Chapter IV: Part 4

“Submitting me unto the hideous night,
And bared my bosom to the thunderstone,”

“I met foster-brother Anthony,” who said,

“O Francis, this disturbed city is not to walk in,
Who ever knew the heavens menace so?...
Let’s to an inn.”

It might be thought that the foregoing instances have been carefully sought out and employed to italicise the foolishness of Dr. Owen’s statement that the plays were first composed in this form, and that in this form alone is their true meaning and relevancy fully demonstrated. Such, however, is far from being the fact. If the reader will take the trouble to wade through the mass of incoherent commonplace, illuminated as it is by passages of Shakespeare’s brilliant wit and inspired poesy which make up these five volumes, he will find scores upon scores of such meaningless and inopportune mis-quotations.

Dr. Owen himself concedes that “some parts of the deciphered material”--viz., those parts which have not their origin in Shakespeare, Spenser, and the works of the other masques--“are not equal in literary power, poetic thought, nor artistic construction to the well-known efforts of Shakespeare,” but he accounts for this inequality on the ground that “the necessities for concealment were so great as to make the difficulties of the cipher serious, and artistic re-construction impossible.” If it be granted, for the sake of argument, that the quotations from the plays, which appear in these “interiour” works, were from the pen of Shakespeare, and that the original parts are the product of Bacon, then Spedding’s contention that there are not “five lines together to be found in Bacon which could be mistaken for Shakespeare, or five lines in Shakespeare which could be mistaken for Bacon, by one who was familiar with their several styles, and practised in such observations,” is proved up to the hilt. Indeed, and without any such concession being allowed, it is impossible to compare the original lines with the pirated passages in these cipher books, and accept the two as the work of the same hand. Dr. Owen, who is evidently neither “familiar with the several styles” of Shakespeare and Bacon, nor “practised in such observations,” invites his readers “to set aside the different names upon the title pages, and ask themselves whether two or more men could have written so exactly alike.” His conclusions are equally destitute of logic or critical acumen: “Either Francis Bacon and William Shakespeare were the same man, at least so far as the writings are concerned; or else, for once in the history of mankind, two men, absolutely dissimilar in birth, in education, and in bringing up, had the same thoughts, used the same words, piled up the same ideas, wrote upon the same subjects, and thought, wrote, talked, and dreamed absolutely alike.” It is true that Shakespeare, in cipher, bears an amazing likeness to Shakespeare in the plays, but if the Shakespeare in the cipher is to be compared with the Bacon either here or in his recognised works, Dr. Owen’s conclusions are palpably absurd.

Dr. Owen promises still further cipher revelations of the same startling nature, which will explain how Bacon succeeded in using his various masques during the lifetime of the alleged authors. “In the decipherings which will appear in their regular order,” he says, “I have found an epitome of the lives of Shakespeare, Marlowe, Green (he is probably referring to Greene), Burton, Peele and Spenser ... the circumstances under which they were employed, and the sums of money paid to each for the use of his name. Anthony Bacon, the foster-brother of Francis, was the unknown owner of the Globe Theatre. Shakespeare, while uneducated, possessed a shrewd wit, and some talent as an actor. He received, as a bribe, a share in the proceeds of the theatre, and was the reputed manager. Bacon, with his Court education and aristocratic associations, could not be known as the author of plays or the associate of play actors, and put Shakespeare forward as the mask which covered his greatest work.”

_The Tragical Historie of our Late Brother Robert, Earl of Essex._

Even at the risk of wearying my readers, it is necessary for the purposes of this book, to make a critical inspection of one of the “interiour” plays which Dr. Owen has deciphered from many of the principal works of the Elizabethan-Jacobean era. As all these hidden plays are derived from the same source--the writings of Shakespeare, Spenser, Greene, Marlowe, Peele, and Burton--the choice of a subject for consideration would appear to be immaterial. _The Tragedy of Mary Queen of Scots_, a “remarkable production,” according to Dr. Owen, and one that “has been pronounced a masterpiece,” would seem to have the first claim upon our attention. The selection of “_The Tragical Historie of our late brother Robert, Earl of Essex_, by the author of _Hamlet_, _Richard III._, _Othello_, &c.,” has been decided upon, however; because, in the first place, it is a later production, and in the second, it is declared by Dr. Owen to bear “the impress of greater skill, more experience, and far more intense personal feeling.” In the Publisher’s Note, we are informed that it is “one of the marvels of literature,” and “a work of the most thrilling interest and historical value.” The prologue, which takes the form of a soliloquy, embodies “the deepest philosophy concerning things natural and spiritual, temporal and eternal.” It can, moreover, “only be measured from the point of view of its author, Francis Bacon.” This “wonderful prologue,” which comprises some 200 lines of blank verse, is really a wonder of misapplied misappropriation. It opens with the Seven Ages of Man, to which Bacon adds an eighth, “which rounds out and finishes the story, with the “exit” from human view of all that is mortal:

“Last scene of all
That ends this strange eventful history,
The old man dies; and on the shoulders of his brethren,
To the heavy knolled bells, is borne
In love and sacred pity, through the gates
Of the holy edifice of stone, where, all in white,
The goodly vicar meets them and doth say:--
‘I am the resurrection and the life;’
And then doth mount the pulpit stairs and doth begin:--
‘O Lord, have mercy on us wretched sinners!’
The people answering cry as with one voice,
‘O Lord, have mercy on us wretched sinners!’
Then through the narrow winding churchway paths,
With weary task foredone, under the shade
Of melancholy boughs gently set down
Their venerable burden, and from the presence
Of the sun they lower him into the tomb.”

