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Theatre Brief
Eleventh Edition

Robert Cohen
Claire Trevor Professor of Drama
University of California, Irvine

Donovan Sherman
Seton Hall University
THEATRE, BRIEF, ELEVENTH EDITION

Published by McGraw-Hill Education, 2 Penn Plaza, New York, NY 10121. Copyright © 2017 by
McGraw-Hill Education. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. Previous
editions © 2014, 2011, and 2008. No part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed in
any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written
consent of McGraw-Hill Education, including, but not limited to, in any network or other elec-
tronic storage or transmission, or broadcast for distance learning.
Some ancillaries, including electronic and print components, may not be available to customers
outside the United States.
This book is printed on acid-free paper.
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 0 DOW/DOW 1 0 9 8 7 6
Student edition: Instructor’s edition:
ISBN 978-1-259-44001-4 ISBN 978-1-259-74258-3
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All credits appearing on page are considered to be an extension of the copyright page.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Cohen, Robert, 1938–
Theatre : brief version / Robert Cohen, Claire Trevor Professor of Drama,
University of California, Irvine. — Eleventh edition.
  pages cm
ISBN 978-1-259-44001-4 (alk. paper)
1. Theater. I. Title.
PN2101.C632 2017
792—dc23
2015027473
The Internet addresses listed in the text were accurate at the time of publication. The inclusion
of a website does not indicate an endorsement by the authors or McGraw-Hill Education, and
McGraw-Hill Education does not guarantee the accuracy of the information presented at these
sites.

mheducation.com/highered
You Be the Star
Cohen and Sherman’s Theatre Brief allows you to be the star in the classroom and puts students in the front row
through an experiential approach. When students successfully master concepts with McGraw-Hill Education’s Learn-
Smart and SmartBook, you spend more class time focusing on theatre as a performing art, fostering a greater appre-
ciation for the course, and inspiring students to become life-long audience members.

Mastering Concepts
Cohen and Sherman’s Theatre Brief offers an insider’s guide to the world of theatre.
Through the coverage of design, acting, and directing, students are given a behind-the-scenes look at professional theatre
artists performing their craft. And, with LearnSmart/SmartBook, students are better able to understand and retain
these important concepts.
LearnSmart is an adaptive learning program designed to help students learn faster, study smarter, and retain more
knowledge for greater success. Distinguishing what students know from what they don’t, and focusing on concepts
they are most likely to forget, LearnSmart continuously adapts to each student’s needs by building a personalized
learning path. An intelligent adaptive study tool, LearnSmart is proven to strengthen memory recall, keep students in
class, and boost grades.
Enhanced by LearnSmart, SmartBook is the first and only adaptive reading experience currently available.

• Make It Effective. SmartBooktm creates a personalized reading experience by highlighting the most impactful
concepts a student needs to learn at that moment in time. This ensures that every minute spent with SmartBooktm
is returned to the student as the most value-added minute possible.
• Make It Informed. The reading experience continuously adapts by highlighting content based on what the stu-
dent knows and doesn’t know. Real-time reports quickly identify the concepts that require more attention from
individual students—or the entire class. SmartBookTM detects the content a student is most likely to forget and
brings it back to improve long-term retention of knowledge.

Theatre the Way You Want to Teach It

Does your course cover theatre history? Seven history chapters, formerly included in the comprehensive edition (The-
atre), are available for instructors who want a greater historical focus in their course. These include:

The Ancients
The Middle Ages
The Renaissance
The Theatre of Asia
The Royal Era
The Modern Theatre: Realism
The Modern Theatre: Antirealism

iv
in the Classroom
These history chapters are available in two ways:
1. In SmartBook at no extra cost. Simply order the 11th edition of Theatre Brief in SmartBook to get all-digital
access to all 19 chapters.
2. Through McGraw-Hill Create. Add the history chapters of your choice to the chapters that you will cover in
Theater, Brief, for a tailored print solution.

A theatre-goer’s guide written by Robert and Lorna Cohen, called “Enjoy the Play,” is also available
through Create. McGraw-Hill Create allows you to create a customized print book or eBook tailored to your course
and syllabus. You can search through thousands of McGraw-Hill Education texts, rearrange chapters, combine mate-
rial from other content sources, and include your own content or teaching notes. Create even allows you to personalize
your book’s appearance by selecting the cover and adding your name, school, and course information. To register and
to get more information, go to http://create.mheducation.com.

Illustrating Live Theatre

With Donovan Sherman joining Robert Cohen on the author team, Theatre Brief offers a vast updating of contempo-
rary theatre in America and abroad. Virtually every paragraph synchronizes closely with today’s students throughout
the English-speaking world.
Among the new materials throughout are dozens of new color photographs of major play productions as they have
been presented in theatres throughout the world in the past two years (2014 and 2015), as well as new and frequent
references to social media and other contemporary cultural phenomena that will help connect this study more closely
with today’s students.
In addition to these general additions, the new edition includes the following content changes:
Chapter 1: A new section and extended discussion on “theatre as play.”
Chapter 2: A fully reworked section on Aristotle’s elements of drama.
Chapter 3: A new section on “method acting,” its history, and its importance in America and abroad.
Chapter 4: A new section on award-winning playwright Suzan-Lori Parks, and a new section on playwrights com-
bining their continuing stage work with the creation of critically acclaimed television scripts.
Chapter 5: New emphases and information on puppets as characters, projections as scenery, in-ear monitors as sound
equipment for actors, and a brand new photo essay on Broadway stage manager Lisa Iacucci as she prepares
another performance of the musical revival, Hedwig and the Angry Inch.
Chapter 6: A new section (The Pre-Preparation Period) now includes a comprehensive discussion of a play’s
producer.
Chapter 7: A new Spotlight on the Renaissance producer and theatre owner Philip Henslowe.
Chapter 9: A broad study of the rapidly expanding American musical theatre.
Chapter 10: Extensive updating and extensions of nontraditional, color-blind, and cross-gender casting, applied
drama (as in theatre in prisons) and immersive performance, and movement-based theatre (as in Washington’s
Synetic Theatre), along with new sections on the continuing careers of directors Peter Brook and Robert Wilson.

v
About the Authors
ROBERT COHEN was the founding chair of the drama
program at the University of California, Irvine, in 1965,
and was the sole creator of the original—and nine
subsequent—editions of Theatre, starting in 1981. A
prolific theatre scholar, teacher, director, playwright,
translator, critic, and acting theorist for over fifty years
as professor of drama at UCI, he is the author of twenty-
three books (translated into six languages), thirty-six
scholarly articles, numerous published and produced
plays and play translations, and over four hundred pub-
lished reviews of plays produced in America and around
the world. He has also directed fifteen plays at the Utah
and Colorado Shakespeare Festivals and ninety more at
both regional and academic theatres in the United States
and abroad. In addition to teaching at UCI, Cohen has
served multiple times as master teacher at the Actors
Center in New York City and at TVI Studios in New York
and Los Angeles; he also speaks and conducts acting
workshops regularly, with residencies in Korea, China,
Hungary, Finland, Estonia, Sweden, Poland, Costa
Rica, Hong Kong, Canada, Romania, Australia, and
approximately half the states in the United States. His
books include Shakespeare on Theatre, Acting Power:
The 21st Century Edition, Acting in Shakespeare, Acting
One, Acting Professionally, Advanced Acting, Creative
Play Direction, Working Together in Theatre, Falling
Into Theatre, Jean Giraudoux: Three Faces of Destiny,
and various plays, translations, and anthologies.
UCI awarded Cohen its highest honor, the UCI
Medal, in 1993, and conferred on him a Clair Trevor
vi
Professorship and Bren Fellowship in 2001 and the UCI
Distinguished Faculty Award for Research in 2015. He
has also received the Career Achievement Award in
Academic Theatre from ATHE (the Association for The-
atre in Higher Education), the Honoris Causa Professor
degree at Babes-Bolyai University in Romania, and—for
bringing the great Polish director Jerzy Grotowski to
UCI for three years—the Polish Medal of Honor.
DONOVAN SHERMAN received his doctoral
degree in 2011 at the Joint Program of Theatre and Drama
at the University of California, Irvine, and the University
of California, San Diego. He is currently an assistant pro-
fessor of English at Seton Hall University. His research
focuses on the drama of Shakespeare and his contem-
poraries, along with theatre history, performance stud-
ies, and critical theory. His scholarly work includes his
book Second Death: Theatricalities of the Soul in Shake-
speare’s Drama, which will be published by Edinburgh
University Press, along with essays on Shakespeare, per-
formance studies, film, early modern religious practice,
and animal studies in Shakespeare Quarterly, The Jour-
nal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies, Literature/
Film Quarterly, Theatre Journal, and Seventeenth Cen-
tury News. As a theatre artist, Sherman has performed
with the Actors Theatre of Louisville, the SITI Company,
Steppenwolf Theatre Company, and several other regional
theatre companies in the United States, and he co-wrote
and directed new work with the performance collectives
Neo-Futurists and Weather Talking.
 Brief Contents

Preface iv Chapter 1 What Is the Theatre? 6

Introduction 1
Chapter 2 What Is a Play? 20
Chapter 3 The Actor 37
Chapter 4 The Playwright 59
Chapter 5 Designers and Technicians 86
Chapter 6 The Director 143
Chapter 7 Theatre Traditions: East and West 187
Chapter 8 The Modern Theatre 214
Chapter 9 The American Musical Theatre 240
Glossary G-1
Chapter 10 Global Theatre Today 255
Selected Bibliography B-1
Index I-1 Chapter 11 The Critic 310

create.mheducation.com
The Ancients
The Middle Ages
The Renaissance
The Theatre of Asia
The Royal Era
The Modern Theatre: Realism
The Modern Theatre: Antirealism
Appendix: Enjoy the Play!

