” (84). 140 “low.” And yet, his own masques demonstrate this duality that he wishes to critique in Shakespeare. Scholars such as Thomas Cartelli, thus, explain how “Jonson demonstrates an active preoccupation with the relatively recent romances and earlier comedies of his master and nemesis, Shakespeare, that is not unrelated to a simultaneous preoccupation…with adapting his characteristic dramatic concerns to a form intended to ensure a less qualified measure of success than his previous productions seem to have enjoyed” (“Bartholomew Fair” 152). Jonson’s masques are a “monstrous” form that mix high and low with the masque and anti-masque. Though he separated them, these still existed in the same work, and thus he too was mixing “heads” and “heels.” The anti-masque and the banquet, then, are two other aspects of the masque which are often overlooked. Patricia Fumerton in Cultural Aesthetics explains that the masque combined the “‘trifling’ arts of the cook, architect, and ultimately poet” which were meant to “stage a profoundly ‘trivial’ or insubstantial Jacobean self” (112). That is, the Jacobean masque was most often presented at James’ Banqueting Hall at Whitehall and it was accompanied by elaborate feasts. The anti-masque can be described as a moment in the masque when dancers appear often in grotesque or comic form and present a contrast to the elaborate and beautiful masquers. Pleasure Reconciled to Virtue, for example, includes an anti-masque of men in the “shape of bottles, tuns, etc.” Fumerton argues that the anti-masque actually allowed separation of the public and the private: “[r]ather than represent a single cosmos, masques developed separate ‘outward’ and ‘inward’ worlds: the public antimasque (played by professional actors) and the private main masque (performed by a select company of court lords and ladies)” (143).143 Thus, 143 Fumerton’s assessment of the antimasque interestingly use terms similar to that of “estrangement.” She focuses on the idea of the void and aesthetics of detachment, arguing that it was the “experience of emptiness, brokenness, 141 the anti-masque was the “heel” that contrasted the “head” of the masquers—to use Jonson’s own terms. Ties to the concept of the “romance” and the masque can be seen in Northrop Frye’s take on the genre. Frye goes as far as to view the “romance as masque,” suggesting that: There are two major structural principles in literature: the principle of cyclical movement, from life to death to rebirth, usually symbolized by the solar and seasonal cycles of nature, and the principle of polarity, where an ideal or attractive world, described or implied, is contrasted with an absurd, repulsive, or evil one…In the masque the organizing principle is that of polarity, the contrast between the two orders symbolized by the two parts into which it was divided, the antimasque and the masque proper. (131–32) Shakespeare’s romances seem to straddle both lines. They are deeply invested in life and death, and arguably show “rebirths” as the women return from liminal states between life and death. In incorporating elements of both masque and anti-masque, they also show the contrast between different worlds. Frye goes on to say that the “masque thus held up an idealizing mirror to its audience, and not only dramatized its stratified social structure, but also in its imagery reflected the whole religious and philosophical cosmology which rationalized that structure” (133). Shakespeare’s romances certainly highlight power differentials, particularly those between older male rulers in contrast to their wives/daughters and/or other characters who are not as high of status. As I have said earlier, Shakespeare incorporates spectacles and deities from masques within his romances: the oracle of Apollo, and arguably Hermione herself as statue in The Winter’s Tale; the goddess Diana in Pericles; and Juno, Ceres, and Iris (and arguably Prospero) within The Tempest.144 Spectacle appears in other plays of the Shakespeare canon, but this and alienation in Jacobean subjectivity that created its dark revision of Elizabethan cultural exchange” (Cultural 112-113). 144 Shakespeare’s romances also have other elements reminiscent of masques; they are full of song and dance as well as dumb-shows and other masque-like elements. Ariel is often singing in The Tempest as are Gower and Marina in 142 spectacle is often connected to violence and bloodshed. In this case, spectacle most often coincides with divine support that enables the reunion of families and ending of characters’ estrangements. Jacobean masques might praise and celebrate the king, but Shakespeare’s experiments with this courtly form instead offer a corrective to the previous bad decisions of male rulers. It is this deus ex machina which enables the plays to quickly turn from tragic to comic and reconciliatory modes; the gods and divine, then, are what enable the rulers to adapt, change their minds, and/or seek to right their wrongs. In The Winter’s Tale it is the words of the Oracle of Apollo that serve as clear evidence of Hermione’s fidelity (emphasizing Leontes’ flawed view of his wife), but it is not until Leontes sees the statue Hermione that he fully realizes the consequences of the estrangements he has caused. In Pericles, Diana and her temple keep Thasia alive, thereby preserving the ending where reunion can occur. It is a dream vision of Diana in Act 5 which prompts Pericles to sail to Ephesus and reunite with his family. After she “descends”, Diana instructs Pericles to “Hie thee thither” to Ephesus and “do upon my altar sacrifice” (5.1.227–28). In The Tempest, the masque functions as a spectacular affirmation of Prospero’s power, but also a message of togetherness, and the kind of happiness that forgiveness and the end of estrangements could bring.145 Finally, in Cymbeline, as I will later detail, Jupiter’s Pericles and Autolycus in The Winter’s Tale. The Winter’s Tale includes a dance of men dressed as satyrs which has often been tied to the anti-masques in Oberon, The Faery Prince from the same year. Dumb shows pervade Pericles and there is dancing in The Winter’s Tale and The Tempest. In Pericles, the title character travels from country to country, and this constant sea travel lends itself towards more elaborate sets; with Pericles appearing around the same time as Jonson’s Masque of Beauty in 1607/8, one must also note how both texts involve sea travel. 145 Since The Tempest has an actual masque in 4.2, it is the romance most-often discussed in relation to this art form. Alongside the wedding pageant, the play has the spectacle of Ariel appearing as harpy before the lords, as well as the subsequent anti-masque of the hounds chasing the men away. The trio of Caliban, Trinculo, and Stephano within the play overall also function as a kind of anti-masque to the spectacle of Prospero and Ariel. As earlier stated, however, this play still puts Prospero in a position of power, so the critique is not as strong as that of the other male rulers. 143 ascension provides the characters with a book with a riddle that is solved by a soothsayer in the next and final scene and that sets up an ending with peace. The importance of the form of the masque on Shakespeare’s romances has been noted in scholarship, often in connection to discussions of spectacle or genre. Alison Thorne notes that in the 1960s and 1970s, scholarship surrounding the romances focused on the influence of the masque and spectacle (14). Simon Palfrey argues that the late plays are “sometimes thought to share discursive priorities with the Jacobean court masque, particularly as it matured in Jonson’s careful hands, where misrule, in the form of an antimasque, is quite swept away by the serendipitous appearance of some principle of grace or personage of majesty” (231). Tom Bishop similarly suggests that Shakespeare’s romances “all include the intervention of such supernatural presences into the world of mortal action. To register the potentially dangerous energies of these appearances, the plays employ with deliberate self-consciousness the maximum of available stage spectacle” (269). Barbara Mowat lists Renaissance masques as other “kinds” similar to the romances (Dramaturgy 96) as does Christopher J. Cobb in The Staging of Romance in Late Shakespeare: Text and Theatrical Technique (19), and Hallett Smith suggests that Shakespeare’s romances were “written with an eye to possible production at the Jacobean court, and this involved the use of the kind of display featured in the masques which enjoyed such popularity there” (xi).146 Suzanne Gossett importantly notes how masque-like elements in tragicomedies enable their genre-shifts and how this creates a unique affective experience for the audience. She argues that the “abbreviation of the masque impelled by theatrical circumstances might suggest that isolated masque elements could occasionally be as effective as ‘full’ masques…[t]hese masque 146 See also: Erica Sheen’s “‘The Agent for his Master’: Political Service and Professional Liberty in Cymbeline,” especially pp. 69-70. 144 elements, isolated bits of the masque requiring less preparation than a full masque, help fashion the abrupt changes of mood and meaning in [a] tragicomedy” (“Masque Influence” 201). Gossett argues that the “[r]epeated shifts to the more formal style serve as reminders of the artifice of the play, constantly pulling the audience back from the brink of serious involvement” (202). Gossett’s article is focused on the dramaturgy of Beaumont and Fletcher, but her ideas are applicable to Shakespeare’s romances, especially because she suggests that there was a noticeable change in tragicomedy around 1605-1608 which coincides with Shakespeare’s first romance, Pericles. Connecting the reception of the audience of the romances to politics and possibilities, Clifford Leech in “Masking and Unmasking in the Last Plays” argues that Shakespeare use the masque as a means of “pushing ‘Let’s pretend’ to a limit, and even occasionally to a manifestly ironic limit” (40). These ideas of audience and reception in relation to the masques, then, complicate and add to my overall view of estrangement—in this case, my application of estrangement in the Brechtian sense in performance. To review, this view of estrangement can be compared to Viktor Shklovsky’s notion of “defamiliarization,” Derrida’s concept of différance, and Freud’s notion of the uncanny.147 Shklovsky, however, is interested in literature, Derrida on language and ideas, and Freud on the psyche; this dissertation’s conception of estrangement only shares with these concepts/ideas the combination of the familiar and unfamiliar, and how this might connect to the experience of an audience. Thus, Brecht’s notion of the verfremdungseffekt is most applicable in analysis of Shakespeare’s romances. 147 See also pp. 17-20 of the introduction. For more on the distinctions of the uncanny, defamiliarization, and difference, see: Morten Bartnæs’ “Freud’s ‘The Uncanny’ and Deconstructive Criticism: Intellectual Uncertainty and Delicacy of Perception,” Matt Ffytche’s “Night of the Unexpected: A Critique of the ‘Uncanny’ and Its Apotheosis within Cultural and Social Theory,” and Richard Cohn’s “Uncanny Resemblances: Tonal Signification in the Freudian Age.” 145 As discussed in the introduction, the verfremdungseffekt is achieved by utilizing specific dramatic techniques (like the incorporation of songs and signs) to distance the audience; that is, these techniques keep the audience aware that they are watching a play and therefore more able to develop a critical attitude. Brecht was interested in these distancing techniques because he wanted audiences to not personally connect with characters, and instead keep their intellect “free and highly mobile” (191). He wanted the viewer to recognize its subject but also find in it the unfamiliar. I am not trying to impose this twentieth-century theory on Shakespeare’s romances; what I want to pull out from this theory is the idea that a particular dramaturgy or presentation of theatre can inspire audiences to critique the ideas and/or characters presented. Brecht wanted to break down social structures and provide commentary on subjects like World War II. This would not be as easy if the audience member empathized with the character in the play or found the character’s actions easily understandable given the circumstances. The blend and juxtaposition of the spectacular and non-spectacular, as found in Shakespeare’s romances, with derivative echoes from the masque form, enable a mixed-mode of reception which invites a Brechtian self-reflection in audiences. Some scenes in the romances allow for at least minimal levels of sympathy with the characters, but the spectacular scenes interrupt the viewing experience of the audience, distancing them. As suggested in chapter 1, the stories in the romances might seem familiar, but the spectacle and moments of deus ex machina invite the audience to notice the theatrical elements of the play, and then consider why the god or deity has to appear and fix the problems caused by familiar estrangements. Thus, following my discussion of the various perspectives on the use of distancing and spectacle, the influence of masques on Shakespeare’s late plays is not surprising since some of 146 the most famous of Jones and Jonson’s masques were performed contemporaneously with Shakespeare’s romances: Pericles and The Masque of Blackness in 1608148, the Masque of Queens in 1609 (a year before Cymbeline) and Oberon, The Faery Prince alongside The Winter’s Tale and The Tempest in 1611. One masque that was performed in 1610, around the same time of Cymbeline was Tethys’ Festival. Written by Samuel Daniel with sets designed by Inigo Jones, Tethys’ Festival was performed one day after the investiture of Prince Henry as Prince of Wales in 1610, and like the latter half of Cymbeline, it was set in Milford Haven, Wales. This fact hints at how Shakespeare was not only influenced by the form of the masque, but also the contemporary politics of the period when penning Cymbeline. The Masque and Anti-Masque in Cymbeline Cymbeline opens with the king banishing Posthumus Leonatus, Innogen’s love. This in turn leads to Innogen traveling to Wales to reunite with Posthumus, thus estranging her father not only mentally but physically. In the second act, the second lord provides a summary of what Innogen has had to endure: Alas, poor princess, Thou divine Innogen, what thou endur’st Betwixt a father by they stepdame governed, A mother hourly coining plots, a wooer More hateful than the foul expulsion is Of thy dear husband, than that horrid act Of the divorce he’d make (2.1.55–61) Like the daughters in Shakespeare’s other romances, Innogen is presented as innocent and goodly. The lord describes her as “divine” and laments at what she has suffered—the awful plots of her stepmother and the terrible treatment of Iachimo. It is these tragedies that lead to the 148 Mary Floyd-Wilson likens The Masque of Blackness to Cymbeline, arguing that Shakespeare’s play is “deeply engaged in the political issues of the Anglo-Scottish union, and it draws on the symbolic dimensions of the masque genre to personate—and question—King James’ vision of a unified Britain” (161). 147 young heroine cross-dressing as a boy and traveling to Wales. Marisa Cull explains that Henry’s investiture as prince of Wales was “an event that raised the political profile of Wales and its princedom, and invited new theatrical explorations of Wales and its relationship to the ancient British past” (122). Cymbeline was thus one such exploration. Cull goes on to explain that the “theatrical symbolism deployed for the discovery of Guiderius and his brother, Arviragus, is especially resonant with the first masque performed for Henry Frederick’s investiture; as in Samuel Daniel’s Tethys’ Festival, the heir is found in ‘Cambria,’ and, in an even more specific recalling of Daniel’s masque, near Milford Haven” (139). There is much political significance of this location to the English. Milford Haven was the famed landing spot of Henry Tudor who went on to defeat Richard III in 1485, ending the Wars of the Roses.149 Being a famous port, some have viewed it as representing a vulnerable location and thus Shakespeare is using it to play on English anxieties about enemy trespassers, the fealty of the Welsh, as well as foreign invaders (Cull 140). It is quite telling, then, that Innogen travels here. This marks her as not only brave, but it also highlights the consequences of the actions of her father—it is his banishment of her lover that leads her to this potentially treacherous territory. A view into a later masque by Ben Jonson, For the Honour of Wales (1618) reveals the continued political importance of Wales to the English audience and to King James himself. An analysis of the text provides another view of Wales and the Welsh which can be compared to the 149 Another historical event is worth mentioning: Valerie Wayne explains that the January after Henry was invested as Prince of Wales, the event known as Prince Henry’s Barriers occurred where combatants participated in martial contest; a barrier was “erected own the centre of Whitehall’s Banqueting House with the prince and six assistants on one side as challengers who sequentially encountered eight defendants each on the other side” and, Prince Henry appeared within a performance as Melaidus from Arthurian romance who “revives the sleeping figure of Chivalry, who emerges from her cave and signals that the combat should begin. (3–-35). As Wayne suggests, this certainly could have informed Shakespeare’s penning of Acts 3–5 of Cymbeline. 148 Wales scenes in Cymbeline with function as anti-masques. For the Honour of Wales is a text that was written to be placed within a revised version of Jonson’s Pleasure Reconciled to Virtue which had previously received critique after its performance in January of 1618. For the Honour of Wales was supposed to function as a beginning anti-masque before the main text of Pleasure Reconciled to Virtue. For the Honor of Wales includes the characters of Evans, Griffith, and Jenkins who want to show King James that his Welsh subjects are loyal. The first song includes Evan self- proclaiming the intent of the entire text: “Bur harke yow me now, for a liddel tales / s’all make a gread deale to the credit of Wales” (34). Beyond the three characters praising Wales, there are dancing goats and fights, ending with a celebration of the success of Wales under the rule of King James. Andrew Hiscock explains that Jonson challenges the status quo in For the Honor of Wales: “[i]n Jonson’s Wales, the bumbling in habitants petition for the same honour of a royal visit that Scotland had recently enjoyed. However, the stage which Comus, the pygmies and the dancing bottles had formerly claimed in Pleasure Reconciled to Virtue is now given over to the business of farce” (45). For the Honor of Wales self-consciously compares itself to Pleasure Reconciled to Virtue. The scene is: “standing as before, a Mountaine; but now the name changed from Atlas, to Craig-Eriri.” The characters even debate this change in place, discussing better names and locations than Atlas: EVAN Why there is Talgar. JENKINS Well sayd. EVAN Eliennieth 149 JENKINS Well sayd Evan. EVAN Cadier Arthur. JENKINS Toudge him, toudge him. EVAN Pen-maen-maur. JENKINS Is good boyes, Evan. EVAN And Craig-eriri. JENKINS Aw? vellhy? why law you now? 