From the throne of God to the throne of man: The throne as prop and allegory in Tudor Drama

J.-P. Debax

Material techniques of performance is perhaps the one area that has undergone the slowest but at the same time the most radical changes in the history of the theatre. If the theatre is an art, we must never forget that it is also a craft, hence a tradition within a social body; and social bodies tend to be generally conservative. What I understand by radical change does not mean an overnight modification of the shape of the stage, the nature of setting or props, or the relationship between stage action and the world represented. It means rather the creation of an irreversible situation, as was for instance the introduction of the perspective set, which came together with the widespread use of the front curtain and the idea that dramatic action had to take place in a definite place and at a specified time. This change gradually came about in the course of the XVIIth century and was accepted for a fairly long time as the norm. So, modern productions that do not use a perspective set cannot be viewed in the same way as Tudor stagings, whose only references outside drama were liturgical space, street shows and gothic art.

Among the different techniques or material helps used for a performance, I will consider the use and significance of stage props. A first difficulty that arises in the course of such an enquiry is the definition of the term. In pre-naturalistic drama, nothing is used on the stage for mere decoration: flags, banners, pavilions, trees and bowers, banks, furniture or false heads, all have a symbolical bearing. It seems furthermore that a distinction between set and prop would not be substantiated by any difference in practical purpose. So, I will consider as a prop any object either set on the stage or carried about by the actors that is not a permanent fixture of the theatre, like the backwall or the heavens overhead. Among these props, two seem to me to be of particular interest: the seat and the table, as they belong to the basic furniture of Western civilization. As such, they bear an obvious cultural weight, hence symnbolic memanings. But their study is not easy, since being so basic, they tend to be taken for granted and are seldom mentioned in stage directions or company inventories.

Taking the throne as the focal point of my study, and my examples from late medieval and early Renaissance English drama, I will try to investigate what specific dramatic structure its use implied, and what its relations are with the other fundamental prop, the table.

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The throne and the table are both present in the early religious mysteries. Indeed they were present in the Cathedral where the Easter tropes were sung and acted under the shape of the altar table and the bishop’s throne. They refer, as we shall see, to two different spatial dimensions. If we consider the picture of the stage for the Vlanciennes Passion, we see a succession of "domus" or "loci", extending along the back of the stage, perpendicular to the vision of the spectators, from vright to left (as seen by the actors): Paradise, the Temple, the Palace and Hellmouth, with minor scaffolds in between: Nazareth, Jerusalem and the Golden Gate. It is assumed by scholars that this plan was more or less the rule on frontal stages. In the case of the Passions performed on town squares, Paradise was often lodged in a house overlooking the playing area, and so it was situated on a higher level than the other "places", as is exemplified by the ground plan for the Passion at Lucern. In fact, the symbolical pattern in both cases is the same: the different ‘loci’ develop along a vertical axis, contrary to the apparently horizontal line of the frontal stages. Paradise, symbolized by a round dish or ‘orb’ on top of the roof of a small pavilion, represents the unattainable place above the created world, whereas Hellmouth at the opposite end of the stage, stands for an underground Hell, even if the Devil'’ domain is figured by a hellish castle at the back of Hellmouth; right above ground and on a level with the Temple and Palace.

On this picture, God’s throne is immaterial as it is painted in a ‘glory’ surmounting the pavilion of Paradise. But there is another throne, standing approximately in the centre of the theatre, under the camopy or ‘ciborium’ representing Herod’ palace. It is no doubt sitting in this throne that Herod presided over the banquet that was given to celebrate the Passover. In N. Grimalds Archipropheta the banquet was served as a sort of castle which also stood for the prison. Practically absent from the English Mystery Cycles, this seat is nevertheless alluded to in a Play of N Town, in the stage direction mentioning the opening of the palace, which shows "Herowdes in astat" (N Town 30,356). Herod also uses the same word ‘estate’ in the Lytsteres play from York: "whoso reproves our estate we shall clap in chains" (31,18).