vii
 Contents

Chapter 1 What Is Theatre? 6 Preface iv

Introduction 1
The Theatre Building 7
The Company, or Troupe, of Players 8
The Occupation of Theatre 9
Work 9
Art 12
Impersonation 12
Performance 14
Live Performance 16
Scripted and Rehearsed Performance 17
spotlight: Film Stars on Stage Acting 18

Chapter 2 What Is a Play? 20

Classifying Plays 21
Duration 21
Genre 22

stagecraft: Genre-ly Speaking 24

Dramaturgy: The Construction of Drama and

Dramatic Performance 26
Drama’s Components: The Vertical Axis 27
Plot 27
Characters 27
Theme 27
Diction 28
Music 28
Spectacle 28
Convention 29
Drama’s Timeline: The Horizontal Axis 31
Pre-Play 31
Play 31
The Exposition 32
The Conflict 33
The Climax  34
The Denouement 35
Post-Play 35

viii
 Contents ix

Chapter 3 The Actor 37

What is Acting? 38
The Paradox of Acting—From Socrates to
Stanislavsky 39

stagecraft: Basic Acting Exercises 42

Acting Today 43
Acting from The Inside: The Stanislavsky
Legacy 44
Acting from the Outside 45
The Actor as Virtuoso 46
Magic 48
Becoming an Actor 48
photo essay: Actor Sir Patrick Stewart 49

The Actor’s Approach 52

The Actor’s Instrument 53
The Actor’s Discipline 55
The Actor’s Routine 55
Audition 55
Rehearsal 56
Performance 57
The Actor in Life 58

Chapter 4 The Playwright 59

Literary and Nonliterary Aspects of
Playwriting 60
Playwriting as Event Writing 61
The Qualities of a Fine Play 63
Credibility and Intrigue 63
Speakability, Stageability, and Flow 66
Richness 68
Depth of Characterization 70
Gravity and Pertinence 70
Compression, Economy, and Intensity 71
Celebration 72
The Playwright’s Process 72
Dialogue 73
Conflict 73
Structure 74
x Contents

The Playwright’s Rewards 74

A Sampling of Current American
Playwrights 74
Tony Kushner 74
David Henry Hwang 76
Suzan-Lori Parks 76
photo essay: Playwright Neil LaBute 78

Theresa Rebeck 82
Sarah Ruhl 83

Chapter 5 Designers and Technicians 86

The Design Process 87
What Design Does 88
Scenery 90
spotlight: Henslowe’s Diary 91

Scenic Materials 94
stagecraft: Quince’s “Significant” Moon 95

The Scene Designer at Work 99

photo essay: Scene Designer Scott Pask 102

Lighting 106
Contemporary Lighting Design 107
The Lighting Designer at Work 108
photo essay: Lighting Designer Don Holder 112

Costumes 116
The Functions of Costume 116
The Costume Designer at Work 119
stagecraft: Importance of Small Details 119

Makeup 120
photo essay: Costume Designer Catherine
Zuber 121

Sound Design 127

stagecraft: The Makeup Kit 128

photo essay: Sound Designer Scott Lehrer 129

Puppets and Projections 133

Puppets 133
Projections 134
 Contents xi

Special Effects 136

Digital Technologies in Theatre Design 136
The Technical Production Team 138
photo essay: Broadway Stage Manger Lisa
Iacucci 139

Chapter 6 The Director 143

A Historical Overview 144
Teacher-Directors 145
Directors of Realism 146
Directors of Antirealism 146
The Contemporary Director 148
photo essay: Director Susan Stroman 149

The Directing Process: Step by Step 152

The Pre-Preparation Period 153
The Preparation Period 153
Preparing the Text 153
Conceptualizing the Production 155
The Core Concept   155
The High Concept 157
The Dramaturg 158
Implementation Period 158

spotlight: Dramaturg Jerry Patch 159

Selecting the Designers 160
Collaborating with the Designers 160
Casting the Actors 162
Rehearsals 163
photo essay: Casting Director James Calleri 164
Staging 166
Actor-Coaching 169
stagecraft: “This Is How It’s Done!” 170
Pacing 170
Coordinating 172
Presenting 173
The Training of a Director 174
photo essay: The School for Wives 175

Chapter 7 Theatre Traditions: East and West 187

The Origins of Theatre 188
Ritual 189
Storytelling 190
xii Contents

Shamanism, Trance, and Magic 190

The Beginnings of Traditional Drama 191
Traditional Drama in Sub-Saharan Africa 192
Egyptian Drama 193
Theatre in the West 193
Greek Drama 193
Roman Drama 196
Medieval Drama 197
Renaissance Drama 199
spotlight: Did Shakespeare Write
Shakespeare? 201

The Royal Theatre 204

The Romantic Theatre 204
Theatre in the East 205
Indian Sanskrit Drama 206
Indian Kathakali 206
Chinese Xiqu 207
Japanese Nō 209
Japanese Kabuki 211
The Theatrical Tradition Today:
East and West 213

Chapter 8 The Modern Theatre 214

Realism 215
A Laboratory 215
Pioneers Of Realism 217
Naturalism 219
Antirealism 220
The Symbolist Rebellion 221
The Era of Isms 222
Stylized Theatre 224
Surrealism and the Avant-Garde: Ubu Roi 224
Expressionism: The Hairy Ape 226
Metatheatre: Six Characters in Search of an
Author 229
Theatre of Cruelty: Jet of Blood 230
Philosophical Melodrama: No Exit 231
Theatre of the Absurd: Waiting for Godot 232
Theatre of Alienation: The Good Person of
Szechuan 233
Comedy of Contemporary Manners: Bedroom
Farce 235
Political Satire: Serious Money 237
 Contents xiii

Chapter 9 The American Musical Theatre 240

The Role of Music in Theatre History 240
The Broadway Musical: America’s Great
Contribution to the Theatre 242
Musical Comedy: Gershwin, Kern, Darktown
Follies, and Rodgers and Hart 243
A Golden Age 243
The Contemporary Musical 246
The Emergence of
Choreographer-Directors 246
Stephen Sondheim 248
Black Musicals 249
The Disney Monolith 250
Foreign Invasions: British, French,
and Disney 251
Musicals of the Twenty-First Century 252

Chapter 10 Global Theatre Today 255

What’s Happening? 255
An Open Theatre 257
A Macaronic Theatre 262
photo essay: Theatre in the Borderlands 264

A Theatre of Difference 265

Nontraditional Casting 267
A Spectacular Theatre 269
Performance Art 271
Verbatim Theatre 271
A Dangerous Theatre 272
A Theatre of Community 276
A Physical Theatre 279
Solo Performance 281
Puppet Performance 283
Site-Specific Performance 284
Theatre Today: Where Can You Find It? 286
Finding Theatre in the United States 287
Theatre in New York 287
Broadway 287
Off-Broadway and Off-Off-Broadway 288
Regional American Theatre 290
Shakespeare Festivals 292
Summer and Dinner Theatres 292
Amateur Theatre: Academic and
Community 292
xiv Contents

The Global Theatre 294

Global Theatrical Luminaries of Today 301
Robert Wilson 301
Yasmina Reza 302
Peter Brook 304
Katie Mitchell 306
Conclusions About Theatre Today? 309
Chapter 11 The Critic 310
Critical Perspectives 311
Social Significance 311
Human Significance 311
Artistic Quality 312
spotlight Performance Studies 313

Relationship to the Theatre Itself 313

Entertainment Value 314
Critical Focus 315
Professional Criticism 316 Glossary G-1
Amateur Criticism 317 Selected Bibliography B-1
We Are The Critics 317 Index I-1

The Ancients
The Middle Ages create.mheducation.com
The Renaissance
The Theatre of Asia
The Royal Era
The Modern Theatre: Realism
The Modern Theatre: Antirealism
Appendix: Enjoy the Play!