The “eighth” age, it will be observed, is not an age at all, but a funeral. To this striking addition to one of Shakespeare’s best known passages, Bacon tacks on the whole of Hamlet’s soliloquy, “To be or not to be,” commencing with “To sleep, perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub;” helps himself to a pinch of Hamlet’s lines, “Oh, that this too solid flesh would melt,” acknowledges in the language of the King that “Our offence is rank, it smells to Heaven!” promises that

... “When our younger brothers’ play is done,
We’ll play a comedy, my lord, wherein
The players that come forth, will to the life present
The pliant men that we as masks employ;”

borrows from Hamlet’s advice to the players, and so--

“The curtain’s drawn. Begin.”

The entire mosaic is the most unintelligible, inept, and exasperating mixture of pathos, bathos, and sheer drivel that has ever been claimed as the work of a learned, sane man.

The first act opens outside the Queen’s hunting lodge. Elizabeth alludes to her hounds in the lines allotted by Shakespeare to Theseus (_A Midsummer Night’s Dream_), and has an interview with the Earl of Essex, who comes to bring news of the Irish rising; and Bacon, who remains mute during the entire scene. In the second scene, Essex and Mr. Secretary Cecil come to open rupture in the presence of the Queen. Cecil cries, in Shylock’s words,

“Thou call’st me a dog before thou hast a cause,
But since I am a dog, beware my fangs;”

and Essex retorts, in the prayer of Richard II.,

“Now put it, _heaven_, in his physician’s mind
To help him to his grave immediately!
The lining of his coffers shall make coats
To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.”

In the mouth of King Richard II., these words had some meaning, for it was the King’s intention to seize the possessions of old John of Gaunt after his demise, and Gaunt was on his death-bed. But Cecil is in excellent good health, and if he were likely to die not a shilling of his personalty would have reverted to the crown. If this was the original form in which Bacon composed the plays of Shakespeare, he was undoubtedly mad.

The Queen then administers to Essex the historical box on the ear, which so enrages the choleric nobleman that he “essays to draw his sword,” and is summarily dismissed by the Queen, who, immediately repenting upon the reflection,

“How bravely did he brave me in my seat,
Methought he bore him here as doth a lion,”

despatches Cecil to follow and bring him back. Essex boxes Cecil’s ear, refuses to listen to his wife’s reproof, and having sent for his brother, Francis Bacon (who greets him with

“Brother, to fall from heaven unto hell,
To be cubbed up upon a sudden,
Will kill you”----)

dismisses the smug, but “rightful Prince of Wales,” and soliloquises--

... “But I’ll use means to make my brother King;
Yet as he, Francis, has neither claimed it,
Or deserved it--he cannot have it!
His highness ‘Francis First,’ shall repose him
At the tower; fair, or not fair, I will
Consign my gracious brother thereunto.
Yes, he must die; he is much too noble
To conserve a life in base appliances.”...

Taken as poetry, or as logic, the effort is not a masterpiece; it is, presumably, one of those portions in which “the necessities for concealment” were so great as to make “artistic construction impossible.” But it certainly explains, in a way, the reason of the traitorous behaviour of Bacon towards Essex in the hour of the latter’s adversity. The poetry improves again in the next scene. By misquoting the words of Junius Brutus respecting Caius Marcus,

“All speak praise of him, and the bleared sights
Are spectacled to see him pass along,” &c.

(it is impossible to determine whether the inaccuracies in quotation should be blamed upon Bacon or Dr. Owen), and adding thereto the jealous Richard II.’s contemptuous reference to Bolingbroke:

“A brace of draymen did God-speed him well,
And had the tribute of his supple knee,” &c.

Bacon discloses Elizabeth’s mental attitude towards the recalcitrant Earl. Directly Essex enters, however, the Queen promises him that he will soon be known as Duke of York, and she meets his objection,

“My princely brother
Francis, your quondam son, tells me flatly
He is the only rightful Prince of Wales,”

with

“The proud jack! ’tis true, if it comes to that,
He is the Prince of Wales. But”....

Now Bacon must have known, as well as Elizabeth, that neither he, nor Essex, nor anybody else would be Prince of Wales unless so created by the reigning monarch. But Essex is so full of his Irish command that he overlooks such trifles, and in the next scene he sends a captain to the Queen for a thousand pounds, with the admonition,

“Be secret and away,
‘_To part the blessings of this happy day_.’”

In the third act, the Queen does the sleep-walking scene from _Macbeth_. Essex returns to England, uttering the words used by Richard II. on his own safe arrival from Ireland, to be upbraided by the Queen in the Duke of York’s words to Bolingbroke:

“Why have those banished and forbidden legs? &c.”

A half-dozen lines of description (from _Coriolanus_) of Caius Marcus’ return to Rome, illustrate the reception that London tendered to the disobedient Earl. Essex revolts, and fortifies himself in his house in London. When ordered by the Chief Justice of England to surrender, Essex replies in the magnificent curse which Mark Antony utters against Rome over the corpse of the murdered Cæsar. The lack of enthusiasm which the citizens of London display in the Essex rebellion is related to the Earl in the report which Buckingham makes to the King, of London’s reticence in rebellion (_Richard III._) commencing

“The citizens are mum, say not a word.”

And when the insurrection dies out for want of fuel, he finds solace for his grief in quoting Richard II.’s lines--

... “Of comfort, no man speak,
Let’s talk of graves, of worms, of epitaphs,” &c.