Here, Herod’s throne is not in real competition with God’s. Herod’s first dramatic representation of the wordly or ‘evil’ king, or rather a mock king, whose majesty and glory are vain and empty, just like the banquet he enjoys before the trial of Christ: "give us wine gaily", he says in York 31, in a sort of weak parody of the Last Supper. So Herod and his attributes (throne, banquet) are totally negative, inserted as they are in the religious setting and purpose of the Mysteyr Cyckles, but they show the spectator a picture in counterpoint with the exclusive representation of the godhead, and as a foil to it.

Other occasions on which God appears sitting on a throne are scenes of the Parliament of Heaven and the Last Judgement. One of the most developed XVth-century Parliaments is to be found in a quasi dramatic text, a Latin dialogue by Thomas Chaundler, Liber Apologeticus, published in 1460. It is difficult to discuss the staging of such a work, as it is more an allegorical narrative than a proper play. But it is revealing that from the outset, Justice should mention the roles of Justice and Judgement as the "establishment of (God’s) throne". Even if it is only a metaphorical one, this creference to a throne equates God to a powerful king.

In a more realistic vein, the virtues pray God to grant a redeemer for mankind as a prelude (or prologue) to the N Town play of the Salutation and Conception. Here again the former dignity of Man before the Fall is referred to by Contemplacio as a ‘crown’ (N Town 11,30), as a symbol closely allied to the throne. In the Castle of Perseverance, God is hailed as ‘king’ when He appears on his scaffold sitting in his throne (3249, 3335, 3379, 3418, 3483); and the throne is mentioned at 3561. His jingly nature is manifested by the wearing of a crown (3249; which can be compared with Wakefield, 323, 389).

We notice that no distinction is made between the representation of the king in majesty and the king in judgement, as is shown by the two successive stage direction in The Castle of Perseverance: "Pater sedens in trono" (3560), "Pater sedens in Judicio" (3598). This scenic set up certainly highlights God’s judiciiary function, as he is compared to a judge in a tribunal (Liber, p.109).

Another sequence representing a tribunal is the scene of the Last Judgement, present in most cycles. In those scenes, God sits in judgement and invites the elect also to sit with him in heaven (N Town, 42, 62; York, 48, 180, 189, 202, 215; Chester, 24, 497). Compare Castle of Perseverance, 3600). In York 47, Christ, presumably sitting in majesty, offers a crown to the Virgin who is thus invited to partake of his kingly nature. In all these cases, and in contradiction with what happens in an ordinary court of justice, those who are not condemned don’t just escape a sentence, but are called to share the power and majesty of the judge(s), as is proved by the invitation "come and sit with us", which implies a mutiplicity of thrones.

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This situation is fully brought to light by the play Wisdom Who is Christ. Probably first performed in the course of the second half of the XVth century, it may be said to be a holy disguising, a court spectacle relying on dancing, costume and music to strike the spectators’ sight and imagination. It is itself an image of the worldly pleasures it denounces, as is suggested by Milla Riggio (ref. SIC IN ORIGINAL). It consists in an impressive and highly coloured ballet, with lavish costumes and group effects, framing a sort of anti-masque, which pictures the effects of sin on Anima, by a spectacular change of white and gold to black and hellish red. At the beginning of the play, Christ-Wisdom appears crowned, wearing "a ryall hood furred wyht ermyn" (stage direction before l.1), and holding a ball of gold in his left hand and a sceptre in his right. He is four times addressed as '‘sovereign'’(adj. or noun, 39, 69, 83, 99). It is not explicitly said that he is then seated, but this seams implied buy Anima’s kneeling to him on her entrance (16). At the end of the play, Anima returns in royal robes, wearing a crown, and Wisdom welcomes her back from a life of sin in what Milla Rigio calls "an elegant love scene" (Riggio, 235), while at the same time recalling his Passion necessary for the salvation of mankind (1102-1103). He is at once Eternal Wisdom and the suffering Christ of the cross. This double nature of the scene, not exceptional in moral drama, gives it metaphorical depth and stands for an act of personal devotion by telescoping in Anima the parts of spouse and student (Anima asks Wisdom to "teche me the scolys of yowr dyvynyyte", 86).