'Is not Pen-maen-maur, and Craig-Eriri as good sound, as Adlas every whit of him. EVAN 'Is caulld the British Aulpes, Craig-Eririri, a very sufficient Hills. (31)150 Jenkins praises Evan’s suggested place names, rhetorically asking if Craig-eriri is not just as good as Atlas. At the very end of the text, the character of Griffith offers a lengthy address to the king which reveals his anxieties about how the Welsh are viewed. He says: it is hop'd your Madestee will not interpret the honour, merits, love, and affection of so noble a portion of your people, by the povertie of these who have so imperfectly uttered it: Yow will rather for their faks, who are to come in the name of Wales, my Lord the Prince, and the others; pardon what is past, and remember the Cyntrie has alwaies been fruitfull of loyall hearts to your Majestie; a very garden and seed plot of honest mindes and men: What lights of learning hath Wales sent forth for your Schooles? What industrious Studients of your Lawes? what able Ministers of your Justice? whence hath the Crowne in all times better servitors, more liberall of their lives and fortunes? where hath your Court or Councell (for the present) more noble ornaments or better aydes? (37) 150 For a reading of this scene and other moments in Jonson’s text that engages with “low” language, see Patricia Fumerton’s “Subdiscourse: Jonson Speaking Low.” 150 Griffith begins by listing many positive attributes of the Welsh people: they are honourable, loving, noble, and full of merit. He asks the king to “pardon what is past” and remember instead that Wales has always been loyal to the King. He continues to again praise the Welsh, this time describing them as honest. In a series of rhetorical questions, he emphasizes how the Welsh are learned, industrious, and capable ministers of justice. He ends the series of questions by implying that no other people are so noble and helpful. He continues his speech in a similar manner, addressing previous perceptions of the Welsh, concluding that: In a word, It is a Nation better'd by prosperitie so far, as to the present happinesse it enjoyes under your most sacred Majestie, it wishes nothing to be added, but to see it perpetuall in You, and your Issue. God of his great goodnesse grant it, and show he is an errant knave, and no true Brittaine doe's not say Amen too with his heart. (37–38) Like other masques, For the Honor of Wales concludes with praise towards the king. Griffith emphasizes how Wales is better by prosperity (re: money) and that the Welsh are happy to be ruled by the King. But why is Griffith so concerned about singing the praises of the Welsh? Jonson is certainly praising James in staging this masque; but, this presentation of Wales also wants to do reparative work, righting misperceptions of the people. And it is these kinds of perceptions that were perpetuated in Cymbeline. The scenes in Wales in Cymbeline begin about halfway through the play151, and they function as anti-masques, juxtaposing the later spectacle of Jupiter in the final act. This juxtaposition highlights the play as a play and clearly ties the play to masques. Thus, in a Brechtian sense, the spectacle of Jupiter distances the audience from the play, enabling critique of the themes, characters, and plots, and at the same time, the inclusion of masque (and anti- masque) elements brings attention to Cymbeline since he is the king in the play. If masques are 151 The majority of the play after 3.3. takes place in Wales, with 3.5, 3.7, and 4.3 being the only exceptions. 151 to praise the king, how does the audience interpret the fact that the deity comes to “save the day” but does not address or praise the king? Shakespeare begins the scenes in Wales with a dramatic contrast. Belarius, the father- figure for Guiderius and Arviragus, extols the greatness of his life in a cave: O this life Is nobler than attending for a check, Richer than doing nothing for a babe, Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk; Such gain the cap of him that makes him fine Yet keeps his book uncrossed. No life to ours (3.3.21–26) This speech that Belarius gives to his “sons” Arviragus and Guiderius hints at his past place as a lord of Cymbeline’s court. He suggests that “attending” (doing courtly service) only to receive a “check” (attack or rebuke) is not actually that noble. This life in Wales is “richer” and “prouder” than a life at court.152 Guiderius, however, offers a different view of this life in Wales. Guiderius and Arviragus’ explanation of his life in Wales shows how the scenes in Wales function as anti-masques within the play, depicting a location and culture not fitting sons of the king. The brothers explain that their life in Wales is: GUIDERIUS A cell of ignorance, travelling abed, A prison for a debtor that not dares To stride a limit […] ARVIRAGUS We have seen nothing. We are beastly: subtle as the fox for prey, Like warlike as the wolf for what we eat. Our valour is to chase what flies; our cage We make a choir, as doth the prisoned bird, And sing our bondage freely (3.3.33–44) 152 This type of complaint follows the kind of motifs typical in the pastoral. 152 Guiderius views his life in Wales as one of imprisonment—he is ignorant to the larger world. Arviragus echoes these sentiments, saying that they have “seen nothing.” Quite literally, they have spent time in a cave, away from light and knowledge. Arviragus even likens himself and his brother to animals—they are “beastly.” Early modern masques often depicted beasts in their anti- masques, again showing how Wales is “low” and unlike the court. Innogen’s scenes in Wales are likewise opposite to those at court. In 3.6, she enters “alone [in boy’s clothes before a cave],” describing the cave as “some savage hold” (3.6.18). This use of the term “savage” echoes Guiderius and Arviragus’ previous characterizations of their life being beastly. Shakespeare emphasizes this by having Innogen say “savage” again: “Who’s here? / If any thing that’s civil, speak; if savage, / Take or lend” (3.6.22–24). Innogen changes her beliefs about the “savageness” of these men of Wales, however, after talking with Guiderius and Arviragus. She explains in an aside that: These are kind creatures. Gods, what lies I have heard. Our courtiers say all’s savage but at court. Experience, O thou disprov’st report! (4.2.32–34) She realizes that what she was told in court is not true.153 Her own experience as opposed to gossip or the word of others, shows her a different view. This different view of Wales, however, is brought back into question after Cloten enters the scene. Cloten, Guiderius, and Arviragus end up in a fight, which ultimately leads to the stage direction: “Enter GUIDERIUS [with Cloten’s head].” This violent gesture might seem more befitting of a so-called “savage.” Soon after this incident, Shakespeare transitions to the scene of Innogen/Fidele’s “death.” 153 Again, this motif of the “noble savage” is another one present in the pastoral. 153 The dark scenes in the cave in Wales are soon contrasted by the masque-like scene of Innogen/Fidele’s burial. After laying her body in a grave, Guiderius and Arviragus begin a song: GUIDERIUS Fear no more the heat o’th’ sun, Nor the furious winter’s rages, Thou thy worldly task has done, Home art gone and ta’en thy wages. Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust ARVIRAGUS Fear no more the frown o’ th’ great; Thou art past the tyrant's stroke. Care no more to clothe and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak. The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this and come to dust. (4.2.257–68) This spoken song154 humanizes the brothers—their sweet words offer kindness to what they believe to be the dead Fidele. They mention how in death, Fidele no longer needs to fear the heat of the son, the cold wind in the winter, or the rule of a tyrant. They share the equaling refrain, all must “come to dust.” The song continues listing more elements that Fidele need not fear, with them joining together in saying, “Quiet consummation have, / And renowned be thy grave” (4.2.279–80). The inclusion of a song, albeit one that is spoken, is certainly reminiscent of the masque form, and this calm moment serves as a sort of primer or precurser to the spectacle of Jupiter to come. Stella Revard summarizes elements of the masque in Cymbeline as they relate to life and death, explaining that “Shakespeare brings both wife and husband back to life through masque ceremonies,” the first being the celebration over Innogen’s body, and the second, the “cosmic 154 Deanna Smid suggests that the “spoken song, for instance, may demonstrate Shakespeare’s experimentation with music’s power or lack thereof in Cymbeline” (88). This certainly serves as contrast to Thaisa’s resurrection in Shakespeare’s earlier romance, Pericles, where Cerimon’s ceremonial music proves quickly curative. 154 debate conducted over the sleeping Posthumus by Posthumus’s dead parents and Jupiter that decides whether Posthumus will be spared and reunited to Imogen” (126). Jupiter’s presence and indeed entrance into the drama serves as an example of one of many masque-like elements in the romances that involves a spectacular disruption. The first two acts of the play read like a comedy with the classic wager plot involving Innogen’s fidelity, and the scenes starting in 3.3 present Wales as anti-masque. By Act 5, the battle has begun, suggesting that the play will likely end in tragedy, but in 5.4, Jupiter’s descent completely subverts these expectations. In 5.4, the jailed Posthumus falls asleep, and the ghosts of his family appear, calling to Jupiter for help. The stage directions indicate that apparitions of Posthumus’ dead ancestors appear after music: Solemn music. Enter, as in an apparition, SICILIUS LEONATUS, father to POSTHUMUS, an old man, attired like a warrior, leading in his hand an ancient matron, his wife, and MOTHER TO POSTHUMUS, with music before them. Then, after other music, follows the two young Leonati, BROTHERS TO POSTHUMUS, with wounds as they died in the wars. They circle POSTHUMUS round as he lies sleeping. This sudden appearance of ghostly figures might seem unusual to audience members. There have been few supernatural elements in the play up until this point. A parade of apparitions also connects to the masque, with music and circling figures possibly mimicking a dance.155 Sicilius is the first ancestor to speak, immediately invoking what is about to come: “No more, thou thunder-master, show thy spite on mortal flies. / With Mars fall out, with Juno chide, that they adulteries / Rate and revenges” (5.4.30–32). After mentioning Posthumus’ sad fate up until this moment, the first brother yet again, invokes Jupiter, saying “Then Jupiter, thou king of 155 Though this dissertation focuses on the haunting presences of the women and daughters in the romances, it is worth noting that this is one moment in the romances where actual “ghosts” appear on stage. Unlike in Pericles where Diana aids Thaisa and Marina, or Apollo/Hermione in The Winter’s Tale, this aid is to the male suitor, Posthumus. Still, the next generation is emphasized—divine aid helps them fix the familial estrangements. 155 gods, why hast thou thus adjourned / The grace for his merits due, being all to dolours turned?” (5.4.54–55). Posthumus’ mother asks Jupiter to “take off his [Posthumus’] miseries” and the brothers both cry, “Help, Jupiter; or we appeal, / And from thy justice fly” (5.4.62). 156 And then, Jupiter actually appears in a play that has no earlier direct inclusion of the divine. The stage directions indicate that, “Jupiter descends in thunder and lightning, sitting upon an eagle: he throws a thunderbolt. The Apparitions fall on their knees.” Jupiter’s descent is dramatic and spectacular, and even the apparitions fall on their knees—whether this be in reverence, amazement, or both. Such spectacle certainly stands out in this moment, especially in comparison to the previous four acts, and even the previous scenes with more “grounded” battles. This moment is also clearly strange and spectacular: the sudden appearance of multiple ghosts is unusual, and Jupiter appearing in thunder and lightning calls for aural and visual stimulation quite different from previous scenes. Wonder and astonishment are accompanied by estranging experiences afforded by the spectacle. Is Jupiter an illusion or a deity? Realism and anti-illusionism jostle alongside and disrupt any fixed audience expectations. Such a moment thus calls for complex staging, lighting, and sound. Jupiter’s descent upon an eagle calls for a prop/stage device capable of supporting an actor and indeed moving. Douglas Arrell discusses how another play from the same year (1610) had a scene with an eagle; he argues that it seems likely that “the same eagle was used in both plays, that the King’s Men borrowed this highly effective prop from the Queen’s Men, with whom they had begun to collaborate not long after the eagle’s no doubt sensational debut in The Golden Age” (545). Allardyce Nicoll discusses how early modern masques often used a “cloud machine,” originating from the work of Italian technician, Nicolà Sabbatini in which a “cloud” (crafted for the stage) is 156 For an interpretation of the scene that views Jupiter’s absence alongside a parental absence for male characters in the play see pp. 245-250 of Palfrey’s Late Shakespeare. 156 able to be lowered with persons in it (66). Eagles in masques were also common; Nicoll explains that “Sea monsters, owls, eagles—of these and others use was made to make more surprising and effective the entries of cars which, glittering with heavily chased gold-work, added still further embellishment to scenes already enriched by all the scene-painter’s art” (128). In The Rape of Europa by S.C. from 1694, for example, Jupiter descends on an eagle. Jupiter’s ensuing speech is an example of Shakespeare’s tying together of the spectacle found in masques with a deus ex machina in his romances. That is, spectacular scenes are accompanied by deities who solve characters’ problems and provide an avenue for a restorative ending. In this case, Jupiter bellows: No more, you petty spirits of region low, Offend our hearing. Hush! How dare you ghosts Accuse the thunderer, whose bolt, you know, Sky-planted, batters all rebelling coasts. Poor shadows of Elysium, hence, and rest Upon your never-withering banks of flowers. (5.4.63–68) Jupiter begins by quieting the apparitions, yelling “Hush!” implying that they need not cry out anymore now that he is here. Jupiter then reaffirms his power, mentioning how his thunderbolt can batter all rebelling coasts. This suggests that Jupiter is able to offer divine judgement, especially in an ensuing war. Jupiter’s speech continues, with the god comforting the apparitions and explaining to them (and the audience) how he will fix the situation: Be not with mortal accidents oppressed: No care of yours it is; you know ‘tis ours. Whom best I love, I cross, to make my gift, The more delayed, delighted. Be content. Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift: His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent. Our Jovial star reigned at his birth, and in Our temple was he married. Rise, and fade. 157 He shall be lord of Lady Innogen, And happier much by his affliction made. (5.4.69–78) Jupiter explains that the ancestors should not worry about the actions of mortals, and that he will offer his “gift.” Perhaps in a cheeky moment of addressing the audience, Shakespeare includes the lines, “[t]he more delayed, delighted.” It is true that Cymbeline is quite a long play, and both Posthumus and Innogen have spent four acts suffering. Jupiter argues that the delay will bring more gratification. Jupiter confirms that he will “uplift” Posthumus and ensure his marriage to Innogen. Then, Jupiter fully enacts his function as deus ex machina, with the stage directions indicating that he “He gives a tablet to the ghosts.” He instructs the apparitions: This tablet lay upon his breast, wherein Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine. And so away. No further with your din Express impatience, lest you stir up mine. Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline. (5.4.79–83) With the passing over of this tablet, Jupiter suggests that all will be fixed and that no further “din” is necessary. The presence of the eagle on stage is emphasized when Jupiter instructs his eagle to return to his crystalline palace.157 Though this scene is spectacle enough, Shakespeare includes Sicilius’ account of Jupiter’s descent, inviting the audience to experience the moment again, and perhaps fully appreciate both the spectacle and Jupiter’s necessity. Sicilius says: [Jupiter] came in thunder; his celestial breath Was sulphurous to smell; the holy eagle Stooped, as to foot us. His ascension is 157 For an account of this scene that further considers metatheatre, see “Matter-Theatre: Construction in Cymbeline” by Callan Davies which argues that “‘Matter-theatre’ offers an early modern alternative to the twentieth-century critical term ‘metatheatre’; it makes conspicuous the play's inventions, fictions, and constructions. Cymbeline is particularly self-reflexive as a play, perhaps in part due to its relationship with the narrative self-consciousness of tragicomedy in the early decades of the seventeenth-century” (85). 158 Moore sweet than our blest fields. His royal bird Prunes the immortal wing and claws his beak, As when his god is pleased. (5.4.84–89) Here, Sicilius highlights the sensuous, spectacular aspects of Jupiter’s entrance. The sound of thunder and smell of sulfur would require special effects like gunpowder and fireworks which could be presented effectively in the open-air theater of the Globe in London. In a discussion of the lightning and thunder in Tethys Festival, Allardyce Nicoll explains that creating this effect: consisted of a bowl filled with sulphur; the top of the bowl had many small holes in it, and in the centre a large one wherein a candle was fixed; by shaking this instrument up and down the sulphur was made to fly out and ignite. Another devise mentioned by Serlio demanded the drawing of a thin wire over part of the stage; down this might be run a squib covered with gold foil. (137) Sicilius also gives us further detail about the spectacle, saying that the large “royal bird” could claw his beak, which mirrors the elaborate costumes and set designs found in masques created by the famous Inigo Jones. In providing his commentary, Sicilius presents himself as audience, marveling at the spectacle and perhaps also devices used to create such a memorable moment. There is evidence that this scene, and the play overall, may have been staged in an indoor theatre, contributing to the production of these dramatic effects. Allardyce Nicoll’s Stuart Masques and the Renaissance Stage includes a shared set of sketches from Inigo Jones and Chatsworth that depict: “A Bedchamber,” “A Desert Place,” and “the dreame of relievo 5 sceane” (149–52). Nicoll argues that the bedchamber figure was intended for a rectangular proscenium and that the final figure of the dream was detailed as showing “deities ‘of past bord finto,’ including ‘pallas on a Whight Cloude wich turnes to a roke, a laurell in her hande’” (150). Iachimo’s spying on the sleeping Innogen is a famous scene in a bedchamber, the cave in Wales might indeed be a “desert place,” and of course a dream with deities and clouds is quite similar to the scene of Jupiter’s descent. 