The unsuccessful Essex in parley with Lord Lincoln employs the passage between Northampton and the King in _Richard II._, and in the subsequent Star Chamber trial, the Chief Justice dismisses Essex to execution in the words that Henry V. applied to Scroop, Cambridge, and Grey:

“Get you, therefore, hence
Poor miserable wretches, to your death,” &c.

But the marvel of inept plagiarism, of consummate wrongheadedness, and ignorance in the bestowal of stolen property, is seen in the last act of this marvellous play. Herein, Essex is discovered in a dungeon in the tower. He is a man 34 years of age, and it is somewhat of a surprise to find him declaring, in the (revised) language of little Prince Arthur (_King John_):

“So I were out of prison and kept sheep,
I should be merry as the day is long;
And so I should be here, but that I doubt
That _Cecil_ practices more harm to me:
He is afraid of me, and I of him.”

But it is more than a surprise to learn that this hardy man of war is to be compelled by Bacon (Shakespeare aiding) to play young Arthur to the bitter end. After being surfeited with Francis Bacon’s choicest philosophy, the Lord Keeper arrives with a commission to deliver Essex to the jailers: “I will not reason what is meant thereby!”

It is impossible, without quoting the whole of this culminating passage, to convey a correct impression of the ludicrousness of the finale to this “marvel of literature,”--this play of “most thrilling interest and historical value.”

[_Exit_ Keeper.]

_First Jailer._ Oh, he is bold, and blushes not at death.

_Essex._ Avaunt thou hateful villain, get thee gone!

_First Jailer._ There’s the great traitor.

_Second Jailer._ Ingrateful fox, ’tis he.

_First Jailer._ Bind fast his corky arms.

_Essex._ Help,--help,--help,--help!
Here’s a man would murder me. Help,--help,--help!
I will not struggle, I will stand stone still.

_First Jailer._ Bind him, I say.

_Second Jailer._ Hard, hard! O filthy traitor!

_First Jailer._ Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here:
To this chair bind him.

_Essex._ Let me not be bound:
Alas, why need you be so boistrous rough?
O I am undone, O I am undone!
Do me no foul play, friend!

_First Jailer._ Read here, traitor.
Can you not read it? Is it not writ fair?

_Essex._ How now, foolish rheume;
Must you, with hot irons, burn out both mine eyes?
O Heaven, that there were but a moth in yours,
A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair,
Any annoyance in that precious sense:
Then feeling what small things are boisterous there,
Your vile intents must needs seem horrible.
O spare mine eyes, though to no use but still to look on you!
Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold,
And would not harm me--O men, if you will,
Cut out my tongue, so that I may still keep
Both mine eyes to see.

_First Jailer._ To see some mischief!
See shall thou never: (fellow, hold the chair:)
Upon these eyes of thine I’ll set my foot!

_Essex._ He that will think to live till he be old,
Give me some help! O save me,--save me!--help!
(_They tear out one of his eyes._)
Oh cruel! Oh God,--O God,--O God! my eyes are out!
Oh, I am slain!

_First Jailer._ My Lord, you have one eye left!
One side will mock another; th’ other too.
Out, vile jelly! where is thy lustre now?
(_They tear out the other eye._)

_Essex._ All dark and comfortless!--
O God, enkindle all the sparks of nature
To quit this horrid act.

_First Jailer._ Away with him; lead him to the block.

[_Exeunt Omnes._

In the epilogue, the two jailers blackmail Mr. Secretary Cecil as he walks in his garden with his decipherer, and the book ends with the following cryptic lines:

“This is the cruel man (Cecil) that was employed
To execute that execrable tragedy,
And you can witness with me this is true.”

(_Omnes_) “This is the strangest tale that e’er I heard.”

This amazing adaptation of a perfect piece of dramatic writing to the exigencies of biography is, it may be assumed, without parallel in the history of literature. Comment would be superfluous: imagine Mr. Daniel Leno sustaining the part of Essex in a performance of the drama, and the illusion is complete.

_Bacon, the Poet._

The whole of the new matter that we find in the play under notice is so dissimilar from that of Shakespeare in style, language, and expression, that it might be the work of any author, American or English, even--if we accept the statement of Spedding--of Bacon himself. It is difficult to form any correct estimate of Bacon’s talent as a poet, because, apart from his own description of himself as a “concealed poet,” and his versification of the Psalms, we have nothing to guide us. Spedding doubtless had these Psalms in his mind when he pronounced so emphatically upon the absence of similarity between the writings of Shakespeare and Bacon. There is little extant verse of the period which is so un-Shakespearean as this product of Bacon’s maturity, which was dedicated to the pious and learned George Herbert, whose verses on Bacon were printed in 1637. The publication is a proof that Bacon thought well of his work--it is not on record that anybody else has endorsed that opinion. Indeed, these seven Psalms give us all that we have, or want, of Bacon’s poetry. The following is an extract from the first psalm:

“He shall be like the fruitful tree,
Planted along a running spring,
Which, in due season, constantly
A goodly yield of fruit doth bring;
Whose leaves continue always green,
And are no prey to winter’s pow’r;
So shall that man not once be seen
Surprised with an evil hour.”

His rendering of the 90th psalm is not all as bald and discordant as the following:

“Begin Thy work, O Lord, in this our age,
Shew it unto Thy servants that now live;
But to our children raise it many a stage,
That all the world to Thee may glory give.
Our handy-work likewise, as fruitful tree,
Let it, O Lord, blessed, not blasted be.”

