1

Aesthetic Historicity

Willmar Sauter, Stockholm University

During a workshop at the Drottningholm Court Theatre, a group of scholars and practitioners
had the opportunity to test various peculiarities of a stage built according to the technologies
of Baroque theatres. One of the obvious points we successively discovered were those spots
on stage, from which the vocal delivery was more effective than from others. We observed
differences between female and the male performers and there were also differences between
speaking and singing voices. In addition, these acoustically preferable spots indicated
sightlines that brought the performers into focus of audience attention.

For the research group as well as for the singers, these exercises meant an intensive learning
process. Although every performing artist should enquire suchlike particular spots in every
new theatre, the Baroque construction of the stage raises special demands and offers particular
effects. Provided that the performer finds the perfect spot for the delivery, the large
proscenium arch functions as an amplifier of the voice, the raked floor enhances visibility, but
the six pairs of flat wings tend to swallow sound.

In the following I will use our practical experiences at Drottningholm as a stepping stone to
theorise the relation between a historical theatre, the classical repertoire and today’s
practitioners. My ambition is to find a position between such extremes as the HIP-advocates
and the Regietheater (HIP standing for Historically Informed Production and Regietheater
summarises the German trend to ‘kill classics'.) The HIP-movement aims too often to
reconstruction of past practices whereas the Regietheater-directors are anxious to move as far
away from history as possible. I will argue for a theory of Aesthetic Historicity and show how
it can be described as a model that connects to time periods. Last but not the least its use as a
practical and analytical method will be demonstrated. But let me first resume our workshop at
Drottningholm.

In order to locate and demonstrate the ideal positioning on stage in a ‘live’ situation, a scene
from Mozart’s Le nozze di Figaro was put to the test. The artists had chosen the recitative and
duet between the Count and Susanna in act III, scenes 1-2. João Luís Paixão performed the
Count and Laila Cathleen Neuman played the part of Susanna. To begin with, the singers
found their own positions, as they would do in a rehearsal room. Together with Magnus
Tessing Schneider, they developed a blocking that seemed appropriate to the relationship
between the two fictional characters. At the same time, attention was given to the earlier
discovered ‘sound spots’ to maximise the effect of the vocal delivery. Some members of the
scholarly audience noticed a slight contradiction between the behaviour of the figures of the
opera and the projection of their voices. When the Count and Susanna interacted with each
other in the manner we are familiar with from many opera stages, their vocal dialogue in the
recitatives risked to drown in the flat wings. When they positioned their characters slightly
upstage, the dialogue tended to disappear: the Count and Susanna spoke to each other, but not
 2

to the audience; the relationship between the two characters remained intimate, almost
private.

In the following coffee break, a new strategy was put forward: what if we tried to make use of
the so-called semi-circle for a blocking that reminded of the practice of the eighteenth
century? Although doubts were brought up to whether we were able to construct such
positions, we decided to give it a chance. We would only apply a few basic rules: the socially
higher ranking Count had to occupy the centre of the stage; the two characters would not
touch each other during the recitative; the performers would only use the space between the
footlights and the second pair of wings; the individual, bodily movements should be reduced
to a minimum. Although these principles sound simple, it took a number of try-outs until the
artists felt reasonably comfortable in this eighteenth-century-inspired performance style. Once
the scene worked satisfactorily, some new discoveries could be stated by those who watched.

First of all, the effect of positioning the Count centre-stage was stunning. Centre-stage in the
Drottningholm Theatre meant the exact point in the middle between the first pair of movable
flat wings. This was not only one of the best ‘sound spots’ but also the point from which the
figure dominated the entire stage. This became even more obvious as soon as Susanna
appeared on the so-called Queen’s side (to the left, seen from the auditorium). Standing near
the curtain line, i.e. slightly closer to the footlights than the Count, Susanna immediately
could be understood as socially inferior character. The Count spoke to her from his
hierarchically superior position. The centre of the stage clearly supported his status. During
the entire dialogue of the recitative, this position could be held without further movements
being necessary. Moreover, Susanna was not supposed to turn around to address her responses
directly to the Count, but delivered her lines in the direction of the audience. In fictional terms
this had the effect that Susanna’s social inferiority was emphasized – she did not even dare to
look at her master. Despite the social tension between the two characters, the rhythm of their
voices, the Count’s gaze and Susanna’s smile indicated an erotic tension – the Count’s desire
as well as Susanna’s temptation – without having the characters moving towards each other,
let alone touching each other.

The visual conditions of the Baroque stage had a strong impact on the relationship between
the two characters. The position in the middle of the two perspectival rows of flat wings had a
kind of ‘natural’ authority, commanding the entire stage. Visually and even acoustically,
Susanna’s position was marginalised from her very entrance onto the stage. This was also
strongly experienced by the performer, Laila Cathleen Neuman, who felt quite uncomfortable
and marginalised in this inferior stage position. This changed at the beginning of the duet,
Crudel, perché finora, when the Count moved slightly to the King’s side and thus gave
Susanna more space on stage. Immediately the hierarchical order between the characters was
modified. When the Count moved one step forward while Susanna took half a step backward,
they were all of sudden on the same level, not only physically on stage but also emotionally in
their erotic attraction. While Susanna had more room on stage, she also could manipulate the
situation: the Count had to reduce his social superiority in order to get closer to the ‘object’ of
his desire. When he finally takes the hand of Susanna, she occupies centre stage whereas the
Count approaches her from the King’s side.
 3

This experiment was indeed illuminating for all who participated in it – the artists on stage,
the musician in the orchestra pit and the scholars in the auditorium. It became obvious that
this Baroque stage does something to the scene. The perspectival flight of wings promotes a
particular relationship between characters under the condition that the positioning on stage
takes advantage of the naturally given prerequisites of Baroque aesthetics. Something
essential happened in the encounter between the historical stage and today’s performers: The
pre-modern stage has the power to express relationships in a way that is not obvious to
modern singers. Through the experiment, we all got some insights into the expressiveness of a
historical place. Nota bene: our experiment was not an attempt to imitate eighteenth-century
acting nor was its aim to prove that this was the correct way of interpreting this scene from
Mozart’s opera. Rather one could say that the inspiration from a classical tradition produced
insights into the functioning of a Baroque stage that only the practice in a historical theatre
could provide. Something was tied together in the confrontation between the historical
building (an artefact), the premodern opera Figaro (from an archive) and the contemporary
staging in the workshop (with artists). The intertwining of historically given works and spaces
and today’s performance practice will in the following be theorised under the heading of
Aesthetic Historicity.

