Specific Scenes from Specific Shakespeare Plays
All’s Well That Ends Well
Act II, sc1 – Bertrand: “ … and no sword worn but one to dance with!” In other words, not a sword of war or even a street brawler’s rapier, but a “dancing sword”: something worn for formal occasions only, never meant to be drawn, and probably with only a false wooden blade but an elaborately decorated hilt.
Act IV, sc1 – Parolles makes mention of his Spanish sword. We cannot tell from this anything about what kind of sword this is, except that it is not inexpensive. Whether rapier or broadsword, the Spaniards made blades of excellent strength and durability, the hilts were often ornamented, and the swords commanded a higher price than swords made in other countries.
Coriolanus
It’s easy to think that this play would have all of the trappings of Rome during the height of its power, but if Caius Marcius Coriolanus did exist (there is some dispute among historians), it was during the fifth century B.C., a time in which the Greeks were far more powerful and Rome was only beginning to establish itself as something more than an ambitious Italian tribe. The bureaucracy and wealth that we associate with Rome were centuries away.
The Volsci whom Coriolanus had fought and finally conquered were fellow Latins, just south of Rome but from the same part of the Italian peninsula known then as Latium. The battles between the tribes were hardly the organized set pieces of massed soldiers, but more like the war parties of the Vikings – all of the available men raiding the unsuspecting enemy. The weapons used would have been the same as used by all of the Mediterranean tribes: small spears, long daggers, and axes.
Would Shakespeare have known all of this? No. So he would have had the actor/soldiers use standard late Medieval broadswords. But then again, the “costumes” would have been standard Elizabethan daywear with a short “toga” thrown on.
Hamlet
Act II, sc2 – After Rosencrantz and Guildenstern leave, Hamlet berates himself in the “rogue and peasant slave” speech, going through a litany of insults. “Am I a coward? Who call me villain? breaks my pate across? Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face? Tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i’ the throat…? All of these were standard insults of the period designed to provoke someone into a duel, indeed, were sufficient cause to justify a fight. [“Giving the lie” means that you accuse the other person of lying, and the “lie in the throat” specifically is an ancient Italian expression meaning roughly that the lie was so heinous that it stuck in the throat of the liar and was never uttered. The delightful meaning there is that the offender didn’t actually say a lie, but that it was obvious that he meant to say it, so is just as guilty.]
Act V, sc2 – Again, a rapier fight is called for in a play which takes place long before the rapier was invented. In this play, the fencing bout between Hamlet and Laertes specifically calls for both rapier and dagger, but a slight cut of two lines of reference [Osric’s and then Hamlet‘s response] and you can use any weapons you wish.
The wager discussed before the fight has been a source of dispute among Shakespeare scholars for centuries, but I’ll give you my understanding of it and you can take it for what it’s worth. [It won’t change the outcome of the fight, so you are pretty safe no matter what.]
“The king, sir, hath laid, that in a dozen passes between you and him, he shall not exceed you three hits; he hath laid on twelve for nine;” I read that as meaning that this is a best of twelve match. We are familiar with the concept, since that is how the World Series is played, except that the baseball championship is a best of seven series, or stated more simply, whoever gets four wins first is the champion. That doesn’t necessarily mean that they play all seven games. Once one team wins four games, the show is over. It might happen on the seventh game, the fourth, the sixth, whatever. The important thing is that four is the magic number.
Same thing here, except that in a best of twelve, it takes seven points to win outright. So seven is the magic number. If the opponents are equally matched, you could expect an outcome of six points each, or 5 and 7, or 4 and 8, and so on. But of course all twelve points don’t have to be played out, because whoever gets 7 points first wins since the other guy has then no chance of even tying. Big celebration, everyone goes out for pizza and beer.
Laertes is known to be quite the fencer, so instead of even odds (and an embarrassingly short match) the King has given uneven odds. Oh, he still thinks that Laertes will win, but that Hamlet’s score will be no more than three points fewer than Laertes. Put another way, the difference between Laertes’ score and that of Hamlet must be more than three for Laertes to win the match. Laertes now can lose even if he has a score of 7 points to 5. As a matter of fact, he has to get at least 8 points to Hamlet’s no more than 4. Hamlet wins outright with only 5 points. Let’s look at the different outcomes to see how this works:
Laertes Hamlet
12 0 = Laertes wins
11 1 = Laertes wins
10 2 = Laertes wins
9 3 = Laertes wins
8 4 = Laertes wins
7 5 = Hamlet wins
6 6 = Hamlet wins
5 7 = Hamlet wins
4 8 = Hamlet wins
3 9 = Hamlet wins
2 10 = Hamlet wins
1 11 = Hamlet wins
0 12 = Hamlet wins
The magic number of points for Laertes is 8; for Hamlet only 5. Not all of the passes will be played, of course, since when the magic number is reached, the match is over. Whosoever reaches his own magic number first, wins. We’ll see how this plays out later.
This is separate from the last part of what the King said. Remember: Osric mentions two parts of the King’s pronouncement. 1) “that in a dozen passes between you and him, he shall not exceed you three hits”, which is the re-setting of the magic number to win, in other words setting a handicap, the terms of the contest. 2) “he hath laid on twelve for nine.” This last part is not related to the first. This part is about the wagering, the betting. These are serious gamblers, and the king knows that no one is likely to lay money on a Hamlet win, even with the point handicap. But if everyone bets on Laertes, he’s going to lose a lot of money. So he reworks the payout to make it more tempting for guests to bet on Hamlet. How? He entices the gamblers by offering twelve for nine odds, or in Las Vegas terms, a 4 to 3 payout. If someone risks twelve dollars and bets on Laertes, he’ll only get nine dollars in winnings with a Laertes win. But if he bets only nine dollars on Hamlet and Hamlet wins, the gambler gets twelve dollars in winnings. Now the gamblers are much more willing to take the riskier bet, because the winnings are more attractive going with the longshot.