The beautiful 14th and 15th verses of the 104th psalm are thus rendered by our “concealed poet”:

“Causing the earth put forth the grass for beasts,
And garden herbs, served at the greatest feasts,
And bread that is all viands firmament,
And gives a firm and solid nourishment,
And wine, man’s spirits for to recreate,
And oil, his face for to exhilarate.”

There can be no two opinions as to the merits of these metrical efforts, which Bacon thought good enough to print and to dedicate to his friend George Herbert. Spedding says of them, “In compositions upon which a man would have thought it a culpable waste of time to bestow any serious labour, it would be idle to seek either for indications of his taste or for a measure of his powers.” And again, “of these verses of Bacon’s, it has been usual to speak not only as a failure, but as a ridiculous failure; a censure in which I cannot concur. An unpractised versifier (fancy styling the author of the _Faerie Queene_ and _Adonis_, an ‘unpractised versifier!’)--who will not take time and trouble about the work, must, of course, leave many bad verses; for poetic feeling and imagination, though they will dislike a wrong word, will not of themselves suggest a right one that will suit metre and rhyme; and it would be easy to quote from the few pages, not only many bad lines, but many poor stanzas.” Spedding concludes with the comment: “Considering how little he cared to publish during the first sixty years of his life, and how many things of weightier character and more careful workmanship he had then by him in his cabinet, it was somewhat remarkable that he should have given these Psalms to the world.” Dr. Abbott, another friendly biographer and admirer of Bacon’s “magnificent prose,” says:--“Some allowance must be made (no doubt) for the fact that Bacon is translating, and not writing original verse. Nevertheless a true poet, even of a low order, could hardly betray so clearly the cramping influence of rhyme and metre. There is far less beauty of diction and phrase in these verse translations than in any of the prose works that are couched in an elevated style.... But I cannot help coming to the conclusion that, although Bacon might have written better verse on some subject of his own choosing, the chances are that even his best would not have been very good.”

But despite the appalling evidence of poetical incapacity presented by this versification of the Psalms, a staunch Baconian, by a train of argument which is only equalled by that employed by Mr. Theobald, has proved, to his own satisfaction, that Bacon was a poet, by locating the position which the Plays occupy in the scheme of Bacon’s works. This ingenious logician has discovered that the two most extraordinary facts connected with Bacon’s philosophy are (_a_) that the most eminent students have been unable to understand his “method of interpretation,” and (_b_) that the last three parts of the _Instauratio Magna_ are apparently wholly lost. Because Ellis and Spedding both declare that “of his philosophy they can make nothing,” and that “he failed in the very thing in which he was most bent,” therefore he must be a poet. Because the last three books of the _Instauratio_ are “apparently wholly lost”--which is the writer’s perversion of the indubitable fact that they were never written--therefore the comedies, histories, and tragedies of Shakespeare actually form the fourth, fifth, and sixth books of “the great work.” Firstly (to present this argument fairly), Bacon declared his intention to insinuate his philosophy into men’s minds by a method which would provoke no controversy; secondly (this is not exactly proved, but just stated as a fact), Bacon wrote the works of Shakespeare; and thirdly, the Plays are the treasure house of all art, science, and wisdom. The natural and inevitable deduction is that they must form the missing--_i.e._, the unwritten--parts of the _Instauratio Magna_.

I am afraid that we must decline to accept so ingenious a piece of sophistry. Until it is proved that the Psalms are a forgery, or that they have been erroneously attributed to Bacon, we have a gauge of his poetical ability which is fatal to his pretensions to the authorship of the Plays, of Spenser, or of any one of the books which we are asked to believe emanated from his stupendous intellect.

“_Did Shakespeare Write Bacon?_”

Mr. Leslie Stephen, with amazing nerve and a fine sense of humour, has carried the war of the rival claims into the enemies’ country, and propounded the theory, with no little plausibility, that so far from Bacon being the author of the Plays, Shakespeare was the real writer of Bacon’s philosophical works. Mr. Theobald claims to prove that Bacon had ample leisure in which to write all Shakespeare and his own books as well. Mr. Stephen has come to the conclusion that his time was so fully occupied with business, and political and financial anxieties, that he never found the opportunity he was always seeking to perfect his great philosophical reform. Up to the year of the accession of James I., he had not been able to prepare any statement of his philosophic ideas. His desire, as we know from his letters, was to stand well with the King; his scruples, as we also gather from his letters, did not make him hesitate to employ questionable practices when he had his own interests to serve. If he had not time to write, he could get a book written for him. He selected Shakespeare, who at this period had a great reputation as the author of _Hamlet_, for the purpose. Why Shakespeare, it may be asked? Because, says Mr. Stephen, he knew Shakespeare through Ben Jonson; he knew Southampton as a friend and patron of Shakespeare, and he therefore employed Shakespeare through Southampton--the present of £1,000, which it is known was made to Shakespeare by his youthful patron, being money paid by Bacon on account, for the writing of the _Advancement of Learning_.

If the supposition that Shakespeare wrote this book for Bacon be correct, argues Mr. Stephen, “he might naturally try to insert some intimation of authorship to which he could appeal in case of necessity.” Mr. Stephen sought for the intimation in the _Advancement_, and he discovered it in the first 81 letters. The opening words are, “There were under the law, excellent King, both daily sacrifices and free will offerings the one pro” (ceeding, &c.) These letters (to the end of pro) can be re-arranged to make the following: “Crede Will Shakespeare, green innocent reader; he was the author of excellent writing; F. B. N. fifth idol. lye.” For the assistance of any one who cares to verify the cipher, Mr. Stephen explains that in both cases (the original and the decipheration) A occurs in 4 places, B in 1, C in 3, D in 3, E in 15, F in 4, G in 2, H in 4, I in 6, K in 1, L in 6, N in 6, O in 4, P in 1, R in 7, S in 3, T in 5, U in 1, W in 3, X in 1, and Y in 1.