© Sara Krulwich/The New York Times/Redux
I T IS EVENING IN MANHATTAN. On Broadway the
marquees light up, and “Performance Tonight” signs
appear in front of double doors. Beneath a few box-
office windows placards announce “This Performance
Completely Sold Out.” At Grand Central and Penn
stations, trains release eager suburbanites from Green-
wich, Larchmont, and Trenton; students from New
Haven and Philadelphia; and day-trippers from Boston
and Washington. Out of the Times Square subways
pour mobs of locals, inhabitants of the island city and
the neighboring boroughs. They head to the “TKTS”
booth to line up and buy the discount tickets that go
on sale a few hours before curtain time for shows with
seats yet to be filled. Now, converging on these few
midtown blocks of America’s largest city, come limou-
sines, restaurant buses, private cars, and taxis, whose
drivers search for a curbside slot to deposit their rid-
ers among the milling throngs of pedestrians. Wall
Street bankers, college students, teenagers gazing at
their smartphones, sleek executives in expensive suits,
Brooklyn hipsters, arm-in-arm widows, out-of-town
tourists and conventioneers, celebrities, honeymoon-
ers, old and young, all different cultures, classes, and
identities—all commingle in this bizarre mass that
is the New York Broadway audience. Even during
(and perhaps especially during) troubled times in this
vibrant city, it is as bright, bold, and varied a crowd as
is likely to assemble at any single place in America.
Introduction
It is eight o’clock. In close to forty theatres within
two dozen blocks of each other, houselights dim, cur-
tains rise, and spotlights pick out performers who
have fervently waited for this moment to arrive. Here
a hot new musical, here a star-studded revival of an
American classic, here a contemporary English com-
edy from London’s West End, here a new play fresh
from its electrifying Seattle or Chicago premiere, here
a one-woman show, here an experimental play that has
transferred to larger quarters, here a touring production
from eastern Europe, and here the new play everyone
expects will capture this year’s coveted Tony Award.
The hours pass.
It’s 10:30. Pandemonium. All the double doors open
simultaneously, as if on cue, and once again the thou-
sands pour out into the night. At nearby restaurants,
waiters stand by to receive the after-theatre onslaught.
In the private upstairs room at Sardi’s restaurant, an
opening-night cast party gets under way; downstairs,
the patrons rehash the evening’s entertainment and
sneak covert glances at celebrities. Actors sip their
drinks while impatiently awaiting the reviews that will
determine whether they will be employed next week or
back on the street looking for new jobs.
Now let’s turn back the clock. It is dawn in Athens,
the thirteenth day of the month of Elaphebolion in the
year 458 B.C. From thousands of low mud-brick homes
in the city, from the central agora, and from temples
1
2 Introduction

Plays were often the sources of films in the early days of cinema, but now major films are increasingly turned into
plays—mostly musicals—and very successful ones (for example The Lion King, The Producers, Once). This scene is from
the 2012 Broadway hit, Newsies adapted by Disney from their 1992 film of that name; the musical won Tony Awards for
both its score and choreography. © Sara Krulwich/The New York Times/Redux

and agricultural outposts, streams of Athenians and
visitors converge on the south slope of the Acropolis,
Athens’s great hill and home of its grandest temples.
Bundled against the morning dampness, carrying
breakfast figs and flagons of wine, they pay their
tokens at the entrance to the great Theatre of Dionysus
and take their places in the seating spaces allotted
them. Each tribe occupies a separate area. They have
gathered for the City Dionysia festival, which cel-
ebrates the rebirth of the land and the long sunny days
that stretch ahead. It is a time for revelry and for rejoic-
ing at fertility and all its fruits. And it is above all a
time for the ultimate form of Dionysian worship: the
theatre.
The open stone seats carved into the hillside fill up
quickly. The crowd of seventeen thousand here today
comprises not only the majority of Athenian citizens
but also thousands of tradesmen, foreign visitors, slaves,
and resident aliens. Even paupers are in attendance,
thanks to the two obols apiece provided by a state fund
to buy tickets for the poor; they take their place with the
latecomers on the extremities of the theatron, as this first
of theatre buildings is called. Now, as the eastern sky
grows pale, a masked and costumed actor appears atop a
squat building set in full view of every spectator. A hush
falls over the crowd, and the actor, his voice magnified
by the wooden mask he wears, booms out this text:
I ask the gods some respite from the weariness of
this watchtime measured by years I lie awake . . .
And the entranced spectators settle in, secure in the
knowledge that today they are in good hands. Today
they will hear and see a new version of a familiar
story—the story of Agamemnon’s homecoming and
his murder, the revenge of that murder by his son,
Orestes, and the final disposition of justice in the case
of Orestes’ act—as told in the three tragedies that con-
stitute The Oresteia. This magnificent trilogy is by
Aeschylus, Athens’s leading dramatist for more than
forty years. The spectators watch closely, admiring but
critical. Tomorrow they or their representatives will
decide by vote whether the festival’s prize should go
 Theatre 3

Singer, songwriter, guitarist, thumb pianist, and now playwright,

Jonatha Brooke wrote and performed her one-woman play, My
Mother Has 4 Noses, to great success off-Broadway in 2014, basing
her play on the last years of her own mother’s life—and playing both
her mother and herself. © Sandrine Lee

to this work, or whether the young Sophocles, whose

plays were presented in this space yesterday, had better
sensed the true pulse of the time.
Let’s zoom ahead in time. It is noon in London, and
Queen Elizabeth I sits on the throne. Flags fly boldly
atop three of the taller buildings in Bankside, across the
Thames, announcing performance day at The Globe,
The Rose, and The Swan. Boatmen have already begun
ferrying theatergoers across the river, where The Globe
will present a new tragedy by Shakespeare (something Theatre is not always grandiose. Samuel Beckett virtually revolution-
called Hamlet), and The Rose promises a revival of ized the theatre in 1958 with his Waiting for Godot, which basically
Christopher Marlowe’s popular Dr. Faustus. North of shows two men under a tree waiting for a man who never comes. It
town, The Fortune and The Curtain are likewise open- was ridiculed at first, but by 2000 was cited as the greatest play of the
ing their gates for new plays of their own. century. From there his plays were steadily reduced in characters and
actions until, in his 1972 Not I, there was but one performer—whose
Now, at The Globe, two thousand spectators have mouth, eight feet above the stage, is all the audience sees. This 2014
arrived for the premiere. A trumpet sounds, then performance was performed by Lisa Dwan at the Brooklyn Academy of
sounds again, then builds into a full fanfare. Members Music’s Harvey Theater. © Sara Krulwich/New York Times/Redux
4 Introduction
Some plays never die. This Pulitzer Prize-winning 1936 production of Moss Hart and George S. Kaufman’s farce,
You Can’t Take It With You, “set the stage on fire”—or at least flooded it with fireworks, in its 2014 Broadway revival
directed by Scott Ellis. © Sara Krulwich/New York Times/Redux
of the audience, standing on the ground before the
stage or seated in bleachers overlooking it, exchange a
few final winks with their friends old and new before
turning their attention to the platform stage. Through a
giant door a guard bursts forth, lantern in hand. “Who’s
there?” he cries, and across from him another guard
hollers “Nay! Answer me!” In two thousand imagi-
nations, the bright afternoon has turned to midnight,
London’s Bankside has given way to the battlements
of Denmark’s Elsinore, and a terrified shiver from the
onstage actor has set up an answering chill among the
audience. A great new tragedy has begun its course.
It is midnight in a basement in the East Village,
or in a campus rehearsal room, or in a coffee shop in
Pittsburgh, Seattle, Sioux Falls, or Berlin. Across one
end of the room, a curtain has been drawn across a pole
suspended by wires. It has been a long evening, but
one play remains to be seen. The author is unknown,
but rumor has it that this new work is brutal, shock-
ing, poetic, strange. The members of the audience, by
turns skeptical and enthusiastic, look for the tenth time
at their programs. The lights dim. Performers, backed
by crudely painted packing crates, begin to act.
What is the common denominator in all of these
scenes? They are all theatre. There is no culture that has
not had a theatre in some form, for theatre is the art of
people acting out—and giving witness to—their most
pressing, illuminating, and inspiring concerns. Theatre
is a medium through which a society displays its ideas,
fashions, moralities, and entertainments, and debates
its conflicts, dilemmas, yearnings, and struggles. The-
atre has provided a stage for political revolution, social
propaganda, civil debate, artistic expression, religious
conversion, mass education, and even its own self-
criticism. It has been a performance ground for priests,
shamans, intellectuals, poets, painters, technologists,
philosophers, reformers, evangelists, jugglers, peas-
ants, children, and kings. It has taken place in caves,
fields, and forests; in circus tents, inns, and castles;
on street corners and in public buildings grand and

squalid all over the world. And it goes on incessantly in
the minds of its authors, actors, producers, designers,
and audiences.
Theatre is, above all, a living art form. It does not sim-
ply consist of plays but also of playing, and a play is not
simply a series of acts but a collective ritual of acting. Just
as “play” and “act” are both noun and verb, so theatre is
both a thing and a happening, a result and a process: it is
fluid in time, rich in feeling and human experience.
And above all, then, theatre is live and alive: an art
that continually forms before our eyes and is present to
an audience even as it is presented by its actors. In fact,
this very quality of “presentness” (or, in the actor’s ter-
minology, “stage presence”) defines every great theat-
rical performance.
Unlike the more static arts, theatre presents us with
a number of classic paradoxes:
It is spontaneous, yet it is rehearsed.
It is real, yet it is simulated.
Theatre 5
It is unique to the moment, yet it is repeatable.
The actors are themselves, yet they play characters.
The audience believes in the characters, yet they
know they are actors.
The audience becomes emotionally involved, yet
they know this is only a play.
These paradoxes comprise the glory of theatre. The
actors may “live in the moment” during their perfor-
mances, yet they have carefully studied, planned, and
rehearsed the details of their roles beforehand. And
the audience responds to their performance by rooting
for their “characters” to achieve their goals, and then
applauding the “actors” who play those roles during
the curtain call. But this is also how we live our own
lives, which we both experience and, at various points,
present to others. The theatre shows us to ourselves in
all of our human complexity.
And so this book about the theatre is also, ulti-
mately, a book about ourselves.
 Chapter
1
What Is
Theatre?
W HAT IS THEATRE? To start, let’s look at the origin
of the word. “Theatre” comes from the Greek theatron,
or “seeing place.” So on a basic level, a theatre is a
place where something is seen. Already, with this sim-
ple definition, we gain an important clue about what
theatre is. After all, for something to be seen there
must be people to do the seeing. So the theatre involves
those who watch and those who are watched—the
audience and what is on stage.
But the word can mean many other things. We also
use it to indicate where films are shown, as in “movie
theatre.” We use it to refer to a place where wars and
surgeries occur, as in the “theatre of operations” and
the “operating theatre.” These are all examples of the
physical sense of the word. Let’s call these the “hard-
ware” definitions of theatre.
6
© Photo by Evgenia Eliseeva for the American Repertory Theater
The “software” definition is more abstract. This
understanding of the word refers to the activity of the
theatre: not just the place where something is seen,
but also what is enacted in that place. When we say
“theatre,” in fact, we are usually referring to both
the hardware and software definitions. “The Guthrie
Theatre” refers not only to a physical building in
Minneapolis (hardware), but also to the plays pro-
duced there (software). And it also refers to people:
the theatre artists and administrators who put on the
plays. In fact, we can extend the definition to include
more abstract concepts, like the ideas and visions that
animate the artists and the plays they produce. The-
atre, then, is a combination of place, people, plays,
and ideas—and the works of art that result from this
collaboration.
 Theatre 7