But what is the connection with the throne? One notices that Solomon is mentioned twice in the text. The play opens with a hymn referring to Solomon "I am black but comely" (Solomon’s Song, I,5). Solomon’s presence has a double justification: first his link with wisdom ("King Solomon passed all the kings of the earth in riches and wisdom", II Chron. 9.22), and then with a throne, of which the Book of Chronicles writes "there was not the like made in any kingdom" (II, Chron. 9.19), providing a detailed description thereof. The name of Solomon is mentioned again at the end of the plat, in connection with a familiar quotation "Timor Domini, initium sapienciae" (1153-55). We have here proof that the throne image dominates the imagery of the play, together with the crown image, as appears in the lesson drawn by Wisdom about Anima’s spiritual journey:

Mercy hath reformyde yow ande crownyde as a kynge (1124)

If M. Riggio is right in her idea about Anima’s identification with the Virgin as well as with Ecclesia, her suggestion of having Anima share Wisdom’s throne sounds rather surprising, and it would probably be more satisfactory to imagine that, as a consort, she sits in a throne of her own when Wisdom utters the avowedly ambiguous words already quoted: "mercy hathe crownyde (yow) as a Kynge". It could be suggested that with the play Wisdom, we are witnesses of the beginning of a multiplication of the thrones. It is true that the topography of the Castle of Perseverance was built on a circulation between five scaffolds, and so five thrones. This disposition reminds one of King Arthur’s Round Table, which suggests the equality of all the partakers in the feast. Yet the Round Table has a "head", Arthur himself; in the same way, in the plan of the Castle of Perseverance, orientation on the East side gives preeminence to the throne of God. Of the remaining four, three, those of Belial, Flesh and Covetousness are of the same nature as Herod’s in the Mysteries, and that of Mundus is not of a hellish nature, but more akin to that on which Man’s Anima sits in Wisdom, and Man in Medwall’s Nature.

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Before a close study of thrones in Nature, one should shortly consider the environment in which such an interlude was performed. In the case of Medwall’s play, the actors perform in totally profane surroundings, as servants to the master of the house, a nobleman, a bishop, sometimes the King himself, and no liturgical character of any kind is attached to such dramatic actions. They are given in the intervals between banquets, dances, and other rejoicings, in the focal centre of the house, the hall. The acting area is orientated, but not according to the cardinal directions as in the case of the outdoor Passions, which we find in England in the plan for the Castle of Perseverance. In this case one end of the hall, with the high table, with the master of the house sitting in his chair, is the seat of power. The actors play at the other end, before the screen, with its two ‘doors’ leading to the kitchen, and on an oblong rectangle between the tables of the guests. Another seat, or throne, is usually set against the middle of the screen, between the two doors for God or some other heavenly being, later a king. An opposition between the two thrones is inscribed in the lay-out of the hall and will be elaborated upon, in a different way with each play.

No godhead appears in Nature, a clear sign that this is a laicized interlude, although it has the same Humanum Genus plot as the Castle of Perseverance. This absence is probably due to its aristocratic environment and its fairly late date, 1497. Before the dialogue begins, the first stage direction reads: "Fyrst cometh in Mundus, and syttyth down (…) than cometh in Nature (…) and Nature syttyth down …". We notice that the World is the first to come in. He is then silent for 406 lines, and constitutes a sort of background, or remote tutelar presence, to Nature’s theoretical and doctrinal exposé and the debate between Reason and Sensuality. He becomes really present to the other characters only at line 407:

Syrs, ye be welcome to us hartely

Nature is the first to speak. She delivers 147 lines in three speeches. Nature is there the representative of a God that would be out of place in a dining hall.