159 Thus, in incorporating elements of the masque and anti-masque, Cymbeline upends genre expectations and reflects the experimental, adaptive, and estranging qualities of Shakespeare’s late romances. Jupiter as the deus ex machina turns this seeming tragedy into more of a comedy, or at least, a story with an ending of reconciliation. The god puts a tablet on Posthumus’ breast with a riddle on it, and a prophetic soothsayer explains to the King that Posthumus’ miseries shall end, and Britain will be fortunate. Taking in this new knowledge, King Cymbeline is forced to adapt his thinking and change his opinions of Rome; the soothsayer explains that: …for the Roman eagle [...] So vanish'd: which foreshow'd our princely eagle, The imperial Caesar, should again unite His favour with the radiant Cymbeline, Which shines here in the west. (5.5.469–74) As his family is reunited, Cymbeline decides to finally pay taxes to Rome (something he has been avoiding the entire play). In the end, everyone is reunited, and order is restored, all due to this spectacular moment with the divine. Thus, the incorporation of masques and masque-like elements within Shakespeare’s romances contribute spectacles and strangeness that disrupt the regular action of the play. They incorporate forms beyond the spoken word such as song, dance, and dumb show which add to the complex dramatic form of these late plays. These moments of spectacle and intervention of the divine also contribute to the unique genre of the romances. Order being restored in this moment, however, also includes the dissolution of an impending war and peace with Rome. This might be viewed as contemporary political commentary on King James’ own views on peace between nations. Shakespeare thus achieves multiple goals here: he stays in good favor with the current king of England by supporting a peaceful agenda in terms of British foreign relations, but in utilizing spectacle and the deus ex 160 machina he continues to enable the critique of male rulers and patriarchal structures, common to the other romances. Considering the masque and anti-masque elements of Cymbeline, then, enables a revised version of its politics. Marissa Cull summarizes that the: critical consensus on the politics of Cymbeline needs no sustained recapitulation…the play ultimately endorses the pacifist politics of James by re-writing the submission to Rome, first, of course, by including an unlikely battlefield victory, then by allowing Cymbeline to script the terms of his relationship with Rome as a sensible and necessary step toward the British empire that will eventually follow. (144) Though the ending of the play does give King Cymbeline this power, its earlier estrangements (both the physical estrangements of characters within the drama and the possible estranging experiences of audience watching the juxtaposition of scenes of spectacle and scenes lacking spectacle) leave room for different interpretations. In his recent monograph, Politics and Political Culture in the Court Masque, James Knowles argues for a more nuanced approach to the politics of masques in the Jacobean and Caroline eras: “[as] conduits for debates about political principles and sites for discussions of the role and nature of political authority” (1). This is true of Cymbeline—the King might have this power, but does the audience when seeing the performance believe Cymbeline to be in the right? Just as it is difficult to forget Hermione’s imprisonment, Perdita’s abandonment, Thaisa’s “death,” and Marina’s attempted murder, it is challenging to forget Cymbeline’s banishment of Posthumus and the trials of Innogen. From the very beginning of the play, Shakespeare invites a critique of the king. Cymbeline’s first lines in the play involve him yelling at Posthumus: Thou basest thing, avoid hence, from my sight If after this command thou fraught the court With my unworthiness, thou diest. Away! Thou’rt poison to my blood (1.1.126–29) 161 Like Brabantio in Othello yelling to “the moor” about the “bewitchment” of Desdemona, Cymbeline calls Posthumus a “thing,” removing his humanity. The same term—“thing”—is then applied to his daughter. After Posthumus leaves, Cymbeline addresses Innogen, saying, “O disloyal thing, / That shouldst repair my youth, thou heap’st / A year’s age on me” (1.1.131–34). This is not to say that critiquing rulers is unique to Shakespeare’s romances; the nuance found in the critique that Shakespeare’s romances invite is what is unique. Main characters in his tragedies often have a tragic flaw and the histories present a stage of the past—the outcomes have already occurred. The romances present possibilities and grey areas. Since Shakespeare’s romances take spectacle and other forms from masques, the early modern audience is already primed towards debate of political authority and power. Knowles argues that masques “instantiated an ongoing experiment with how to articulate such [political] dissent and what limits there should be to criticism and critique” (1). Extending this idea to the romances shows how Shakespeare likewise tests these limits.158 This kind of critique in/of Cymbeline coincides with what Mythili Kaul discusses for the romances: regeneration and transformation (“Shakespeare’s Cymbeline” 322). Kaul believes that Cymbeline out of all the romances actually offers the highest likelihood of this transformation— the brothers Guiderius and Belarius become custodians of the final harmony within the play, and Guiderius’ murder of Cloten removes the enactor of Cymbeline’s tyranny (322-323). Order is restored but the inheritors of the realm—the younger generation—are quite different from their fathers. 158 As I will discuss more fully in chapter 4, Shakespeare’s romances were also crucially written with the idea that they would play on two different stages: the large, public Globe theater and private, indoor theaters like Blackfriars or the Palace at Whitehall. Thus, the audiences for Shakespeare’s romances could similarly engaged the court or the upper class in these nuanced critiques. 162 These ending scenes of the play with Jupiter’s descent and the final reunion, then, are critical for any performance of Cymbeline. To what extent do production companies want the spectacle of Jupiter to “stand out”? How do you stage a god’s entrance on the twenty-first century stage? How should Cymbeline act and how should the audience view the ending of the play? All can change in production. To look further into the challenges of staging spectacle and to further consider the ending of Cymbeline, I turn in this final section to the 2016 Royal Shakespeare Company production of the play. Cymbeline in Performance: To Stage or not to Stage Spectacle Simon Forman—astrologer, reviewer, and early modern character—wrote down his impressions of three of Shakespeare’s plays in 1611: Macbeth, The Winter’s Tale, and Cymbeline. These reviews largely consisted of plot summary and his view of the teachings of the plays. His review of Cymbeline focused heavily on the plot, particularly through the perspective of the title character. He begins by stating: Remember also the story of Cymbeline, king of England in Lucius's time: how Lucius came from Octavius Caesar for tribute and being denied, after sent Lucius with a great army of soldiers who landed at Milford Haven, and after were vanquished by Cymbeline, and Lucius taken prisoner, and all by means of 3 outlaws of the which 2 of them were the sons of Cymbeline stolen from him when they were but 2 years old by an old man whom Cymbeline banished, and he kept them as his own sons 20 years with him in a cave. And how of them slew Clotan that was the queen's son going to Milford Haven to seek the love of Innogen, the king's daughter, whom he had banished also for loving his daughter. This opening section of Forman’s account of the performance in 1611 takes the perspective of the king, mentioning how Cymbeline banished other characters and how his sons were stolen from him. This is in contrast to the play that more quickly shifts to focus more on the perspectives of Innogen and Posthumus. Forman’s focus then shifts to describing Iachimo and the famous bedroom scene where he steals Innogen’s bracelet. He ends by mentioning Innogen’s cross-dressing, her awaking in a grave, and Cloten’s dead body. 163 Absent from this review is any mention of Jupiter or the scene with Posthumus in jail. Perhaps as presented in 1611, this moment was not very spectacular, or perhaps these other moments fit-in better with Forman’s intents to moralize. In any case, it is representative of one of the issues of staging Cymbeline: presenting Jupiter’s descent. For over 300 years of production, large portions of the plays penultimate scene were cut, and Posthumus’ role was reduced (Wayne 109). It was not until the twentieth century that Posthumus’ dream and Jupiter’s descent were reintroduced to the stage (109). Staging spectacles akin to those found in masques is no easy task, and the scene of Jupiter’s descent within the play continues to challenge creatives wanting to stage the play. The 2003 Royal Shakespeare Company production of the play, directed by Dominic Cooke, had the actor playing Jupiter wear wings, and appear floating, but even reviewer Michael Billington noted that, “by the time we get to an eagle-winged Jupiter’s descent from the skies we feel like children who’ve spent too long in a Christmas toystore. But Cooke’s achievement is that he never allows narrative or character to be submerged by spectacle” (“Cymbeline”). Billington’s comments highlight the difficult balance between spectacle and narrative within the play—one can easily outshine the other. One way to solve this problem is to cut the scene when Jupiter descends, and another is to adapt it. The 2016 Royal Shakespeare Company production of Cymbeline directed by Melly Still retained the scene of Jupiter’s descent but had the actor playing Posthumus “stand in” and act as Jupiter, as if possessed.159 Just as the original play explored power and Britain’s politics, particularly in connection to Wales and Prince Henry, the RSC production sought to explore the 159 This production made headlines not for the scene with Jupiter, but instead for its casting choices, specifically casting female actress Gillian Bevan as Cymbeline. This aligns with a trend in performance of Shakespeare in the last decade or so of having female actresses play Shakespeare’s male rulers. The role of Prospero in Shakespeare’s last romance is particularly popular for this gender-swap. 164 possible future politics of Britain amid conversations about Brexit. In an interview about the production, Still explained that: We’re framing our production in the not too distant fantasy future. It’s a dystopian vision: we’re imagining Britain after years of increased insularity and defensiveness, exacerbated by an insecure future. Suspicion, poison, corruption and banishment rule. Nature no longer flourishes, and our industry has withered too – modern comforts and technology are scarce. This Britain is a parched, old, crumbling and inorganic environment. (“Q&A with Cymbeline Director”) While the original play looks to ancient Britain to look anew at contemporary Britain, this production used the play to speculate about the future given the current direction of politics in the UK. In the lines leading up to Jupiter’s descent in the 2016 RSC production, Still incorporated song and unusual forms which functioned as an adapted version of the early modern masque and anti-masque. The lines of the dead ancestors of Posthumus were sung by the cast. At times, they harmonized sounding like a church choir as small paper cut-outs shaped like people fell from the ceiling. These cut-outs demonstrated Still’s concept of a “parched, old, crumbling” Britain. Instead of the actors embodying the ghosts of the dead ancestors, they held up and manipulated the small paper cut-outs. At the same time, the actual lines from the play were projected on a screen upstage. This made the scene “strange,” and the incorporation of the lines on the screen had echoes of the types of estranging effects that Brecht used in his own theatre. This moment stood out when juxtaposed with the earlier part of 5.4. At the opening of the scene, a bloody Posthumus sat in the middle of the stage, a dim spotlight highlighted the gritty reality of him alone, chained in a cell. After the cast presented a masque-like version of Posthumus’ dream, the scene continued with spectacle. At the first mention of Jupiter—“Then Jupiter, thou king of gods” (5.4.54)—loud drums accompanied the song. The drums continued, building in tempo as the lights flashed, mimicking lightning. Some of the characters screamed as 165 a dark figure, stood on a glass case, descended from the sky. Posthumus, playing the role of Jupiter, exclaimed in a booming voice, “No more, you petty spirits of region low” (5.4.63). The sounds of thunder (no longer created by drums but instead digitally) sounded and slowly got quieter as he continued his speech. After he said, “Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline” (5.4.83), he laid down on the glass case, seemingly passing out.160 Soon after, he sat up with a confused expression, now “Posthumus” again. Though this scene had spectacle through the sound and lighting design as well as “Jupiter’s” descent, this Jupiter was absent an eagle. Furthermore, Posthumus being “haunted” by Jupiter even more clearly brought the god down to earth. Spectacle may have remained, but the kind of grandeur and deus ex machina function common to Shakespeare’s romances was altered. It was less Jupiter’s intervention and more the dream of Posthumus. Lisa Hopkins notes that the change of “Posthumus himself appear[ing] as Jupiter, impl[ied] a psychological rather than a supernatural explanation for the scene in which his dead family members appear” (2).161 This moment, and the production overall received mixed reviews.162 Cymbeline is not one of Shakespeare’s most popular plays, and thus is not as often performed, but a production team attentive to its ties to the artform of the masque and its estrangements can use the play to invite audiences to question power differentials. 160 Noel Megahey at the Digital Fix explains that the “chopped down cedar tree in a glass case that sits at centre stage is a distraction until Jupiter’s message reveals that the branches of a new tree representing Britain are to be formed by the resolution.” 161 Simon Jenner describes this moment as such: “As he descends and speaks Jupiter for himself, it’s the god that seems to speak through him. Spectacle and words themselves are too powerful for such ordinary rationales.” 162 Stéphanie Mercier, for example, said that this scene with Jupiter “became reminiscent of a drum and smoke-filled musical comedy (albeit with some harpsichord) worthy of the modern-day West End […] as the flimsy outlines [paper cut-outs] were initially blustered around by wind machines positioned in the wings that obstructed sightlines, the impact of the subsequent strange marionette-like show taking place on stage was lessened, if not obscured completely” (“Cymbeline”). 166 To conclude, I return to one of the chief aspects of the masque: its location, or perhaps rather its use of space. With the elaborate sets of Inigo Jones, masques could not, and were not presented in the popular theaters like the Globe. Instead, they were presented indoors at places like Blackfriars or the Banqueting House at Whitehall which were generally larger and could accommodate more (or any) set design. The Masque of Blackness was performed in the palace at Whitehall and Pleasure Reconciled to Virtue was performed in the (fairly new) Banqueting Hall at Whitehall. According to the Survey of London, James’ Banqueting Hall was erected in 1607 and a description of the interior is found in the records of the Venetian ambassador, Orazio Busino: A large hall is fitted up like a theatre, with well secured boxes all round. The stage is at one end, and his Majesty's chair in front under an ample canopy. Near him are stools for the foreign ambassadors. … Whilst waiting for the king we amused ourselves by admiring the decorations and beauty of the house, with its two orders of columns, one above the other, their distance from the wall equalling the breadth of the passage, that of the second row being upheld by Doric pillars, while above these rise Ionic columns supporting the roof. The whole is of wood, including even the shafts, which are carved and gilt with much skill. From the roof of these hang festoons and angels in relief, with two rows of lights. (“The Banqueting House”) Busino’s description shows how the banqueting house functioned as a place for masques. It also reflects the role of James within the masque—as the sovereign, he is also on display. Busino choosing to include so many details about the architecture reveals how the building was elaborate and beautiful. Fumerton suggests that the “[o]rnamental banqueting houses…catered simultaneously to private subjectivity and the contemporary rage for mathematically precise perspective sights” (Cultural 127). That is, the stage started to mirror something more akin to a proscenium arch, or perhaps rather a set that focused the eye and deployed elaborate stage designs to create three-dimensional illusion. 167 The growing trend and development of masques perhaps influenced Shakespeare to actually include a masque in his final romance, The Tempest. At the beginning of Act 4, Prospero holds a masque to celebrate the betrothal of Ferdinand and Miranda, replicating the purpose of masques: celebration and vanity. Prospero begins by commanding Ariel to “[g]o bring the rabble” because he wishes to “Bestow upon the eyes of this young couple / Some vanity of mine art” (4.1.40, 43–4). Prospero’s request for the masque, then, places himself as a member of the court, likely the king. Prospero’s role throughout the play is one of puppet-master, and his callous exchanges with Caliban and “testing” of Ferdinand already mark him as a “ruler” that could be questioned; Shakespeare aligning Prospero with a king, then, allows the audience to then question his power. This presents an alteration or experimentation with how masque-like elements function in Shakespeare’s romances—in the first three, it is the deities that save the day, thus emphasizing the inadequacies of the rulers. In this case, Prospero is like the deity, and he is absent a wife. The role of the mistreated wives and daughters of the previous romances transfer to Caliban and Sycorax, and Prospero’s overthrow of their island. In the final chapter, then, I consider the spaces and places of the romances by looking to early modern theatrical conditions, culminating in an analysis of spaces and places in the island of The Tempest. 168 CHAPTER 4: PLACE IN/OF THE TEMPEST: (STAGE) SPACE AND ENVISIONING THE ISLAND GLOBALLY AND DIGITALLY In The Winter’s Tale, Pericles, and Cymbeline the daughters of the male rulers suffer abandonments and estrangements. Perdita is left for dead in Bohemia, Marina is abandoned in Tarsus, and Innogen leaves for Wales to reunite with her Posthumus, her banished lover. Yet in The Tempest, Miranda is not abandoned or estranged from her father. Additionally, while the wives/mother in The Winter’s Tale and Pericles are similarly estranged from their husbands (the male rulers), in The Tempest, Prospero is famously absent a wife. As Stephen Orgel has famously argued, Prospero’s wife is missing and note mentioned within the play (“Prospero’s Wife”). Travel and the physical separation of characters enables the estrangements of the women in the first three romances, but in this final romance, the travel has already occurred, and the plot of the play takes play on one day on one island. How does haunting and estrangement thus manifest within this final romance? First, we might look to the end of The Tempest because in the other romances, this is the moment of reunion for the estranged families. Miranda, upon seeing Alonso, Sebastian, and the other shipwrecked Italians, exclaims: O wonder! How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world That has such people in’t. (5.1.182–85) Miranda’s reunion is not one with her family, but instead a glimpse at the “brave new world” which she is supposed to enter beyond and after the end of the play when she travels with her father back to her home in Milan. In a way, this is a renewal of her life because until this point, she has lived an isolated, strange existence, with her only memorable interactions being with Prospero and Caliban. At the same time, this is a moment for Miranda where a new psychic 169 space is unfolding for her. These new interactions with the other Italians are akin to Pericles’s interactions with other Mediterranean people; Miranda experiences wonder and bewilderment. Miranda’s “brave new world,” though a somewhat ironic iteration of the kind of world she witnesses, marks a final evolution in Shakespeare’s exploration of the romance genre. Unlike the previous three romances which highlight estranged wives and daughters, The Tempest shifts its focus. The familial estrangements that include elements of haunting within The Tempest are those between Caliban, and his mother Sycorax. Sycorax, the “foul witch” whose backstory explains that she came to island pregnant with Caliban, is long dead by the start of the play, but she makes an appearance in the words and memories of Caliban and Prospero. Caliban is thus estranged from his mother, and Sycorax, though not embodied in the play, becomes a haunting figure of the island. Second, we might look to the island alongside ideas of space and place to understand how estrangement manifests within The Tempest. The play makes space “foreign” or “strange.” Textually, the play presents an island with disparate landscapes, and more importantly (and strangely), tied to the soundscapes of Caliban. Despite Prospero and Miranda living on the island, Shakespeare presents the island as the home of Sycorax and Caliban, and it is Sycorax which haunts the characters, the island, and the play. Further, in being one of Shakespeare’s romances, The Tempest was written for two different playhouses: the public, outdoor Globe, and the private, indoor Blackfriars. As Sarah Dustagheer argues in Shakespeare’s Two Playhouses, specific elements of the play, particularly moments of stylized dramatic spectacle like the wedding masque, would play differently in indoor theaters that were used for masques in the same time period. Thus, the play is already estranged between the two playing spaces. And at the same time, the somewhat chaotic moments 170 like the opening storm would play differently in the outdoor Globe. As discussed in chapter 3, spectacular masque-like moments are juxtaposed with scenes that are more realistic/naturalistic, creating a strange and unique viewing experience for audiences. This experience creates the conditions for estrangement, inviting audiences to critically reflect on the power relations presented within the play as they imaginatively navigate this island “full of noises.” Thus, the romances have further internal estrangements of form, with scenes written with different playhouses in mind. In this way, The Tempest makes the space of the island as well the playing space “strange” or “foreign.” The romances, then, are already primed for future theatrical adaptations, as they were originally envisioned for very different stages. This chapter thus argues that an attention to the estrangements—familial, political, spatial—within this final romance still highlights the potential wrongs of a male ruler, but these wrongs now connect to larger conversations about European colonization, geography, space, and place. Scholarship around The Tempest has long addressed its connections to colonization163, its investment in magic164, and its intersections with contemporary travel writing165; performances and adaptations have explored postcolonial interpretations of the text166. Caliban has been read as a slave figure and Prospero as a master figure. This chapter contributes to this conversation but uses the focus on estrangement at different levels to analyze the presentation and production of 163 See, for example, Kim Hall’s Things of Darkness, Jyotsna Singh’s “Post-colonial reading of The Tempest,” Stephen Greenblatt’s Learning to Curse: Essays in Early Modern Culture, Peter Hulme’s Colonial Encounters: Europe and the Native Caribbean, 1492–1797, Paul Brown’s “‘This thing of darkness I acknowledge mine’: The Tempest and the discourse of colonialism,” Richard Halpern’s “‘The picture of Nobody’: white cannibalism in The Tempest,” and Eric Cheyfitz’s The Poetics of Imperialism: Translation and Colonization from “The Tempest” to “Tarzan.” 