Artefacts, Archives and Artists

It is easy to envision the basic conditions of the workshop as a triangular relation between
artefacts, archives and artists: The historical theatre, here at Drottningholm, Mozart’s work
from 1786, and the artists who patiently carried out whatever the researchers had on their
mind. In a simplified scheme, this looks the following:

t1 ARTEFACT ARCHIVE

t2 ARTIST/AUDIENCE

event

Fig.1: Triangular relation of artefact, archive and artist

 4

Figure 1 indicates also the obvious fact that artefact and archive belong to a different time
period (t1) than the actual time of the workshop, in which the artists are active (t2). While we
can study the boards and mechanics of the historical theatre and the libretto and score of
Mozart’s opera, our knowledge about historical acting and singing is only approximate. What
we see in front of us during the workshop are today’s artists; whatever they have learned
about historical movements, voice production, phrasing, etc. can only be demonstrated in the
here-and-now of the performative event. The material of the demonstration originates,
however, from the late eighteenth century and has been preserved for more than 200 years.
The tension between then – meaning the late eighteenth century – and the now that we
experience in the twenty-first century, can be bridged in a constructive way. The historical
artefacts as well as the documents of historical archives have been made accessible as
historical monuments and thus brought near to performers and spectators of the workshop.

Why is such a transfer at all interesting? Because we are in the privileged situation to have
several well-preserved historical theatres in Sweden and elsewhere in Europe. (See
Perspectiv, European Route of Historic Theatres) We can still perform in these spaces, bring
together artists and audiences, and enjoy new productions of historical works in historical
theatres. Artists have of course a relationship to the work, be it old or new, and to whatever
category of artist they might belong: conductor, director, singer, dancer, costume designer,
scenographer, etc. But in the case of Drottningholm or other historical theatres, the historical
artefact is added. In order to take this unique stage, a World Heritage Site, into consideration
for a production of a work from the archive, the relationship between artist and archive is
influenced by the artefact. While the relationship between work and artist is influenced by the
presence of the artefact, the relationship between the artefact and the artist is influenced by
the work from the archive – that is why only pre-modern works are produced on a historical
stage such as Drottningholm. Finally, the relationship between artefact and work is altogether
depending on the view the artists take towards the interaction of a premodern opera or drama
and the historical stage, on which it is being presented.

It is in particular the relation between artefact and archive, on the one side, and the artists on
the other side, that is the object of a closer analysis. This relation equals at the same time the
tension between t1 which means the time of the origin of artefact and work, and the t 2, today’s
performance by the artists. This relationship became very obvious for those who participated
in the Drottningholm workshop, but in a wider perspective it concerns performances in all
historical places. Whether concerts are given in the Teatro Olimpico in Vicenza from 1584 or
modern productions are mounted in Wagner’s Festspielhaus in Bayreuth from 1876, the
intersection between then and now will always play a part in theatrical events (Cf. David
Wiles’ argument in chapter 5 of The Theatre of Drottningholm – Then and Now). Therefore
some principles of theatrical communication will be considered in the next section.

Towards aesthetic historicity

Movement and voice are the means by which a performer can act. Sight and sound are what
the spectator experiences. Basically, performance is as simple as that. The way, in which
 5

these visual and audial elements of expression are presented, is regulated in every time period
by its particular aesthetics. Through repetition an artistic style is established, which the artists
follow, embody with their skills, and eventually change. The audiences demands and
appreciates when the rules are recognisably displayed, but spectators also expect novelties
that, to a limited extent, break the rules. These rules, conventions and variations of expressive
means can be summarised as a historical aesthetics.

The visual and audial components of stage art in the late eighteenth century have been studied
long before our own workshop. When Agne Beijer rediscovered the Drottningholm Court
Theatre in 1921 he could demonstrate the workings of a Baroque stage and its preserved
machinery as a direct source for the study of eighteenth-century theatre practices. Although
the Drottningholm theatre was meant to remain a museum, Beijer could not resist the
temptation to experiment on this stage in order to learn more about historical practices.
Beijer’s knowledge of the aesthetics of the late eighteenth century met with the artists of the
early twentieth century on a stage that is a historical artefact. How can this meeting between
so distant time periods be described?

In regard of the visual and audial features of Beijer’s so-called divertissements, it is obvious
that the theatre itself played the leading role. The historical artefact remained not only a detail
of such events, but constituted the very environment in which it took place. In its original
materiality, the Drottningholm theatre still contributes to the overall experience of both artists
and spectators. Moreover, even the invisible machinery, which produces the dynamic visual
effects, becomes part of the experience. In addition to the material visuality of stage and
auditorium, the theatre also features immaterial characteristics. As we have seen in our
workshop, there are certain positions on stage that produce particular effects, such as the
power relationship between the Count and Susanna. In other words, the stage does something
to the actions that are performed on it. All this is inscribed in the historical artefact.

Our workshop also demonstrated the audial features of this theatre. There are some original
(although not fully authentic) devises that produce sound. The wind machine makes the storm
howl and the thunder box with its rolling rocks has scared one and another visitor. More
noticeable, however, is the fine acoustics of this place. The sound spots on stage have already
been mentioned and the way in which the voices and the music of the orchestra are carried
into the auditorium is appreciated by specialists and the general public alike. It happens that
conductors encourage the orchestra to play too loud, which is harmful to the balance of sound
and sight. To prevent such disturbances, the Drottningholm orchestra uses historical
instruments (or rather skilfully rebuilt copies) in order to take full advantage of the acoustic
conditions of the house.

There is of course a crux in this description. The positioning of singers on stage as well as the
fine-tuned sounds produced by the orchestra can only be realised by today’s artists in the
flesh. Even the most authentic eighteenth-century violin remains silent until played by a
contemporary musician. Also the scores and libretti of the works of the period cannot be
heard unless they are performed again today. This means that certain visual and audial
characteristics of the historical artefact only can be demonstrated by its use in our own time.
 6

On the one hand, the theatre really had these capacities in the past – they are not later
additions or today’s inventions. On the other hand, these traits of the past can only become
manifest in the here-and-now of performance. This delicate balance between the ‘there-and-
then’ and the ‘here-and-now’ constitutes the initial step for a theory of Aesthetic Historicity.

In order to deepen the understanding of the relationship between then and now, Aesthetic
Historicity is described in terms of its theoretical frames, as a two-dimensional model and
finally as a practical method. As a theory, it departs from the assumption that the present is
seen as a continuation of the past and therefore it is meaningful to clarify our relationship to
historical phenomena. Aesthetic Historicity is a relational theory, i.e. the relation between two
periods of time. As a model, Aesthetic Historicity displays the components and parameters
that influence this relation. Last but not least, Aesthetic Historicity is also a method for
researching the similarities and differences between two periods of time. The method is
geared towards the enquiry of how the aesthetics of past periods can be applied to today’s
practices.

