“All the world’s a playhouse”: A brief history of the Globe

Shakespeare’s Globe, rebuilt for the 21st century. Image: Getty.

A flag with Hercules carrying the globe on his back flew above the crowds. The main entrance bore a crest with Totus mundus agit histrionem inscribed on it “All the world’s a playhouse”. The performance was about to begin, and seeing as London’s master of drama, William Shakespeare, penned the plot, it was destined to be a hit. No one cared the theatre had just opened. Elizabethans from all ranks – at least, except Puritans – loved the theatre and this new one was not going to be any different.

The year was 1599 and Southwark, on the south bank of the Thames, had just become home to the capital’s newest stage: the Globe. Like other theatres at the time, it resembled the Coliseum in Rome, only on a much smaller scale. Its circular courtyard was surrounded by three tiers of seating and topped with an open thatched roof.

The south side of London was a popular place for theatres in Elizabethan England, because it was outside the jurisdiction of the Lord Mayor. In the 20 years leading up to the Globe’s opening, and until its doors were officially shut in 1642, the government condemned plays and players, referring to actors as “sturdy beggars” and “masterless men”.

In 1597, the Lord Mayor appealed to the privy council in hopes of prohibiting plays once and for all (performances had been severely restricted in 1574). He argued that the theatre corrupted the youth, attracted “whoremongers” and “contrivers of treason”, drew men away from their daily jobs – and perhaps most seriously, was a breeding ground for plague outbreaks. For these reasons, it was best for theatres to operate beyond the government’s control.

This idea of setting up a stage outside city limits was not a new one. In fact, James Burbage — the father of renowned actor Richard Burbage and lawyer Cuthbert Burbage — built London’s first theatre in 1576 in Shoreditch, just outside the Lord Mayor’s reach.

The Theatre, as it was named, became a permanent place for his troupe to perform. He and his fellow actors no longer needed to travel to their audiences; playgoers could go see them now. It was an unprecedented concept: a designated place where actors could command an audience’s full attention, charge for entry (if even a penny), and store costumes and props.


The Theatre flourished for twenty years despite relentless attacks by the authorities and numerous financial setbacks. Meanwhile, London’s appetite for drama continued to grow. Shakespeare arrived around 1588 (the exact date is unknown), other playhouses like The Curtain and The Rose boomed.

When the Burbage brothers found out the landowner was going to tear down their father’s theatre, they knew they had to do something. So Richard and Cuthbert, with help from the Lord Chamberlain’s Men (Shakespeare included) and many volunteers, took the playhouse apart and floated its wooden pieces across the Thames. The timber was going to be used to build the most spectacular theatre London had ever seen.

Bankside, the place to where they transported all those materials, was not the optimal place to begin construction. Located next to the river, it was a marshy area prone to flooding. But once Peter Street, the craftsman in charge, established a solid foundation and strong drainage system, the theatre was well on its way to completion.

After five months’ work, at the end of May 1599, the Globe was ready for its debut. Its 20-sided structure could hold up to 3,000 patrons. Two massive pillars shot up from the stage, providing support for a painted ceiling called “the heavens”. The area in front of the stage was reserved for “groundlings”, who paid a penny at the door, while three levels of galleries enclosed the courtyard. With Shakespeare steering the storyline and Richard Burbage delivering the drama, the scene was set. To quote a (21st century) guide to Shakespeare’s London: “[N]owhere is English to be expressed with more vigor and variety than on the stage.”

The Globe quickly became the “glory of Bankside” and even after it burned down during a performance of Henry VIII in 1613, it was rebuilt in the same spot and more magnificently than before. From Hamlet to Macbeth, Cleopatra to Cordelia, the theatre marked the beginning of England’s most acclaimed art form: the drama.

In 1642, Puritans shut down every theatre in London to make room for housing. Two years later, the Globe was demolished. Over three centuries passed until American actor, Sam Wanamaker, began the third reconstruction of the Globe. As true to its original design as historians and builders could make it, the theatre reopened in 1997. Its thatched roof still opens to the sky above and King Hamlet’s ghost still rises from below.