Finally, we also use the word “theatre” to summon
the professional occupation—and often the passion—
of thousands of men and women all over the world. It is
a vocation and sometimes a lifelong devotion. If some-
one says “I work in theatre,” they are using the word to
conjure an entire world of meanings. They are telling
you that they work in a theatre, they participate in the
activity of theatre, they collaborate with other theatre
artists, and—perhaps most importantly—that they are
inspired by theatre. Theatre is an occupation and an art.
To work in the theatre is not just to labor, but also to
create.
Theatre as a building, a company, an occupation—
let’s look at all three of these usages more closely.
The Theatre Building
A theatre building is not always an enclosed structure.
The most ancient Greek theatron was probably no more
than a circle of bare earth, where performers chanted
and danced before a hillside of seated spectators. The
requirements for building such a theatre were minimal:
finding a space to act and a space to watch and hear.
As theatre grew in popularity and importance, and
spread out into different cultures and geographical loca-
tions, its structures grew larger and more elaborate. The
theatre’s producers had to seat larger and larger num-
bers of people, so the hillside soon became an ascending
bank of seats, each level providing a good view of the

National theatre buildings in many European countries, generally supported by their governments, are often palatial.
The National Theatre in Cluj, Romania, is regarded as the most beautiful building in this Transylvanian capital, which
indicates the prominence of live theatre in that country. © Robert Cohen
8 Chapter 1 What Is Theatre?

acting area. And as the theatre grew, attention had to

be paid to its acoustics (the sound quality derived from
the Greek acoustos, “heard”) so the sounds coming from
the stage would be protected from the wind and directed
toward the audience (from the Latin audientia, “those
who hear”).
Often, theatre spaces can be easily defined. The basic
relationship set up in ancient Greece can still apply to
theatres all over the world: the audience is “up there,”
the actors are “down there.” Occasionally, though, the
spaces are merged together so the actors mingle—and
sometimes interact—with the audience.
Theatre buildings may be complex structures. Greek
theatres of the fourth century B.C.—the period immedi-
ately following the golden age of Greek playwrights—
were gigantic stone edifices, some capable of holding up
to seventeen thousand spectators. Magnificent three-story
Roman theatres, complete with gilded columns, can-
vas awnings, and intricate marble carvings, were often
erected for dramatic festivals in the later years of the
Republic. Grand, freestanding Elizabethan theatres domi-
nate the London skyline in illustrated sixteenth-century
pictorial maps of the town. Opulent theatres were built
throughout Europe and in the major cities of the United
States in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Many
remain in full operation today, competing with splen-
did new stagehouses of every description and serving as
cultural centers for metropolitan areas around the world.
Theatres (the buildings) are fundamental to urban archi-
tecture, just as theatre (the art) is to contemporary life.

The Company, or Troupe,

of Players
Theatre is a collaborative art that involves dozens, even
hundreds, of people working closely together on a single
performance. Historically, theatre practitioners of various
specialties have teamed up in long-standing companies,
or troupes. Since the fourth century B.C., such troupes of
players have toured the countrysides and settled in cities
to present a repertory, or collection, of plays as a means of
earning a livelihood. Generally such players have included
actor-playwrights and actor-technicians who make the
company a self-contained production unit capable of writ-
ing, preparing, and presenting whole theatrical works that
tend to define the company itself. Some of these troupes—
and the works they produced—have become legendary.
The Lord Chamberlain’s Men, in London, counted William
Shakespeare as a member. The Illustrious Theatre of Paris
was founded and headed by the great actor-writer Molière.
This watercolor depicts the opulent interior of Booth’s Theatre in New
York at its 1869 opening. This grand “temple of theatre” was built by
America’s finest actor of the time, Edwin Booth (the brother of Lincoln’s
assassin). Booth staged and performed in a classical repertory of
Shakespearean plays at his theatre for four years. The side boxes,
similar to those that still exist in older Broadway theatres, had poor sight
lines: spectators electing to sit there were interested more in being
seen than in seeing the play. The luxurious seating in the orchestra
made this a particularly comfortable and elegant place to see classic
theatre. Charles Witham, Booth’s original stage designer, painted this
watercolor; part of Witham’s scenery (a street scene) is visible onstage.
© The Museum of the City of New York/Art Resource, NY
The influence of these theatre companies has proven more
long-lasting than the theatre buildings that physically sur-
vive them. They represent the genius and creativity of the-
atre in a way that stone and steel alone cannot.
 Shakespeare’s Globe has been meticulously reconstructed near its sixteenth-century location on the south bank of
London’s Thames River. The reconstruction was spearheaded by the late Sam Wanamaker, an American actor who
labored many years to acquire the funding and necessary permits (the theatre has the first thatch roof laid in London
since the Great Fire of 1666). This is scholarship’s best guess as to the specific dimensions and features of The Globe in
Shakespeare’s time. Since its 1997 opening this Globe has produced a summer repertoire of the plays of Shakespeare’s
age, seen on a stage much like the stages they were written for. © Robert Cohen

impersonation, and performance—each deserving indi-

The Occupation of Theatre
Theatre can be a vocation for professionals or an avo-
cation for amateurs. In either case, theatre is work. The
fundamental act of theater seems simple enough: actors
impersonate characters in a live performance of a play.
But an enormous amount of labor goes into this activ-
ity, from the design and creation of the set and props to
the orientation of the lights to the direction of the action
to the actors themselves—and countless other long
hours spent honing specialized crafts and collaborating
in concert with the other artists. We can organize this
vast web of labor into four major categories—work, art,
vidual attention.
WORK
Theatre is hard work. Rehearsals alone normally take a
minimum of four to six weeks, which are preceded by at
least an equal amount of time—often months or years—
of writing, researching, planning, casting, designing, and
creating a production team. The labors of theatre artists
in the final weeks before an opening are legendary: the
seven-day workweek becomes commonplace, expen-
ditures of money and spirit are intense, and each day is
9
 Sports, games, and serious theatre have always been related, and some plays combine these different “playing”
motifs. Richard Greenberg’s Take Me Out takes place in a baseball locker room in America, Eric Simonson’s Lombardi
in a football locker room, David Storey’s The Changing Room in a rugby locker room, Andrew Lloyd Webber’s The
Beautiful Game on a soccer field in Ireland, and Thomas Meehan’s musical adaption of the well-known film Rocky
concludes in a boxing ring. Pictured here, Rocky the Musical premiered in Hamburg, Germany, in 2013 before heading
to Broadway. © Photographer: Ralf Brinkhoff for Stage Entertainment Germany

almost entirely consumed. The theatre enterprise may
involve hundreds of people in scores of different efforts.
Most of these people are actually backstage, where the
audience can’t see them, silently and invisibly making
everything run smoothly. There are so many different
tasks in the theater that one kind of theatrical work, stage
management, consists entirely of the coordination of all
the other activities.
The work of the theatre is generally divisible into a
number of crafts:
Producing includes securing all necessary personnel,
space, and financing; supervising all production and
promotional efforts; fielding all legal matters; and
distributing all proceeds derived from receipts.
Directing consists of controlling and developing the
artistic product and providing it with a unified vision,
coordinating all of its components, and supervising
its rehearsals.
Acting comprises the most famous and visible of
theatrical work, in which actors perform the roles of
characters in a play.
Designing entails the creation of visual and aural
elements of a production, including the scenery,
10
properties, costumes and wigs, makeup, lighting,
sound, programs, advertising, and general ambience
of the location.
Building includes the realization of the designers’
vision through the work of carpenters, costumers,
wig-makers, electricians, makeup artists, recording
and sound engineers, painters, and a host of other
specially designated craftspeople who construct the
“hardware” of a play.
Crewing consists of technicians who execute, in
proper sequence and with carefully rehearsed timing,
the light and sound cues and the shifting of scenery,
as well as oversee the placement and return of
properties and the assignment, laundering, repair,
and changes of costumes.
Stage managing consists of “running” a play
production in all its complexity in performance after
performance.
House managing includes the responsibilities for
admitting, seating, and providing for the general
comfort of the audience.
There is one task that does not take place during the
enactment of a play, but is absolutely critical to the whole