164 Prospero’s books are likened to grimoires of the period, and characters like Ariel and Sycorax both have magical abilities. Often Prospero is viewed as a representation of Shakespeare, displaying his power in his “art.” 165 It is often read alongside William Stratchey’s “True Reportory of the Wracke,” Montaigne’s “Of the Cannibals,” and Captain John Smith’s A True Relation of Such Occurrences and Accidents of Noate as Hath Hapned in Virginia. 166 Consider Miller’s 1988 production where Prospero was a while colonialist and Caliban was a slave (see Zuleika Henry’s “Photograph of Rudolph Walker”), Aimé Césaire’s postcolonial adaptation of the play titled Une Tempête, or Esiaba Irobi’s Sycorax which presents a parallel narrative of the play which dramatizes issues of race, gender, and colonial domination. 171 space167 as it relates to the island of The Tempest, both within the context of the play and as it is literally presented in performance. Space is quite unique to The Tempest because, as scholars have observed, the drama centers around an island that is simultaneously that of fiction (and thus undefined) as well as representative of the Americas or the New World—and anachronistically at the same time of the Mediterranean, i.e., North Africa, as they are returning from “Tunis.” It is the only play out of the four romances which has a solitary location. There are many locations on the island, but there is no staged travel of characters across different countries. Also to be noted are deployments of various sounds, including music and songs, that align with the characters’ movements in space. The travel and exile of Prospero and Miranda is a preface to the play, and the play opens with the inciting incident of the titular storm. Travel is thus “completed” by the end of the first scene, and the play famously is one of the few of Shakespeare’s which follows Aristotle’s unities of space and time. This deviation from the typical Shakespearean play thus highlights the space of the island. Being the only location featured within the play, the island’s fraught history as it relates to ownership and dominion, then, underscores Prospero’s control over Ariel and Caliban. Further, descriptions of the island are limited, and Caliban is the character the provides the audience with the majority of the descriptions of the island. If Caliban “shapes” the island in the mind’s eye of the audience, it primes the audience to believe the island is “his,” thus bringing into question Prospero’s dominion over him. The space of the island is very important to him; as he explains early in the play, “This island’s mine by Sycorax, my mother” (1.2.332). This focus 167 For scholarly readings of space and the play, see: Marcell Gellért’s “‘The Baseless Fabric of This Vision’: The poetics of Space in The Tempest” and Jennifer Linhart Wood’s “Sounding Spaces: The Tempest’s Uncanny Near- East Echoes.” 172 on land and space aligns with ecocritical analyses of the play, though this chapter focuses less on the opening storm or interconnections with Darwinism, and more on imagining the island itself.168 Struggles and conflicts around ownership of land and space are also, as stated earlier, important to the colonial underpinnings of the play and these can be further explored in performance since the play was written with two different playhouses in mind. Thus, in performance and adaptation, The Tempest is an excellent play to explore digital and global spaces. Following in many ways Peter Hulme and William H. Sherman’s methodology in The Tempest and Its Travels, the final sections of this chapter consider the travels of the play globally and digitally. The global and the digital represent the current direction of performance studies and Shakespeare; the pandemic has inspired more serious consideration of digital and online performance, and interest in global and cross-cultural adaptations and interpretations of Shakespeare’s plays are ever more in scholarly focus.169 Not only does “online” Shakespeare provide wider access, but it also serves as an exploratory space for the meanings of theatre and the relevance and importance of these “old tales” today. Shakespeare in performance is the place for reparative work, enabling the audience to see and explore different ideas. The power differentials presented within the romances, which highlight the importance of estranged daughters and wives specifically, allow audiences to consider the role of gender within the context of the play, but then also within their own 168 Take, for example, McKenna Rose’s “Surviving The Tempest: Ecologies of Salvage on the Early Modern Stage,” Timothy Ryan Day’s Shakespeare and the Evolution of the Human Unwelt, and Tom MacFaul’s Shakespeare and the Natural World. For a history of ecocriticism and The Tempest overall, see David Gray’s “‘Command these elements to silence’: Ecocriticism and The Tempest.” In it, Gray explains that previous scholars have focused on the opening storm, the play within the pastoral genre, and understandings of the climate and the natural world, especially as related to Darwin and evolution. 169 Many of my observations in this chapter come from my participation in a workshop on “Digital Humanities and Shakespeare Adaptations” at the 2021 World Shakespeare Congress and in a panel titled, “Performance During Pandemic: Shakespeare and Covid” in the 2022 Shakespeare Association of America Conference. 173 contemporary contexts. And, as this chapter shows, The Tempest highlights Caliban and Sycorax, inviting further conversations and discussions about land and colonization which have and continue to be explored in performance170. Scholarly interest in global adaptations of Shakespeare’s plays is not new, though recent scholarship reflects a burgeoning interest in the subject. Alexa Alice Joubin’s Shakespeare and East Asia (2021) presents comparative analyses of Shakespeare’s play on stage and screen in East Asia focusing on sound, spectacle, remediation, reception, and multilingualism; Joyce Green MacDonald’s Shakespearean Adaptation, Race and Memory in the New World (2020) looks at twentieth and twenty-first century Shakespearean adaptations that focus on Black womanhood; and Christie Desmet, Sujata Iyengar, and Miriam Jacobson bring together essays that consider how Shakespeare has been adapted and appropriated on stage, screen, and other formats in the Routledge Handbook of Shakespeare and Global Appropriation (2020). Studies of “Global Shakespeare” often intersect with conversations around Shakespearean adaptation and appropriation. The Tempest is the main romance that appears in these conversations. Within the context of new perspectives, we can see how ideas of estrangement and adaptation thus intermix and culminate in The Tempest and its performances. How is space made “strange” in global and digital contexts? Digital productions of Shakespeare’s plays separate the audience from the playing space, with screens mediating this distance. As the previous chapters show, The Tempest, like the other romances, has a mixed, estranged genre filled with the haunted bodies of women; it focuses on travel and moments of wonderous estrangement as found in 170 It is worth noting that The Tempest seems to be one of the most popular plays in which the male ruler is replaced by a woman in casting. Helen Mirren famously played Prospera in Julie Taymor’s 2010 film adaptation, and many theatrical companies in the last 10–20 years have cast a woman in the lead role. This might partially be due to the fact that the play has no wife of Prospero and thus a female Prospero need not have husband. The other romances so clearly highlight women, that this casting choice might “fix” this issue of the last romance. 174 cross-cultural interactions; and it incorporates an actual masque and other spectacles which creates a unique dramaturgy that invites the audience to be estranged from the play, self- reflexively viewing the play as a play and focus on the actions of the characters and the themes/ideas presented. Being the most popular of the romances appearing in digital/online and global adaptations, the play then lends itself to explorations of estrangement and adaptation as they connect to “doubled” cross-cultural encounters and the brave new world of digital theatre. That is, global adaptations/appropriations of the play have already produced Shakespearean mediations via languages other than English, often adapted to different cultures; along with this, the play itself shows, and often problematizes the contacts between different cultures, including the human and non-human beings, such as Ariel, a spirit, Caliban, defined as a “hag-born” native of the island, and Prospero and the other courtly Italians. In examining the power of theatre and performance, this chapter considers the estrangements and adaptations of The Tempest both intertextually and in performance. As discussed in the introduction, plays in the early modern period were considered “dangerous” by many because they could affect the social and political reality. Romances like The Tempest had (and still have) great performative power. In thinking through space and place in The Tempest, I show how Shakespeare presents his ultimate experimentation and estrangement in genre and form—an experiment which has and will continue to lend itself to adaptations of the play that allow viewers to think through the meanings of fantasy and reality, life and death, and the representations of the island spaces within the play through the perspective of the characters. In order to get a full picture of spatial practices shaping and informing the play, the first section of this chapter examines the material and social conditions of stages in the early modern period, considering the different stage spaces 175 of the romances as well as textual and dramaturgical ways that the play invites audiences to imagine space. The second section focuses on the haunting aspect of Sycorax’s role and her connection to the space of the island; it uses an analysis of the 2004 production directed by Hark Tsui and Hsing-kuo Wu (which featured an embodied Sycorax) to further explore how her character estranges audiences. The final section considers the space and place of the island as it is adapted to the digital seen in two performances of the play: the 2016 Royal Shakespeare Company production which used a partnership with Intel to create a digitally projected Ariel and other spectacular effects and the 2020 Creation Theatre Company production which presented the play via Zoom during the COVID-19 pandemic. These productions show the ways in which The Tempest continues to be a vehicle for explorations of unfamiliar, strange and estranging, “brave new worlds” in Shakespeare and performance studies. Space/Place in Early Modern Stages and The Tempest Physical structures (including public and private theater buildings), geographic locations (stages in the city and stages across the river outside of the city), and the material aspects of performance (stage properties, costumes, makeup, set design, etc.) all constitute what I call the “material conditions” of early modern stages, which illuminate the staging practices of the early modern stage. Scholarship historically covering these material conditions of the stage examine companies, playhouses, Shakespeare’s audience, staging practices, and the political interaction of the state.171 The wide-ranging nature of primary sources172 on Shakespeare’s stage makes it 171 Specific works and ideas include: Edmund Chambers’s four-volume history of The Elizabethan Stage in 1923, which examines the court, acting companies and playhouses, staging practices, plays, and playwrights, and a discussion of anonymous work via many primary sources; Alfred Harbage’s Shakespeare’s Audience; G.E. Bentley’s series of texts on The Jacobean and Caroline Stage in the 1940s-1960s; Andrew Gurr’s volume from the 1970s, The Shakespearean Stage: 1574–1642, which provides a “backdrop to the plays in the fullest practicable 176 difficult to reconstruct a singular detailed history, but they nonetheless provide valuable insights about the material, social, and cultural conditions of the stage.173 This scholarship suggests that performances of plays in theaters in the early modern period created a sense of excitement, newness, but also trepidation. From 1574–1642, the commercialization and popularity of playgoing as a pastime grew nearly as fast as London’s population.174 Pastimes like bear-baiting175 previously held the attention of Londoners, but after larger outdoor theaters like the Theatre, the Curtain, the Rose, and the Globe were erected, crowds of commoners and the wealthy alike (including royal patrons like Queen Elizabeth) could watch new plays on the stage every week. The erection of new stages and material spaces thus led to the creation of new plays and ideas. To gain more money and to entertain the populace, playwrights like Shakespeare took advantage of the growing popularity of performance by detail” (27); Ann Jennalie Cook’s response to Gurr and Harbage, The Privileged Playgoers of Shakespeare's London, 1576–1642 which argues that the audience was actually composed of privileged members of society; and finally Gurr’s response to Cook from the late 1980s, Playgoing in Shakespeare's London that insists that the audience was actually diverse, and that Cook merely replaced Harbage’s stereotype of the “idle artisan” with the “idle rich.” These foundational works all look at Shakespeare’s stage by narrowing in on specific aspects covering the materiality of the stage (the size of theaters, their location, how they were made); the interaction of the state and theatre in terms of the political (laws and interactions between the acting companies and authorities like the Master of the Revels); the perception and reception of audiences and naysayers (how audiences acted and how they received performances on the stage); and the nature of the acting companies (their composition, famous actors, acting practices, etc.). 172 Primary sources include texts like diary entries (Henslowe’s Diary), travelers’ stories and accounts (Thomas Platter, Johannes de Witt), letters to the Master of the Revels (letters and petitions in Remembrancia), works of literary criticism (Sidney’s Defence of Poesy, Heywood’s An Apology for Actors), and anti-theatrical essays (Gosson’s Playes Confuted, Crosse’s Virtue’s Commonwealth, etc.). 173 Platter’s Travels in England, for example presents a first-hand account of London life in the late 1500s, including comments on how people act, facts about transportation, and notes on plays watched. Sidney’s Defence shows how scholars were theorizing and philosophizing about the role of art to “instruct and delight,” with some discussion of plays, and Gosson’s Playes Confuted attacks the influence of the stage, performance, and art broadly from a moral perspective. Thus, the primary sources on Shakespeare’s stage can provide facts about the stage (like the price of costumes listed in Henslowe’s Diary) and perceptions about theatre, performance, and art from scholars and ministers, but with fragmentary perspectives. We only have facts about the materiality of the stage in relation to specific theaters (like Henslowe discussing the Rose), and we only have comments on audiences and audience perception via economic data in a register or from singular accounts by travelers or outraged anti-theatrical attackers. 174 From just 1580 to 1600, London’s population doubled (Gurr, Playgoing 51). 175 Bear-baiting was an entertainment that involved watching the spectacle of dogs or people tormenting a chained bear, and beargardens were fenced-in areas with seating much like amphitheaters. 177 writing and producing new plays each year—and the repertory nature of the companies allowed for the daily rotation of performances.176 Thus, multiple new plays were being penned every year, and the repertory nature of the companies allowed for the daily rotation of performances. The performance of plays first took place in innyards—not dissimilar from beargardens—and then separated into public playhouses outside the city, and private playhouses within existing buildings in the city.177 The physical structures, or playhouses, included ample space for many Londoners to see the plays and be “influenced” by the spectacles and speeches. In fact, many of these public playhouses could accommodate thousands of people; according to Gurr, the Globe could accommodate over 3000 people (Playgoing 18). The large playhouses consisted of wooden, unroofed amphitheaters with raised seating (usually three stories), and the stage space had multiple levels which accommodated musicians and allowed for audience interaction.178 Theatregoers could stand in the central “yard” area open to the elements (they were known as “groundlings”) or, they could pay more to sit in raised galleries or boxes that were covered.179 In some playhouses, upper class audience members could even pay to have the privilege of sitting 176 Shakespeare himself wrote thirty-seven plays between (roughly) 1590 and 1613, and as Gurr notes, actors like Edward Alleyn or Richard Burbage had to “memorise up to 800 lines for each play in a repertory which presented as many as fifteen different plays each month” (Playgoing 81). Even popular plays like Marlowe’s The Wise Men of Westchester only had thirty-two performances in the three-year span of 1595–97 (Gurr, Shakespearean 104). 177 The public theaters of Shakespeare’s time included (in order) The Theatre, the Curtain, the Fortune, The Red Bull, the Swan, the Rose, and the Globe. 178 The stage was circular, covered, and jutted out into the audience (known today as a “thrust” stage). There was a musician loft / area as well as a “discovery” area at the bottom of the façade of the stage that allowed for “magical” events to occur. Behind the stage was the tiring house, an early modern kind of “green room” or “dressing room” where actors waited in their costumes before going on the stage. 