A relational theory

‘The Gap Between Past and Future’ is the title of Hannah Arendt’s preface to her book
Between Past and Future from 1961 and she opens her argument by quoting an aphorism by
the French poet René Char:

Notre héritage n’est prédécé d’aucun testament.

In her translation: ‘our inheritance was left to us by no testament.’ (p. 3) What does it mean
that our heritage came down to us without any instructions of how to handle it? Hannah
Arendt explains:

Without testament or, to resolve the metaphor, without tradition – which selects
and names, which hands down and preserves, which indicates where the
treasures are and what their worth is – there seems to be no willed continuity in
time and hence, humanly speaking, neither past nor future, only sempiternal
change of the world and the biological cycle of living creatures in it. Thus the
treasure was lost not because of historical circumstances and the adversity of
reality but because no tradition had foreseen its appearance or is reality, because
no testament had willed it for the future. The loss, at any rate, perhaps inevitable
in terms of political reality was consummated by oblivion, by a failure of
memory, which befell not only the heirs but, as it were, the actors, the witnesses,
those who for a fleeting moment had held the treasure in the palm of their hands,
in short, the living themselves. For remembrance, which is only one, though one
of the most important, modes of thought, is helpless outside a pre-established
framework of references, and the human mind is only on the rarest occasions
capable of retaining something which is altogether unconnected. (p. 5)
 7

Traditions are lost and replaced by new fashions which create a gap between history and the
present. The treasures of the past are not remembered, but sometimes they are hidden away in
the archives. But ‘remembrance is helpless outside a pre-established framework of
references’, writes Arendt, and it is a scholarly task to re-establish these references. There is
also another gap that has to be addressed, namely ‘that thought and reality have parted
company,’ (p. 6) meaning that our thoughts about history have lost relevance for the reality
around us. In Arendt’s terms, this implies that ‘[t]he task of the mind is to understand what
happened, and this understanding, according to Hegel, is man’s way of reconciling himself
with reality.’ (9. 7) Here, Arendt hints at a close relationship between theoretical
consideration and concrete practice, to which I will return below. The point so far is Hannah
Arendt’s insistence on the possibility, even the necessity, to deal with past events in order to
understand the presence, in order to prepare for the future. We have treasures of the past right
in front of us – the artefacts, the archives – so we are obliged to deal with them, to collect
knowledge about them in order to preserve and use them. This raises a twofold
historiographical problem: the status of historical knowledge and the understanding of
historical events per se.

What does the awareness of historical treasures contribute to in our conception of the past?
This knowledge might just remain a backdrop to what constitutes the perception of history, a
jewel that we might enjoy and appreciate aesthetically, similar to objects exhibited in
historical museums. Or, as in various historical arguments, they might serve as the cause in a
logical chain of so-called developments: because this happened, the course of history changed
and the consequences can be observed, etc. Still, another variation of historical concepts
would point out historical events, occasions or artefacts as the root of traditions and
conventions that have been transmitted up to our own times, such as folklore and festivals. If
we, however, want to understand our present condition as the continuation of history, we need
to investigate the treasures of the past in their own context in order to grasp their significance
for the generations to come.

How historical events – or in our case: artefacts – are embedded in the context of their time, is
thoroughly discussed in Thomas Postlewait’s The Cambridge Introduction to Theatre
Historiography, in which he elaborates on the relationship between event and context. He
rejects the ‘all-inclusive’ background that explains nothing and he argues against logic
causality in the field of cultural history. Instead, he offers an analytical model of theatrical
events that takes into consideration both the agents/artists and the reception/spectators on the
one hand, and the artistic heritage and the implied world view, on the other hand. (p.18) In the
intersection of these parameters, complex patterns of shifting contexts can be made manifest.
Even though, the question remains whether such an interpretation fully covers the historical
significance of the event. Postlewait comments this problem:

There is one crucial aspect of the event that such a chart fails to take into
sufficient consideration: the diachronic factor. The model does not guide us to
the ways that events in time, one after another, may be connected in a sequence
of possible developments and causes. And of major concern, the model does not
close the distance between the event and the historian. The event thus occurs at
 8

one moment, but the historian, in a different time and place, is a displaced
“observer”. (p. 19)

The distance between historical events and today’s ‘displaced observer’ is further developed
by Jacques Derrida. Like Postlewait, he focuses on the relationship between the singlular
event – or the interpretation of an event or statement – and its historical frame which the
historian constructs. In his article ‘Cogito and the History of Madness’, he discusses a short
passage of Michel Foucault’s book Folie et déraison on René Descartes. Derrida writes:

What I here call interpretation is a certain passage, a certain semantic

relationship proposed by Foucault between, on the one hand, what Descartes
said – or what he is believed to have said or meant – and on the other hand, let
us say, with intentional vagueness for the moment, a certain “historical
structure,” as it is called, a certain meaningful historical totality, a total historical
project through which we think what Descartes said – or what he is believed to
have said or meant – can particularly be demonstrated. (Writing and Difference,
p. 32. Italics in original)

Derrida describes here the meaning-making process of historical interpretation in a dialectic

way which needs to consider both the singular instance in question and the more general
frame the historian is attributing to it. Concerning Descartes’ Cogito (ergo sum), Derrida asks:
‘does it have the historical meaning assigned to it? Is this meaning exhausted by its
historicity?’ (p. 33) Derrida’s reference to the historicity of a statement (or event) is a
necessary aspect of historical interpretation.

In a later interview (Positions, 1971/1981) Derrida elaborates more about the historicity of
history as a history of essence rather than an essence of history. (p. 58-9) Derrida attacks
history as a metaphysical concept, as the construction of meaning and while essence might
have a history, history cannot be reduced to essence or quiddity. What we can find are traces.
This term has been thoroughly discussed by Derrida in his Of Grammatology (1967). Here
only a reminder might be in place to that history never should depart too far from the archive,
that the archive eventually is the basis on which all historical interpretation should be built.

If the trace, arch-phenomenon of “memory”, which must be thought before the

opposition of nature and culture, animality and humanity, etc. belongs to the
very movement of signification, then signification is a priori written, whether
inscribed or not, in one form or another, in a “sensible” and “spatial” element
that is called “exterior.” (p. 42, Kamuf, italics and quotation marks in original)

What is the exterior that Derrida refers to? Literally, the ‘outside, “spatial” and “objective”
exteriority, which we believe we know as the most familiar thing in the world’ (ibid.) – in our
context: maybe the Court Theatre at Drottningholm? A well-preserved historical theatre as an
‘arch-phenomenon of “memory,”’ as a trace of the past. In my rendering of Derrida, the trace
comes close to Arendt’s treasure that we are obliged to take care of and interpret. But
Derrida’s trace leads us further into the direction of experience, i.e. how can the traces of the
past be experienced?
 9

We do not have a testament that tells us how to administer the treasures of the past. In our
search for these treasures, Derrida’s concept of trace and historicity will prove to be a helpful
trajectory. It allows us to distinguish between the historicity of past events, embedded in the
structural context of a time, and the traces that indicate change that occurred between then and
now. There are, however, problems of continuity to be considered. What can be directly
related to past conditions and which traditions have been broken? How can the historical
treasures be found in the artefacts and archives of the past and how can they be interpreted in
the light of the impulses that have influenced history between then and now?