 
 
 
 

Wild boar are moving back to Genoa, and not everyone is pleased

A wild boar, c1933. Image: Getty.

Crossing the Ponte Gerolamo Serra in the Italian city of Genoa, I spotted a small crowd clustered by the river wall. I approached, intrigued, and peered over the wall to discover the subject of their delight: a sounder of eight wild boars – the adults sheltering from the heat in the undergrowth, while the juveniles foraged among the foliage that grows in the river bed during the dry summer months.

In any other city, such a sight might have been surprising. But in Italy, and particularly in the region of Liguria, where Genoa is located, the population of wild boars has been increasing at such a rapid rate that these incidents are now common. Across the country, it’s estimated that the population has risen from 600,000 to 1m over the past decade.

But while wild boars may look comically out of place trotting about the city, it’s actually a natural result of the way people have migrated – and the wars they have fought – over the course of recent history.

Making a comeback

A species native to Europe, the wild boar (or “cinghiale”, in Italian) largely disappeared from its historical territories during the 18th and 19th centuries. Their decline was widely attributed to the combined effects of habitat change, competition for space and resources and, of course, hunting.

Wild boars were a prized quarry, revered for their ferocity – and the danger involved in pursuing them. According to local folklore from the region of Liguria, the last truly wild boar was hunted and killed in 1814, in the province of Savona.

After an absence of more than a century, wild boar began to return to Liguria, and to the neighbouring region of Piedmont. A further influx occurred during World War I, when it’s believed that military activities in the south-east of France forced parts of the population back into Italy over the Alps.

Although hunting fraternities were quick to augment this fledgling population with wild boars transported from elsewhere, the return of the species was primarily due to natural causes. From the 1950s onwards, traditional agricultural practices were abandoned as more and more people moved from rural towns into the cities. This meant that large areas of formerly cultivated terraces and pastures were rapidly overgrown, fast becoming dense secondary woodlands.

A city gone wild

This spontaneous “rewilding” has become a controversial issue in the region. Many conservationists and environmental organisations consider the region’s return to a “wild state” a success. But others believe that the encroaching wilderness signals a loss of traditional woodland knowledge and a reduction of biodiversity, associated with the pastures and meadows.


The province of Genoa is among the areas most densely populated by wild boar in Italy, with an estimated 25 boar per 10km². Rewilding processes have brought woodlands to the city limits, blurring the boundary between rural and urban areas. The species has expanded beyond the hinterlands, colonising highly urbanised, densely populated city spaces in Genoa, drawn by the abundance of food waste created by humans.

In 2009, the infamous boar Pierino made his home at Righi, on the outskirts of Genoa, where he was routinely fed with focaccia by enthusiasts. Today, a family of wild boar call the Albergo dei Poveri – a historical hostel for the Genoese poor in the city centre – their home.

But while their antics are often recorded and shared with glee on social media, the threats posed by the presence of wild animals has become a preoccupation for the city’s municipal administration.

Boorish behaviour

Wild boar have been involved in a number of traffic accidents, and have proven to be particularly dangerous when with their young, attacking dogs and even people. The city council in Genoa has put forward many proposals to reduce the number of animals in the city, ranging from forced removals, to sterilisation, increased attention to waste disposal and approved hunts. About 90 wild boar were reportedly culled in 2018.

Needless to say, each of these measures has been hotly debated. Animal advocacy groups staunchly oppose the proposals, and sometimes obstruct the authorities’ attempts to take action, often sending patrols to care for the animals, and even give them names. But other residents are displeased with the animals’ presence in the city, and have consulted with the council on how to address the problems that they cause.

And so Genoa continues to grapple with thorny issues surrounding the presence of wild boar in the city, with the city authorities seeking to resolve a polemical issue that embroils the lives of animals and humans alike. So far, a collective, coherent and communally agreeable strategy has proven evasive; one that considers the need for public safety, hygiene and health with the ethical responsibilities towards to wild boar themselves.

Meanwhile, the animals themselves continue to lounge and forage beneath the Ponte Gerolamo Serra and elsewhere, bringing a little of the wilderness into the city.

The Conversation

Robert Hearn, Assistant Professor in Human Geography, University of Nottingham.

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.