179 Specifically, it was one penny to stand, another to go to the galleries, and six ducats to sit in the lord’s rooms (Gurr, Shakespearean 198). Thomas Platter, a Swiss tourist in London in the late 1500s, commented that, “[t]he playhouses are so constructed that they play on a raised platform, so that everyone has a good view. There are different galleries and places, however, where the seating is better and more comfortable and therefore more expensive” (167). 178 on the stage (and thus, the entire audience could see them).180 In contrast, the private theaters were indoors, more expensive, and had fewer seats; this indoor environment, however, enabled the production of spectacle in early modern masques, as discussed in chapter 3.181 The space of the theater in relation to The Tempest is not more apparent than during Prospero’s speech near the end of Act 4. Here, the audience of the wedding masque and of The Tempest itself must negotiate the connections between the dreamy, fantastical visions they have seen with the reality of the place of the island and the space of the theater. Prospero explains: Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits and Are melted into air, into thin air: And -- like the baseless fabric of this vision -- The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep. (4.1.148–58) Shakespeare creates a fascinating self-reflexive estranging moment because the audience of The Tempest is watching others (Prospero, Miranda, and Ferdinand) watch the wedding masque—in dual “distancing” perspectives. Prospero’s choice of “our” here is intriguing; he is the one who created this wedding masque, and thus it is really his revels that are ended. Yet he uses the 180 An image that appears in many studies of Shakespeare’s stage is the sketch by Johannes de Witt, a traveler to London, who drew the Swan Theatre. This image provides an example of many of the aforementioned elements: the musician loft/area is right above the center of the sketch, and two columns support a roof that covers part of the stage (thus, the uncovered area “thrusts” out into the audience). This platform is raised, and three characters are seen on stage (a person sitting on a bench, a person beside the bench, and the profile of another character moving across the raised platform). The rounded edge of the sketch shows how the playhouse was circular, and the upper portion of the sketch shows the raised galleries where audience members could pay extra to sit and watch a play from a different viewpoint. To see the sketch, alongside an analysis of its origins, see: John B. Gleason’s “The Dutch Humanist Origins of The De Witt Drawing of the Swan Theatre.” 181 The private theaters included those such as Blackfriars or Inigo Jones’ Banqueting House in Whitehall which were existing buildings within the city (Chambers, vol. 2, 355). Consisting of seats arranged in tiers along three sides of a long room, the private playhouses held around 750 people, but included higher prices to account for the difference in place and type of performance (Gurr Playgoing 22). 179 plural, possessive “our,” thereby inviting the audience of the play to connect with Prospero and consider their own involvement with the performance. Much of Prospero’s language “doubles” or applies to both the masque/pageant as well as The Tempest as a play itself, inviting the audience to question how they view theatre and the space they inhabit. Are there similarities between the stage space, the imagined space of the island, and the “real” space of the early modern (or in adaptation, modern) world? Thus, while this play follows the Aristotelian “unities,” it complicates our spatial perceptions. To what extent does the stage influence and reflect the reality of the early modern period? This is a moment of reflection for both Prospero and the audience. Theatre and its presentation are “reveling,” and they allow audiences to take pleasure and delight in performance. The OED indicates that, a “revel” is “[a]n occasion or period of exuberant merrymaking or noisy festivity…an organized item of entertainment; a dance, a masque, a play” (“revel, n.1”). Thus, the revels that Prospero refers to apply to not only the literal revels of the masque but also the revels of The Tempest as a play and the revels found in dreams and in life. The inclusion of language and phrases that reference and suggest dreaming continues to merge the spirit (or dream) world with the reality of the stage space and the play: “cloud-capped towers,” “spirits,” “dissolve,” etc. “[C]loud-capped towers” can refer to the lofty visions within a dream, the envisioned clouds upon which the goddess Juno, Ceres, and Iris appear within the wedding masque, but also the painted heavens of the Globe’s canopy. Simultaneously, then, Shakespeare brings together the multiple fantasies and realities of the audience: the fantasy of the masque, the larger metaphorical idea of heaven, and the material reality of the stage space of the 180 Globe. Prospero may be talking of the wedding masque, but he is also bringing attention to the Globe stage as a stage that has its own unique properties. Self-reflexive moments in Shakespeare’s romances, such as Prospero’s “revels” speech, alongside historical information about early modern stages enables explorations into the perception, reception, and possible impact of Shakespeare’s romances. By the early to mid-1600s (when the romances were performed), audiences had likely seen many tragedies, histories, and comedies. The romances in their mixed genre could present something “new,” for instance, in the popularity of the masque, while at the same time presenting the “old” in terms of old medieval tales. This blend could be appealing to a playwright like Shakespeare who may have wanted to experiment with different forms and genres, as well as new stage spaces, but who also wanted to maintain economic success. The tales of the romances were known and/or previously told and thus familiar, but Shakespeare’s dramatization of them presented new performative and generic possibilities. Along with the fact that Shakespeare’s romances could present something both “new” and “old” to early modern audiences is the fact that these late plays were envisioned for two different playhouses. Sarah Dustagheer’s recent intervention, Shakespeare’s Two Playhouses, explains how plays after 1609 were created with both the Globe and Blackfriars in mind. She argues that by this date, the repertory of the King’s Men was “marked by a performance duality, individual plays which combined practices from both playhouses to produce performances with valuable and distinct spatial resonances at the Globe and Blackfriars, respectively” (3). Shakespeare’s romances, thus, are unique in that they include elements that appeal to the diverse audience members in large open-air stages like the Globe as well as courtly audiences within smaller, private theaters like the Blackfriars. 181 Dustagheer also presents a new conception of “space” and moves beyond the literal space of the theaters to thinking about social, urban, playing, and haunted spaces in each respective chapter. This new viewing of space considers how the Globe and Blackfriars operated not only as literal spaces for the performances of theatre but also as “socio-cultural entities and places of the imagination” that give us insight into the society of early modern London (3-4).182 Extending her argument about places of the imagination, I argue that the romances, in particular, utilize the stage as a space to explore power differentials and difference, particularly as it relates to gender and race through the marginalized character such as Innogen, Thaisa, Hermione, and Caliban. I also expand on Dustagheer’s arguments about the performance duality of The Tempest to further explore the ways in which the romances may have played to different audiences and theatrical settings. For example, Dustagheer makes a thorough argument for The Tempest playing to both stages, explaining that sound effects like thunder in the opening storm would be possible and play well at the Globe, whereas the otherworldly music in the play made “the most of the acoustic environment of the indoor theatre [Blackfriars]” and continued to develop the “acoustic practices of the Children of the Queen’s Revels” (117). She believes the sound effects functioned as calls to attention to a potentially distracted audience (109). I argue, instead, that the large sound effects are tied to larger spectacular moments that excite the audience and that serve as contrast to grounded moments in the romances—in this juxtaposition, Shakespeare brings attention to the form of the play in a self-reflexive way that estranges audiences and invites critical reflection. That is, this dramatized juxtaposition of the spectacular alongside the mundane 182 Dustagheer further elaborates by explaining that this project is connected to the “so-called spatial turn in the humanities” that looks at “key thinkers such as Henry Lefebvre, Michel de Certeau, Michel Foucault and Gaston Bachelard” (3). Her focus is not limited to the romances, and while she looks at The Tempest in relation to “playing space” and Henry VIII in relation to “haunted space” the other plays she analyzes are Coriolanus, and The Alchemist. 182 reflects a blending of the masque genre and the tragic genre and thereby the estranged genre of the romances; this juxtaposition also simultaneously estranges audiences from the characters by distancing them in a Brechtian way, as elaborated in the previous chapter. I also turn my focus towards the presentation of space in the play as it relates to the island itself. The topography and flora/fauna of the island figure prominently in the interactions and conversations within the play (and outside of the play for scholars); strangely, like many elements of Shakespeare’s romances, the different natural aspects of the island do not match an earthly climate. This incongruence only engenders additional debate and focus on the space and place of the island. The earliest references to the geography and topography of the island are limited. In discussing how he has dispersed the shipwrecked Italians throughout the island, Ariel mentions putting Ferdinand in a “odd angle of the isle” (1.2.223) and the ship in a “deep nook” (1.2.227). Prospero then mentions Ariel being confined in a “cloven pine,” giving the detail of a type of tree, but the first detailed description of the island comes from Caliban. Since Caliban thus provides nearly all of the descriptions of the island, the mise-en-scene and soundscape of a production of the play can change according to how the audience perceives him—that is, they can support his accounts, or contradict them. Caliban tells Prospero why the island is “his,” while also giving the audience his own backstory on the island. He was absent a mother or any parental figure and his closest connection is to the island and the memory of his mother. He proclaims: This island’s mine by Sycorax, my mother, Which thou tak’st from me. When thou cam’st first, Thou strok’st me and made much of me; wouldst give me Water with berries in't, and teach me how To name the bigger light and how the less That burn by day and night. And then I loved thee 183 And showed thee all the qualities o'th’ isle: The fresh springs, brine pits, barren place and fertile. Cursed be I that did so! All the charms Of Sycorax -- toads, beetles, bats -- light on you, For I am all the subjects that you have, Which first was mine own king; and here you sty me In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me The rest o'th’ island. (1.2.332–45) In declaring that “this island’s mine by Sycorax,” Caliban clearly claims his ownership of the land. He then adds how Prospero took the land away from him; Prospero first treated him better and gave him “[w]ater with berries in’t” which led to Caliban teaching Prospero about the different qualities and produce of the island, including the “fresh springs, brine pits, barren place and fertile.” This line accounts for the strangeness or magical quality of the island; it can apparently host such disparate elements as fresh and salt water as well as barren and fertile grounds. Caliban then turns to a discussion of his mother. Shakespeare places Sycorax’s name next to toads, beetles, and bats, emphasizing, perhaps, her witch-like qualities, but also again aligning her with the animals and the land. Caliban’s mention of his enslavement in the “hard rock” and Prospero’s keeping him away from the rest of the island supports the idea that there are beautiful, comfortable places in other parts of the island. Caliban also offers an account of the flora and fauna of the island, alongside the topography. He mentions “bogs, fens, [and] flats” later when he soliloquizes his curses at Prospero, adding marsh-like terrain to the aforementioned fertile and barren grounds (2.2.2). He references hedgehogs, apes, and adders (2.2.5–13) and later crabs, pignuts, jays, marmosets, and filberts (2.2.164–68). The island thus has a multitude of animals, flora, and fauna183. Based on what we know about his history, Caliban has lived his whole life on the island. Does this mean, 183 Another view of this could be the idea that these different animals and plants are all magical, though this does not really change the discussion as whether real or not, Caliban is suggesting that he is experiencing them, and the audience sees magic enacted in the play from the very beginning with the opening storm. 184 then, that all of these creatures inhabit the island and that the island produces all of these different foods? If yes, then this contributes to the idea that the island has multiple climates/geographies. Despite the shipwrecked Italians being new to the island, they comment very little on its geography and focus mostly on the visual. The text shows that the Italians don’t have a real “feel” for the island, especially when contrasted with Caliban’s descriptions of his home. In Act 2, Gonzalo observes how “lush and lusty the grass looks,” Antonio suggests that it is “tawny,” and Sebastian decides there is an “eye of green in’t” (2.1.55–57). While grass could certainly be multiple colors, the fact that these three Italians are debating its color infers that there may be something magical or strange about the island. And yet, there are few other references to the island in the rest of the play from anyone other than Caliban. The Italians experience fear when on the island, encountering the strange and the new, whereas Caliban has affection for the island as it is his home. Caliban’s famous speech in Act 3, Scene 2 presents a perspective of the island that reveals his connection and love for the island, utilizing a poetic rhetoric to focus on the sonic elements of the isle. He tells Stephano and Trinculo to: Be not afeard. The isle is full of noises, Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not. Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments Will hum about mine ears; and sometime voices, That if I then had waked after long sleep, Will make me sleep again; and then, in dreaming, The clouds, methought, would open and show riches Ready to drop upon me, that when I waked I cried to dream again. (3.2.136–44) This famous moment in the play shows that the audience’s view of the island is almost entirely attributed to how Caliban describes it. This supports the idea that the island is his, as he can best 185 represent its geography, while knowing how to survive on the nature’s produce. He maps the island for Prospero and the audience. Caliban is attuned with the island, and much of his perception is connected to sounds. This connects to the importance of other sounds within the play as they connect to land and colonization: Caliban famously tells Prospero “You taught me language, and my profit on’t / Is I know how to curse” (1.2.364–65). Language, naming, and sounds are all part of the power dynamics between Prospero and Caliban. Caliban accounts for the multiple realities and conditions of the island by stating that the “isle is full of noises.” In an attempt to comfort and calm Trinculo and Stephano, the jester and drunken sailor, he explains that these sounds are not harmful but instead give “delight”—they are causes for pleasure and happiness. Shakespeare employs many “s” sounds in the first four lines to emphasize the many sounds that Caliban references: “noises,” “sounds,” “sweet,” “airs,” “sometimes,” “thousand,” “instruments,” “ears,” “sometime,” “voices.” Caliban’s speech, then, mimics the sounds that he himself hears on the island. The emphasis on sonic elements continues with Shakespeare’s inclusion of the line “sweet airs.” While “sweet airs” could be interpreted as the smells of the atmosphere of the island, it more clearly references the music of the island. “Air” can refer to “A tune, a melody; a piece of music in which a single melodic line predominates, and which has little or no distinctive accompaniment; (sometimes) spec. a song with simple or unobtrusive accompaniment” (“air, n.1”). Thus, Caliban is explaining how the island is full of pleasant music. After emphasizing the sonic elements of the island, Caliban then shifts to the visual, again emphasizing the physical attributes of the island. After establishing how the sounds of the island can lull him to sleep, he explains how in dreaming, he imagines the “clouds” opening up 186 and showing riches. The island is able to provide Caliban comfort. It is these “sweet airs” that enable him to dream of such beauty and harmony that he “crie[s]” to dream again. In giving few and incongruous specifics, Shakespeare thus leaves the representation of the island wide open for interpretation and adaptation. The island of The Tempest is like Shakespeare’s romances in that it creates spaces and places where difference can be explored. Here, Caliban as a figure (and the debate on whether he is human, monster, creature, etc.) serves as guide as to how we envision the island. And at the same time, how the mise-en-scene and performance supports (or doesn’t support this) changes how we might view him. The sounds that Caliban discusses not only reflects his connection to the island—the sounds also serve as an example of how, as Dustagheer argues, Shakespeare envisioned The Tempest for multiple spaces, especially possible indoor spaces that were utilized for early modern masques. Caliban mentions “twangling instruments” which is a reference to stringed instruments (“twange, n.1”) which could have been utilized during a performance at Blackfriars or other indoor theaters. That is, at the very moment of the speech and/or earlier, string musicians could indeed play such instruments to make the imagined island appear pleasant and magical. A performance of the play at Blackfriars would have afforded the theatrical company the ability to actually replicate these sweet airs. Musicians could play delicate music and the sound would be able to be heard. At the Globe, however, this kind of delicate noise would be hard to hear. This focus on the different stage spaces of The Tempest has interesting implications for how the audience might view Caliban. Is he merely a dreamer or disconnected from reality? Or, is this speech his authentic experience which the audience can share because they too hear these noises? Either way, the audience is invited to envision (or perhaps even listen to) the sounds of 187 the island and thus focus on their space within the theatrical environment and the imagined place of the island which the stage represents. And, whether the stage space replicates Caliban’s depictions of the island can change how the audience views his character. This discussion of space and place highlights the play’s estranging experience for the audience. In being staged for two different playhouses, The Tempest has dramaturgical elements and specific scenes that “work” or play better in different environments. Further, the play makes space “strange,” tying descriptions of the island to the sonic and to Caliban, leaving audiences with more questions than answers. Additionally, within the big spectacular moments of the play such as Ariel appearing as harpy and the wedding masque with Juno, Ceres, and Iris, the presentation of the island can be lost or forgotten. Focusing on Sycorax as the estranged mother of both Caliban and the island, brings attention back to the importance of depicting the island itself. Sycorax’s Hauntings Focusing on the space of the island brings further attention to the character of Sycorax.184 While the audience gets to see an embodied Caliban poetically presenting his view of the island, his mother, Sycorax, does not get such an opportunity. She functions as the estranged wife and mother within the play, so far estranged that she is not even present. She is like a ghost, then, that haunts the characters of the play, especially Prospero who speaks of her to Ariel and Caliban.185 The first direct mention of Sycorax comes from Prospero. He asks Ariel, “…hast thou forgot / 184 For scholarly interpretations of this character, see, for example, Rachel Bryant’s “Toward the desertion of Sycorax’s island: challenging the colonial contract,” Walter Evans and Blaire Zeiders’ “The fowle Witch Sycorax as ‘hoope’ in Shakespeare’s ‘The Tempest,’” Jyotsna Singh’s “Caliban versus Miranda: Race and Gender Conflicts in Postcolonial Rewritings of The Tempest,” and Ahmad H. Mzeil’s “The Ambivalence of the Colonial Project in The Tempest.” 