production. This work is playwriting—and for musical
theatre, composing—which are in a class by themselves.
These activities take place elsewhere, sometimes even
continents and centuries away from the productions they
inspire.
Of course, the work of the theatre need not be divided
exactly as this list indicates. In any production, some
people perform more than one kind of work; for example,
many of the builders also crew. And it is not uncommon
for playwrights to direct what they write, for directors to
act in their own productions, and for designers to build
at least some of what they design. On some celebrated
occasions multitalented theatre artists have taken on
multiple roles at the same time: Aeschylus, in ancient
Greece, and Molière, in seventeenth-century Paris, each
wrote, directed, and acted in their own plays, and prob-
ably designed them as well; William Shakespeare was a
playwright, actor, and co-owner of the Lord Chamber-
lain’s Men in Elizabethan times; Bertolt Brecht revolu-
tionized both playwriting and acting when writing and
directing his plays in Berlin after World War II; and
recently, the versatile Tracy Letts has won acclaim and
multiple awards as both a playwright and actor.
Theatre is also work in the sense that it is not play. Or,
at least, not only play. A “play” is, after all, the word used
to describe the main product of theatre work. So the word
refers to both the activity of children who “play games”
and adults who “play roles” or “put on a play” as a profes-
sion. This is not a coincidence. The French jeu, the German
Spiel, the Hungarian játék, the Mandarin Chinese xi, and
the Latin ludi all share the double meaning of the English
play by referring both to children’s games and dramatic
plays and playing. This association points to a relationship
that is fundamental to our understanding of theatre: while
it is a kind of work, theatre is also a kind of playing, and it
is useful for us to see why this is so.
Theatre and games have a shared history. Both were
born as Greek events: the Dionysian theatre festival and
the Olympian game—or sport—festival were the two
great cultural events of ancient Greece, each embody-
ing a form of competition for excellence. The Romans
merged sports and theatre in public circuses, where the
two were performed side by side, often in competition
with each other. And more than a millennium later, the
Londoners of Shakespeare’s time built “playhouses” that
could accommodate dramatic productions one day and
bearbaiting spectacles (somewhat akin to bullfights) the
next. The association of dramatic and athletic entertain-
ment continues today: flip through your TV and you’ll
see serialized dramas and comedies run alongside live
recordings of basketball, football, and other sports.
Theatre 11
Meanwhile, professional athletes and stage entertainers
are among the foremost (and most highly paid) celebri-
ties of the modern age. Many a retired sports hero has
even found a second career as an actor.
This link between games and theatre is formed early
in life. “Child’s play” can be competitive and athletic,
but also creative and imitative. Children love to dress
up, mimic, or in any way pretend to be someone else—in
short, they love to be theatrical. This kind of play is also
educational because it helps children prepare for the nec-
essary role-playing of adult life. As we get older, more
unstructured and spontaneous games become organized
and instructional. Sometimes the lessons we learn from
playing are quite serious. Hide-and-seek, a playful and
engrossing game, also offers an opportunity to act out
one of childhood’s greatest fears—the terror of separation
from the parent, or “separation anxiety,” as psychologists
term it. Hide-and-seek allows a child to experience sepa-
ration anxiety by confronting it in a safe environment. In
this way, fear loses much of its frightening power. Such
play is grounded in serious concerns, and through the act
of playing the child gradually develops means of coping
with life’s challenges and uncertainties. The theatre’s
plays and playing often serve the same role for adults.
Drama and games are likewise linked in that they are
among the very few occupations that also attract large
numbers of wholly amateur players. The word “ama-
teur” sometimes sounds negative, but it simply means
“someone who acts out of love.” An amateur theatre art-
ist who participates in theatre does so not as a profession,
but solely because she loves it. And many, many peo-
ple love the theatre! Drama and games offer wonderful
opportunities for intense physical involvement, friendly
competition, personal self-expression, and emotional
engagement, all within limits set by precise and sensible
rules. Audiences, in turn, love seeing this passion on
display.
Theatre and child’s play have some important dif-
ferences, as well. Unlike adult games, which are open-
ended, every theatre performance has a preordained
conclusion. The Giants may not win the Super Bowl
next year, but Hamlet definitely will die in the fifth act.
The work of the theatre, indeed, consists in keeping us
invested in Hamlet while he is alive, so that his death is
moving and even surprising. We know he will die, but
we are still emotionally affected when he does.
We might say, finally, that theatre is the art of mak-
ing play into work—specifically, into a work of art. It is
exhilarating work, to be sure, and it usually inspires and
invigorates the energies and imaginations of all who par-
ticipate. But it is, ultimately, work. That is its challenge.
12 Chapter 1 What Is Theatre?
ART
The word art brings to mind a host of abstract ideas:
creativity, imagination, elegance, power, harmony, and
beauty. We expect a work of art to capture something of
the human spirit and to touch upon familiar, yet elusive,
meanings in life. Certainly great theatre never fails to
bring together many of these ideas. In great theatre we
glimpse not only the physical and emotional exuberance
of play, but also the deep yearnings that propel human-
ity’s search for purpose, meaning, and a life well lived.
Art is one of the great pursuits of humanity. It
uniquely integrates our emotions with our intellects and
our aesthetics with our revelations. It empowers both
those who make it and those who appreciate it. And it
sharpens thought and focuses feeling by mixing reality
with imagination. Think of a great work of art that you
love: a song that makes you fight back tears or jump
up and down in excitement, or a poem that expresses
familiar emotions—like love or sadness—in new ways.
We are drawn to works of art like these because they
lend meaning to our lives. We might find similar values
in religion as well, but art is accessible without sub-
scribing to any particular set of beliefs. It is surely for
this reason that all great religions—both Eastern and
Western—have employed art and artworks (including
dramatic art) in their liturgies and services from the
earliest of times.
Plays are a form of art, and many
plays are about artists. John
Logan’s Tony-award-winning Red,
about the painter Mark Rothko,
takes place in the artist’s studio in
the 1950s, as Rothko (Alfred Molina,
right) instructs and berates his
assistant Ken, played by Jonathan
Groff, at the Los Angeles Mark
Taper Forum in 2012. © Gina Ferazzi,
Los Angeles Times
IMPERSONATION
The fundamental quality of theatre is that it involves
actors impersonating characters. This feature is unique
to the theatre and separates it from poetry, painting,
sculpture, music, performance art, cabaret acts, and other
artistic activities.
When we see an actor impersonate a character, we
know, on some level, that the character is not “real.” But
oftentimes we act like she is. We react as if an actual per-
son were going through real emotions. It can be tricky,
then, on a more subjective and emotional level, to sepa-
rate the actor from the character. Even today, TV fans
send tweets to celebrities, or leave Facebook messages
on actors’ pages, to express their feelings about the peo-
ple they play, not the people they are. Movie fans clutter
message boards with theories as to what a certain char-
acter “means” or what fate might befall them after the
closing credits, as if they were real people.
Imagine how confusing this must have been in the
early days of theatre! The very first plays and audiences
didn’t have centuries of conventions to remind them that
an actor was not a character. How could they separate
the performer from the fiction? The solution the ancient
world found was the mask. Western theatre had its true
beginning that day in ancient Greece when an actor first
stepped out of the chorus, placed an unpainted mask over
his face, and thereby signaled that the lines he was about
 Masks were fundamental to ancient theatre and often appear in contemporary productions, particularly in revivals of
such classic works. Christina Uribe’s masks, sculpted in the ancient Greek tradition, were employed in this Greek/French
production of Sophocles’ Antigone directed by Philippe Brunet for his Demodocos company, which since 1995 has been
devoted to the pursuit of what Brunet calls “Dionysian mystery theatre.” The production, with costumes by Florence
Kukucka, was featured at the “off” schedule of France’s 2008 Avignon Theatre Festival; shown here are two chorus
members. © Laurencine Lot

to speak were “in character.” The mask provides both a
physical and a symbolic separation between the imper-
sonator (the actor) and the impersonated (the character),
thus aiding onlookers in temporarily suspending their
awareness of the “real” world and accepting in its place
the world of the stage. In a play, it must be the charac-
ters who have apparent life; the actors themselves are
expected to disappear into the shadows, along with their
personal preoccupations, anxieties, and career ambitions.
This convention of the stage gives rise to what Denis
Diderot, an eighteenth-century French dramatist, called
the “paradox of the actor”: when the actor has perfected
his or her art, it is the simulated character, the mask, that
seems to live before our eyes, while the real person has
no apparent life at all. The strength of such an illusion
still echoes in our use of the word person, which derives
from the Latin word (persona) for mask.
But of course we know the actor does not die behind
the mask, and this knowledge hints at an even greater
paradox: we believe in the character, but at the end of the
play we applaud the actor. Not only that—as we watch
good theatre we are always, in the back of our minds,
applauding the actor. This is true in film as well: if Chris
Pratt makes you laugh as his character in Guardians of the
Galaxy, or if Shailene Woodley makes you cry while she
plays a terminally ill cancer patient in The Fault in Our
Stars, you are emotionally reacting to the fiction while,
in the back of your head, thinking “what a great actor!”
13
 Presentational styles make little pretense of mimicking ordinary life. Here, director Susan Stroman creates a wonderful
farcical moment in The Producers as “theatre queen” director Roger De Bris (played in drag by Gary Beach) desperately
tries to keep his wig on. Facial expressions around the room focus the action and intensify the hilarity. Matthew
Broderick and Nathan Lane (at left) are the producers of the musical’s title. De Bris’s hangers-on (with the gaping Roger
Bart as his “common-law assistant,” Carmen Ghia) are perfectly arranged on the stairs by director Stroman to capture
every possible droll expression. Scenic design is by Robin Wagner, costumes by William Ivey Long, and lighting by
Peter Kaczorowski. © Paul Kolnik