The continuity between the past and the present has a double face. On the one side I claim that
the presence is the continuation of historical experiences, on the other side we know that
societies, including the intellectual and aesthetic discourses, continuously change, that one
period is followed by the next in a never-ending succession. One way of resolving this
contradiction is to distinguish between two time concepts: linear time that mirrors changes,
and cyclic time that reflects the repetitive processes of life. The fact that the world changes
needs no argument, but how these changes can be described constitutes a major problem in
historiography: How to distinguish between one period and another, how to account for the
multiple layers and overlapping within one and the same period, how to relate events to
contexts, and so forth. (Postlewait, chapt. 5) Here I limit my argument to a reminder of
Fernand Braudel’s tripartite scheme of durations – the short term of individuals and events,
the extended period of economy and social discourses, and the long duration of
infrastructures, forms of governance, religious belief systems, etc. At any point of time, these
three durations are simultaneously activated. (Braudel On History 1980) In addition, we have
to be aware that certain developments and discourses are terminated, broken, but also
rediscovered and reanimated. (Foucault, L’ordre du dicours, p. 34)

In respect of the cyclic time concept, we have to ask ourselves whether there are constants to
be found except of cosmic circles and ellipses, the seasons of the year and the biological cycle
from birth to death. Is human life repetitive? Or, to be more to our point: are there aspects of
theatrical life that do not change over time? Well, the imitative character of theatre has
already been stated by Aristotle: we – humans – enjoy both the imitator and the imitated when
someone presents an impersonation. I would say that this is still the case. But some people do
not appreciate theatrical imitations, and that has since Plato also been a constant aspect of the
theatre. And theatrical performances belong to the public domain, concern society and carry
meanings – that is why it always has been debated.

Another kind of continuity is encapsulated in the artefacts of theatrical history. In his book A
Short History of Western Performance Space (2003), David Wiles has demonstrated how
various concepts of theatrical buildings have endured changes over time. Theatres such as the
one in Epidaurus, the Teatro Olimico in Vicenza, the Theatre of Drottningholm – all bear
witness of the past because they have not undergone (profound) changes. Costumes and wigs,
musical instruments, technologies of scene change and lighting equipment have been
preserved and can still be used and experienced. In our workshop we have found treasures of
the past, albeit without a will, but nevertheless breathing aesthetic beauty.
 10

Is it at all possible to grasp the aesthetic aspects of historicity – that which history has left to
us so we can relate to it in terms of first-hand experiences? In his book Brecht and Method
(1998), Fredric Jameson observes Brecht’s struggle with ‘the most troublesome feature of the
historicity problem, at least from the aesthetic perspective: the historicity of feelings and
emotions themselves’. (p. 176) When discussing Kipling and Rimbaud, poets of a colonial
age, Brecht arrives at the following conclusion.

It is less easy, as Marx already observed, to explain the effects that such poems
have on ourselves. … Apparently emotions accompanying social progress will
long survive in the human mind as emotions linked with interests, and in the
case of works of art will do so more strongly than might have been expected,
given that in the meantime contrary interests will have made themselves felt.
Every progress cancels the previous one, insofar as by definition it moves on
further from that one, in other words, it moves across and away from it; at the
same time in a way it also uses its predecessors, so that this last is somehow
preserved in human consciousness as a form of progress, just as in real life its
results live on. We have here a process of generalization of the most interesting
kind, an ongoing process of abstraction. Whenever the works of art handed
down to us allow us to share the emotions of other people, of people of past ages
and of other classes, we must suppose that in doing so we are sharing interests
that are actually universally human. The dead have here represented class
interests that furthered progress. (p.177, John Willett’s translation)

Jameson quotes this long passage to show that the Marxist Brecht finds an aesthetic bridge
over the gap between poets of the past and readers of the present time. Brecht speaks of
progress that divides us from earlier periods, but beyond the social and political changes,
aesthetic phenomena of the past can reach us by way of their aesthetic value. Brecht – and
Jameson – has found a key to historical treasures and this key is aesthetic experience.

Brecht speaks of poetry, our interest are theatrical performances with their visual and audial
dimensions. For a theory of Aesthetic Historicity this implies that not only the findings in the
archives – texts, pictures – are relevant, but that we can add the artefacts that have reached our
time. Since theatre performances are a live art form, both documents and artefacts regain a
direct function in the encounter with artists and audiences, allowing a direct, sensory,
aesthetic experience.

Hannah Arendt’s insistence on the intellectual understanding of the past is paramount also for
the theory of Aesthetic Historicity, in particular since we have the treasures of the late
eighteenth century right before our eyes. We are obliged to fathom their significance because
these artefacts play their roles even today. Following Jacques Derrida’s strategy, we need to
establish a reasonable relation between the singular event – or: the artefact – and its historical
context, which in following periods is exposed to impulses and changes, due to the mobility
of the structural elements. Despite the discontinuity of historical discourses, the artefacts can
be experienced in the here-and-now of performance. Fredric Jameson adds an aesthetic
dimension: we are able to emotionally experience the aesthetics of past periods.
 11

Aesthetic Historicity is a relational theory that ties together a number of elements and
parameters. We have access to monuments of the past in the form of historical artefacts and
artistic works preserved in the archives. These represent the aesthetics of a certain epoch,
embedded in the wider historical context of the time. Both the aesthetics and the context
change due to the impulses every new period brings about. These impulses affect the artistic,
intellectual and societal conditions, then as well as in our own time. Therefore, the character
and the functions of the historical artefacts and works have to be subjected to
historiographical (re-)construction. When we use them in today’s performances, their relation
to our time has to be determined anew to facilitate direct, aesthetic experiences. It is exactly
this relation that Aesthetic Historicity describes and theorises. It relates the historical moment
to the present experience, a relation that has been described as the time span between t1 and t2.
At the same time, it also relates the works from t1 and their interpretation in t2 to the artefacts
of t1. Another relationship concerns the historical practices, studied through historiography,
and their aesthetic relevance for today. Finally – and in spite of the discontinuity of periods
and centuries – Aesthetic Historicity theorises the presence of the past.

