appeared that Visscher had never actually been to London and so was hardly the most reliable of witnesses.
This left just one illustration from the era known to have been drawn from life and that was a view made by a Bohemian artist named Wenceslas Hollar sometime in the late 1630s or early 1640s. Called the Long View , it is a lovely drawingââperhaps the most beautiful and harmonious of all London panoramas,â in Peter Ackroydâs estimationâbut a slightly strange one in that it depicts a view from a position slightly above and behind the tower of Southwark Cathedral (then known as the Church of Saint Saviour and Saint Mary Overie), as if Hollar had been looking down on the cathedral from another buildingâa building that did not in fact exist.
So it is a viewâentirely accurate as far as can be made outâthat no human had ever seen. More to the point, it showed the second Globe, not the first, which had burned down in 1613, three years before Shakespeare died. The second Globe was a fine theater, and we are lucky to have Hollarâs drawing of it, for it was pulled down soon afterward, but it was patently not the place where Julius Caesar , Macbeth , and a dozen or so other Shakespeare plays were (probably to almost certainly) first performed. In any case the Globe was only a very small part of the whole composition and was depicted as seen from a distance of nine hundred feet, so it offers very little detail.
And there you have the complete visual record we possess of theaters in Shakespeareâs day and somewhat beyond: one rough sketch of the interior of a playhouse Shakespeare had no connection with, one doubtful panorama by someone who may never have seen London, and one depiction done years after Shakespeare left the scene showing a theater he never wrote for. The best that can be said of any of them is that they may bear some resemblance to the playhouses Shakespeare knew, but possibly not.
The written record for the period is not a great deal more enlightening. Most of what little we know about what it was like to attend the theater in Shakespeareâs time comes from the letters and diaries of tourists, for whom the London sights were novel enough to be worth recording. Sometimes, however, it is a little hard to know quite what to make of these. In 1587 a visitor from the country wrote excitedly to his father about an unexpected event he had seen at a performance by the Admiralâs Men: One actor had raised a musket to fire at another, but the musket ball âmissed the fellow he aimed at and killed a child, and a woman great with child forthwith, and hit another man in the head very sore.â It is astounding to suppose that actors were firing live musketsâwhich in the sixteenth century were really little more than exploding sticksâin the confined space of a theater, but, if so, one wonders where they were hoping the musket ball would lodge. The Admiralâs Men failed to secure an invitation to take part in the Christmas revels at court the following monthâsomething that would normally have been more or less automaticâso it would appear that they were in some sort of temporary disgrace.
We would know even less about the business and structure of Elizabethan theatrical life were it not for the diary and related papers of Philip Henslowe, proprietor of the Rose and Fortune theaters. Henslowe was a man of many parts, not all of them entirely commendable. He was an impresario, moneylender, property investor, timber merchant, dyer, starch manufacturer, and, in a very big way, brothel keeper, among much else. He was famous among writers for advancing them small sums, then keeping them in a kind of measured penury, the better to coax plays from them. But for all his shortcomings, Henslowe redeemed himself to history by keeping meticulous records, of which those from the years 1592 to 1603 survive. His âdiary,â as it is usually called,