Masks were used throughout the ancient Greek the-
atre period, and as we shall see in the pages that follow,
they were also staples of many other theatres of the past,
including the masquerade dramas of Nigeria, the nō and
kyōgen drama of Japan, and the commedia dell’arte of
Italy. They are still seen onstage today, not only in these
historic forms but in expressionist and avant-garde pro-
ductions. But beyond the mask’s physical presence, the
idea of masking—of hiding the performer while display-
ing the character—remains at the heart of impersonation.
As such, the mask endures. The most recognizable sym-
bols of theatre, after all, are the side-by-side masks of
comedy and tragedy.
PERFORMANCE
Theatre is a kind of performance, but what, exactly,
does performance mean? Performance is an action
or series of actions taken for the ultimate benefit
14
(attention, entertainment, enlightenment, or involvement)
of someone else. We call that “someone else” the audience.
All theatre is performance, but not all performance is
theatre. What counts as performance is quite broad. A
strictly private conversation between two people is sim-
ply “communication.” If, however, they engage in a con-
versation to impress or involve a third person who they
know is in a position to overhear it—someone listening
on a wiretap, say—the communication becomes a “per-
formance” and the third person becomes its “audience.”
Obviously, performance is a part of everyday life;
indeed, it has been analyzed as such in a number of
psychological and sociological works. When two high
school students arm-wrestle during lunch period, they
may well be performing their physical prowess for the
benefit of their peers. The student who asks a question
in the lecture hall is often “performing” for the other
students—and the professor performs for the same audi-
ence in providing a response. Trial lawyers examining
Another random document with
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of a dark and rainy night, some of the servants having left the gate
open, Trumpeter made his escape, and was never again heard of.
With the manners of this species during the breeding season, its
mode of constructing its nest, the number of its eggs, and the
appearance of its young, I am utterly unacquainted. The young bird
represented in the plate was shot near New Orleans, on the 16th of
December 1822. A figure of the adult male you will find in Plate
CCCCVI; and should I ever have opportunities of studying the habits
of this noble bird, believe me I shall have much pleasure in laying
before you the results. Dr Richardson informs us that it “is the most
common Swan in the interior of the Fur Countries. It breeds as far
south as lat. 61°, but principally within the arctic circle, and in its
migrations generally precedes the Geese a few days.”
As the adult bird will be subsequently described, I judge it
unnecessary at present to enter into a full detail of the external form
and characters of the species, and will therefore confine myself to
the colours and proportions of the individual represented.

Cygnus Buccinator, Richardson.—Trumpeter Swan, Fauna Bor.-Amer.

vol. ii. p.464. “White; head glossed above with chestnut; bill entirely black,
without a tubercle; tail-feathers 24; feet black.”

Young after first moult. Plate CCCLXXVI.

In winter the young has the bill black, with the middle portion of the
ridge, to the length of an inch and a half, light flesh-colour, and a
large elongated patch of light dull purple, on each side; the edge of
the lower mandible and the tongue dull yellowish flesh-colour. The
eye is dark brown. The feet dull yellowish-brown, tinged with olive;
the claws brownish-black; the webs blackish-brown. The upper part
of the head and the cheeks are light reddish-brown, each feather
having towards its extremity a small oblong whitish spot, narrowly
margined with dusky; the throat nearly white, as well as the edge of
the lower eyelid. The general colour of the other parts is greyish-
white, slightly tinged with yellow; the upper part of the neck marked
with spots similar to those on the head.
Length to end of tail 52 1/2 inches; extent of wings 91, wing from
flexure 23 1/4; bill along the ridge 4 3/8, from the angle of the eye 6,
along the edge of the lower mandible 4 1/8; tarsus 4 1/2; hind toe
1 1/4, its claw 3/8; middle toe 6 1/4, its claw 1; inner toe 4 1/2, its claw
10/ ; outer toe 6 1/4, its claw 3/4. Weight 19 lb. 8 oz.; the bird very
12
poor.
 SCOLOPACEOUS COURLAN.

Aramus Scolopaceus, Vieill.

PLATE CCCLXXVIL Male.

This very remarkable bird appears to be entirely confined to that

section of the Peninsula of Florida known by the name of “Ever-
glades,” and the swampy borders of the many bayous and lagoons
issuing from that great morass. Few are found farther north than
“Spring-garden Spring,” of which I have given you an account. I have
heard of its having been in one instance procured on one of the
Florida Keys, by Mr Titian Peale, whose specimen, which was a
young male, has been described and figured in the continuation of
Wilson’s American Ornithology. None were seen by me on any of
these islands, and our worthy Pilot told me, that in the course of the
many years which he had spent in that country he had never met
with one off the main-land. It did not occur to me on any part of the
coast, while I was proceeding to the Texas, nor is it to be found in
that country, which seems very strange, when I look at this bird, and
compare it with the Rail family, which is so abundant along the whole
of that coast, and to which it is very nearly allied in some of its
habits, more especially to the Fresh-water Marsh Hen, Rallus
elegans.
The flight of the Scolopaceous Courlan is heavy and of short
duration; the concavity and shortness of its wings, together with the
nature of the places which it inhabits, probably rendering it slow to
remove from one spot to another on wing, it being in a manner
confined among tall plants, the roots of which are frequently under
water. When it rises spontaneously it passes through the air at a
short distance above the weeds, with regular beats of the wings, its
neck extended to its full length, and its long legs dangling beneath,
until it suddenly drops to the ground. Few birds then excel it in
speed, as it proceeds, if pursued, by long strides, quickly repeated,
first in a direct course, along paths formed by itself when passing
and repassing from one place to another, and afterwards diverging
so as to ensure its safety even when chased by the best dogs, or
other not less eager enemies inhabiting the half-submersed
wilderness which it has chosen for its residence. When accidentally
surprised, it rises obliquely out of its recess, with the neck greatly
bent downward, and although its legs dangle for a while, they are
afterwards extended behind in the manner of those of the Heron
tribe. At such times these birds are easily shot; but if they are only
wounded, it would be vain to pursue them. Although of considerable
size and weight, they are enabled, by the great length and expansion
of their toes to walk on the broad leaves of the larger species of
Nymphæa found in that country. They swim with the same buoyancy
as the Coots, Gallinules, and Rails.
The nest of this bird is placed among the larger tufts of the tallest
grasses that grow at short distances from the bayous, many of which
are influenced by the low tides of the Gulf. It is so well fastened to
the stems of the plants, in the same manner as that of Rallus
crepitans, as to be generally secure from inundation; and is
composed of rank weeds matted together, and forming a large mass,
with a depression in the centre. The eggs, which rarely exceed five
or six, are large for the size of the bird. The young are hatched early
in May, and follow their parents soon after birth, being covered with
coarse tufty feathers, of a black colour.
The Ever-glades abound with a species of large greenish snail, on
which these birds principally feed; and, from the great number of
empty shells which are found at the foot of the nest and around it, it
is probable that the sitting bird is supplied with food by her mate.
Their notes, when uttered while they are on wing, are a sort of
cackle, but when on the ground, much louder, especially during the
pairing season, or when they are started by the report of a gun. The
flesh of the young is pretty good eating. Although it is alleged that
this bird occasionally alights on trees, I have never seen it in such a
situation.

Ardea scolopacea, Gmel. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 647.—Lath. Ind. Ornith. vol. ii.
p. 701.
Aramus scolopaceus, Ch. Bonap. Synopsis of Birds of United States, p. 39.
Scolopaceous Courlan, Aramus scolopaceus, Ch. Bonap. Amer. Ornith.
vol. iv. p. 111, pl. 26, fig. 2.—Nuttall, Manual, vol. ii. p. 68.

Adult Male. Plate CCCLXXVII.

Bill long, being double the length of the head, rather slender, but
strong, much compressed, straight, its breadth less before the
nostrils than towards the point; upper mandible with the dorsal line
straight until towards the end, then slightly arcuato-declinate, the
ridge convex in its whole length, the sides nearly erect, more convex
towards the extremity, the tip blunted, the edges broad and obtuse
for half their length, sharp but thick in the rest of their extent; lower
mandible slightly ascending at the base, then direct, much
compressed towards the tip, which is acute, the angle long and very
narrow, the dorsal line slightly convex, the edges obtuse, becoming
sharp towards the end. Nasal groove nearly half the length of the bill;
nostrils direct, linear, long.
Head rather small, oblong, compressed. Eyes rather large. Neck
long and slender. Body ovato-oblong, much compressed. Feet very
long and slender, rather stout; tibia bare in its lower half, which is
anteriorly covered with hexagonal scales, posteriorly with transverse
scutella; tarsus long, compressed, anteriorly with numerous broad
scutella, laterally with very small elongated scales, posteriorly with
large scutelliform scales, many of which are divided; toes long,
rather slender; hind toe small and elevated; fourth considerably
longer than second, middle toe nine-twelfths of an inch longer than
the outer; the anterior toes are divided to the base, compressed,
scutellate above, scaly on the sides, papillate beneath, compressed
and not marginate. Claws of moderate length, very slightly arched,
compressed, tapering to a point; that of the first toe smallest, of the
third largest, without serratures on the inner edge, which is thin and
a little expanded.
Plumage of ordinary texture, rather compact and glossy on the upper
parts, blended on the lower; feathers on the head and neck short,
oblong; on the back ovate and very broadly rounded. Wings of
moderate length, very broad, concave, rounded; primaries broad,
secondaries very broad and rounded; first primary two-thirds of the
length of the second, which is ten-twelfths shorter than the third; the
fourth, which is longest, exceeds the third by one-twelfth, and the
fifth by half a twelfth; some of the secondaries reach to half an inch
of the tip of the longest primary when the wing is closed; the three
outer quills are narrower toward the base than toward the extremity,
more especially the first. The tail is short, broad, convex, rounded, of
twelve broad, rounded feathers.
Bill greenish-yellow, dusky toward the end of both mandibles, but
especially of the upper; iris hazel; feet lead-grey, claws dusky. The
general colour of the plumage is chocolate-brown, the upper parts
glossed, with purple and bronze reflections; the fore part of the head
paler, inclining to grey, each feather with a greyish-white central line;
the sides of the head and the throat are still lighter, and a small
portion of the throat is whitish, these parts being streaked with
greyish-brown and greyish-white; the lower eyelid white. The hind
part and sides of the neck are marked with elliptical spots of white in
regular series, there being one on each feather, some of them
extending forwards to the posterior angle of the eye. Some of the
feathers on the middle of the breast and the lower wing-coverts are
similarly marked with lanceolate white spots; the tail is more highly
glossed and coloured than the rest of the upper parts.
Length to end of tail 25 3/4 inches, to end of wings 25, to end of
claws 32, to carpal joint 13 3/4; extent of wings 41; wing from flexure
12 1/2; tail 5 1/2; bill along the ridge 4 7/12, along the edge of lower
mandible 4 3/4; bare part of tibia 2 1/2; tarsus 4 8/12; hind toe 1 1/12, its
claw 7/12; second toe 2 4/12, its claw 3 1/2/12 twelfths; third toe 3 1/2, its
claw 10/12; fourth toe 2 8/12, its claw 8/12.
The Female is somewhat less, but resembles the male.