Mr. Stephen assumes that Shakespeare explained this saucy little anagram to Bacon when the work was published, and that Bacon retaliated by “getting at” the printers of the folio after Shakespeare’s death, and inserting a cryptogram claiming the authorship for himself. Bacon is imagined to have said to himself, “If Shakespeare succeeds in claiming my philosophy, I will take his plays in exchange.” “He had become,” says our theorist, “demoralised to the point at which he could cheat his conscience by such lamentable casuistry.” In 1608 Bacon was Solicitor-General, and a rich man. He approached Shakespeare a second time with the object of having his great philosophical work continued. Three years afterwards, Shakespeare left the stage, and retired to pass the last five years of his life at Stratford. Why did he retire? “Because,” says Mr. Stephen, “Bacon had grown rich and could make it worth his while to retire to a quiet place where he would not be tempted to write plays, or drink at the ‘Mermaid,’ or make indiscreet revelations.” If it should be asked what he was doing, the answer is obvious. He was writing the _Novum Organum_. Baconians and Mr. Leslie Stephen are agreed that the _Novum Organum_ is the work of a poet, and that it was written by the author of the Plays. But if it is conceded that Shakespeare wrote _Novum Organum_, it still remains a mystery to Baconians as to who wrote Shakespeare. After Shakespeare’s death, Bacon, in _De Augmentis_, wrote that “the theatre might be useful either for corruption or for discipline; but in modern times there is plenty of corruption on the stage, and no discipline.” Mr. Stephen deduces from this that in order to aim a back-handed blow at Shakespeare, Bacon would blaspheme the art of which he claimed to be master--that he was, in fact, according to our other theorist, fouling the fourth, fifth, and sixth books of his _Instauratio Magna_.

Neither of the theories we have just reviewed need be taken seriously. We know that Bacon himself gave an account of the scheme of the _Magna Instauratio_ in a section of the _Novum Organum_, called the _Distributio Operis_. The fourth book was to have contained examples of the “new method,” and of the results to which it led. The fifth was to contain what Bacon had accomplished in Natural Philosophy without the aid of his own method, and the sixth was to set forth the New Philosophy--the results of the application of the new method, and all the Phenomena of the Universe. Mr. Leslie Ellis tells us that Bacon never hoped to complete the sixth part; he speaks of it as a thing _et supra vires et ultra spes nostras collocata_. Mr. Leslie Stephen’s whimsical retort to the _Instauratio_ theory may be regarded as a _jeu d’esprit_.

_The Case for Shakespeare._

In propounding their theory that Bacon was the author of the plays attributed to Shakespeare, the Baconians rely on two main arguments: the plausibility of the idea that they should have emanated from the man whom Macaulay declared to possess the “most exquisitely constructed intellect that has ever been bestowed on any of the children of men,” and the extraordinary unlikelihood that a man of Shakespeare’s origin and antecedents should have written them. More recently, the disclosure of the bi-literal and the “word” ciphers, running through certain editions of the plays, and in Bacon’s works, have placed a new weapon in the hands of Shakespeare’s traducers. Already some of the supporters of Bacon’s claims have assumed a sceptical attitude towards the “cipher speculations”--partly, I suspect, on account of their American origin--and Mr. A. P. Sinnett, whilst claiming that if the bi-literal cipher is substantiated, the Bacon case is demonstrated up to the hilt, hedges himself behind the assertion that the curious allegations now brought forward do not affect, one way or the other, the general force of the literary argument that supports the Baconian idea. But, unless a gigantic fraud is being attempted--which we have no reason to suppose is the case--Mrs. Elizabeth Wells Gallup’s bi-literal cipher can easily be substantiated. When this is accomplished, we only get to the point that Bacon claims to have been the author of the plays put forth by all his contemporaries, while the conviction still remains, as it was expressed by Carlyle, that “Bacon could no more have written _Hamlet_ than he could have made this planet.”

It is interesting in this connection to briefly sum up the concensus of expert opinion that the leading scholars and students of Elizabethan literature hold on the subject. Mr. Sidney Lee, whose _Life of William Shakespeare_ has been called “the most useful, the most judicious, and the most authoritative of all existing biographies of the poet,” regards the theory as “fantastic.” The substance of Mr. Lee’s conclusions is that “the abundance of the contemporary evidence attesting Shakespeare’s responsibility for the works published under his name, gives the Baconian theory no rational right to a hearing; while such authentic examples of Bacon’s effort to write verse as survive prove, beyond all possibility of contradiction, that great as he was as a prose writer and a philosopher, he was incapable of penning any of the poetry assigned to Shakespeare. Defective knowledge and illogical, or casuistical, argument alone render any other conclusion possible.”

