A Winter’s Tale is one of William Shakespeare’s weirdest plays. It wasn’t published until eight years after the playwright had died, and by then it was too late to ask the guy what on Earth he was playing at.

For you see it meshes tragedy, drama, and comedy in a particularly unusual manner.

Perhaps back in 1623, or whatever, it made perfect sense. These days it seems like an experimental combination that went quite well. As one moment particularly stands out, which we shall cover today in all its glory.

Notes on the Fabulous Stage Direction of Exit, pursued by a bear

Recently we took a look at the best online hate for Shakespeare doing the rounds. By which we mean angry school kids frustrated with having to read the Bard’s plays, then venting their anger in online reviews.

If you take a look at Goodreads, A Winter’s Tale comes in for some hate.

Published in 1623 as a comedy it tells the story of King Leontes who accuses his wife Hermione of an affair. Later in the play, she cops it.

In Act III, Scene 3 at Bohemia, a desert country near the sea, antagonist Antigonus is being an unpleasant git and causing a ruckus.

Narrative norms would suggest he would continue being a so-and-so until the play’s conclusion, but instead he is attacked by a bear. Without warning.

In Shakespeare’s plays most characters usually have time to launch into a prolixity happy speech if they’re dying (even whilst being attacked by a bear), and at the conclusion of this respective verbose death rant, the unfortunate Antigonus announces this.

“Well may I get aboard! This is the chase: I am gone for ever!”

After this Shakespeare’s only direction is the fabled following.

“Exit, pursued by a bear”

It isn’t referred to again in the play. Nor is the bear seen or heard from again. In terms of fleeting moments of fame, this bear wins. 🐻

We love this stage direction due to its inherent absurdity and the many questions it raises:

• What does it mean?
• Why did Shakespeare write it?
• Was there a bear by the side of the stage to carry out this direction?
• Did Shakespeare understand how silly it was?

We can only speculate on most of this one, but we had a rummage around to see if there were some answers.

Lo, What Does Exiting Pursued by a Bear Ever Mean?!

There’s a great deal of confusion amongst theatre companies about how to approach this moment. Even the Royal Opera House can’t figure it out, which has led to much experimentation around the moment.

Scholars suggest this is the moment the play turns from a tragedy into a comedy, but it’s kind of guesswork given the gulf in time between Shakespeare’s era and ours.

For a while it was believed, at the premiere of the play around 1623, the theatre may have used a real bear for this (cripes)! Although scholars now believe real bears weren’t used in the production.

An inventory for stage props from 1598 highlights some actors had bear skins in their possession, suggesting they donned them and pretended to be scary monsters for “authentic” bear portrayals.

Certainly much easier than trying to get a live bear on to a stage.

We bet £10 someone gave it a bloody good go, though, and we’re sure the resulting carnage put every other stage production off for life.

There’s also this excellent piece on the ubiquitous nature of bears back in the Bard’s day. Shakespeare’s Globe covers the following in Shakespeare’s notorious stage direction.

“Unsurprisingly this stage direction frequently mystifies modern readers. But bears entered and exited the lives of Elizabethan and Jacobean Londoners on a daily basis. Kept in kennels on the south bank of the Thames, captive bears provided ‘amusement’ by being chained to a post and attacked by packs of dogs – spectators would bet on the outcome of this very unequal fight. Zealous Puritans objected to bear-baiting, but not for reasons of animal welfare. They believed bearbaiting to be ‘idle, scurrilous, obscene, profane, and heathenish’. Nonetheless, the entertainment attracted throngs of people. When the Thames froze solid, baiting rings were even set up on the ice.”

And of modern productions it’s noted as this.

“In the twentieth century, directors shied away from realistic depictions of the bear, perhaps conscious that audiences in the age of film were used to cinematic naturalism and special effects, and live theatre had to offer something different. In John Barton and Trevor Nunn’s 1976 Royal Shakespeare Company production, the choric figure of Time doubled with the bear, thus re-conceptualising the beast as a devouring force of nature.”

None of which really explains what was going on in Shakespeare’s brain back in 1623, as Antigonus suddenly disappears with no warning from the plot.

Along with the bear.

A modern equivalent is like the bit in 1999’s Deep Blue Sea where Samuel L. Jackson’s character is suddenly taken out by sharks. However, the sharks remain in the film and don’t just clear off.

Clearly, this bear had some important stuff to get on with.

We’ll conclude by stating this is still the perfect way to end any kind of correspondence. Friends? Family? Colleagues? Awkward bloke who keeps asking you out online? Press conference? Business meeting?

Simply state: Exit, pursued by a bear. And all will be well.