Hamlet – “Give us the foils” Well, are they rapiers or are they foils? Foil in this case means that the tip is not sharp, that it has been blunted, as in the phrase – “curses, foiled again.”
Laertes – “This is too heavy, let me see another.” Obviously Laertes has to make sure that he pulls the poisoned and sharpened rapier from the selection brought out, and it seems he pulled out or was handed the wrong one first and has to make an excuse in order to exchange it.
Hamlet -“These foils have all a length?” Or, paraphrased, Are all of the blades the same length? In Shakespeare’s time, there was no standardization of blade length, and rapiers could range from 30 to 50 inches in length. But these practice swords should all be identical. Hamlet, hearing Laertes complain that one sword at least was substantially heavier than another, asks a perfectly appropriate question. The answer (possibly just a nod from Osric) should have given him pause, and if he had been more suspicious would have then examined all of the swords, but the moment quickly passes.
“A hit, a very palpable hit” The first point goes to Hamlet, as does the second, “A touch, a touch, I do confess”. Things aren’t going smoothly for Laertes, but no reason to panic since there are still ten more passes to play out. Laertes still needs eight points to win and Hamlet needs three more, but Laertes is in reality just looking for one good strike to kill Hamlet. He doesn’t care about winning the match.
Then an unfortunate situation on the next pass. Some move or another occurs that apparently looks like a strike by someone, but Osric the referee calls out “nothing, neither way”. That pass is done, but no points were awarded. This changes the calculations immediately. The total number of possible points is now down to 11, not 12, and Hamlet has 2 of them. Remember, Laertes still has to win by more than three points, so he still needs 8 points. But Hamlet’s magic number is now 4. He now only needs two more points, or even two more draws, and the match is over, for then Laertes cannot win “at the odds”.
A new look at the “what if” score board shows:
Laertes Hamlet
11 0 = Laertes wins can’t happen
10 1 = Laertes wins can’t happen
9 2 = Laertes wins
8 3 = Laertes wins
7 4 = Hamlet wins
6 5 = Hamlet wins
5 6 = Hamlet wins
4 7 = Hamlet wins
3 8 = Hamlet wins
2 9 = Hamlet wins
1 10 = Hamlet wins
0 11 = Hamlet wins
Laertes must hit Hamlet during one of the next two passes, for if Hamlet gets them or even ties them (that “nothing neither way” thing), Hamlet wins by the odds and Laertes loses the chance to strike with the poisoned sword.
The rest of the fight is described only in a very brief stage direction – [Laertes wounds Hamlet; then in scuffling, they change rapiers, and Hamlet wounds Laertes]. That means that how they get to the end of the fight is completely up to you. Some versions of the fight take no more than 20 seconds from start to finish: some last up to six minutes. Some have Laertes sneak in an attack; some have it as a regular pass which happens to finally land.
Most versions have Hamlet realize that he has been stabbed with a sharpened point, but that is not necessarily the case. These swords wouldn’t have had rubber tips on them, and after a few passes could easily have become nicked and have sharp burrs along the edge. A scratch or even a quick prick would be almost unnoticed in the adrenaline rush of being in the fight.
On a purely practical level, although a “broken blade” rehearsal is important for any show with a sword fight in it, it is absolutely crucial for this show. Think out the fight carefully with an eye as to who must die with the poison-tipped sword, and what the actors will have to do if either sword breaks at any particular point in the fight. Don’t follow the swords – follow the poisoned tip. If Laertes’ sword breaks early on, he is going to have to find a justification for picking up the tip and stabbing Hamlet with it.
About the poison: all of the poisons in Shakespeare plays are poisons of theatrical convention – fantasies that can do whatever the playwright needs them to do for the particular scene. They have no correlation to any real compounds, extinct or extant.
Random art notes: Keep in mind that there was an earlier version of this story, before Shakespeare’s time. It was far bloodier, with Hamlet being the perfect revenge tragedy hero (acting quite a bit more like Laertes). Shakespeare did much to humanize his characters, but we still have a play that appealed to the bulk of the audience because they knew there was going to be a lot of action and that a lot of “bad” people were going to die (not unlike the early Clint Eastwood movies).
To be or not to be. I know that the popular conception is that this demonstrates how suicidal and melancholic is Hamlet, but a careful reading of this speech shows quite the opposite. The speech is a classic example of Roman rhetoric, in which the position is briefly stated in pro and con, and then the ramifications and reasons are posited for closer analysis in the body of the speech. This is how someone trained at Wittenburg was taught to evaluate any difficult question. Therefore, “to be” [to live] is equated with suffering [allowing] things to be the way they are, and “not to be” [to die] is the result of taking arms [action]. Hamlet is not contemplating suicide itself, but rather a suicide mission – take action against the king and therefore surely die in the process. It is fear of death (which makes cowards of us all) that prevents Hamlet from acting, not indecision. While it is true that in Act I, Scene 2 we do hear Hamlet cry out “Oh, that this too, too solid flesh should melt”, etc., this is more the equivalent of an adolescent “Oh I wish I were dead”. He certainly is galvanized, even transformed, when he finally sees the ghost. From that point on he faces a brutal choice: ignore the ghost and live, or obey the ghost and die.
But merely wanting to live is not Hamlet’s only concern. He also doesn’t trust the ghost. The problem is that in the classic theology [“philosophy”] of the period, which Hamlet, Horatio, and Laertes have studied, ghosts cannot exist. The spirit of the dead resides with the body; and does not go to purgatory nor heaven immediately after death. Instead, all souls must stay in the body and await the final judgment, which occurs only after Armageddon. This according to his learning at Wittenburg, and so it follows that the apparition can only be a spirit damned, nonhuman, and manifests itself falsely as his father in order to trick Hamlet into committing a sin, and thereby losing his soul. That the general population believes in ghosts should not dissuade him from his learning, and yet he cannot ignore the possibility that the ghost is indeed his father’s spirit. If that is true, he must do his duty as son and heir. But if the ghost is indeed a ghost, then all the training at Wittenburg is suspect. If those finest minds of Europe can be so wrong on that issue, the nature of the soul “resting in peace” until the day of final judgment might also be wrong. Even if his action is correct, he still might be condemning himself to an unknowable period of suffering. His doubts as to the correctness of his actions are profound, as are the potential consequences of his decision.