A model of Aesthetic Historicity

In this section I present a model that attempts to transfer the theoretical considerations
concerning Aesthetic Historicity discussed in the foregoing reflections into a general scheme.
Like all models, even this one represents a reduction of the fine web that we must imagine as
links between past and present. The model is a practical tool that translates the historian’s
assumptions into an applicable methodology. The theory relates Aesthetic Historicity to the
world, the methodology ties it to lived experience.
 12

Figure 2: A model of Aesthetic Historicity // see separately

attached figure

As a first step, before considering the methodological consequences of the model, I will
explain the terms that are used in this scheme. Some of the terms might have an obvious
meaning while others are of a more complex nature. Although the model is intended to cover
the relationship between all kinds of historical periods, I will mainly illustrate it implications
with examples from the time of Gustaf III in Sweden (t1) and today (t2). It could, however, be
equally interesting to investigate the relation between the Gustavian period and Antiquity, e.g.
how the Greek gods were perceived in the late eighteenth century and what the discoveries of
ancient Troy meant to the revival of classicist ideas. Suchlike questions will only be touched
upon marginally in the following explications, but my point is that the model in no way is
limited to the periods I refer to in the following.

History indicates the time that has passed between t1 and t2. In our case that means roughly the
250 years since the Drottningholm Court Theatre had been built. This time can be measured
in hours, days and years, the dates that have passed. It could also be called the chronology of
lived experiences – life as it unfolds over time.

In Historiography, the view is reversed in relation to history. Historiography is always written

at a later time (t2) and looks back at passed events. When we investigate historical events and
their circumstances, we always consider them in retrospective, even though we might describe
them in chronological order. Of course, historical research is depending on theoretical
paradigms, individual interests, available sources and so forth. (See Thomas Postlewait, The
Cambridge Introduction to Theatre Historiography, especially Chapter 4 on The Theatrical
Event). The intellectual and scholarly circumstances of the first historiographic accounts of
the Gustavian theatre in Sweden, i.e. around the turn of the century 1900, have to be
scrutinised before taking their results and conclusions at face value. (Levertin 1889, Personne
1913, Nordensvan 1917) The access to material artefacts such as the machinery of the
Drottningholm Theatre were not yet available to these scholars, nor had they penetrated the
archives to search for not-yet printed sources from Gustaf III:s hands. Today’s research can
rely on a number of special studies such as Beijer’s books on the theatres of Drottningholm
and Gripsholm (1937, 1981) and thorough investigations of the archives such as Beth
Hennings’ and Marie-Christine Skunke’s biographical accounts of Gustaf III. (1957 and 1997,
respectively) For each of these books – and others could be mentioned (Lönnroth 1996,
Tandefelt, 2008, Berlova 2013) – the aims, circumstances and ideologies of their approach to
the period have to be taken into consideration. A special issue in historiography are the
edition of works of the period, whether they have been published in nationally supported
publications (the dramatic works of GIII) or in minutely commented, single transcriptions of
theatre manuscripts (Derkert 1985). Although this historiographic corpus provides us with a
broad flow of information, there is still a need for today’s scholars to return to the artefacts
and archives in order to create reliable accounts of historical events.
 13

Context is a useful, but also an equally misused term in scholarly research. As Thomas
Postlewait has explained, contexts are sometimes understood as ‘all-inclusive’ and thus
remain only loosely relevant for the phenomenon in question; occasionally, only certain
features of a context are singled out as causal explanations; most frequently, context is
mentioned as the unspecified ‘background’ to occurrences, an approximate, general picture of
a period without any explanatory value. In order to avoid these pitfalls, I propose a distinction
that relates context partly to the circumstances of an event, partly to its content. By
circumstances I mean the specific conditions that were influential at the time and place that is
under consideration, be it a particular event, a series of events, a tradition or maybe even an
entire period (neglecting here for the moment the question of what constitutes a period). In the
case of the model, it seems to be fruitful to consider contexts in a comparative way, i.e.
contexts that are relevant both for t1 and for t2. Which conditions prove to contain a great
measure of similarities and which other conditions have changed significantly over time?

As our workshop at the Drottningholm Theatre have shown, the acoustics of the stage
obviously work in the same way today as they did 250 years ago. The delivery of voices of
singers and actors are governed by the same circumstances that the architecture of the
theatrical space implies. The audience that the performers address is, however, not the same.
In Gustavian times, Drottningholm was a court theatre, today it is part of the public domain.
This major difference has a significant impact, because the general audience of today also has
other kinds of expectations towards a performance at Drottningholm compared to the nobility
that King Gustaf III invited or forced to attend the operas and plays of his choice. The
historical context has been changed due to the artistic, intellectual and societal impulses that
will be discussed later. In a wider frame of contexts, it is necessary to relate the Gustavian era
to one of the dominating discourses of the time: the Enlightenment. To what extent had these
European ideas been incorporated in the thinking and writings of leading circles in Sweden?
Distinctions are necessary: are we thinking of the Enlightenment in terms of the equality of
man, or the new attitude towards nature, or the rationality of human beings? Depending on
our focus, the answers will vary. Discussions of this kind move the concept of contexts into
the direction of contents, seen as a complement to circumstances.

What were the themes that dominated the discourses of the time? One can observe that the
myths and histories of Antiquity that were central to the Baroque era, were marginalised
during the late eighteenth century, although they still appeared in Gluck’s operas. Gustaf III
loved Gluck’s L’Orfeo, but in the repertoire of Monvel’s French theatre company that
performed frequently at Drottningholm, there were hardly any pieces that dealt with these
ancient myths. What substituted the Greek gods on the stage of the late eighteenth century?
Who were the new heroes in fiction and art? Here the context turns into con-text, i.e. the
circumstances and the content that the texts from the archives have preserved and made
available to our time. The artistic and dramaturgical reading of the works of a past period
requires both a broad understanding of the discourses of the time and an understanding of its
principal aesthetics. This brings med to an utterly complex term – aesthetics.

Aesthetics as a conceptual term was revived as a philosophical aspect of the arts during the
eighteenth century. In the lifetime of Gustaf III, two important books about aesthetics were
 14

published: Alexander Gottlieb Baumgarten’s Aesthetica in 1750 and Immanuel Kant’s Kritik
der Urteilskraft in 1790. In both of these treaties, the focus lies on the sensitive perception of
‘the beautiful’ in art and nature, experiences without specific purpose, which nevertheless can
render the beholder a sense of the sublime. Distinctions between various art forms and their
specific way of affecting the viewer or reader were discussed by Gotthold Ephraim Lessing in
his famous Laokoon from 1766, which represented an important turning point in the aesthetic
debate of the eighteenth century. Lessing not only revised the traditional order of the arts – in
which painting was the noblest art form – but he also pointed to the effects that particular
pieces of art or text have on a beholder. Thus, aesthetics became the platform for discussions
of the ideal creation in order to reach an ideal effect. Lessing contributed himself to these
ideals addressing the art of drama and acting in his Hamburgische Dramaturgie, in which he
indefatigably emphasised the relationship between the expressions on stage and the effects in
the auditorium. It is in this latter sense that aesthetics is used in the model of Aesthetic
Historicity.