Length to end of tail 25 inches, to end of claws 33 1/4; to end of

wings 24, to carpal joint 12 3/4; extent of wings 42; wing from flexure
12; tail 4 3/4; bill along the gape 4 3/8.

The young when fully fledged is of a much lighter tint; the head and
fore-neck brownish-grey, the lower parts greyish-brown. The bill is
yellowish-green, darker toward the end; the feet much darker than in
the adult. Excepting the quills, primary-coverts, tail-feathers, and the
rump, all the plumage is marked with spots of white, of which there is
one along the centre of each feather; those on the neck elongated,
on the back, wings, and breast lanceolate. In this state it is figured in
the continuation of Wilson’s American Ornithology, by the Prince of
Musignano.
Length to end of tail 23 inches.
This remarkable bird has exercised the ingenuity of the
systematizing ornithologists, some of whom have considered it as a
Heron, others a Crane, while many have made it a Rail, and many
more a genus apart, but allied to the Rails, or to the Herons or to
both. It seems in truth to be a large Rail, with the wings and feet
approaching in form to those of the Herons; but while frivolous
disputes might be carried on ad libitum as to its location in the
system of nature, were we merely to consider its exterior; it is
fortunate that we possess a means of determining its character with
certainty:—if we examine its digestive organs, we shall at once see if
it be a Rail, or a Heron, or anything else. If a Heron, it will have a
very wide œsophagus, a roundish, thin-walled stomach, very slender
intestines, and a single short obtuse cœcum; if a Rail or Gallinule, or
bird of that tribe, it will have a narrow mouth, a narrow œsophagus, a
very muscular stomach, intestines of moderate width, and two
moderately long, rather wide cœca. Here then are two specimens,
shot in Florida, and preserved in spirits.
The first, which is found to be a female, has the mouth narrow,
measuring only 7 twelfths across; the tongue very long and
extremely slender, trigonal, pointed, extending to within half an inch
of the tip of the lower mandible, being 3 7/12 inches in length. The
œsophagus, a b c d, which is 12 inches long, is narrow in its whole
length, its diameter at the upper part being 6 twelfths, below the
middle of the neck 8 twelfths. The proventriculus, b c, is nearly 1 inch
long, 9 twelfths in its greatest diameter, bulbiform; its glandules
cylindrical, 1 1/2 twelfth long. Between the termination of the
proventriculus, and the commencement of the stomach, the space, c
d, is more elongated than usual, an inch and 2 twelfths, and presents
the appearance of a tube curved toward the left in the form of the
letter S. The circular fibres of this part are strong, and its epithelium
is very thick, soft, and raised into twelve very prominent rounded
longitudinal rugæ. The stomach, properly so called, d e f g is an
extremely powerful gizzard, of an orbicular form, compressed, with
its axis a little inclined toward the right side, its length 1 inch and 9
twelfths, its breadth 1 inch and 8 twelfths, its thickness 11 twelfths.
The left lateral muscle, d f, is much larger than the right, occupying
nearly one-half of the organ; the muscles are thick, but not very
remarkably so, their greatest thickness being 4 twelfths; the
epithelium is very hard and rugous. The duodenum, g h i, curves in
the usual manner, folding back upon itself at the distance of 3
inches. The intestine, g h i j k, is of moderate length, 31 inches, its
greatest diameter 3 twelfths; the rectum, k l, 3 inches long, including
the cloaca, l m, which is globular, 1 1/2 inch in diameter; the cœca, n
n, of moderate size, 1 3/4 inch long, for nearly half their length 2
twelfths in diameter, in the rest of their extent from 4 to 6 twelfths,
obtuse; their distance from the cloaca 10 twelfths.
The trachea, o p, is 10 inches long, narrow, of nearly uniform
diameter, being narrowest in the upper third of its length, unless for
three-fourths of an inch at the commencement. Its rings 186 in
number, are ossified, and a little flattened. The contractor muscles
are slender, as are the sterno-tracheal; and there is a single pair of
inferior laryngeal. The bronchi, p q, are wide, tapering, of about 15
narrow cartilaginous half rings. The heart is of moderate size, 1 7/12
inch long, 1 inch in breadth. The liver is small, its lobes, which are
equal, being 1 inch in length.
The other individual, a male, has the œsophagus 12 inches long; the
distance from the proventriculus to the stomach 1 2/12 inch; the
stomach 1 8/12 inch long, and the same in breadth; the cœca 2
inches long, the greatest diameter 5 twelfths; the intestine 32 1/2
inches in length, their greatest diameter 3 1/2 twelfths.
Now, in all this there is nothing indicative of any affinity to the
Herons; the structure of the intestinal canal being essentially like that
of the Coots, Gallinules, and Rails. Even the external parts
sufficiently indicate its station, the bill; the plumage, and the
colouring being more like these of the Rallinæ than of any other
family.
The Prince of Musignano, who first described this bird as a Rail,
Rallus giganteus, afterwards adopted for it Vieillot’s genus Aramus,
and considered it as belonging to the Ardeidæ, forming a connecting
link with them and the Rallidæ and “aberrating somewhat towards
the Scolopacidæ, as well as tending a little towards the Psophidæ,
sub-family Gruinæ” and claiming “again a well-founded resemblance
to the most typical form of the genus Rallus.” Finally, he reverts to
his original idea, and places it at the head of the Rallidæ. Mr
Swainson refers it to the Tantalidæ, associating it with Anastomus,
Tantalus, and Ibis, to which it certainly has very little affinity in any
point of view.
The efficiency of the digestive organs as a means of determining
affinities in cases of doubt, is happily illustrated in this instance; and
any person who will make himself acquainted with them will easily
discover numerous false associations in all systems founded on the
external aspect alone.
 HAWK OWL.

Strix funerea, Linn.

PLATE CCCLXXVIII. Male and Female.

It is always disagreeable to an author to come forward when he has

little of importance to communicate to the reader, and on no
occasion have I felt more keenly than on the present, when
introducing to your notice an Owl, of which the habits, although
unknown to me, must be highly interesting, as it seems to assimilate
in some degree to the diurnal birds of prey. I have never seen it
alive, and therefore can only repeat what has been said by one who
has. Dr Richardson gives the following account of it in the Fauna
Boreali-Americana:—
“It is a common species throughout the Fur Countries from Hudson’s
Bay to the Pacific, and is more frequently killed than any other by the
hunters, which may be partly attributed to its boldness and its habit
of flying about by day. In the summer season it feeds principally on
mice and insects; but in the snow-clad regions which it frequents in
the winter, neither of these are to be procured, and it then preys
mostly on Ptarmigan. It is a constant attendant on the flocks of
Ptarmigan in their spring migrations to the northward. It builds its
nest on a tree, of sticks, grass, and feathers, and lays two white
eggs. When the hunters are shooting Grouse, this bird is
occasionally attracted by the report of the gun, and is often bold
enough, on a bird being killed, to pounce down upon it, though it may
be unable from its size to carry it off. It is also known to hover round
the fires made by the natives at night.”
I lately received a letter from my friend Dr Thomas M. Brewer of
Boston, Massachusetts, in which he informs me that “the Hawk Owl
is very common at Memphramagog Lake in Vermont, where as many
as a dozen may be obtained by a good gunner in the course of a
single day. Its nests in the hollow trees are also frequently met with.”
It is surprising that none should have been seen by Mr Nuttall or
Dr Townsend, while crossing the Rocky Mountains, or on the
Columbia River; especially as it has been found by my friend
Edward Harris, Esq. as far southward on our eastern coast as
New Jersey.
The specimens from which the figures in the plate were drawn, were
given to me by Thomas Macculloch, Esq. of Pictou, who had a
good number of them. Two entire individuals preserved in spirits
afford materials for the following descriptions.