Henry (et al)
An interesting note on the character of Pistol. Pistols (the firearms) in Shakespeare’s time were large and ungainly objects, never used off of the battlefield, horrendously inaccurate and had only a limited military use. Quickly the term pistol became synonymous with cowardly, both the firearm and by extension the person carrying one described as something that makes a loud noise but is of little danger to the bystander.
Julius Caesar
There are only two scenes of violence that we actually need to see, the first being the more famous. The assassination with knives is a bit drawn out, as each conspirator takes his turn to do the deed. Some doubling up of attacks can be choreographed in order to shorten the time it takes to get to Brutus, but the fight director still has to find a variety of ways to kill someone. The easiest is to work ever changing angles of attack so each has some variation (check the stage combat section), with each character showing a different reaction to the act. Blood seems to be what every director wants, and my strong suggestion is to have the blood packs taped to the handles of the knives instead of on Julius’ body (with the very real risk of a blood pack leaking before he gets stabbed). If you keep the blades short then it’s easy enough to transfer the blood from the stabber’s hand to the victim’s clothing. The benefits are two: you don’t have to worry about controlling unreliable “blood knives”, and you have the conspirators get bloody hands.
The killing of Senna the poet is a far more difficult scene. You’re obviously not going to show someone literally torn apart (at least I hope you’re not). But much can be suggested by having poor Senna being slowly swallowed by the crowd, his screams doing more to transmit the horror of a bloodthirsty mob than actually showing the blood.
Several productions try to show something of the battles inferred in Act V. While I completely understand the desire to include some action in these very talky scenes, it might be more effective to at most only symbolically show some fighting (slow-motion?, showing only one side of the battle?) unless you actually have two or three hundred extras on hand.
King Lear
The story of Lear comes from the ancient Arthurian or even pre-Roman legends, so if set in that early Celtic period all swords would be of the short and stout variety, but as in most of the Shakespeare plays there is no attempt at historical setting. It is very likely that rapiers are intended as the weapon worn by all of the male characters until they prepare for war in Act V, at which point they would be put away in favor of the Gothic broadswords. But of course you can only use rapiers if you are setting it in the late Renaissance, rather than the Middle Ages or before.
When Kent confronts Oswald in Act II, sc 2, he is using the standard language for provoking a rapier duel. His insults provide the legal base for both men to lawfully engage their weapons. Kent insists that Oswald draw his weapon so that they may fight. Since Oswald refuses, Kent can only strike him, that is to say, hit him with an open hand or closed fist, but cannot use a weapon. “Draw, you rogue, or I’ll so carbonado your shanks!” Carbonado is a Spanish term for roasting over coals, like a barbecue. Larger roasts were sometimes deeply cut so that the meat would cook more evenly. So in this case a past-tense verb is transformed into a very menacing present-tense threat. But it is a vain threat only, for Kent will not use his sword until his opponent draws.
Edmond rushes in and from the stage direction seems to part the other two, although Oswald hardly needs much inducement to run away from the beating. There is no specific reference to Edmond and Kent fighting, but Cornwall’s line is “He dies that strikes again”, so there has been at least one clash of steel. But if “strike” meant hitting with an open hand, why does it mean swordplay here? Because it is unlikely that Cornwall would threaten death if the two hadn’t drawn swords.
Random art note: It is likely that the same actor in Shakespeare’s company played both Oswald in this show and Osric in Hamlet. Both share similarities in being courtiers and not soldiers. The actor was undoubtedly a crowd favorite for his portrayal of this stock character, and would have been recognized as a source of ridicule from almost the moment he stepped foot on stage. The abuse that he suffers from both Kent and Hamlet would have been savored by the Elizabethan audience.
Act III, sc 4 – This is the only instance in all of the plays of Shakespeare in which a member of the lower class challenges, let alone fights, a noble. The very idea of a servant raising a sword against his master, no matter how justified, would have made many in the Elizabethan audience very nervous. Regan – “Give me thy sword …” – she’s talking to one of the others in the scene, not to either of the combatants. It is not mentioned in the script, but Cornwall seems to have been wounded by the servant during the fight, spurring Regan to take matters into her own hands.
When Edgar and Edmond fight in Act V, they would use broadswords, not rapiers, for this is judicial combat, not a private duel of honor or passion.
Love’s Labour’s Lost
Act I, sc 2 – Don Adriano de Armado, speaking of trying to fight against Cupid; “The first and second cause will not serve my turn; the passado he respects not, the duello he regards not:”. Not that the audience really needs to know what he is saying here, but the actor must. The first and second causes refer to some of the legal (well, at least socially acceptable) justifications for entering into a duel, establishing who is the aggrieved party. The passado is a calculated forward passing step of the trained fighter. The duello is shorthand for the Code Duello, the protocol of formalities governing all aspects of the duel. Don Adriano is saying that Cupid does not fight like a gentleman, indeed doesn’t fight fair at all, so his own prowess with a rapier will serve him not.
The people of England of Shakespeare’s time tended to regard Spaniards as being braggarts, and it pleased them to see Spaniards portrayed in theatre as cowards. Don Adraino would have been stereotypically armed (literally – armado) with a too ornate and too large rapier, and much like Aguecheek in the Twelfth Night, not likely to actually risk being in a position to have to use it. (It is likely that the same actor in Shakespeare’s company played the same stock character.)
Macbeth
A lot of productions enjoy sticking in a large fight just before the play opens. The play doesn’t need it, but if you do decide to add one, take advantage of the opportunity by using it as a way of showing Macbeth as a heroic figure, brave and daring, one worthy of the honors that will be bestowed upon him. You might also have the tone of the fight look very different from the fights at the end of the play. No matter what, less is more, and get to the witches as fast as you can.