_Conveyance of House in Blackfriars, 10th. March, 1612._

_Mortgage of House in Blackfriars, 11th. March, 1612._

_The three signatures to the Will, 25th. March, 1616._]

Dr. N. H. Hudson, in his _Shakespeare: His Life, Art, and Character_, has on the Baconian theory four things to say:--1. Bacon’s requital of the Earl’s bounty (the Earl of Essex) was such a piece of ingratitude as I can hardly conceive the author of _King Lear_ to have been guilty of. 2. The author of Shakespeare’s plays, whatever he may have been, certainly was not a scholar. He had certainly something far better than learning, but he had not that. 3. Shakespeare never philosophises. Bacon never does anything else. 4. Bacon’s mind, great as it was, might have been cut out of Shakespeare’s without being missed.

But if, in the absence of anything bearing an even remote resemblance to proof, we find ourselves compelled to make a synopsis of expert opinion on the subject, we shall find no man’s conclusions more deserving of respect and acceptance than those of the late James Spedding. Without intending to cast any reflection upon the critics and others who have plunged with ebullient enthusiasm into this controversy, it may not be out of place to point out that Spedding is head and shoulders above all disputants in knowledge, and second to none in critical ability. His knowledge of Shakespeare was intimate and profound, and he knew his Bacon more thoroughly than it has been the lot of any other man of letters to be known by his fellow man. He gave up his position in the Colonial Office, and declined the position of Under-Secretary of State, with £2,000 a year, in order to devote his whole time to the study of the life and works of Lord Bacon--a task which occupied him for nearly thirty years. Sir Henry Taylor, in a letter to a friend in 1861, wrote as follows:--“I have been reading Spedding’s _Life and Letters of Lord Bacon_ with profound interest and admiration--admiration not of the perfect style and penetrating judgment only, but also of the extraordinary labours bestowed upon the works by a lazy man; the labour of some twenty years, I believe, spent in rummaging among old records in all places they were to be found, and collating different copies of manuscripts written in the handwriting of the 16th century, and noting the minutest variations of one from another--an inexpressibly tedious kind of drudgery, and, what was, perhaps, still worse, searching far and wide, waiting, watching, peering, prying through long years for records which no industry could recover. I doubt whether there be any other example in literary history of so large an intellect as Spedding’s devoting itself, with so much self-sacrifice, to the illustration of one which was larger still, and doing so out of reverence, not so much for that largest intellect, as for the truth concerning it.” Sir Henry Taylor, in this passage, not only does justice to the diligence and genius of the author, but recognises the spirit in which the work was undertaken. Spedding spent thirty years in quest of the truth concerning this remarkable man, and having discovered it, he was prepared to maintain his conclusions with all the power of his knowledge and commanding intelligence. These qualities he exercised with paralysing effect against Lord Macaulay’s _Essay on Bacon_. It has been claimed by one champion of Shakespeare’s cause that Macaulay’s “well-known depth of research, comprehensive grasp of facts and details, and his calm method of presenting honest conclusions, renders him pre-eminent as a safe authority.” The exact opposite is, of course, the case, but the possession of these very qualities are revealed by Spedding in his _Evenings with a Reviewer_, to the utter spoliation of a great number of Macaulay’s cherished calculations and conclusions. “No more conscientious, no more sagacious critic,” according to G. S. Venables, “has employed in a not unworthy task the labour of his life,” and the same writer has also declared that “the historical and biographical conclusions which he (Spedding) established depend on an exhaustive accumulation of evidence arranged and interpreted by the clearest of intellects, with an honesty which is rarely known in controversial discussion.” Spedding is, in brief, universally acknowledged to be not only the greatest authority on Bacon, but also of the times in which he lived. His acquaintance with Elizabethan literature, its history, and its manuscripts was unique--he was, it may be said without fear of contradiction, a master of his period. “His knowledge of Shakespeare,” says Venables, in the prefatory notice to _Evenings with a Reviewer_, “was extensive and profound, and his laborious and subtle criticism derived additional value from his love of the stage.” The opinion of such an authority on such a subject as the authorship of plays attributed to Shakespeare is, in default of proof to the contrary, of the highest possible value--to a close student of Spedding it must appear incontrovertible.

Spedding’s article on the question, which is included in the volume of _Reviews and Discussions_ (Kegan Paul, Trench & Co., 1879) was written in reply to Professor Nathaniel Holmes’ treatise on _The Authorship of Shakespeare_. In his opening sentence, he says, “I have read your book ... faithfully to the end, and if my report of the result is to be equally faithful, I must declare myself not only unconvinced, but undisturbed.”

He is instant and decisive with his reasons. “To ask me,” he continues, “to believe that a man who was famous for a variety of other accomplishments, whose life was divided between public business, the practice of a laborious profession, and private study of the art of investigating the material laws of nature--a man of large acquaintance, of note from early manhood, and one of the busiest men of his time, but who was never suspected of wasting his time in writing poetry, and is not known to have written a single blank verse in all his life--that this man was the author of fourteen comedies, ten historical plays, and eleven tragedies, exhibiting the greatest, and the greatest variety, of excellence that has been attained in that kind of composition, is like asking me to believe that Lord Brougham was the author, not only of Dickens’s novels, but of Thackeray’s also, and of Tennyson’s poems besides.”

Spedding, himself a genius, finds no difficulty in appreciating the quality of genius in Shakespeare. It was not scholarship, or environment, or training that enabled William Shakespeare to become the author of the most wonderful series of dramas in the world. Of Shakespeare’s gifts, he frankly states the wonder is that any man should have possessed them, not that the man to whose lot they fell was the son of a poor man called John Shakespeare, and that he was christened William. If Shakespeare was not trained as a scholar, or a man of science, neither do the works attributed to him show traces of trained scholarship or scientific education. Given the faculties (which nature bestows as fully on the poor as on the rich) you will find that the required knowledge, art and dexterity which the Shakespearean plays imply, were easily attainable by a man who was labouring in his vocation, and had nothing else to do.”