Strix funerea, Linn. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 133.—Lath. Ind. Orn. vol. i. p. 62.—
Ch. Bonaparte, Synopsis of Birds of United States, p. 35.
Hawk Owl, Strix hudsonia, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. vi. p. 64, pl. 50, fig. 6.
Strix funerea, American Hawk Owl, Richards. and Swains. Fauna Bor.-
Amer. vol. ii. p. 92.
Hawk Owl, Nuttall, Manual, vol. i. p. 115.

Adult Male. Plate CCCLXXVIII. Fig. 1.

Bill short, strong, higher than broad; upper mandible with the dorsal
line declinate and decurvate, the ridge convex, the sides convex
toward the end, the edges nearly straight until toward the end, the tip
decurvate, trigonal, acute; the cere covered with stiff bristly feathers
directed forwards; lower mandible with the angle very wide, the
dorsal outline convex, the ridge broad and convex, the sides convex,
the edges sharp toward the end, the tip obtuse, thin-edged. Nostrils
roundish, in the fore part of the cere, concealed by the feathers.
Head very large, roundish, convex above. Eyes very large. Neck
very short; body of moderate size. Legs very short, robust; tarsus
very short, feathered, as are the toes, of which the outer is
reversible; claws long, stout, compressed, tapering to a very acute
point, that of third toe with the inner edge considerably dilated.
Plumage full, very soft, blended; the cere covered with slender
stiffish reversed feathers, having their filaments disunited; the facial
disks incomplete above. Wings rather long, rounded; the third
primary longest, the fourth one-twelfth and a half shorter, the second
four and a half twelfths shorter than the third, the first intermediate
between the fifth and sixth; the first four cut out on the outer web
towards the end, the barbs on the greater part of the outer web of
the first, and the terminal portion of the second, thickened, and a
little separated, but not recurved; the secondaries of moderate
length, rounded. Tail rather long, much rounded, of twelve rather
broad rounded feathers, of which the lateral are two inches shorter
than the middle.
Bill pale yellow; iris bright yellow; claws dusky. The facial disk is
greyish-white, the shafts black, at its anterior part intermixed with
black filaments. The upper part of the head brownish-black, closely
spotted with white, there being generally three roundish spots on
each feather. The hind part of the neck is brownish-black, with two
broad longitudinal bands of white spots; a semicircle of brownish-
black feathers margins the facial disk behind. The general colour of
the upper parts is chocolate-brown, becoming lighter behind; all the
feathers marked with white spots in pairs, larger and more
conspicuous on the scapulars, disposed in bars on the rump and
upper tail-coverts. On both webs of the quills are several
transversely elliptical white spots, the outer webs of the first two and
five inner primaries excepted; the tips of all brownish-white. The tail
is marked with about eight transverse bars of white, formed by
narrow oblong alternating spots on both webs, the feathers also
tipped with white, the throat is greyish-dusky, that colour being
succeeded by a semi-circular band of white, beneath which is an
obscure brownish-black band; the rest of the lower parts transversely
barred with dusky and white; the dark bars of a deeper tint anteriorly,
approaching to chestnut on the sides and legs, fainter on the
abdomen and feet, and greyish-brown on the lower tail-coverts.
Length to end of tail 15 3/4 inches, to end of wings 12 1/2, to end of
claws 11 1/2, to carpal joint 3 3/8; extent of wings 31 1/2; wing from
flexure 9 8/12; tail 7 1/2; bill along the ridge 1 2/12, along the edge of
lower mandible 1; tarsus 1; hind toe 3/12, its claw 10 1/2/12; middle toe
10/ ,
12 its claw 10/12; inner toe 8 1/2/12, its claw 11/12; outer toe 6/12, its
claw 10/12.

Adult Female. Plate CCCLXXVIII. Fig. 2.

The Female is somewhat larger, and resembles the male, but is of a
lighter tint, especially on the wings and tail, where the white
markings are smaller and less decided.
Length to end of tail 17 1/2 inches.
An adult male, presented by Thomas M. Brewer, Esq. of Boston,
and preserved in spirits.
Fig. 1.
 Fig. 2.

The palate is concave, with two longitudinal, parallel, papillate

ridges. The posterior aperture of the nares is lanceolate, with an
anterior fissure, the space between which and the lateral ridge is
papillate. The tongue is short, fleshy, deeply emarginate and
papillate at the base, rounded and notched at the end; its length 7 1/2
twelfths, its breadth 3 1/4 twelfths. The mouth is very wide,
measuring 1 inch 1 twelfth across. The œsophagus, a b c, which is
4 3/4 inches in length, is of nearly uniform diameter, its greatest
breadth being 11 twelfths, and at its entrance into the thorax 10
twelfths. Its walls are extremely thin; but its longitudinal and
transverse muscular fibres are distinctly seen. The proventricular
glandules are very large and cylindrical, forming a belt, b c, 1 inch 1
twelfth in breadth. The stomach, c d e, is of moderate size, roundish,
1 inch 5 twelfths long, 1 inch 1 1/2 twelfth broad; its walls very thin,
the muscular coat being composed of slender fasciculi converging
toward two roundish tendinous spaces; the inner coat or epithelium
very soft and rugous, but partially dissolved by the gastric juice. The
pylorus has a semilunar margin, but is otherwise destitute of valve.
The contents of the stomach are tufts of reddish hair, resembling that
of some hare. The duodenum, e f g, which is 3 1/2 twelfths in
diameter, curves backwards and upwards, running across to the left
side, and returning upon itself opposite the fifth rib; it then proceeds
to the right side under the liver, receives the biliary ducts, passes
behind and above the stomach, and forms three folds, terminating in
the rectum, which is laterally curved, and ends in a globular cloaca, j
k, 10 twelfths in diameter. The entire length of the intestine, e f g h k,
is 18 inches, its diameter from 4 twelfths to 1 1/2 twelfth. The rectum
is 2 inches long. The cœca, Fig. 2, a b, a b, are 2 1/4 inches in
length, for 1 inch and 2 twelfths very narrow, their diameter varying
from 1 to 2 twelfths, their greatest diameter 4 twelfths, their extremity
blunt.

Fig. 3.

The aperture of the ear, Fig. 3, although very large, is inferior to that
of many Owls of similar size. It is of an elliptical form, 5 twelfths in its
greatest diameter, and 4 twelfths across.
The trachea is 3 inches long, flattened, its diameter nearly uniform,
averaging 2 twelfths; the rings moderately firm, 74 in number. The
bronchi are long, slender, of about 20 very slender cartilaginous half
rings. The contractor muscles are moderate, as are the sterno-
tracheal. There is a single pair of flat inferior laryngeal muscles,
going to the first and second bronchial rings.
 RUFF-NECKED HUMMING BIRD.

Trochilus rufus, Gmel.

PLATE CCCLXXIX. Male and Female.

This charming Humming Bird was discovered by the great navigator,

Captain Cook, who found it abundant at Nootka Sound. It does not
appear to have been seen by Dr Richardson or Mr Drummond in
the northern parts of America, traversed by those most zealous and
highly talented naturalists. As no account has hitherto been given of
its habits, the following notices from my friends Mr Nuttall and Dr
Townsend, will, I doubt not, prove highly interesting.
“We began,” says the first of-these enterprising travellers, “to meet
with this species near the Blue Mountains of the Columbia River, in
the autumn, as we proceeded to the west. These were all young
birds, and were not very easily distinguished from those of the
common species of the same age. We now for the first time (April
16.) saw the males in numbers, darting, burring, and squeaking in
the usual manner of their tribe; but when engaged in collecting its
accustomed sweets in all the energy of life, it seemed like a
breathing gem, or magic carbuncle of glowing fire, stretching out its
gorgeous ruff, as if to emulate the sun itself in splendour. Towards
the close of May, the females were sitting, at which time the males
were uncommonly quarrelsome and vigilant, darting out at me as I
approached the tree probably near the nest, looking like an angry
coal of brilliant fire, passing within very little of my face, returning
several times to the attack, sinking and darting with the utmost
velocity, at the same time uttering a curious reverberating sharp
bleat, somewhat similar to the quivering twang of a dead twig, yet
also so much like the real bleat of some small quadruped, that for
some time I searched the ground instead of the air, for the actor in
the scene. At other times, the males were seen darting up high in the
air, and whirling about each other in great anger, and with much
velocity. After these manœuvres the aggressor returned to the same
dead twig, where for days he regularly took his station with all the
courage and angry vigilance of a King-bird. The angry hissing or
bleating note of this species seems something like wht’t’t’t’t sh vee,
tremulously uttered as it whirls and sweeps through the air, like a
musket-ball, accompanied also by something like the whirr of the
Night Hawk. On the 29th of May, I found a nest of this species in a
forked branch of the Nootka Bramble, Rubus Nutkanus. The female
was sitting on two eggs, of the same shape and colour as those of
the common species. The nest also was perfectly similar, but
somewhat deeper. As I approached, the female came hovering
round the nest, and soon after, when all was still, she resumed her
place contentedly.”
Dr Townsend’s note is as follows:—“Nootka Sound Humming Bird,
Trochilus rufus, Ah-puets-Rinne of the Chinooks. On a clear day the
male may be seen to rise to a great height in the air, and descend
instantly near the earth, then mount again to the same altitude as at
first, performing in the evolution the half of a large circle. During the
descent it emits a strange and astonishingly loud note, which can be
compared to nothing but the rubbing together of the limbs of trees
during a high wind. I heard this singular note repeatedly last spring
and summer, but did not then discover to what it belonged. I did not
suppose it to be a bird at all, and least of all a Humming Bird. The
observer thinks it almost impossible that so small a creature can be