There are only two fights that are actually in the script, although many directors like to extend this by including full-out running battles in and around the two Macbeth set pieces. “Before my body I throw my warlike shield”. Obviously a broadsword and shield fight is called for, but a slight trim of the above reference and you can use whatever weapons you wish.
If more soldiers are fighting, a variety of weapons might be used even in a traditional production, and use of spears makes for great 2-on-1 match-ups. The actual period of the historic Macbeth would mean that axes and spears would be the predominant weapons, supplemented with swords of less than two feet long. But most productions use longer swords. It should be noted that full two-handed broadswords sometimes requested are a much later development in Scottish warfare, but if the costuming matches the Elizabethan time frame, it is certainly acceptable.
The decapitation of Macbeth occurs offstage in the script, but many directors seem to like to have it happen in the audience’s view during the on-stage fight. My opinion is that it destroys the tension of the following scene if we already know the outcome of the fight.
Whenever Macbeth fights, we do need to see that he is a superb warrior who is justifiably confidant of his skills. Just be careful not to make him superhuman. A staged production shown on PBS a few decades ago had their Macbeth fighting with a light staff in a completely upright posture, using as much effort in combat as one might use in folding laundry. The result was laughable because the physics of the fight was simply unbelievable. If a body is to be thrown back six feet, we need to see that same amount of force generated by the thrower. The aggressor can still appear relaxed, but the body placement for each move must be based in real-time physics. Even the animated superhero cartoons understand this basic premise.
On a personal note, I always feel sorry for our poor Macbeth, who by all contemporary accounts succeeded to the throne by accepted and legal means. He ruled wisely and well, led his country through seventeen years of prosperity. He was then overthrown by an usurper, who allowed the English to dominate the Scots by influence within the court, which they never would have been able to do by force of arms alone.
Macbeth’s Timeline:
1040 Macbeth kills Duncan on the battlefield; named king of Scotland by legal vote of thanes
1042 Edward the Confessor becomes king of England
1054 Macbeth defeated by Malcolm and Siward at Dunsinane
1057 Macbeth is murdered by Malcolm, but Macbeth’s stepson Lulach is voted by thanes as king of Scotland
1058 Malcolm murders Lulach and (supported by England) becomes king of Scotland; all thanes re-titled as earls, no longer have any vote in rights of succession.
Random art notes: There is a huge treasure of superstitions revolving around even uttering the name of Macbeth in a theatre, but having worked in over two dozen productions (and saying the name out load at every opportunity), I can state with confidence that the bad luck associated with the show has more to do with having the most violent and physically taxing fight scenes occur at the very end of an emotionally exhausting play. And keep in mind that it is also very bad luck to be superstitious.
Merry Wives of Windsor
The Host hopes to see some exciting and proficient fencing techniques when in Act II, Scene 3 he says:
To see thee fight, to see thee foin, to see thee traverse; to see thee here, to see thee there; to see thee pass thy punto, thy stock, thy reverse, thy distance, thy montant.
I suppose it isn’t crucial that the actor playing the Host know what those terms mean. After all, it could be that the Host simply has heard the terms before but has no clue himself what they mean. On the other hand, he could be quite a fan, and it makes for a nice bit of business for him to perform the actions, however imperfectly. So let’s break it down:
To see thee fight, to see thee foin (the foin is a trust with a thin pointed weapon. To the English, foining became synonymous with trained rapier fighting), to see thee traverse (stepping diagonally, especially with a crossing step. Many rapier instructors used complicated foot patterns for their students to practice, different moves corresponding to different specific attacks or defenses); to see thee here, to see thee there (the leaping style of rapier play which was so different that the traditional burly style of fighting in which blows were traded without too much evasion or retreat); to see thee pass thy punto (the pass refers to a passing step forward, and the punto is a simple thrust), thy stock (could refer to taking a stiff en-guard position, but is more likely a corruption of the Italian term “stoccata”, meaning rapid quick thrusts), thy reverse (to thrust behind the opponent’s sword arm, into the right side where he wouldn’t be expecting an attack), thy distance (rapier students spent a great deal of time practicing maintaining a specific distance from the opponent whether advancing or retreating), thy montant (an upward thrust attack. The arm is straight, the hand drops down below hip level, with the point of the sword pointing at the center of the opponent’s torso. The strong upward thrust is meant to sneak up underneath the opponent’s guard and is very difficult to block using standard fencing parries).
Throughout the play much is made of threatening to beat a servant and drawing a sword on those of the upper class. Both were legal at the time. But to draw a sword on someone of a lower class was illegal, unless drawn upon first. The audience of Shakespeare’s time would understand quite well that any servant would be very hesitant to even handle a sheathed rapier around an angry Dr Caius.
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
This show doesn’t really have any fight problems in it, just some tussling amoung the lovers. But the following has always bothered me:
Random art notes: I love reading all of the graduate theses and critical commentary in literature journals concerning the title. The authors are usually trying to parse out the meaning, juxtaposing the midsummer reference in the title with the internal references to it taking place on the day of or surrounding the first of May. Do the lovers somehow dream that they are in summer rather than spring? Do the fairies alter time and the seasons with their presence?
Elizabethan plays were performed in summertime. It is the audience that is having the dream. THE AUDIENCE!
Much Ado About Nothing
There is no fighting in this show, but there is an interesting reference made by Leonato’s brother Antonio in Act V, sc 1. During Antonio’s tirade, the insults are based on the generation gap noted in so many of the Shakespeare plays. The references revolve around the disdain that the older generation had for the younger, especially their use of the unmanly rapier and associated affectations. Antonio specifically mentions the “foining fence”. To foin is to thrust with the tip of a light sword, something just not done with the manly broadsword. For that reason, when we see Claudio, et al, in most of the scenes, they would be wearing their civilian rapiers, but Antonio and Leonato would be unarmed.