What Spedding failed to grasp was the difficulty which the Baconians find in believing that Shakespeare was as likely to be the author of the plays as any other man of his generation. In endeavouring to solve the extraordinary difficulty of the old theory of the authorship of the plays by substituting a new one, they have only made confusion worse confounded. “That which is extraordinary in the case,” Spedding maintains, “is that any man should possess such a combination of faculties as must have met in the author of these plays. But that is a difficulty which cannot be avoided. There must have been _somebody_ in whom the requisite combination of faculties did meet, for there the plays are; and by supposing that this somebody was a man who, at the same time possessed a combination of other faculties, themselves sufficient to make him an extraordinary man too, you do not diminish the wonder, but increase it.... That a human being possessed of the faculties necessary to make a Shakespeare should exist, is extraordinary. That a human being possessed of the faculties necessary to make a Bacon should exist, is extraordinary. That two such human beings should have been living in London at the same time was more extraordinary still. But that one man should have existed possessing the faculties and opportunities necessary to make both, would have been the most extraordinary thing of all.”

It may be contended, and with justice, that in the foregoing we have arguments that did not require the special knowledge and experience of a Spedding to prefer. It may not be, it probably is not, regarded by Baconians as serious argument, and, as Mr. R. M. Theobald would say, it would be simply a waste of time and words to discuss it. Certain is it that none of the pro-Bacon writers realise the necessity of answering, and, if possible, contravening these simple arguments. It is difficult to find any satisfactory reason for their reticence. But whether it is that they question the value of the views of the greatest student of Bacon on this subject, or are ignorant of his essay, or--what is more likely--are unable to combat so plausible a view coming from so eminent an authority, the fact remains that Spedding’s opinion is consistently disregarded.

It is not, however, that part of his argument which we have quoted, but the part which follows which carries conviction to those who are familiar with the work both of Bacon and of Spedding. The resemblances in thought and language, which are to be found in Shakespeare and Bacon, are accepted by Spedding as inevitable between writers nourished upon a common literature, employing a common language, and influenced by a common atmosphere of knowledge and opinion. “But to me,” he declares, “I confess, the resemblances between Shakespeare and Bacon are not so striking as their differences. Strange as it seems that two such minds, both so vocal, should have existed within each other’s hearing without mutually affecting each other, I find so few traces of any influence exercised by Shakespeare upon Bacon, that I have great doubt whether Bacon knew any more about him than Gladstone (probably) knew about Tom Taylor (in his dramatic capacity). Shakespeare may have derived a good deal from Bacon. He had, no doubt, read the _Advancement of Learning_ and the first edition of the _Essays_, and most likely had frequently heard him speak in the Courts and in the Star Chamber. But among all the parallelisms which you have collected with such industry to illustrate the identity of the writer, I have not observed one in which I should not have inferred, from the difference of style, a difference of hand. Great writers, being contemporary, have many features in common; but if they are really great writers, they write naturally, and nature is always individual. I doubt whether there are five lines together to be found in Bacon which could be mistaken for Shakespeare, or five lines in Shakespeare which could be mistaken for Bacon, by one who was familiar with their several styles, and practised in such observations. I was myself well read in Shakespeare before I began with Bacon, and I have been forced to cultivate what skill I have in distinguishing Bacon’s style to a high degree; because in sifting the genuine from the spurious, I had commonly nothing but the style to guide me. And to me, if it were proved that any one of the plays attributed to Shakespeare was really written by Bacon, not the least extraordinary thing about it would be the power which it would show in him of laying aside his individual peculiarities and assuming those of a different man.”

There we have Spedding’s reasons for rejecting the Baconian theory--let us summarise his conclusions in his own words: “If you had fixed upon anybody else rather than Bacon as the true author,” he says--“anybody of whom I knew nothing--I should have been scarcely less incredulous, because I deny that a _prima facie_ case is made out for questioning Shakespeare’s title. But if there were any reason for supposing that somebody else was the real author, I think I am in a condition to say that, whoever it was, it was not Bacon. The difficulties which such a supposition would involve would be almost innumerable, and altogether insurmountable. But,” he adds, “if what I have said does not excuse me from saying more, what I might say more would be equally ineffectual.”

_Were Shakespeare and Bacon Acquainted?_

If we are to believe in the existence of the cipher, it follows as a matter of course that Bacon and Shakespeare were acquainted. Nothing is more probable. Bacon was at Court during the whole time that Shakespeare’s plays were presented there. Bacon must at one period have been acquainted with Shakespeare’s patron, Lord Southampton, who was the bosom friend of Bacon’s patron, the Earl of Essex. Bacon was certainly in touch with Ben Jonson, Shakespeare’s friend and co-worker. It is scarcely conceivable that the two most prominent figures in the literary world of the day should have been unknown to one another, although there is no authentic evidence to show that they were. In _Shakespeare’s True Life_ (1890), Major James Walter publishes an illustration of Bacon’s house at St. Margaret’s, Richmond, “where Shakespeare was a frequent visitor.” “Twickenham,” says the writer, “is a main connecting link with what is known of Shakespeare’s visits to the neighbourhood; doubly interesting as clearly indicating his intimacy with Bacon, then living at his house, only a short distance on the other side of St. Margaret’s, in Twickenham Park.” Again, “It was just shortly before this plague fright, Shakespeare and Bacon had been jointly engaged in getting up one or more of his plays in Gray’s Inn, and it comes with the saying they should be frequently together in the eminently charming retreat just acquired by Bacon at the munificent hand of Elizabeth’s Favourite (the Earl of Essex).” “Catholic tradition,” the same authority assures us, “asserts that Bacon wrote the first portion of his great essays under the cedars of Twickenham Park; others go further, and say our information is that Shakespeare and Bacon had a special fondness for the two old cedars, and spent much time on occasions of Shakespeare’s visiting and resting with his friend at Twickenham, in reading and converse under the shade of these widespreading venerable trees.” In another part of the same book we read: “Some families, whose past histories should afford information bearing on Shakespeare’s life, assert that he met Spenser and Sir Walter Raleigh on more than one occasion at Richmond, and that Bacon was in the habit of receiving them together at his St. Margaret’s home.”