185 Kinitra Brooks’ Searching for Sycorax: Black Women’s Hauntings of Contemporary Horror uses the concept of Sycorax haunting the play as a basis for her own search for Black women in horror. She explains that “Sycorax’s corporeal death has magnified her subversive presence, haunting multiple plot points and its participants. Sycorax is not a hant—or ghost—that remains spiritually and psychologically present and powerful” (26). 188 The foul witch Sycorax” (1.2.257–58). Her first mention, then, is that of a memory. Prospero is asking Ariel whether he remembers the “witch,” but in doing so, Shakespeare suggests that she is a person not to be forgotten. Irene Lara argues that in, “spite of being physically absent in the play, Sycorax persists as a powerful memory, a witchy specter very much alive in the consciousness of Prospero and Caliban. […] As critic Chantal Zabus–drawing on Jacques Derrida–suggests, Sycorax’s symbolic work can be described by the French word hantise [both haunting and a constant fear]” (83). Prospero goes on to again describe Sycorax as a witch, suggesting she is evil and by implication, that her magic is dark (as compared to his “good” found within his books). He asks Ariel where Sycorax was born, and Ariel answers “in Algiers” (1.2.261) which seems to be an odd question. Perhaps this fits in with obvious expositional aspects of Prospero’s tale to Miranda in this scene or the fact that Prospero’s knowledge of Sycorax comes from Ariel, but it seems also possible that Shakespeare is intentionally wanting to “other” Sycorax, placing her home in northern Africa, while at the same time giving the audience more information about her. Prospero goes on to say that this: …damned witch Sycorax, For mischiefs manifold and sorceries terrible To enter human hearing, from Algiers, Thou knowst, was banished. For one thing she did They would not take her life... (1.2.263–67) In describing her as “damned” and capable of “sorceries terrible,” Prospero thus identifies Sycorax as a villain. And yet, Shakespeare includes that detail that she too was banished. Prospero claims this banishment was due to her evil ways, but this can easily be paralleled with Prospero’s banishment and his own use of magic. She too was banished but kept her life. Her exile onto the island of The Tempest has many parallels with Prospero. Thus, early on, the 189 audience is primed to make such a comparison between the two powerful, magical characters of the play (Ariel has magic, but his spriteliness and obeyance of Prospero makes him seem more of a servant than a great witch or magician). Prospero’s final “backstory” for Sycorax tells us more on how she came to the island, and further connects her to the physical space of the island itself. Prospero explains that: This blue-eyed hag was hither brought with child, And here was left by th’ sailors. Thou, my slave, As thou report’st thyself, was then her servant, And—for thou wast a spirit too delicate To act her earthy and abhorred commands, Refusing her grand hests—she did confine thee, By help of her more potent ministers And in her most unmitigable rage, Into a cloven pine, within which rift Imprisoned thou didst painfully remain A dozen years, within which space she died And left thee there, where thou didst vent thy groans As fast as millwheels strike. Then was this island (Save for the son that she did litter here, A freckled whelp, hag-born) not honoured with A human shape. (1.2.269–84) Twice here, Prospero refers to Sycorax as a “hag.” The multiple definitions of this term in use in the early modern period all speak to her characterization. Most obviously, Sycorax being described as a hag shows how Prospero views her as evil. “Hag” can mean “a witch; a woman thought to have dealings with the devil”; however, “hag,” can also mean “an area of woodland set aside for cutting, felling, or coppicing…” (“hag, n.1”; “hag, n.2”). This gives her a connection to the actual land and trees of the island, but also ties her to her son—throughout the beginning of the play, Caliban is tasked by Prospero to chop and transport wood. Finally, “hag” can also mean “A female spirit or supernatural being believed to produce a feeling of suffocation in a sleeping person or animal” (“hag, n.1”) Thus, in calling her a hag, Prospero also brings attention to the fact that she might be haunting the play. Given that Prospero makes Miranda go 190 to sleep in 1.2 and that the Italians later go to sleep due to Ariel’s trickery, Shakespeare yet again creates the space for the audience to both compare Sycorax to Prospero and to see her as a haunting presence within the play. She plays a pivotal role in the relationships between the other characters on the island, and Prospero uses her story to frighten186 Ariel into obeyance, citing Sycorax’s previous confinement of the spirit. Additionally, Prospero ties Sycorax to the island by describing her magic as “earthy,” contrasting this with the “delicate” figure and magic of Ariel.187 Sycorax’s punishment of Ariel is even connected to her being a hag who has control over the natural world—she imprisons Ariel into a “cloven pine.” This is finally followed by the fact that the only two beings left on the island after Sycorax died were her son, Caliban, and the imprisoned Ariel. Thus, Caliban’s “This island’s mine” speech later in 1.2 has credibility, even though Prospero might interpret the facts differently. This line is also the seventh line of Caliban overall in the play—very early on in his characterization, the audience is again reminded of his mother and her connection to the island. This focus on Sycorax was explored in the 2004 production of The Tempest directed by Hsing-kuo Wu and Hark Tsui. This production was recorded and presented with a paratextual interview with the director as was part of the 2021 World Shakespeare Congress’s program.188 Performed in Chinese and Taiwanese, the production embraced the style and spectacle found in the romances, and combined it with an interest in depicting and commenting on colonization, following the performance and scholarly history of the play. It is described on the World 186 For more on Sycorax as a figure of fear, see Ahmet Süner’s “‘Be Not Afeared’: Sycorax and the Rhetoric of Fear in The Tempest.” 187 Irene Lara reads this use of “earthy” as “[i]n step with medieval and early modern associations between women’s transgressive spiritual witchy knowledge and transgressive sexual behavior” and that Prospero implies “that Sycorax’s horridness is connected to her obscene sexuality” (84). 188 This production was first performed in late 2004 in The National Theatre in Taipei, Taiwan, but has been subsequently performed in the following locations and dates: the Jungli Arts Centre in Jungli, Taiwan (2005); the Metropolitan Hall in Taipei, Taiwan (2006); The Kwai Tsing Theatre Auditorium in Hong Kong, China (2008); The National Theatre in Seoul, South Korean (2009) (“Production Dates and Places”). 191 Shakespeare Congress website as incorporating “traditional Chinese theatre jingju (Beijing Opera) and kunqu (Kun Opera) and Taiwan’s aboriginal music and dance. Beneath the marvelous spectacle and enchanting music, the play also explores the issues of identity, patriarchy, colonisation, and strong man politics, topics acutely relevant to modern Taiwan and Asia” (“Digital Asian Shakespeare Festival”). This interplay between the traditional Chinese theatre forms alongside Taiwanese aboriginal music and dance aptly used the play to explore colonisation in an Asian context. And, like many adaptations of Shakespeare, this exploration spoke to modern politics, in this case, between China and Taiwan related to power and control. In the program to a 2008 performance, Hsing-kuo Wu notes that, “[w]hen our adaptation of The Tempest was in progress in 2004, Taiwan was in pandemonium because of the presidential elections. The entire island was thrown into a dog-eat-dog frenzy that was to split the community apart. Despite continuous progress in history, Man’s primordial lust for power, greed and struggle never cease.” The role of Caliban was emphasized in this production, as he represented Taiwanese aboriginals. Emily Drew of the Taipei Times agrees that “Caliban is the focal point and drive of the show. By using Aboriginal songs, the show highlights a post-colonial message: the suppressed will reinvent themselves in reaction to the colonizer.”189 Scene 7 of the adaptation, dubbed “Dream” emphasized this representation of Caliban and intriguingly presented an embodied Sycorax figure. This production thus emphasizes the importance of Sycorax in the play, bringing this estranged figure into focus. The production depicts Caliban (Ching-Ming Yang) as more of a creature than a human, but it also incorporates elements that reflect his intelligence and his purpose in the critique of 189 For more details about the show and a discussion of its politics, see Peichen Wu’s “The Peripheral Body of Empire: Shakespearean Adaptations and Taiwan’s Geopolitics” in Re-playing Shakespeare in Asia. 192 Prospero and royalty. Caliban’s costume incorporates lots of greens and browns, with the bunching of the fabric making it appear like he has a bumpy back and a tale. The production emphasizes his strength as he is constantly tumbling (like a gymnast) in and out of scenes. Bones on his head mimic the crowns that the royals wear. The scene opens at Caliban’s dwelling with the character singing “Song of Cursing,” proclaiming “Burn, burn Prospero to death, that tyrant should die.”190 After this song, Caliban presents the equivalent of “The isle is full of noises” speech. Despite his appearance, this Caliban seems to clearly be smart since he can articulately mock Prospero. The second part of the scene explains why this scene is dubbed “Dream.” In it, Sycorax is embodied. No longer a kind of ghost that haunts the characters within the play, she appears on stage. As the scene continues, Caliban says, “Ancestral mother, oh mother” and a shadow appears in the background amidst haze. The shadow says: “Caliban…Caliban…I'm your ancestral mother from the Flying Fish tribe, here to help you take your revenge.” The emerging witch has a huge hat with red tassels, and the translation describes the scene as such: A Witch emerges from a fire pit on stage. Drums roll. Ancestral spirits appear one by one. They raise their pikes and shields, signalling the start of war. Enter Ariel and the Wind Spirit tribe from above, conjuring the winds and air. After taunting their enemies, they engage in an epic battle […] the Fish tribe move like jumping fish, the Wind tribe move like bolts of lightning. It is a magical battle of epic proportions This Sycorax has power and purpose and returns to life to battle the other spirits and tribes on the island. She appears strong and capable, representing, alongside Caliban and the “Flying Fish tribe,” Taiwanese aboriginals. She serves as a contrast to Prospero, Miranda and the other 190 All translations and notes are from The Asian Shakespeare Intercultural Archive (a-s-i-a-web.org). Beneath the viewing window was subtitles and a complete transcript of the production, including details about the scenes that included interpretation. This is valuable because, as an American viewer who does not speak Chinese or Taiwanese, I was able to get a stronger sense of what was being said in the play, not just literally, but also in subtext. 193 “Italians” of the play, who in this production are depicted following the strict conventions of Beijing Opera. Caliban enters the battle at the end of the scene, waking up and saying, “So it was only a dream.” Thus, this Sycorax still exists in a ghostly dream world—not alive and yet not quite dead in performance since she is embodied on stage. This depiction aligns her more closely with the other estranged wives of the romances. She is much like the alive/dead statue of Hermione or the dead, then revived Thaisa. Sycorax still gives Caliban strength, and her memory lives on within the play, but even in this performance, she is not completely “alive.”191 In this way, this production still embraces the familial, thematic, and performative estrangements found within the romances. Digital Islands: The Tempest on Stages Today The 2004 production of The Tempest embraced the estranging presence of Sycorax on the play, by embodying her on stage, and then making this embodiment a dream. More recent productions of The Tempest explore estrangement and space as it intersects with the digital. The many moments that include the performance of magic—the opening storm, the wedding masque in celebration for the upcoming nuptials of Miranda and Ferdinand, as well as Ariel’s appearance as a harpy to condemn the Italians as “men of sin”—all allow for moments of spectacle that directly or indirectly connect to the performance possibilities of the Jacobean masque as discussed in the previous chapter. All of this contributes to the strangeness of The Tempest in performance; its spectacle can inspire awe, its investment in space and place can allow audiences to envision different worlds, and its mixed genre can at the same time can leave audiences confused about what will happen 191 For another take on Sycorax in performance see: Woon Ping Chin’s “Sycorax Revisited: Exile and Absence in Performance.” 194 next. The performance history of the play reflects how productions can be magical and exciting, but they can also be messy and confusing. Whether or not to include the masque and how to depict it has been one difficulty; how to depict Caliban is another since he has long been used as a representative of colonized peoples. The dramaturgy of the play contributes to a wealth of performance possibilities but also complications--how do you present magic on the stage? Is magic better imagined and implied via speech, or should stage technologies be employed to represent it? How do you represent an island that has a variety of climates that shift and do not logically coexist in the real world? Should Caliban look human, partly human, or like a creature? I suggest that Shakespeare may have also wrestled with these questions, especially as he envisioned the play for two different playhouses. Just as he was experimenting with current technologies, so too are twenty-first- century production companies. In this final section of the chapter, I look to two productions of the play that experiment with space and place digitally. They shift the literal space of the viewer, and they speak to the growing interest in digital adaptations of Shakespeare plays. In many cases, the island becomes a digital space, viewed in different ways by audiences. This continues the general trend of The Tempest leading the way for innovation, the incorporation in new/recent technologies, and adaptation overall in performance. In this first case study of the Royal Shakespeare Company production of The Tempest from 2016, estrangement appears in the depiction of Ariel and in the use of digital technologies. In this production, Ariel appears as an estranged body on stage; the actor is not always physically present on the stage because at times, he is digitally projected. In this production, director Gregory Doran partnered with Intel and The Imaginarium Studios to incorporate digital light 195 projections into the production. One of the main ways that the technology was used was to project Ariel onto the stage during key moments of the performance. Ariel, a sprightly, aethereal character, lends himself well to such a presentation since he at times during the play becomes the wind, travels across the isle, and appears invisible to other characters. Sarah Ellis, Director of Digital Development at the RSC said: “Together we were able to push the boundaries of theatre, with live performance capture and facial real-time motion capture on stage for the very first time” (“What Makes Arts”). The fantastical, strange setting of The Tempest was clearly a natural choice to test out this technology—but to what effect? Ariel’s presentation in Act 1, Scene 2 of the production is perhaps the simplest and yet the most effective use of the technology. After the opening storm—created via loud rumblings of thunder, the projection of a rough sea on an upstage skene, and periodic flashes of light mimicking lightning amongst the otherwise dark set--Miranda (Jenny Rainsford) appears, pleading to her father (Simon Russell Beale). Once Miranda is put to sleep, Prospero grabs his staff, and calls for Ariel. With accompanying magical music (with twinkling sounds and a high soprano voice), the projected Ariel (Mark Quartley) appears upstage, at first a small, spinning figure. Prospero watches him as he moves from high above to closer to the ground. As Ariel mentions how in every cabin he “flamed amazement,” his projected body transforms into orange flames encompassing a virtual ship. As Ariel continues to mention all of what he has done to the mariners and the ship, the lights shift slightly, revealing the corporeal Ariel below his projection. For a few moments, corporeal Ariel and virtual Ariel mimic each other’s movements, appearing to be doubled until the virtual Ariel disappears in a cloud of smoke. This can lead to an estranging experience for audiences, seeing two Ariel’s at once. 196 The theatrical space is thus an intermix of the real and the projected, and the character of Ariel likewise demonstrates this. The digital projections mimic the magic found in the play, and they enable special effects not possible via traditional technologies. The unique space of the island and the characters in The Tempest invite such theatrical innovations. Quartley’s body in his performance is estranged: at times he is actually on stage, and at others, his image is digitally projected. And, as seen at the end of 1.2, both the physical and the virtual appear simultaneously in certain moments of the production. This production choice led to mixed reviews by audiences. Audiences of the production are largely split on the effectiveness of this technique of incorporating a virtual Ariel and other digital projections. In the classroom, some of my students find these projections an excellent adaptation as they mimic Shakespeare likewise utilizing current technologies to present his play, while others find that the best presentation of magic is in their own imagination, and such technologies are instead distracting. Theatre reviewers generally viewed the performance favorably, though were similarly split on how best to present magic. Guardian critic, Michael Billington, for example, said the show offered a “bonanza night for ardent techies” but that its use of advanced technology should be viewed as “a one-off experiment rather than a signpost to the future.” (“The Tempest”). Michael Davis gave the production four out of five stars, but ultimately said that all of the visual effects were “not even necessary” because the “most effective and powerful moments in the whole production are those where the staging is at its simplest.” Billington and Davis seem uncertain of the incorporation of digital technology, but these views are short-sighted. 