Also, it is interesting to note that the characters, including the soldiers, are Italian although the Prince and his brother are from Spain. Who are these fighters, and who have they fought? The audience of Shakespeare’s time would have immediately known what kind of soldiers these are. Certainly not the poor conscripts or even patriotic volunteers that we see in the history plays. These Italians are mercenaries, soldiers for hire.
They were usually small companies of experienced soldiers, hired as a unit. A contract would be drafted ensuring regular payment and regular meals, things most regular soldiers couldn’t count on. If any part of the contract wasn’t honored, the entire unit would leave, sometimes to fight for the other side if the money was good. But the biggest enticement was a guarantee of receiving the lion’s share of the spoils of war, and under the right circumstances winning one battle could set you for life. The term “soldier of fortune” is literal, not merely prosaic.
Remember that most regular foot soldiers of the time were not professional and had almost no training. They stood shoulder to shoulder and held long (10’ to 18”) spears (pikes) to hold off cavalry charges as they would march forward to take the field of battle. those in the front line might have shields, and those behind would press against the front line. They also might have a sword, but weren’t especially trained in its use.
On the other hand, these mercenaries would have a sword, a long dagger, and a short (7’ foot) halberd. The sword was not the civilian rapier, but the much wider two-edged sword of war, something like a heavy straight sabre. The halberd was a combination spear, axe, and hook, so the mercenary could break through the pike line, thrust at a cavalry charge, use the hook to pull a knight down off of his horse, and then smash through the armour. What he didn’t have was a shield. To have that kind of courage meant you had to have quite a bit of combat experience, and the experience was of the bloodiest kind. His style of fighting was in-your-face, brutal, and merciless.
Claudio seems to be exceptional in this regard. Shakespeare has to point out that although he is young, he fought with the same brutality that was expected from his more worldly brothers in arms. There is also just a hint of a backstory. We are told that Claudio’s uncle there in Messina cried tears of happiness when he learns about how well Claudio did in battle. Not that he survived, but that he performed beyond expectation. The uncle, therefore, seems to have had some doubts as to how well this newbie would do under fire.
Don Pedro is a prince, and from Spain, not Italy. Because of his position, he would have led men into battle for religious/political reasons rather than been hired to it. His training would be to fight primarily from horseback to better respond to changes in battle conditions. We may surmise that as a Catholic he is fighting in one of the interminable “wars of religion” that took place in the Netherlands against the Protestants. It makes sense that he would sail to Italy, land temporarily in Messina (Sicily) and then march up though Italy picking up mercenaries and joining with other military units, and then continue marching to the Low Countries. After the battles, he would reverse course, dropping off the mercenaries along the way. Messina would be the last stop before sailing back to Spain. (That’s the long way back, so it says something about how much he looks forward to spending a month of decompression at Leonato’s before heading home.)
The Watch. As usual in Shakespeare’s plays, the lower the social class of the character, the more “English” he is drawn. And certainly here the watch and the Dogberry are meant to be instantly recognizable to the average Elizabethan playgoer as being “one of us”. Not so much in London, but in most other cities and towns in England night-time peacekeeping duties were distributed on a rotating basis amoung the town citizens. Not mentioned in the play is that normally the watch would be given a polearm of some type for the night. A sword would be worse than useless in untrained hands, but a halberd is a good way of having an untrained and terrified citizen hold off a drunken ruffian until the constable was rousted from his be.
The watch is described here as the Prince’s Watch. But which prince? Certainly not Don Pedro, who is from a completely different country and has no jurisdiction here. It is obvious that Leonato is the ruling authority figure in Messina, but it seems that his authority has been granted to him by the prince of Sicily. Remember that in Italy there was no central powerful king to which other nobles owed allegiance. Within his domain, each prince was more an absolute monarch than was the king of England.
Random art note: Don’t gloss over the title too quickly, for everything you need to know about this show is right there. To have the playwright say that this is all much ado about nothing seems callous considering the trauma that Hero suffers, until we reflect on how the word “nothing” in Elizabethan times was pronounced with a long “o”, and therefore “nothing” rhymed with “noting”. Throughout the play there are examples of people seeing things, looking right at them, but not really taking note of what it is they see. All of the plot twists happen when someone looks at something and takes it at face value, yet fails to note its true nature. Neither wealth nor power nor position provides this insight. Indeed it is the humble and ignorant watch who, while not understanding all of what they see, note that something is not right and bravely take action. The priest also carefully notes Hero’s reaction and is able to discern truth from confusion.
Note as well the arc of the basic story line. A perfect world, then a flawed noble breaks away, sending the world into turmoil. A messenger of God steps in to set the world back on track, which must go through the steps of seeming death, then atonement of sins, which leads to a rebirth, and a final confrontation between good and evil yet to come. Anyone from Shakespeare’s time would have instantly seen the biblical comparison, yet modern audiences lose this added depth to the story.
Othello
Although it has long been tradition to play the character of Othello as an African, the “Moors” described by Elizabethan-era Europeans were not Africans nor even ethnic Arabs but rather what we would describe as Turks. The term was used to describe any follower of Islam from Muslim Spain, India, Northern Africa (Algeria/Egyptian), but most especially in Shakespeare’s time from the superpower Ottoman Empire. It was common at the time to refer to anyone of brown complexion as “black”, as true sub-Saharan Africans were nearly unknown in Europe. Even the less-used term “blackamoor” was used to describe an especially swarthy Turk, while “white Moor” was understood to be one with paler skin.
The Ottoman Turks were engaged in a centuries-long struggle with Venice and other seagoing Christian states for control of the Mediterranean, and Venice especially had no qualms about hiring experienced opponents as mercenaries. In exchange for extremely generous monetary compensation, they merely had to profess conversion to Christianity and fight on behalf of the Venetian council. Othello certainly fits this profile.
Act II, sc 1 – Iago warns Roderigo that Cassio “with his truncheon may strike at you”. He is referring not to a club, but to Cassio’s baton signifying his rank. The warning makes a direct reference to being physically struck, but is also a reminder that Cassio could inflict punishment by virtue of his position (and of course a pointed reminder of the humiliation for Roderigo that Cassio is higher in rank).
