look like if those events were really to take place). We discussed this
point in relation to Plato’s arguments aboutmimesis, so we shan’t dwell on
it here. But even historical playwrights have been keenly aware of it:
Pushkin notes in a draft preface to his history play,Boris Godunov, that
theatre is the least verisimilar of all the arts; Shakespeare has The Chorus
inHenry Vbeg the audience tofill in the obvious gaps:‘Think, when we
talk of horses, that you see them/ Printing their proud hoofs i’th’receiving
earth.’^45
Technically, such thoughts would probably suffice for a ‘no’ to the
eyewitness question. But we can adapt it a little. Our theatregoing com-
panion knows, let us suppose, that Rome was bigger than the stage, and
she knows that Caesar did not die in a theatre, with lots of people
watching. (Strictly, the Curia of Pompeywasin a theatre, at least part of
a theatre complex–but the point is clear.) So we could perhaps interpret
her more generously: imaginativelyfilling in some of the details (and
imaginatively ignoring others), could it have looked and sounded like
that to an eyewitness?
Again, though, the answer must be‘no.’This time, we need to say
something about eyewitnesses and history. First, to make the most
obvious point, no single eyewitness could have seen what we see during
the course of the play: Brutus in private conversation with Cassius, Mark
Antony speaking to Caesar’s body, and so on. At least, then, the‘eyewitness’
view would suggest that we, as eyewitnesses, mysteriously accompany the
main events, without being seen or heard.^46 But this suggests a further
problem: what are the main events? Eyewitnesses often don’t have any
idea what is going on in front of them. They are confused, disorientated
and sometimes afraid for their lives. Theatre audiences at history plays are
guided through the significant details, introduced to the importantfig-
ures and told about the important events that take place‘out of sight’;
they are offered a degree of understanding and insight that goes far
beyond the level of the eyewitness. Hence, for example,Henry Vbegins
with a conversation between two clergymen about Henry’s character and
development, which also sets up the meeting between Henry and the
French ambassador. So when the ambassador suggests that Henry is
young and wild, the audience has already been prompted to understand
that Henry used to be like that, but is now a wise and considerate scholar
(at least as far as the church is concerned).
Finally, note that theatre audiences don’t merely know more than an
eyewitness would happen to know: they know more than an eyewitness
could possibly know, namely the future. For eyewitnesses to historical
events, even very important ones, are not always as well informed as audi-
ences in history plays. Xerxes, the Persian king, was an eyewitness to the
battle of Salamis (the subject of Aeschylus’play); yet, crucially, he didn’t
88 From the World to the Stage