197 As the pandemic would begin to prove, digital engagements with Shakespeare that included experimentations with virtual reality and digital projections would continue.192 Given that these are new technologies, they do not always “work” for audiences. It is true that other scenes of the RSC Tempest did not as effectively incorporate the digital Ariel. The harpy scene, for example, utilized a projected bird-figure, but this projection lacked an element of fear that a costumed body on the stage might be able to present. Thus, the RSC Tempest did not always succeed in its attempts at incorporating the digital, but it represents the beginning of the trend towards the digital in performance.193 The digital is not limited to projections on the physical stage—the digital can also connect to performances viewed or even created for watching on computers. Many of the RSC productions are now recorded, but overall, these productions are limited to those who live in the UK and who can afford to go to the theater. An unappreciated aspect of adaptations of The Tempest in performance which are global and/or digital reflect the importance of accessibility. The 2004 Hsing-kuo Wu and Hark Tsui Tempest was presented online as part of the 2021 World Shakespeare Congress’s program, which included a “Digital Asian Shakespeare Festival.” This festival included, among other plays, two filmed performances of Shakespeare’s romances: The Tempest and Pericles.194 These plays had “watch parties” during the conference and included 192 One such production was the RSC’s Dream, dubbed a “new Shakespeare experience and interpretation of A Midsummer Night’s Dream that explores how audiences can experience and interact with live performance remotely” (“Dream”). The production was experienced via a computer and utilized gaming and theatre technology to create a virtual midsummer forest. For more information on the production, see: https://audienceofthefuture.live/dream/. 193 For another take on the innovation of the RSC with their digital efforts, see Amy Borsuk’s “Innovating Shakespeare: The Politics of Technological Partnership in the Royal Shakespeare Company's The Tempest (2016).” 194 Pericles was a 2016 production directed by Jung-Ung Yang. The other productions included: Kathakali—King Lear (2019) by the Annette Leday/Keli Company directed by Annette Leday and David McRuvie; Ophelia (2016) by Cake Theatrical Productions, directed by Natalie Hennedige; Mak Yong Titis Sakti (2009) [an adaptation of Midsummer Night’s Dream] by The Actors Studio and directed by Norzizi Zulkifli; Lear is Dead (2018) by the Nine Years Theatre, directed by Nelson Chia; Mugen Noh Othello by the Shizuoka Performing Arts Centre, directed by 198 paratextual materials such as live director Q and As. This production is also available worldwide to anyone via A|S|I|A—an online database (Asian Shakespeare Intercultural Archive) which presents captions/translations of all plays in English, Chinese, Japanese, and Korean, and which includes data which is collected and based on the live performance event (“Database”). The accessibility of this production (and to a certain extent, the RSC production as it was recorded and clips of it are viewable on Youtube) then connects to the accessibility, globality, and digital aspects of the final case study: Creation Theatre’s Zoom Tempest. The Wu/Tsui Tempest was global due to its adaptation of place, space, and forms, and it was also made available globally due to its filmed performance and hosting on websites. Creation Theatre’s production allowed similar global engagement, but simultaneous and live. Creation Theatre’s Tempest was performed via Zoom in 2020 during the height of lockdown orders due to the COVID-19 pandemic. It was no accident that The Tempest was chosen as the company’s first foray into Zoom as the play, being a romance, has multiple possibilities in adaptation. And, The Tempest’s plot points surrounding isolation and estrangement certainly resonated with people likewise in isolation due to the pandemic. A brief history of (Shakespearean) theatre in the pandemic emphasizes the innovation and imagination of Creation Theatre’s Tempest. Early critical responses to theatre and the pandemic presented reflections and more questions than answers. Artist Noah Millman queried at the beginning of the pandemic: “If theater happens in a shared and defined space, what happens when sharing space is forbidden and the virtual replacements have no boundaries?...what happens when time stops and the Miyagi Satoshi; and Henry V (2019) from the Royal Shakespeare Company and the Shanghai Dramatic Arts Center, directed by Owen Horsley (“Digital Asian Shakespeare Festival”). 199 moment smears out like the Scottish tyrant’s toll of creeping tomorrows?”195 Millman’s invocation of Macbeth addresses the topic of time during the pandemic, especially with the seemingly endless time spent at home in isolation. The interest in Shakespeare journalistically in relation to COVID-19 is also demonstrated by this quote, since Millman is not a Shakespearean scholar. Indeed, discussions and invocations of Shakespeare were popular early in the pandemic. Multiple newspaper and online articles discussed the fact that Shakespeare wrote some of his famous works during the plague in London.196 Technology naturally became a topic of interest for theatrical artists, as online performance became one of the ways to continue theatre when in-person productions were impossible. Scholar Ramona-Petronela Iacobute queried about “[h]ow to make the best use of technology without dominating it and without losing emotion on the road between transmitter (artist) and receiver (public)” (134). Alongside these discussions were negotiations on how to continue to present Shakespeare in performance at this time. Erin Sullivan and Peter Kirwan noted that from “March 2020, the explosion of online theater introduced audiences around the world to a startling variety of productions, with Shakespeare central in programming” and that many companies presented professionally recorded back catalogs of performances (489). The other approach was for theatre companies to present productions online–productions that were specifically designed to be presented online: Gemma Allred and Benjamin Broadribb helpfully identify two different primary modes: the ‘Live Online Performance’ in which a live performance is recorded through videoconferencing software, and then made available online either in real-time, after the fact, or both [...] and the ‘Virtual Theatre Performance’ in which a one-off event happens via an online platform that allows performers and 195 For more early discussions of theatre during COVID-19, see Caridad Svich’s Toward a Future Theatre: Conversations During a Pandemic, which includes conversations with US and UK theatre artists during the first 8 months of lockdown. 196 See, for example, Kate Maltby, “What Shakespeare Can–and Can't–Teach us about Covid-19.” 200 audiences to share presence, usually with paid entry. (Sullivan and Kirwan 490– 91) The web-conferencing platform, Zoom, became the solution for many theatre companies and performers as it allowed “live” performances where performers and audiences could indeed share presence.197 Though in existence pre-pandemic, Zoom became a popular platform for businesses and universities that desired a way to continue meetings and classes virtually. Some theatrical companies wanting to present Shakespeare likewise turned to Zoom. Creation Theatre utilized Zoom in its first digital Shakespearean production in 2020. In this production, the creative team brought Shakespeare to audiences across the globe during the COVID-19 pandemic. The Tempest, being one of Shakespeare’s romances that engages with a mixed genre and magical/sci-fi elements, easily transitioned to the “brave new world” of the digital stage. In fact, alongside Romeo and Juliet, it seems to have been one of the favorites in adaptation. Creation Theatre’s Tempest was novel, however, in its incorporation of immersive and interactive theatrical elements which uniquely engaged audiences who were otherwise isolated at home. This engagement did not replicate the experience of in-person theatre, but it did, importantly, present audiences with a sense of liveness and community.198 Ideas of space and place, then, inform my exploration of this production. The digital space of Zoom transformed the island of The Tempest to a world filled with both cameras and monitors. The homes and private spaces of the audience within this production were incorporated when, for example, Ariel would 197 See, for example, Michelle MacArthur’s “The Pedagogy of Grief: Lessons from Making Zoom Theatre During a Pandemic” which discusses original Zoom plays produced in Canada, and Valerie Clayman Pye’s “Zoom Shakespeare: The Show Must Go Online and 'Read for the Globe.” 198 For more on what audiences expect out of theatre as well as a discussion of “liveness,” see, for example: Dani Snyder-Young’s “Ownership, Expertise, and Audience Research: Developing Collaborative, Artist-Centric Methods for Studying Reception”; Caroline Heim’s Audience as Performer: the Changing Role of Theatre Audiences in the Twenty-First Century; and Philip Auslander’s Liveness: Performance in a Mediatized Culture. 201 directly address the audience, asking audience members to bring fruits and treats in front of their cameras to tempt the “men of sin” during the harpy scene. Scholarly attention to immersive theatre has focused on the audience experience, especially as it relates to intimacy and Jill Dolan’s notion of communitas199 as it relates to the meaning of “participation.” For example, Adam Alston, using the concept of the “experience machine,” argues that “productive participation [is] a feature of immersive theatre aesthetics that stems from demands that are more often made of audiences [...] and enquires into the meanings and values of productive participation” (3–4).200 Conversations also center around what immersive theatre “does.” Nandita Dinesh, for example, explains: “I often ask myself why and how the execution of an Immersive Theatre piece might differently impact spectators and actors in comparison to more ‘conventional’ theatrical performances” (2). She concludes that immersive theatre can invoke different “shades of empathy”, that it creates a “situational interest”, and that spectators deal with more “conceptual processing” (118). James Frieze defines “participatory performance” as a field “in which form is intensely dynamic [...] it is the interplay of, and tension between, ethical/political problems and pragmatic/methodological responses that makes participatory performance such fascinating critical terrain” (3). Frieze names nine dimensions to this approach: bodily, technological, spatial, temporal, spiritual, performative, pedagogical, textual, social” (6). I focus on the spatial as it relates to the technological and social–how the digital and social space created by zoom creates a unique, possibly restorative, audience experience. 199 See Josephine Machon, ed., Immersive Theatres: Intimacy and Immediacy in Contemporary Performance, especially chapter 1. 200 For a study on audience participation overall, see Gareth White’s Audience Participation in Theatre: Aesthetics of the Invitation. 202 Creation Theatre’s production of The Tempest in April 2020 incited numerous journalists to mention the company’s innovative use of Zoom to present theatre in the pandemic.201 Creation Theatre, formerly known as a group of site-specific performers in the UK, now describe themselves as “leaders in site specific and digital theatre” (“About”). This new identifier of “digital theatre” came from the company’s quick adoption of the digital space during the pandemic. The artists explain that they used their “20+ years’ experience performing in unusual locations across Oxford and turned the innovation, creativity and adaptability that we are known for to making live digital theatre.” In a tweet from April 2020, Creation theatre stated: “Rehearsals for The Tempest: Live, interactive and in your living room are well underway. Think you know theatre? Think again” (Creation Theatre). This summarizes the performance well–it is live because the audience uses zoom to watch the performers in real-time, it is interactive because characters directly address the audience, and for many, it is “in” their living room. This latter point shows how the production company was well aware of the unique spatial dynamics of the production; actors were across the UK, and audiences were worldwide. All were at home. Creation Theatre knew that the production tested the definition of theatre when they included the final query, “Think you know theatre?” As described by Creation Theatre, this zoom performance was: [a]dapted from the previous year’s performance around Oxford’s Osney Mead Industrial Estate [...this production] conjured up a storm across the globe during the initial stages of Covid-19’s lockdown in this co-production with Northern Ireland’s Big Telly Theatre Company. Bridging 1,500 households from 30 different countries, we were able to virtually reunite family members, friends in other cities or countries, and those who 201 Take, for example: Benjamin Broadribb’s “‘A vision of the Island’: Immersion meets Isolation in Creation Theatre’s The Tempest,” Mariam Gillinson’s “The Tempest review – interactive online production goes down a storm,” and Chloe Rabinowitz’s “Creation Theatre and Big Telly Theatre to Present Streaming Production of THE TEMPEST.” 203 yearned to be in a theatrical atmosphere. With mentions from Time Out New York, The Guardian and recommended by The New York Times, audiences were able to temporarily swap our current world for one filled with magic, sprites and storms. (“The Tempest | Live”) Reunion, which is also key to the play, was a motivator for the production, and much of the critical “hype” can be attributed to audiences and academics desiring a theatrical experience that felt live and communal. This production was not just innovative for using zoom to reach its home-bound audiences yearning for reunion. The way it used zoom was clever and fascinating. The character of Prospero functioned like a director; clad in a black turtleneck, he used a microphone to send his orders to Ariel, seen duplicated in TV screens behind him. As aforementioned, the character of Ariel often functioned like a narrator or character in a children’s show. Ariel would ask the audience to “help her” with various tasks, like blowing to create wind, or bringing fruit and treats in front of the camera during the harpy scene to tempt the Italian men. This led to a very interactive experience. At times, the stage manager of the production would highlight the video feed of audience members participating. During my viewing, I saw children hold up apples and adults hold dogs in front of their cameras to display their own treats and beasts.202 The highlighting of these audience video feeds blended the private spaces of audience members with the public performance, but also importantly created a co-presence with actors and the audience as well as audience members with each other. Gemma Kate Allred felt similarly about the co- presence felt by audiences in her review of the performance, saying that “at a deeper level, the audience participation created a sense of community, a rare opportunity in a socially distanced world to come together with strangers and act as one” (537). 202 I saw the production on May 10, 2020. 204 And yet, this also led to a possible sense of estrangement for actors and audience members. Though they were both participating in the production “live” they were not in the same physical space. The actors themselves were separated from their scene partners and ultimately, everyone was in isolation. The attempts to involve the audience clearly sought to bridge this gap. The production’s experimentations with (the digital) space and encouragement of audiences to help shape the narrative reveal the possible futures of digital and online Shakespeare. While this production allowed audience participation, created a digital island, and indeed showed audience members each other’s living rooms, it also reflected the limits of Zoom at the time. Ariel’s pleas were welcome in creating a camaraderie with the audience, but they also seemed simplistic and perhaps more befitting of a children’s program. And yet, Ariel was needed to function as this narrative guide; without Ariel’s instructions and invitations for audiences to join in the performance, audiences would not know how to engage with this new method/form of theatre. Being their first Zoom production, Creation Theatre mostly switched focus between actors on single screens, using the green screen effect to create scenery. Though novel at first, this utilization of zoom was simplistic because there was little else to do with Zoom at the time.203 203 Nearly a year later, Creation Theatre’s production of Romeo and Juliet revealed just how much both they and Zoom had advanced. This production of Romeo and Juliet utilized break-out rooms, real-time intermixing of camera feeds from the actors, and other small details in zoom to expand the immersive and interactive experience. For example, after completing a quick chat with “Fate” before the show, I was directed to choose my house. I clicked on “Montague” and then entered a zoom room where a fortune teller read cards with the opening monologue of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet being performed. The bottom of the screen showed that the Wi-Fi signal was from “Verona”, and a man soon entered, asking “You be of the House of Montague?” Unlike Ariel’s childish pleas, this question needed no physical response but nonetheless directly addressed me and other members of the audience. After Romeo and Benvolio chatted (and I, alongside others, informed them via raised hands that we should “go”), Fate reappeared and said: “For now, observe them closely. This part of your journey is now at an end. And you must go on to the Capulet's Ball. Go to the website where you clicked to enter Verona. This call will close in 20 seconds.” This first half of the production thus utilized different zoom calls to split the audience in half and heightened the interactive element by making audiences return to the original website and then enter a different Zoom room. 205 The Tempest was not the only Zoom production by Creation Theatre. They also produced both old and new plays, including The Duchess of Malfi, Romeo and Juliet, The Time Machine, Grimm Tales for Fragile Times & Broken People, and Keeping up with Kassandra, among others. Having watched The Duchess of Malfi, I suggest that not all early modern plays translate well to the digital–though this could also be attributed to the fact that the production did not engage audiences or utilize as many immersive and interactive elements. There was no Ariel in this production to guide the audience. Being dubbed as one of the first “sci-fi” plays204, it makes sense for The Tempest to be the voice for an early voyage into Zoom. Spectacular and comic elements of the play translate well to the digital screen. Looking at this production shows how Creation Theatre adapted and evolved in order to connect with and engage audiences during the pandemic. Audiences were able to be transported from isolation in their homes to a technological island, as well as the living rooms and private spaces of other audience members. Creation Theatre’s “about” page now contends that they present “a brand new kind of theatre” (“About”). Is this true? Is this a new genre? Perhaps. It cannot recreate in-person theatre, but, it works best when it deviates from many of the “norms” of live theatre, exploring the new digital space. The digital space of Zoom also brings up important topics of accessibility and equity. For around thirty dollars, I was able to see the show from my home. Thus, anyone with a computer capable of running Zoom could see the show. This could allow younger audiences as well as audiences home-bound for reasons beyond the pandemic to still experience live theatre. As of March 2021, Creation Theatre is still engaging with digital theatre, with the Zoom production of The Witch of Edmonton. What will 204 See, for example, Scott Maisano’s Shakespeare’s Science Fictions: The Future History of the Late Romances. 