Act V, sc 2 – There is lots of violence in this show, but perhaps the most dangerous bit is the smothering of Desdemona. Check back in the combat section for tips on how to do this safely.
Once again, however, Shakespeare has written a physiologically impossible death. She is smothered, but then speaks a few pages later that she has been murdered, and then dies. How can this be? Well it can’t, so don’t worry about it.
Romeo & Juliet
Although no specific year setting is mentioned in the script, we are given to understand that this story of star-crossed lovers takes place in about the mid-1400’s, and of course in Verona, Italy. Forget any of the “historical background” which the modern town of Verona offers in order to entice tourists – the story and the characters are pure fiction. It was an old tale even in Shakespeare’s time, but set in many cities and with many names. No matter – as always, Shakespeare’s characters are all English men and women from the mid 1580’s, so it is impossible to stage a “historically accurate” version of this show. Compromises will be made from the very first scene.
Act I, sc 1 – The play in fact opens with two very typical English youths discussing their prowess with the ladies and with the sword. When they spy two other youths from the rival household, the discussion quickly centers on the 16th century rules of the duel: who has a legal cause to begin a fight, etc. When the fight finally breaks out, “remember thy swashing blow” is a reminder to Gregory to use a good stout cutting motion rather than the finer thrust and parry of rapier fighting. From this we know that Samson and Gregory are sword and buckler men, not rapier duelists, and their swords were rather like short broadswords. It was the weapon of common soldiers and archers. The buckler is a very small shield, not practical for warfare, but light enough to have handy if a street brawl is anticipated. [The phrase “swashing blow” has been changed by some editors to “smashing blow” and by some to the ridiculous “washing blow”, but this is both ludicrous and unnecessary, as the word “swash” means a full side-to-side slashing cut. The buckler is held in the left hand for defense, therefore such a fighter was known as a swash-buckler. Be kind to your audience. They aren’t going to know about “swashing blows” or “washing blows”, so just change the line to “slashing blow”, a lovely, accurate and descriptive alternative.]
Tybalt and Benvolio are of more elevated birth than the first four servingmen, so they would, by their stations, be expected to wear a rapier. In Shakespeare’s time they would almost certainly also use a secondary weapon such as a dagger or cloak. [As we later learn that these are very hot summer days, we can assume that cloaks are not going to be used.] As long as they don’t use the rapier by itself to block the swinging cuts of the stout swords, they could easily engage the servingmen in combat.
When the heads of the households arrive, at least one of them asks for the only sword with which someone of his generation would be familiar – the “longsword”, the sword of war, what we term the broadsword, and not necessarily a two-handed variety. Since the broadsword is too heavy to wear on a daily basis, it is only natural that he would need to have someone fetch it.
As the townspeople attempt to put down the fight, they grab the nearest weapons they can. Bills and partisans are types of pole weapons used in war but also used by civilian armed watch, and are named by the crowd. Farm tools are not mentioned, but wouldn’t be out of place.
The prince enters attended “with his train”. That’s all we know. He might be attended by advisors, by friends, by servants, by guards, or by the Rockettes. We just don’t know. In Italy a prince is not the son of the king. Indeed, there was no central powerful king to whom the nobility owed allegiance. Each prince within his domain was an absolute ruler, with more power and discretion in his actions than the King of England.
Within the Prince’s last line in this scene he says “… come you this afternoon, to know our further pleasure in this case …” . While it is true that the First Folio has father’s pleasure here instead of further pleasure, it is obviously a mistake made by the typesetter. It springs form the the idea that if there is a prince, there must be a king near by. Great logic: poor research. Verona, as with the rest of the Italian cities, did not have a king. Again, each prince was the absolute ruler within his domain.
Act I, sc 4 – Queen Mab, Merctio’s tour de force monologue. This one has one little trap in it that seems to confound modern directors and actors. By the time Mercutio gets into the soldier section, with the ambuscados and cut throats, many productions have him lose control in a whirlwind of an emotional breakdown. The same directors will use this breakdown as proof of a backstory in which Mercutio must have been a soldier and suffers from post-traumatic shock. The two elements, backstory and breakdown, each prove the other (the classic circular logic fallacy). In these productions, Romeo has to gently help Mercutio regain his composure and awareness of reality.
That is all well and good, and a great acting exercise, but it misses the whole point of Mercutio’s speech. Romeo is lured into saying himself and out loud what Mercutio wants him to understand – that dreams are mere fantasy, less than real, and are the creations of our daily concerns. To pull that off, Mercutio the character has to be as good an actor as the actor playing Mercutio. It’s a little sad that so many directors are taken in by Mercutio’s performance and miss the wonderful pay-off.
Act III – Here in the “prince of cats” section we have a wonderful description of the rapier duelist when Mercutio describes Tybalt.
His point of view is strictly English, who generally despaired of widespread use of the rapier, that Continental European weapon that killed men in peacetime and was useless in war. Yet, it was still necessary to have if for no other reason than someone who had one might pick a fight with you. Within Mercutio’s speech is a reference to the almost mathematical precision of French dueling instruction, with its emphasis on learned patterns of feints (false attacks) before striking home with a thrust. “One, two, and the third in your bosom” would get a knowing if uneasy laugh from an English audience, at once in love with and in fear of this sneaky weapon used by sneaky people. Also subject to derision is the way that English youth would be taught not only fencing by these foreign masters, but also dancing, comportment, style, even to the point of how to stand, sit and walk with grace and elegance. Small wonder that he derides those who can no longer sit at ease on an old bench.
Mercutio also ridicules the use of Italian phrases used in swordplay instruction, mentioning specifically the passado, the punto reverso, and the hay. I should point out here that we no longer really know what these terms mean, but that doesn’t stop scholars from trying to translate them. The most conservative translations of High Renaissance Italian would seem to indicate that the passado is either a forward passing step (possibly combined with a thrust) or a single step evasion to the side. The punto reverso is aiming or thrusting the sword to the outside of an opponent’s guard, and hay is merely the shout given by the student as he attempts a strike (much like the “kiai” yell for modern karate students).