There is no doubt that two thrones were necessary to stage the opening passage of this interlude, but what were their relative positions? Knowing that one throne was normally in the centre of the screen, facing the hall, and so the high table, where was the other one? Facing the throne in the middle of the screen? But in that case, it would have had its back to the audience. In this case, the World’s seat could have been only a stool instead of a proper armchair, as a sign of inferiority of the World compared to the power and dignity of Nature, God’s agent. But this suggestion is hardly compatible with the robing ceremony that take place at line 463

Take thys garment, Man, do as I you byd!

Man is successively offered a robe, a girdle and a cap. We may wonder whether the World gives the robe, etc. himself, or has the Worldly Affection, his servant that had previously come on stage carrying these props, do the work? This solution is more probable in regard of the dignity of this quasi royal character (see the Castle of Perseverance and Pride of Life). He then invites Man:

Syt down as ye are borne to occupye thys place (471)

and theeditor A. Nelson’s stage direction to this line is: "Man sits in the World’s throne". Now, we must keep in mind that the other chair (Nature’s) is empty. We should also notice that the World and Man address each other as ‘Lord’ (and then as ‘Syr’), and so appear as equally respectable in the eyes of the spectators (475, 477, 533, 540, 547, 560).

This scene of the robing of Man reminds one of that moment at the beginning of High Mass when the bishop stands near his throne and is given the symbols of his authority (mitre, crozier, cope) by his acolytes. The scene in Nature represents a formal transfer of power from a general or allegorical character to a particular actor. It is a figuration of an incarnation, in imitation of the real Incarnation which is the means of Redemption.

This situation could be paralleled with that created in The Pride of Life, in which mankind is represented by a character called King of Life. This central character is given from the outset for a king, in court, ruling over his barons, and he appears as an enthroned figure, fearless of death and boasting of his power in ‘pilate’s voice’, or like another Herod. Yet he is not a herod, because in hom there is a soul as well as a body (see the age old debate of the soul and the body!), and also because there is a redeeming figure at his side, his Queen, who prays the Lady of Heaven for Mercy. The prologue does indeed give us hope that the play shall end "throgh Jesus Christ swete grace" (112). So, Man in Nature and the King of Life are emblematic figures of man’s condition and dignity, and nothing hinders us from imagining that in Nature, the two thrones stand side by side, one occupied by the World all through the first 673 lines, the other by Man after the robing ceremony has taken place. Nature’s later date compared to the Castle of Perseverance is clear proof of the ‘democratization’ of the throne.

The Castle of Perseverance bears witness to the multiplication of thrones, (some of them being purely allegorical). There are also several thrones (or seats) in Lindsay’s Satire of the Three Estates. Like Pride of Life, this play is the story of a Rex Humanitas, the story of man symbolized by a kingly figure (so is Skelton’s Magnificence). It is not explicitly stated whether Diligence, God’s messenger, who acts as prologue, speaks from a throne at the opening of the play, yet his solemn words

Tak tent to me, me freinds, and hald yow coy!

For I am sent to yow as messingeir

From ane nobill and rycht redoubtit roy… (14-16)

suggest that solution. There is no God or Nature on stage in Ane Satire, but it is quite possible, in that case also, that a permanent throne representing heavenly authority was shared between Diligence (Prologue) and Divine Correction, when that character voices God’s verdict

Beati qui esuriunt et sitiunt Justitiam.

Thir ar the words of the redoutit Roy… (1580-1)

and Good Counsel (2397). In fact that permanent throne could be the same chair as Verity’s ‘sait’ referred to at line 1084: "Heir sall Veritie pass to hir sait". The movement of Verity freed from the stocks would be an effective theatrical effect.