Although we can describe characteristics of a period, one cannot even imagine a

comprehensive aesthetics of an entire century. Not even the so-called ‘Gustavian epoch’ can
be summarised under one label. Rococo, neo-classicism and romanticism were overlapping –
even in the theatre of Drottningholm! And while Gustaf III praised the Enlightenment, he
introduced strong censorship in Sweden. He was the first monarch in Europe in his
recognition of the independence of the United States of America while he only a few years
earlier had seized absolute power in a coup d’état. Choices have to be made. In the following
I will delimit my discussion to the theatrical field, i.e. performed, aesthetic expressions. Of
course, these expressions are in turn related to other art forms such as architecture, painting,
poetry, and music. Referring to my argument that theatrical actions consist of movement and
sound, it seems appropriate to distinguish between visual and audial expressions.

Visual expressions include first and foremost the performer, the physical body on stage. The
actors wear of course costumes – in the theatre even nakedness would be a costume – and
they are surrounded by a set design. The architecture of a theatre building or an open air stage
also constitute the visual universe that the spectator becomes part of. This picture should,
however, not be imagined as static, on the contrary: the performers move, the sets change and
even the spectators seek new positions in their seats. In the field of visual expressions it
becomes especially obvious that we are confronted with historical artefacts. To visit an
absolutely new theatre building is rare – most of the time we are embedded in an auditorium
from another age than our own. Through reconstructions and renovations, most theatre
buildings have become a palimpsest of various time layers. Only in exceptional cases – such
as the theatre of Drottningholm – the historical artefact has been preserved (almost)
untouched by changes over time. This means that the characteristics of the place that were
establish at t1 still exist at t2. The stage machinery allows us to view a changement à vue of
the set in the same way as it appeared to the court of King Gustaf. However, the movements
of the performer can only be roughly (re-)constructed through historical research – it can no
longer be experienced in its original form, but it can be experimented with from a t 2–
perspective.
 15

Audial expressions are always time-related and therefor bound to t2. We can never hear the
sound of yesterday, let alone the sound of the eighteenth century, long before recording
devices were invented. Instead, we attempt to approximate the sounds of the past. There is no
reason to believe that the thunder and wind machines of Drottningholm made different noises
some hundred years ago. There are still historical instruments that can be played upon, but
this requires special skills that have to be learned. Even in this case, historical knowledge
gives access to the (re-)construction of the sounds of the past. To what extent today’s
interpretation of historical scores coincides with the original intentions of a composer, we will
never fully know. Since the number of historical instruments is limited, historically informed
orchestras depend upon carefully built copies of authentic instruments, which actually
produce sounds of the past as far as this at all is possible. While instruments can be rebuilt,
the human voice is always tied to a living body. But like the musicians, singers can learn past
techniques of delivery, adjust the volume to historical buildings and develop the skills of
projecting sound according to the score and the space. For musicians and performers alike, the
techniques of the past have to be acquired through learning and training, because today’s
techniques are the result of several hundred years of development or rather: changes of style,
technology and taste, thinking and habits, and a ‘modern’ world view.

The purpose of these visual and audial expressions is, as we have seen in our workshop, to
create a fictional story that is presented by performers who incorporate the characters of the
plot. The interpretation of characters we meet in historical dramas and libretti is a complex
matter. We know that the singers and actors of the eighteenth century still were indebted to
the rhetoric practices of the Baroque, although several stylistic changes occurred between
1700 and 1800. We can turn to the writings of Lessing and Diderot to learn how much acting
was discussed at the time; costumes were reformed again and again; the antique gods were
replaced by recognisable bourgeois citizens, and so forth. To reconstruct these acting
practices is an unsurmountable task, but this – even if it would be possible – is only one side
of the problem. The other side consists of the acting practices of today, which are built on a
very different view of the individual. The findings of psychology since the late nineteenth
century have had and still have a deep impact on how a personality, fictional or in real life, is
perceived. In addition, realism and naturalism, which developed parallel in the late nineteenth
century, have permanently altered the acting techniques of the past. Since Konstantin
Stanislavski’s experiments with psychological realism as fundament of a believable stage
character, almost no performers today can free themselves from this artistic attitude.
Moreover, this is also the audience’s attitude, which cannot be neglected. Any performance
today needs to a certain extent negotiate between the practices that informed the creators of a
historical work and the demands that today’s artists and audiences adhere to. The impulses
that brought about suchlike dilemmas between then and now will be discussed as impulses of
history in the following.

Impulses that cause changes are often referred to as ‘development’ in a positive, progressive
sense. This is exactly why I speak of impulses rather than development. While few would
question the importance of electricity, the invention of the spotlight does not automatically
mean that the theatre of the twentieth century was superior to the eighteenth-century stage
 16

with its dangerous open flames behind the wings. Especially in the arts there is no
development from ‘primitive’ to advanced forms of artistic presentation, but they certainly
change due to the impulses that every period is exposed to.

To begin with, I would like to differentiate between material impulses such as a country’s
infrastructure, buildings, transportations, telephones, schools etc. and discursive impulses that
change our ways of thinking, wishing, imagining and talking. These impulses stand between
t1 and t2 and tend to blur our understanding of the past. The historian’s task consists in great
measure in recognising these impulses that shade our view of historical conditions. Through
careful analyses of changes that such impulses have caused, a more truthful picture of the past
will hopefully appear. In order to give some overview of the major changes that affect the
theatrical field, I distinguish between three kinds of impulses, namely artistic, intellectual and
societal parameters. Needless to say, any other parameters might be relevant depending on the
purpose of an examination.

Artistic impulses refer to the never-ending succession of various styles that the art world has
experienced ever since recorded human history. In abstract terms, this stylistic ‘development’
can best be described as a pendulum between representative, realistic depictions on the one
hand, and stylised, decorative ornamentations on the other hand. (Arnold Hauser) Distinctions
can be made between period styles, styles of certain genres and personal styles that have
influenced other artists, e.g. actresses like Sarah Bernhardt or Eleonora Duse. Stylistic
features can be named traditions, trends, conventions or fashion. Some of them are short-
lived, others stretch over a long period of time. Some trends are dominating all artistic
expressions, for instance the symbolism in painting, poetry and plays, whereas others survive
through media changes such as melodramas that meandered from theatre to film to television
series and screen games. An artistic impulse that had a great influence on stage performances
is the advent of naturalism in the late nineteenth century, which has become a basic principle
for acting even though the fourth wall has been removed at times. Also material changes
should be added, such as the location of theatres in the urban landscape, the means of
transportation to get there, the stage equipment that is available including the spotlights that
have been mentioned above.