Later in the same scene, Mercutio pointedly refers to Tybalt as alla stoccata, which is a beautiful use of Italian that Tybalt can take either as a compliment or as a sly insult. A la stocatta literally translates to “by the thrust”, but has more of the flavor of saying “in the style of quick tapping”.
The fight between Mercutio and Tybalt is only briefly described. Mercutio himself says that he was hurt under Romeo’s arm, which Benvolio confirms in his description of the fight to the Prince. From this we can assume that when Romeo rushes in to break-up the fight, he lifts up Mercutio’s arms, exposing the belly to Tybalt’s thrust. Benvolio also describes Mercutio’s fighting, “with one hand beats cold death aside and with the other sends it back to Tybalt.” From this we know that at the very least Mercutio fights with rapier in the right hand and some other weapon, probably a dagger, in the left. Fighting with only one sword would have been unusual in this period.
When Romeo later fights with Tybalt, does he use his own sword? Most productions like seeing Romeo unarmed before this scene, so often he is made to simply pick up the slain Mercutio’s sword and kill Tybalt with it. Or, because this is a more impulsive fight, Romeo might not think to draw his knife and uses his sword only. On the other hand, you could have him use only his knife and no sword at all. Or maybe he rushes at Tybalt with only his bare hands. Completely your choice.
Act IV – When in Friar Lawrence’s cell, it seems that Juliet pulls out a knife and threatens to kill herself. This is her own small dagger, not the one used later in the tomb. It is most likely a fairly small, narrow bladed knife, probably worn at the waist. But other locations, some hidden from view, are certainly common enough. [Comparing this scene with actions in the following act indicate that this is a childish outburst and not a real suicide threat. In that case, the size of the knife should reflect the lack of serious danger.]
Act V – Romeo and Paris are assumed to fight with rapiers, but there is no textual support for that supposition. We have no proof that Paris uses either rapier or dagger. We know that Romeo is wearing a dagger, and that he is holding a mallet [mattock] and a pry bar [crow]. Whether he uses any of these or any other items or for that matter any weapon at all is pure conjecture. Be very careful of the tool choices if you do incorporate them in the fight. A real crowbar, even if dulled, can do significant damage with even light accidental contact. There are some hollow alternatives available. I personally don’t like to have Romeo wearing a sword in this scene, but only because I hate having to see him struggle with the scabbard when he has to be dead later in the tomb.
The final death (not counting Lady Montegue) is Juliet’s. In this scene she truly commits herself to take her own life. She does not even consider using her small knife, but first looks to Romeo’s vial of poison, and, finding it empty, takes his dagger. As such, Romeo’s dagger has to look menacing but not have a blade so large as to make Juliet’s suicide look comical. A blade length of ten inches should be the maximum considered unless your Juliet is an exceptionally long armed girl.
Helpful Hint: Juliet’s death can still border on the comical if for no other reason that it is very difficult to pull off a suicide on stage. If what you are doing doesn’t seem to be working, give the following a try:
First get a dagger with a blade length of no more than three quarters of Juliet’s forearm length. If her sleeves are billowy, so much the better. Have her face full-front to the audience, and have her hold the dagger with both hands on the handle and the blade pointed right at her stomach. Go ahead and let the hands be lower than the belly so that the audience gets a good picture of the lethality of the situation, or let the weapon be raised high if it gives everyone a better view. We want them to see the full blade pointing right at the center of her stomach. Just as she is trying to summon up the nerve to do the deed itself, she hears a noise – the others are about to enter! – she must kill herself now!
During that small moment is when Juliet can lift or lower her hands slightly, which brings the blade parallel to the floor. This blocks the audience’s view of the knife blade. Instantly she snaps the flat of the blade against her forearm, and then plunges her fists into her stomach. Depending on the knife, it might also be helpful to have the hand holding the knife to twist so that the palm is facing up, with the other hand sliding over the top of the knife handle. The last image the audience had of the knife was of the blade pointing at the belly, so that is where they think it still is. They will next look at her eyes for her reaction, further hiding the illusion. [If you really want to toy with the audience, have the thrust happen in two stuttering motions – the first move going only half way meeting resistance from the skin, then the full plunge immediately following.]
Here is the key to this simulation: withdraw the knife slowly, as though you have nothing to hide. Leaving the left hand on the belly, the right hand brings the knife out, all the while pushing the blade tip in towards the belly. As it’s coming out, the blade can even be slightly forced under the floating rib, so that with a little practice it can appear as though the blade is being pulled straight out of the belly – and right in front of the audience’s view. The audience will not need any blood effect to believe that she actually stabbed herself.
Random art note: I often hear people justify Juliet’s young age for marriage by noting that Lady Capulet was young when she wed and that, after all, everyone wed very young in “olden times”. But that attitude shifts many times in different centuries. Lord Capulet himself is none too thrilled with the idea, perhaps from experience [“and too soon marred are those so early made”]. More importantly, we can certainly assume that her youth would have been shocking for an Elizabethan audience. My own grandmother, in the old country, was married at the age of 14, but believe it or not in the England of Shakespeare’s time the average age for a woman to marry was 23. The average male married at 26, so both Juliet and Romeo would have been considered far too young and immature for marriage. [Shakespeare himself required his father’s permission in order to marry Anne Hathaway. At the age of eighteen, he was legally a minor.] It is very likely that for sixteenth century audiences this play wasn’t so much a love story as a tragedy of juvenile impetuosity.
In addition, it is fascinating to note that in the source plays and poems of this story available to Shakespeare, the characters of Romeo, Tybalt, Mercutio, Juliet – they are all in their late teens and early twenties! Shakespeare specifically made all of the characters much younger, highlighting their immaturity.