Interesting as are these details, they are, it will be observed, quite unsupported. What the Major says is, unfortunately, “not evidence.” If Major Walter had given us chapter and verse for all this information, we might have verified his evidence for ourselves, but “Catholic tradition” and the unnamed “families with past histories,” and the “others” are too vague to pin one’s faith to. We may, however, assume that Shakespeare was not unknown to Bacon, that they met when Shakespeare was appearing at Gray’s Inn; and it is quite possible, if not probable, that Shakespeare consulted Bacon on the legal references and similes that we find in the Plays.

Bacon, although disloyal, and capable of shameless ingratitude towards his benefactors, had the love of his secretary Rawley, and the warm esteem of such men as Ben Jonson, Boëner, and Toby Matthew. Abbott, who is fully awake to his many faults, notes this curious inconsistency in his nature, and explains it in the conclusion that “whenever he found men naturally and willingly depending on him, and co-operating with him ... his natural and general benevolence found full play.” If we accept this explanation, and it would appear to be the correct solution of his enigmatic character, we can readily understand that Bacon, in a patronising, but good-hearted way, would extend no little favour to a man of Shakespeare’s position and reputation. Shakespeare would be familiar with Bacon’s works, he may even have had the run of Bacon’s library in Gray’s Inn--an assumption of their intimacy, which, if supported by documentary evidence, would establish the theory that the poet used the philosopher as his model for Polonius. Bacon, the great philosopher, and the influential politician, would certainly have “the tribute of the supple knee” of all aspirants to literary fame. Authors would be proud to attract his notice, publishers would be flattered to allow him to glance through the proofs of any books that they were issuing. It is quite natural to suppose that if Shakespeare was known to Bacon, Heming and Condell would have been aware of the fact, and an offer to render them some assistance in publishing the First Folio would have been accepted with alacrity. Such an offer may have been made through Rawley, his faithful secretary; it might have come direct from Bacon to the publishers. How he obtained command of the proofs it is impossible to conjecture with any confidence, but if it is proved that the cipher exists in the Folio, and the other works mentioned--and I am satisfied to believe that it does, until a properly constituted committee reports that it is non-existent--it will be evident that somebody must have overcome the difficulties that the task presented. The law at that time recognised no natural right in an author to the creation of his brain, and the full owner of a MS. copy of any literary composition was entitled to reproduce it, or to treat it as he pleased, without reference to the author’s wishes. Thomas Thorpe, and the other pirates of the period, were always on the look-out for written copies of plays and poems for publication in this manner. All Shakespeare’s plays that appeared in print were issued without his authority, and, in several instances, against his expressed wish. How did Thorpe and his tribe obtain possession of the manuscripts of _King Lear_, _Henry V._, _Pericles_, _Hamlet_, _Titus Andronicus_, and the rest of the sixteen plays which were in print at the date of the author’s death? If we knew for certain that Shakespeare and Bacon were on terms of intimacy, it would be a justifiable conjecture to suppose that the latter might have had a hand in the business, but if the existence of the cipher in these pirated quartos is verified, we may be quite sure that Bacon was the publishers’ accessory in securing the MSS. for publication.

It is, however, more difficult to satisfactorily explain the claim of Bacon to the authorship of the _Anatomy of Melancholy_. The first edition, in quarto form, was published in 1621; the cipher appears in the folio that was issued in 1628. In the preface to this edition, the author announces that he will make no more changes in his work: “I will not hereafter add, alter, or retract; I have done.” What do we gather from that, Mrs. Gallup may ask?--surely that Bacon felt his strength failing when he wrote those words; he certainly did not live to see the book through the press. But the fact remains that four more editions were published within Burton’s lifetime, each with successive alterations and additions. The final form of the book was the sixth edition (1651-52), printed from an annotated copy given just before Burton’s death to the publisher, Henry Cripps, who gained, Anthony à Wood tells us, great profits out of the book. This is one of the points upon which we shall hope to hear from Mrs. Gallup.

In this 1628 folio of the _Anatomy of Melancholy_, Mrs. Gallup has deciphered some ninety pages of a partial translation of Homer’s _Iliad_. But on comparing this translation with that of Alexander Pope, written about a century later, it becomes clear that it is not taken from the original Greek of Homer, but is, in fact, a prose rendering of Pope’s version. But Mrs. Gallup in a letter to the _Times_, which appears as these pages are going through the press, declares that an examination of six different English translations of the _Iliad_, and one Latin, shows her such substantial accord that either of them could be called with equal justice a paraphrase of Pope, or that Pope had copied from the others.

1,000 feet of canvas is covered by the pages of the works used.]

_In Conclusion._