Intellectual impulses concern of course the content of the spectacles that are performed, but
not only. The intellectual discourse of a period has many points of references and eventually
influences the worldview of generations, for example Marxism or existentialism, to name a
few. In return, these philosophical systems are easily recognisable in the plays of let’s say
Bertolt Brecht and Jean-Paul Sartre. Again, some of these patterns of thought are short-lived,
while others take ages to take effect; the Enlightenment is a good example of the latter. The
democratic ideas that once ignited the French Revolution took more than a hundred years to
be implemented in European politics and are still questioned in a number of countries today.
Also this parameter has its material aspects. Books need to be printed, distributed, translated
and read. The aforementioned book Aesthetica by Baumgarten was written in Latin and thus
only accessible to well-educated intellectuals of the eighteenth century. It was translated into
German in 1907, into English in 1974. It certainly is a document of the aesthetic discourse
around 1750, but how well was it distributed at the time? When was Baumgarten re-
 17

discovered and why is there an interest in his writings 250 years after the publication of his
book? This kind of historiographical questions have to be taken into account when speaking
of intellectual impulses that have significance for the understanding of the past.

Societal impulses, finally, are so multifarious over a long period of time that a general
enumeration seems rather meaningless. The historian has to ask what kind of social impulses
that are relevant in a certain context. It certainly matters whether we are living in a democratic
society with laws of equality implemented as human rights or if we are the subjects of an
absolute monarchy with strict class barriers. Is today’s democratic society the fulfilment of
the dream of the philosophers of the Enlightenment or has Karl Marx spoiled that dream for
ever? But what exactly are the implications of suchlike differences? Which kind of
dissimilarities became significant? Do the experiences of fascism in the twentieth century
affect our understanding of society in Gustavian times? In order to argue about crucial
societal changes it will be necessary to specify the impact that one is able to show in the
particular field of study.

To what extent these impulses or layers also influence each other was clearly demonstrated in
our Drottningholm-workshop. There was the aesthetic level of the positioning on the
perspectival stage, which propelled the Count into the very centre of aesthetic attention. But
here the aesthetic position immediately reflected the societal status of the fictional characters:
the Count spoke from his superior position to the inferior servant, Susanna. The successive
movements brought the two stage figures on the same level, not necessarily socially, but as
human beings, as potential lovers, etc. This view of equality between woman and man, master
and servant sprang out of the Enlightenment, the intellectual impulses, which in the late
eighteenth century were widely recognised albeit not widely practiced. Thus our little scene
from Mozart’s Figaro illustrated very well some of the parameters of Aesthetic Historicity.

The model and the method

The methodological procedures that the model of Aesthetic Historicity gives at hand need to
be specified in relation to the purpose of an investigation. I can see two basically different
applications of the model: an analytical approach to existing performances and a practical use
for the creation of a performance. In both cases the focus lies on the relationship between the
historically given conditions and today’s practices. The direction of the methodological
procedure leads, however, into different directions.

Let us assume that we deal with an eighteenth-century opera that has been or will be produced
in a historical theatre such as the ones in Drottningholm or Cesky Krumlov. In the analytical
approach, the existing production, as it appears on stage in front of an audience, is the
reasonable point of departure. To begin with, the procedure might not be so different from
regular performance analysis with its hermeneutical and semiotic aspects. (Understanding
Theatre 1995) In addition, the presence of the historical environment has to be accounted for.
This is the point when specific questions have to be asked: How does the theatrical space
influence the visual and audial expressions? Is there a correspondence between the
 18

movements, the vocal delivery, the musical interpretation, etc. and the aesthetic environment
in which all this takes place? Has the conductor adjusted the loudness of the orchestra to the
acoustics of the building?

There will, of course, never be a complete concordance between the artistic practices of the
eighteenth century and what is displayed on the same stage today. The many artistic,
intellectual and societal impulses, through which history has been filtered, have changed our
perception of historical practices. However, through an analysis of specific impulses some
light can be sked on aesthetic choices concerning the past. The illumination of the stage
provides a good example. Normally it is not allowed to use open candle light as was the
original practice in historical theatres. Various kinds of electrical substitutes have been
installed, more or less successfully in terms of the brightness of the overall lighting. And here
another physical change can be observed: today’s spectators are used to bright lights, in their
daily lives as well as in the theatre. Therefore the historical stages are usually illuminated in a
brighter light than they were originally. At the same time, the intensity of the lights risks to
overexpose the painted flat wings so that the brush technique of the paint becomes visible,
which of course was not the original intention. The visibility that today’s audiences (and
artists) demand, destroys easily the illusion that was the key of the baroque stage. It might be
worthwhile to remember that the visual effects were enhanced in the eighteenth century
through the reflecting materials of the costumes and the white-ish make-up of the performers
– means of expression that are still ready to be used in today’s performances, provided that
directors and singers are interested in aesthetic practices of the past.

In contrast to the analytical approach, the practical approach would start from a
methodological procedure concerning the artefact and the sources in the archive. What
possibilities are available when an opera is staged in a historical theatre? Which sets of flat
wings can illustrate the fictional places of the opera? How many musicians can be placed in
the orchestra pit and what is a reasonable size for the orchestra in relation to the score? The
material conditions and limitations of the space are important, but the decisive questions are
raised by the study of the work. The dramaturgical analysis of the libretto and the music can
be more or less informed by the historical knowledge that is available. An excellent example
of such an analysis is the dissertation about the original production of Mozart’s Don
Giovanni, written by Magnus Tessing Schneider (The Charmer and the Monument, 2008).
Through a minute study of the archival sources, the author arrives at the conclusion that the
ending of the opera was a grotesque and parodic spectacle, invented by Lorenzo Da Ponte and
enlarged by Mozart’s music that had very little to do with the moral punishment that is seen
on today’s opera stages. Only the German romanticists could distort the story into a religious
revenge drama. The examination of the opera’s original meaning opens up for more truthful
interpretations today, whether they are performed in regular opera houses or in a theatre
which is preserved since the time when the opera was written. (See further Chapter XX)

Methods cannot solve scholarly or artistic problems, but they are helpful in finding the
relevant questions to be asked. The answers, however, depend on the sources that are
consulted, the purpose of the investigation, and – last but not the least – the person who asks
the questions. The methodological procedure organises the process and serves as a checklist
 19

of the variety of aspects that should be considered. In this sense, Aesthetic Historicity
provides a methodological model for the analysis of the interaction of artefacts, archives and
artists.