Taming of the Shrew
Act III, sc 2 – Why, Petruchio is coming in a new hat and an old jerkin, a pair of old breeches thrice turned, a pair of boot that have been candle-cases, one buckled, another laced, an old rusty sword ta’en out of the town-armory, with a broken hilt, and chapeless; with two broken points;
It is the sword, or more exactly the sheath for the sword, that is “chapeless”, meaning that the brass bottom (the chape) of the leather sheath is missing. So the point of the sword is sticking out of the bottom of the sheath. The sword is rusty, but not broken. The “two broken points” refers to the thin straps used to tie the hose onto the doublet. In other words, at least one of Petruchio’s leggings are drooping. It has nothing to do with the sword.
Random art note: This, and the rest of the description, would to Elizabethan audiences be instantly recognized as the comic stereotype of the cuckolded husband. Will any modern audience understand this joke? Never. Nowadays the entire scene is just played as though Petruchio is trying to be outrageous, but it has really lost all of its original meaning. Modern productions can only play Petruchio as being a “wild man”, even though what he is demonstrating is something far more subtle. He’s declaring that he knows what everyone is thinking, that he is going to be cuckolded, but that he wants to marry Kate anyway. Perhaps that’s just as audacious and insulting, but is does add a little nuance to the scene, don’t you think?
Another random art note: In England, Petruchio’s name is pronounced just as it’s written, with the “ch” sound. In the USA, our tradition is to use a hard “k”. Who is right? In Italian the name was written Petruccio, so the double c should be pronounced as a “ch”. It appears that the name was written in the play phonetically, to help the English actors in pronunciation. Unfortunately, in Italian the written “ch” is pronounced with the hard “k”. We in the states have overthought this one, I’m afraid. The name should be pronounced as written, with the soft “ch”. Say it out loud. There now, doesn’t that sound a lot more Italian?
The Tempest
In Act II, sc 1 – Antonio says – “Here lies your brother, … Whom I, with this obedient steel, three inches of it, Can lay to bed for ever;” A sword thrust need not penetrate too deeply to cause a fatal wound. A three inch stab and a person can quickly bleed to death. A similar observation is made in Romeo & Juliet with the death of Mercutio.
Titus Andronicus
As in all of Shakespeare’s Roman and Greek plays, anachronisms abound. In this play, references are made several times to rapiers and scimitars, neither of which had been invented during the historic setting of the play. You may indeed choose to have Aaron wear a Turkish scimitar, and none in the audience will notice or care, but to have Demetrius and others wear a rapier while wearing the costumes of Ancient Rome is asking a bit much of their suspension of disbelief. When the characters speak of rapiers, just treat the word as a substitute for sword, and dress them in standard short swords of the period.
On the other hand, there is one specific reference that should be looked at a bit more carefully. Act II, sc 1 – “Why, boy, although our mother, unadvised, gave you a dancing-rapier by your side, are you so desperate grown, to threat your friends?” – What Demetrius is implying here is that, although Chiron may wear the sword of a man, such a weapon is nothing but swagger when worn by a boy. A sword worn as part of elegant dress for a court appearance or formal dance was called a dancing rapier, not seriously worn for self-defense. “Dancing-rapier” is not necessarily an insult, but is certainly used as one here. Demetrius follows up with an elaboration of the theme – “Go to; have your lath glued within your sheath till you know better how to handle it.” – Actors of the time often wore prop swords made with blades of thin slats of wood [lath]. These “swords” were also sometimes rented out to lower nobility or social climbing merchants for social occasions, so the insult would have gotten a good chuckle from the audience.
A reminder that Aaron, like Othello, was probably imagined as a Turk, not an Ethiopian. Although both Aaron and his child are described as “black” or “blackamoor”, those terms were used in Shakespeare’s time to mean swarthy but not necessarily Negroid. Tamara, Demetrius and Chiron are Goths, so essentially German. Is any of this important for casting? No.
Twelfth Night
How much fighting we actually see depends on the director. Many productions do quite well without showing any sword contact at all. Just as Viola and Aguecheek have drawn their swords and stand shaking in terror, Antonio steps in and stops the action, quickly followed by the officers and the arrest. No pauses between any of the lines and no duel at all. On the other hand, I’ve seen some productions where the fighting rolls on and on, lasting a full five minutes, which is a huge time for uninterrupted fighting. In those versions, Aguecheek and Viola are allowed an extended comedic duel (in my estimation, the hardest fight to choreograph is one in which both combatants are cowards). After that, Sebastian steps in, but is taken on by first Toby and then Fabian. The officers briefly stop the action, but Sebastian takes them on as well, and soon is fighting off all four (sometimes five!) opponents in a daring piece of swashbuckling. Only when placed in a final hopeless situation does he give up and submit to his arrest.
There are many references to swords and fighting throughout the play, and most are very obvious, but on occasion some lead to small confusions, so let’s clarify these:
Act III, sc 4 – “on, or strip your sword stark naked; for meddle you must, that’s certain, or forswear to wear iron about you” Some people think that Sir Toby is telling Viola the same thing on both parts of this sentence, but it’s a little more intricate than that. “on [go to Andrew] , or strip your sword stark naked [draw your sword and fight me, Sir Toby]; for meddle [fight someone] you must, that’s certain, or forswear to wear iron about you [never wear a sword again, i.e. no longer be a gentleman].”
Earlier in the same scene – “He is knight, dubbed with unhatched rapier and on carpet consideration”. Here, “unhatched” suggests that Sir Andrew has never drawn his sword in battle, indicating a lack of wartime experience. “Carpet consideration” hints at a knighthood bestowed for reasons other than valor in combat, possibly through favoritism or connections. Sir Andrew’s knighthood, thus, stemmed from some special service to the crown by himself or his father—be it economic, diplomatic, cultural, or even trivial—yet decidedly less prestigious than a military knighthood. Despite the apparent grandeur, too many actors fail to discern the subtleties, treating “knight,” “unhatched rapier,” and “carpet consideration” with equal reverence and with the same tone. But Toby is really almost apologetically qualifying the merits of Andrew’s knighthood immediately after praising him. Much funnier.