206 the future of theatre look like as mask mandates lift and as more people return to in-person venues? Digital/online theatre is a “brave new world,” that is still worthy of exploration. Creation Theatre’s zoom Tempest shows that such a world can wrestle with the transformation of the meanings and possibilities of theatre itself in the twenty-first century. The Tempest, and the romances overall are rich sites for such explorations. They may not be Shakespeare’s only plays that include adaptation of genres and forms, but they are hyperbolically interested in adaptation. In incorporating “old tales,” medieval romances and miracle plays, multiple genres, and even earlier plays by Shakespeare, they reveal an interest in revivification and the new. This revivification connects to “old tales” but also to women like Hermione, Thaisa, and finally, Sycorax. Their intersections with travel literature and interest in cross-cultural encounters invite performances to reconsider various aspects of global early modernity. Despite being challenging plays to stage for all these reasons, they are a worthy challenge for theatre practitioners. If theatre artists focus on and consider the estrangements of the romances, they will notice the many performance possibilities. And, as this dissertation suggests, the female characters and the plays themselves will continue to haunt audiences in the future. 207 CODA The introduction and each chapter of this dissertation begins with a moment where a character broaches the border between life and death—when the character, previously (believe to be) dead returns to life. The introduction suggests that “ancient” Gower, the medieval poet, serves as a personification for many aspects of Shakespeare’s romances. The romances allow “old tales” to be embodied on the early modern stage, and Gower himself has returned from ashes to present audiences with his old tale. His estranged body—a dead body, reanimated and brought to life on the stage—presents commentary on the play, as he serves as chorus. His return and interventions throughout the play estrange audiences, reminding them that they are watching a play thereby bringing attention to the unfolding events of the play itself and its themes that likewise focus on familial estrangements. As the remaining chapters show, however, it is the estranged body of women—of mothers and daughters of powerful rulers—that are an important focus of Shakespeare’s romances. Chapter 1 focuses on Hermione’s transformation from a statue—this queen, believed to be dead, transforms from stone to a living human being in The Winter’s Tale. King Leontes’ unfounded jealousy is emphasized since this is the cause of her imprisonment and estrangement from her children. Leontes must mourn and repent before Hermione returns to life many years later. Hermione may not be on the stage for the middle acts of the play, but her haunting presence always remains, coloring the actions and feelings of the characters. Chapter 2 looks at Thaisa’s revivification by Cerimon in Pericles. Her previously discarded body (placed in a coffin and thrown off a ship) washes ashore in Ephesus where the magician brings back her life with song. Much like Hermine, however, this wife, even when she returns to life, must continue to suffer the estrangements, from her husband, from her newborn 208 daughter, and even from her home. In this play so focused on travel, it is her lack of travel after this moment which is really emphasized. She remains under the care of the goddess Diana at her temple, not even knowing that reunion is possible. The haunting presence of mothers shifts when we look at Cymbeline. Chapter 3 examines the moment when the king’s daughter, Innogen (cross-dressed as Fidele), reappears in 5.5. Innogen’s mother is not present in the play—the mother role is instead replaced by a wicked queen. In this play, the daughter faces a moment when her body is estranged. She takes a potion that makes her body appear to be asleep, and she is tossed in a grave. In this moment in 5.5, the characters of Belarius, Arviragus, and Guiderius are all amazed at the fact that (s)he is alive. Her body existed in this transient state between life and death, and her return to her father and newly (re)discovered family ends the play. Like Cymbeline, The Tempest does not present a mother figure for the daughter, Miranda. Chapter 4 thus begins with a discussion of Miranda’s “brave new world” speech—she may be alive during the entire play, but her life is really “beginning” at the end of the play since heretofore she has only known her father and Caliban on the remote island. As the chapter suggests, however, the wronged, estranged woman really becomes Sycorax in this final romance. Sycorax, unlike the other estranged, wronged women is never embodied, but stories of her nonetheless haunt the characters on the island as well as audiences of the play. She is a mother permanently divorced from her family as her death is the one that is final. Hermione, Thaisa, Innogen, and Sycorax, then, are all women whose estranged bodies serve as haunting presences. If we focus on the physical and familial estrangements that these women endure, we see the key roles they play within the romances. Their ability to haunt the male characters within the play, and audiences/readers of the play themselves points to their own 209 form of emotional and psychic power, even though the face the arbitrary male world. Their agency might not match that of the main male patriarch/ruler, but their roles are more complex than many of the female characters in Shakespeare’s comedies, histories, and tragedies. In the comedies, the women do not haunt the men because they do not die or experience a liminal state between life and death in any meaningful way. They might find agency in cross-dressing, but there is not a similar critique brought to the male rulers within the plays. In the tragedies and histories, many of the women do die, but they do not return. There is no ghost of Ophelia haunting Hamlet. Additionally, unlike the women in the romances, many of these women also have their own tragic flaws or evil characteristics—Lady Macbeth famously aids, and some would argue is most fallible for, the death of King Duncan. These moments of “near death” in the four romances, then, anchor each chapter and help define what the romances are, and describe what they do. That is, they bring attention to these wronged women, and highlight power differentials in nuanced ways. If we pay attention to the estrangements within Shakespeare’s romances, we see how they reflect the culture in global transition between the old and emerging new worlds of the period, create a unique affective experience for audiences, and present spaces where processes of difference and adaptation are dramatized. They leave space for readers and audiences to wrestle with the complexities of life and death, and to be haunted by strong female characters. As they interrupt genre expectations, the romances invite the audience to question the arbitrary actions of male rulers which make the plays almost end in death and tragedy. The thematic estrangements connected to the separation of families center the plays, and travel is often the catalyst of these estrangements. Travel as depicted on the stage also allows for audiences to view cross-cultural 210 moments of “wonder,” which present psychic estrangements when a character sees the familiar and unfamiliar in a foreigner. Dramaturgically, the romances’ incorporation of spectacle and masque-like elements invite the audience of the plays to experience a pseudo-Brechtian estrangement where they are distanced from the play—through dramatic moments of deus ex machina like Jupiter’s descent, the wedding masque, Diana’s dream, and Hermione’s transformation, as well as the interruptive chorus of Gower and dumb-shows, audiences are reminded that they are watching a play, and thus have mental space to separate and think more about the themes of the play as well as the causes of these spectacles. The various “distancing’ techniques and manipulations of time denaturalize and highlight the arbitrariness of the male patriarchy. Finally, in being envisioned for two different playhouses and in often being set in unique locations, Shakespeare’s romances make space “strange.” Their focus on space and place not only reflects the romances’ ability to adapt to different stage locations, but this focus also invites audiences to envision “brave new worlds.” *** This dissertation presents an intervention in the field of Shakespeare studies as it relates to a new look at the genre of Shakespeare’s romances, but it also presents a methodological intervention. This project suggests that if we are to study Shakespeare today, especially the romances, a study of performance and adaptation should also be incorporated. This is true because the romances are so deeply invested in adaptation with a particular emphasis on self- reflexive dramaturgy via spectacle and temporal manipulations. Of theatre itself is fluid space and all plays are open to adaptation and reinterpretation. Jane Barnette argues that the “history of theatre is a history of adaptation—in the West, the Ancient Greeks based their drama on history 211 and mythology, the Romans adapted from them and every other culture they encountered, the medieval Christian theatre consisted of adaptations of the Bible, and of course William Shakespeare was influenced by all of the above” (11). Theatre is about adaptation and constant reinterpretation, and Shakespeare, perhaps more than any other playwright, shows how this is true because his plays are continually presented and adapted on stages (and on film and other mediums) across the globe. This dissertation thus argues for an interdisciplinary method of analysis, incorporating studies in early modern drama, performance, and adaptation to define Shakespeare’s romances and reveal that they are capacious plays for the exploration of differences in power—often in connection to gender—if one considers their many estrangements. The romances, due largely to their mixed genre and emphases on estrangements, offer unique canvases for adaptations. It is Carlson’s view of the “haunted stage” from performance studies, Hutchinson’s view of the “palimpsest” as it relates to adaptation from adaptation studies, and early modern scholars’ critical observations about the romances that help shape my own interpretation of these plays. Bringing these studies together helps highlight the estrangements of the romances and it shows how reparative, critical work as it relates to Shakespeare can be achieved via the stage and adaptations. Theatre artists and academics alike should seek to understand the nuances and “strange” elements of these plays because such an understanding can bring forth important meanings and messages for audiences. The Winter’s Tale shows what happens when unfound jealousy is not kept in check, and it also emphasizes the strength and possibilities of the “new” generation when Acts 4 and 5 turn to Perdita. Pericles offers visions of cross-cultural encounters and invites reflections on how a society should treat refugees. Cymbeline offers a political critique, asking 212 audiences to consider the origins and past of a nation. And, The Tempest has and continues to invite conversations about colonization, perceptions of the “New World” or even simply “different” worlds, as well as relationships that include servitude and enslavement. If we choose to read the plays morally, there are no “clear” messages—only visions and stagings of possibilities and nuances. Bringing attention to the possibilities of the romances via adaptations and performances, then, shows Shakespeare’s continued relevance today. The stage is where the audience can wrestle with these complex topics, and it is where critique and new possibilities emerge. Shakespeare’s romances are pliable and can be adapted to incorporate intricate explorations of topics in focus today, such as gender and race. The Tempest, out of the four romances, seems to be the most popular in terms of adaptation and performance. Being deemed by some as proto-sci- fi, the play is future-thinking, and the lack of specificity in terms of location allows for the island to be transformed into various places and cultures. If The Tempest looks to the future, what is the future of Shakespeare’s romances in performance? As Chapter 4 argues, the romances— especially The Tempest—allow for rich adaptations and interpretations mediated both globally and digitally. This dissertation incorporates a discussion of twenty-first-century performances of the romances by the Royal Shakespeare Company (with the final chapter considering two other performances) which reveal not only the continued relevance of the plays, but also the possibilities of the plays in performance. The RSC Winter’s Tale considers the long time that separates acts 3 and 4 in a playful way by setting the play in 1950s and then 1960s London when culture shifted from concerns about the space race, to a celebration of hippies and peace. It incorporates the haunting of Hermione by having the actress playing her appear, often in shadow, 213 in scenes where she is not present in the original text. The RSC Pericles embraces the cross- cultural encounters that the play stages by casting Lucian Msamati in the title role and by casting other Black actors in key roles. The different locations within the original play are also adapted to explore fault lines of race, gender, geography, nation, and identity in general in more modern terms: Tyre is explicitly an African kingdom, Pentapolis a European colony with the ex-pat Simonides, Ephesus a land of hippies, and Mytilene a red-light district. The RSC Cymbeline adapts the masque-like elements of Cymbeline in unique ways, bringing attention back to Posthumus as he “stands in” for the god Jupiter. The “Wales” of this production serves to comment on the possibilities of a post-Brexit Britain. Finally, the RSC Tempest explores the possibilities of the digital as it utilizes a projected Ariel. The digital is the “brave new world” of Shakespearean performance and adaptation. These productions of the RSC, however, only cover one type of audience. As the end of Chapter 4 indicates, Shakespeare’s plays are adapted and performed worldwide in various formats and modes. Thus, one future area of research for this dissertation would be incorporating additional performances of the romances on stages in the twenty-first century. There are many other non-Anglophone, global productions of Shakespeare’s romances which could provide valuable insight into the production of cultural difference on Shakespearean stages. The Tempest and Pericles in particular provide pathways to explore geographical and cultural differences. Zoom and other “online” Shakespeare shows will likely continue even as mandates related to the COVID-19 pandemic lift and more in-person theatre becomes possible. The romances would be excellent plays to explore this new digital space, as Creation Theatre’s Tempest has already shown. 214 Further analysis could also track revivified, wronged women across different time periods. As Chapter 1 shows, medieval miracle plays and romances focused on revived women, and this trend continued through the medieval period and beyond. Haunting/haunted women, for example, appear in Romantic Gothic literature. Women like Bertha Mason in Jane Eyre or Kathy in Wuthering Heights serve as estranged, haunting characters—though of course, the endings of these novels are not the same as Shakespeare’s romances. These haunting figures receive no comic or pseudo-happy ending, but they still haunt the cultural imaginary. *** While this study looks at Shakespeare’s four romances, describing how this late style is not so much about fathers but instead wronged women, this is not to say that these were the very last plays that Shakespeare wrote, nor the only early modern plays with elements of romance. The lost play, Cardenio, as well as The Two Noble Kinsman and Henry VIII are all dated around 1613, two years after The Tempest. All three plays have Shakespearean romance elements: The Two Noble Kinsman, attributed to both Shakespeare and John Fletcher, is clearly connected to medieval chivalric romances with the plot coming from Chaucer’s “The Knight’s Tale.” Cardenio, known as the “lost play” and believed to also be co-written with John Fletcher, is based on an episode from Cervantes’s Don Quixote. Within Don Quixote, Cardenio is a madman living in the hills (due to a friend's betrayal) whom Quixote and Sancho encounter. Don Quixote is a parody of the chivalric romance genre. Neither of these two plays have estranged, haunting female characters, and both function more as parodies of the medieval chivalric romance. And thus, at the end of this dissertation, I turn to the end of Shakespeare’s last play, Henry VIII, which has the closest ties to Shakespeare’s romances with a strong, haunting, female character who is estranged from her family. Within the play, King Henry demands divorce and 215 separation from his wife, Katherine, and this leads to her sorrow and eventual death. In 4.2, the sick Katherine falls asleep and witnesses a vision: Enter, solemnly tripping one after another, six Personages clad in white robes, wearing on their heads garlands of bays, and golden vizards on their faces, branches of bays or palm in their hands. They first congee unto her, then dance; and, at certain changes, the first two hold a spare garland over her head, at which the other four make reverent curtsies. Then the two that held the garland deliver the same to the other next two, who observe the same order in their changes and holding the garland over her head; which done, they deliver the same garland to the last two, who likewise observe the same order. At which, as it were by inspiration, she makes in her sleep signs of rejoicing and holdeth up her hands to heaven; and so, in their dancing, vanish, carrying the garland with them. Like Shakespeare’s romances, this moment with the vision has elements of dumb-show as well as spectacle as seen in early modern masques.205 The dance of the personages certainly mimics the kind of dances found in masques. In this case, the sovereign worthy of praise is Katherine. Katherine may not have the respect of the king, but these “ghosts” make reverent curtsies to her. In a subtle way, then, the ghosts reaffirm Katherine’s martyrdom. She is like the martyrs found within medieval miracle, or “saints” plays. After this vision, Katherine asks Griffith if he saw it, and in doing so presents her own interpretation of the vision: No? Saw you not, even now, a blessed troop Invite me to a banquet, whose bright faces Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun? They promised me eternal happiness And brought me garlands, Griffith… (4.2.96–100) Katherine is promised “eternal happiness.” The vision does not function quite the same as the deus ex machina found in the romances—whereas in the romances, gods or godly figures intervene to turn the play from tragic to comic, in Henry VIII, these figures only appear to soothe 205 This parade of personages in some ways also mimics the vision of ancestors that Posthumus sees in Cymbeline as he is asleep in jail. 216 Katherine right before her death. She is abandoned by her king like wives in the other romances, but in this case, her husband never repents or changes his ways. Pericles repents, Leontes mourns, Cymbeline pays, and Prospero forgives. Henry does none of this—he gets to continue to pursue his interests. Thus, unlike Shakespeare’s romances, Katherine as the estranged wife does not really haunt the final act of the play and her story ends here. She is granted the entrance to heaven, but the play continues on without her. Throughout the course of the play, King Henry meets, marries, and has a daughter with his new love interest, Anne. It is Anne’s child, Elizabeth, that gets a spectacular ending scene, with the play highlighting the birth of the next sovereign, and everyone celebrating. There are elements of mixed genre here, but the “happy” ending does not include the estranged wife. In the end, then, audiences can still critique Henry, but this ending still does not function the same way as the four romances which this dissertation analyzes. The epilogue of the play emphasizes the role of Katherine, and of women, but it is not complex. The epilogue mentions how the play presents the “merciful construction of good women” (10), again praising Katherine, but again, her story is ended whereas the stories of Hermine and Thaisa live on. 217 WORKS CITED “About.” Creation Theatre, https://creationtheatre.co.uk/about/. Accessed 15 May 2022. “About the Play.” Royal Shakespeare Company, https://www.rsc.org.uk/the-winters-tale/. Accessed 15 May 2022. “air, n.1.” OED Online, Oxford UP, March 2022, www.oed.com/view/Entry/4366. 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