Side by side with that first chair, another one is secured for the representation of Mankind by the name of Rex Humanitas. This character can sit in a throne at the beginning of the play for the same reasons as Medwall’s Man at the time of the robing ceremony. Says the World:

I gyve you here auctoryte and power (…)

To be as lord of every regyon (I Nature, 472-73)

(see also Ane Satire, 1949, a gesture of transgression when the Carl climbs into the king’s ‘tchyre’). In the second part of the play, the king’s throne is the seat of justice, a poliitical as well as a religious place of authority, although clearly distinct from the religious institution. Even Sensuality has a chair, which is rather a chair of correction, not so different from the stocks in which Verity had to suffer earlier in the play. The three estates also have seats in parliament, from which they can complain about the state of society, and address their complaints to the king.

In the almost History Play, Bale’s King Johan, the ‘mankind’ hero is, by a surprising conflation of parts, the historical king himself. In this protestant play, Verity enjoys a throne, like Lindsay’s Verity, and the true heavenly throne belongs to an allegorical character, Imperial Majesty, who appears at the end of the play, to deal justice to the complaining estates. A certain confusion with the dead king is revealed by a wrong stage direction naming that character ‘Rex’ (2645). In fact, Imperial Majesty appears rather as a chairman or Speaker of the parliament with which he has been discussing in true democratic manner for a good three hundred lines.

Such an arbitrator appears also in debate-patterned plays, such as John Heywood’s Play of the Weather (1527), in which a hidden throne ‘hears’ the complaints of the different suitors and ‘presides over the debates’. A chair also holds a central part in Lupton’s All for Money (1577): in that play, the chair is not only a thing one may sit upon, but through a subtle device three characters are "finely conveyed from beneath the said chair" (251): Pleasure (Money’s son), then Sin (Pleasure’s offspring) and finally Damnation. The four leave the stage during the ensuing debate between Learning-with-Money, Learning-without-Money, Money-without-Learning and Neither-Money-nor-Learning, and we can imagine that the chair is left on stage all the time as inspirer and symbol of their opposition. Then grandfather Money and grandson Sin set up a business of organized corruption, with Sin as usher to introduce the unfortunate gulls. Money’s chair is a parody of a throne. It is as ungodly as Herod’s, but less kingly in that bourgeois background. It is the World’s seat, without the Redemption.

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This short story of thrones in late medieval and early Renaissance theatre in England shows us that the simple picture that the throne of God standing alone on stage as opposed to the subterraneous presence of Hellmouth is fast vanishing, if it has ever been true. The reason can be that, if God’s power comes from up above, and grace proceeds only from Him, this exclusive doctrine of divine election has not been the prevalent catholic tenet, and Salvation has always been seen in connection with a practice of communion and conviviality which is the very principle of the mystery of the Incarnation, and of the sacrament instituted by Christ: the eucharist or communion.

I have tried to illustrate elsewhere (SFS 2001) how from the outstanding model of the Last Supper, meals (called ‘banquets’ in the course of time), have been exalted, turned into images of redemption ans repeatedly used in theatre plays, the manna in the desert, the wedding at Cana, the meal in the house of Simon and the SUpper at Emmaus. But meals have ambiguous connotations. Side by side with the positive implications of feast and banquet as prefiguration of the heavenly joys, "the shadow of things to come" (Col. 2.17), they can also be seen as manifestations of the sin of gluttony. Consumption of food is also allied to consummation, or sin of the flesh, and the two are represented in fiction and in drama by tavern scenes (Cf. Piers Plowman, the tavern as ‘the Devil’s school house’).

The euphoric and dysphoric implications of food consumption go frequently together in an ambiguous pairing. At the beginning of Ane Satire, drinking accompanies the speeches of the courtiers, and constitutes a sort of vivid climax to a temptation scene (188). Later in the play, Chastity is made to drink as a prelude to her humiliation in the stocks (1307). The Poor Man of the interlude commits an act of rebellion by drinking, seated in a chair, in a symmetrical position to Carl sitting ‘up above’ (i.e. on a scaffold?) in the king’s throne (1963). From a theatrical point of view his drinking constitutes an offence that will spoil the show (1963). A famous tavern scene occurs in the Digby Mary Magdalene. This tavern is also a ‘bawdy house’, since it is there that Luxuria wins Mary’s favours by offering her drink (470-90), and Mary in her turn invites the gallant Curiosity to her table, that is for a drink (490-546), as symbol of her dishonest intentions.