Concluding examples

As a concrete case of the analytical approach I can refer to a survey of the production of
operas at Drottningholm in the twentieth century, which has been presented and analysed in
the book about this theatre by Willmar Sauter and David Wiles. (2014) In an attempt to
summarise the dominating aesthetics of these productions, the lens of Aesthetic Historicity
facilitated the distinction of dominant features of the productions in relation to their awareness
of the historical space and their affinity to eighteenth-century aesthetics. How did these (now
historical) productions use the historical stage and its well-preserved equipment? Some were
eager to re-capture the traces of the rococo while others distanced themselves from everything
that might be judged as museum-like.

It all started with Agnes Beijer’s demonstrations of the stage. In 1922, a year after his re-
discovery of the theatre, he invited a selected audience and showed them what the stage
machinery could accomplish. Four so-called changements à vue were executed by the stage
hands and there were no performers on stage. Even in later divertissements that Beijer
arranged the changing of the stage sets always had a demonstrative function. By excluding the
human figure Beijer sought to bridge the gap between then and now. From the 1940s onward,
The Royal Opera in Stockholm performed in Drottningholm during the summer. They took
their regular repertoire of early opera works and adjusted them to the stage of Drottningholm.
This transference of productions seemed to function very well because the non-naturalistic
style of the Stockholm Opera was sufficiently traditional not to interfere with the historical
space. Guest performances from other opera and theatre companies were quite frequent and
minor adjustments were enough to fit these productions into the frame of Drottningholm. In
dance, the choreographer Mary Skeaping took her inspiration both from the Drottningholm
stage and the libretti and descriptions of historical dances. Her combination of the artefact and
the archive circumvent the classical ballet and her pre-romantic ‘Cupido’ ballet from 1956
remained on the repertoire for several decades.

A period of playfulness dominated Drottningholm in the 1980s, when a Mozart-cycle was

created by Göran Järvefelt as director and Arnold Östman as conductor. Still, the original flat
wings (or rather: authentic copies) were used, not only as backdrop but as part of the stage
actions: the performers were playing with the wings. Östman introduced historical instruments
in order to recreate the original sound of the theatre. Thus the performances related to the
playfulness of the rococo and appealed at the same time to the taste of contemporary
audiences. The characters were psychologically trustworthy, but avoided realism in their
actions and vocal delivery.

Since the turn of the millennium there has been a struggle between two extreme attitudes
towards the use of the Drottningholm stage. To begin with, there were a number of directors
 20

representing the ‘Regietheater’ who explicitly stated their neglect of the historical stage
conditions, anxious not to be caught in ‘reconstruction’. Instead of bridging the gap between
the work and the performance, they treated the stage as if it were no artefact. An extreme case
of anti-museal staging is discussed in the chapter on the 2016 production of Don Giovanni.
(see p. XXX) During some years, directors were invited to Drottningholm because they were
known to work in a tradition of Historically Informed Production (HIP). They were striving at
creating the same harmony on stage that also characterised the orchestra in the pit. Although
these attempts to recapture the sensibility of the place were appreciated, these productions
also showed that much more research and training is required to find the necessary balance
between then and now (see MTS: chapter)

Aesthetic Historicity allows an analysis of these production in respect of their relationship to

the historical artefact and archives such as the use and functions of historical instruments, but
also to how the impulses of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries have been taken – or not –
into consideration. Aesthetic Historicity as an analytical approach is, however, not to be
understood as a normative system. The relative impact of historical impulses are not
measuring the value of a production, but they certainly demonstrate the performance’s
relation to the historical space and to the aesthetics of the origin of the work that is presented.
The value judgements are left to the artists, the critics and to the audience.

Our workshop at Drottningholm has been described at the beginning of this chapter and it
serves as an example of a practical approach of the methodology inspired by Aesthetic
Historicity. We wanted to avoid the pitfalls of HIP-productions which in their ambition to
come as close as possible to the original staging practices get stuck in imitation, in particular
as far as the movements are concerned. Like in dance, where the choreography has to be
enlivened by the dancer, the ‘historical’ movements are difficult to reconstruct and rhetoric is
an altogether marginalised knowledge, both for artists and audiences, so the result of such
movement and voice training can easily fail and produce lifeless reproductions. The
Regietheater-attitude that I also mentioned in this chapter, frequently moves into the opposite
direction. The delicate stage of Drottningholm is used as if it were a black-box-theatre, with
no respect paid to neither its material nor aesthetic qualities. An analysis based on Aesthetic
Historicity, might be able to balance between the extremes of HIP and Regietheater.

In the preparatory phase of the workshop, the libretto of Le nozze di Figaro had been studied.
It is not at all clear from the text that the erotic tension between the Count and Susanna is
mutual. The scene could be interpreted as an expression of the Count’s social power and thus
his attack on Susanna would appear rather as molesting encroachment than an erotic
invitation. Is Susanna loyal to the Countess and therefore only pretending interest in the
Count’s approach? This kind of interpretative questions have to be solved on the ground of
historical information. What do we know or what can we assume about the intentions of the
librettist, what ‘says’ Mozart’s music at this point, how does the choice of actions affect the
characters and the overall plot of the opera? Once the encounter between Susanna and the
Count has been determined as an erotic interplay, a mutual seduction, the staging needs to
 21

bring out this tension in an adequate way. I have already described how we experimented with
various positions and movements on stage. It turned out that the stage itself contributed
essentially to the outcome of this scene.

This weightiness of the Count’s appearance was possible due to the deep perspective that the
wings offer as a visual harmony of the stage. The strict symmetry of the flat wings prompts
this central point. Such a focal spot would hardly be observable in a modern stage setting,
even if it happened to be symmetrical. It is the fundamental character of Baroque illusion,
painted on perspectival wings, that provides this central position. Another observation was of
great interest. The dramaturgical analysis opened for various interpretations of the
relationship between the Count and Susanna in this situation. In every case, this tension
between them activates psychological emotions and these emotions have to be displayed in
the performers’ actions. By applying a traditional positioning of the two characters that
followed the practice of the eighteenth century, the psychological impact of the scene did not
disappear, on the contrary: the subtlety of their emotions became as strong as it ever would be
in a psychologically realistic acting style. The impulses that the model of Aesthetic Historicity
points out bring an awareness to contemporary productions that the relation between the
artefact, the archive and the artist can be appropriated and avoided, but they make absolutely a
difference.

Therefore our research group is immensely lucky for having the opportunity to arrange
workshops at Drottningholm, far away from the business of regular performances. In our
workshops we have ideal conditions to study Aesthetic Historicity at work. It is possible to
isolate certain components of eighteenth-century aesthetics, to single out some visual or
audial elements and to study their effects. The workshops allow us to alternatively take the
position of the artists and the spectator, to apply Aesthetic Historicity as practical as well as
analytical tools, to repeat, vary and alter a phrase, a movement or a position. Thereby we
discover that Aesthetic Historicity not only is a model and a method, but also an effective
scheme of learning. We are grateful for our own insights and wishful for others to discover
the beauties of Aesthetic Historicity.