Thrones and tavern tables are not so unrelated as one might think, and Shakespeare’s Henry IV gives us an example of a quasi magic transformation of one into the other. I am here referring to three scenes: II,iv, III,ii and iii. Scene II,iv takes place in the Boar’s Head tavern. It begins as a "cunning match", as Poins calls it (88). The Prince makes fun of an apprentice drawer, an "underskinker" (24), one who is still training for his job. Francis, the will-be drawer, is both the fool and the revealer of actorial mastery in a very subtle combination of partners: one is present on stage, the other invisible. Theatrical skill is also highlighted by the false report of the ridiculous attack in which Falstaff displayed much cowardice, but also a lot of linguistic agility in defense of the said cowardice, which turns the spectator into a privileged witness of theatrical creation (299-309). The Prince pretends he put up the show for the mere fun of it, and yet, one may guess there is more to it, as the name of Adam is mentioned in Falstaff’s answer (91), and we suspect it has to do with Creation as well as creation, and so with the Nativity, since the time given as terminus ad quem of his playful mood is midnight. The passage is fraught woth religious references: Prayer books (69), Psalms (130), pray (273). Falstaff refers to allegories familiar in the moral interludes of the beginning of the century (Vanity, 448; Gravity, 290; Manningtree ox, 446), and identifies himself with the main chr=aracters of such plays, the Vice (134, 447-9) or Satan (45-9).

The play within the play is formally announced by Falstaff

Shall we have a play extempore? (276)

The status of these plays (in fact there are two) is ambivalent: both jest ("sport", 385), and earnest ("practice", 369). If the roles are usurped, the tenor of the discourse is serious, just like the ‘instinct’ which taught Falstaff to spare the Prince on the highway! Falstaff presents the performance as a rehearsal (368-70), but in fact we have the very thing on stage. This magic operates when Falstaff names in true performative fashion the attributes of royalty (throne, sceptre, crown, 373-4), and turns the tavern into a proper throne room. Comradeship on an equal footing becomes hierarchy between the characters of the play within, if not for the actors. A call for a cup of sack and the comments of the hostess remind us of the existence of the latter (379). The relationship is reversed with the second play within, but sack is always the remedy to human frailties (464).

The kindred between tavern and throne room was an illusion; but, perhaps, only partly so. It is, indeed, brutally dissipated by the sheriff’s knock at the door, but Falstaff is allowed to hide behind the Arras and his companions to "walk up above": the magic of the Prince’s title works once more. Is it for the last time?

The illusion is completely gone in III,ii and iii. Here the throne is kept apart from the tavern in two different scenes. The two worlds cannot mix anymore. Falstaff’s hopes of being taken for a knight, with a seal-ring (79, 100) and given a charge of horse (186) have vanished, and he can only nurse his regrets with an empty dream

O, I could wish this tavern were my drum (205)

he exclaims on leaving it for ever!

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As a conclusion, and to parody Shakespeare’s style, we could say that the innocent throne has come full circle. From a royal symbol in western and mid-eastern civilizations, the throne became a divine attribute, a visual embodiment of the absolute power of God. The throne of thew Christian God has never stood alone on western stages: thrones and anti-thrones multiplied, and the throne found itself in competition with the table, a more original Christian symbol.

Food, solid or liquid, is seen as a redeeming agent even in the tavern context, as its public consumption on stage seems to break the taboo of the watertight separation of reality and illusion. Indeed it has been suggested that in the Wakefield First Shepherd’s Play some of the food was edible and some was painted canvass on wooden frames (Robinson, Studies in XVth. century Drama, 97).

The tendency towards a fusion or combination of the vertical and the horizontal props became less and less possible as the throne became a specifically political symbol in the late XVIth. century history plays. Thrones disappeared from the stage with bourgeois drama.

Was the bed to be the new prop of that new theatre?