Chapter V: Preface (2)

In the library of Sir Edwin Durning-Lawrence I was able to decipher, from the _Treatise of Melancholy_, some pages that were missing from the copy at the British Museum.

I wish here to express my deep obligation to the management of the British Museum, and to those numerous friends I was so fortunate as to make while in London, for their uniform kindness to me--a stranger among them--and for the facilities which they, to the extent of their power, never failed to afford me in my work.

Every Italic letter in all the books named has been examined, studied, classified, and set down “in groups of five” and the results transcribed. Each book deciphered has its own peculiarities and forms of type, and must be made a separate study.

The 1623 Folio has the largest variety of letters and irregularities; but the most difficult work was Bacon’s _History of Henry the Seventh_, the mysteries of which it took me the greater part of three months of almost constant study to master. The reason came to light as the work progressed, and will appear from the reading of the first page of the deciphered matter, with its explanations of “sudden shifts” to puzzle would-be decipherers.

In the deciphering of the different works mentioned, surprise followed surprise as the hidden messages were disclosed, and disappointment as well was not infrequently encountered. Some of the disclosures are of a nature repugnant, in many respects, to my very soul, as they were to all my preconceived convictions, and they would never have seen the light, except as a correct transcription of what the cipher revealed. As a decipherer I had no choice, and I am in no way responsible for the disclosures, except as to the correctness of the transcription.

Bacon, throughout the Bi-literal Cypher, makes frequent mention of his translations of Homer, which he considered one of his “great works and worthy of preservation,” and which had been scattered through the mosaic of his other writings. One of the strongest of his expressed desires was that it should be gathered and reconstructed in its original form.

Perhaps the greatest surprise that came to me in all my work relates to what was found in the _Anatomy of Melancholy_. Several other of the works had been finished before this book was taken up. After a few pages had been deciphered, relating to points in Bacon’s history, to my great disappointment the cipher suddenly changed the subject of its disclosures to this:

“As hath been said, much of th’ materiall of th’ Iliad may be found here, as well as Homer his second wondrous storie, telling of Odysseus his worthy adventures. Th’ first nam’d is of greater worth, beautie and interesse, alone, in my estimation, than all my other work together, for it is th’ crowning triumph of Homer’s pen; and he outstrips all th’ others in th’ race, as though his wits had beene Atalanta’s heeles. Next we see Virgill, and close behind them, striving to attaine unto th’ hights which they mounted, do I presse on to th’ lofty goale. In th’ plays lately publisht, I have approacht my modell closelie, and yet it doth ever seem beyond my attainment.

“Here are the diverse bookes, their arguments and sundry examples of th’ lines, in our bi-literal cipher.”

These “arguments,” or outlines, are intended as a framework about which, with the aid of the keys given, the fuller deciphering from the printed lines is to take form through the methods of the Word-Cipher.

The presence of lines, identical--or nearly so--with those of Homer, have been noted by close students in all the works now named as belonging to Bacon, and it has needed but to bring the lines together from their scattered positions, transpose names and arrange the parts in proper sequence, to form the connected narrative.

I can best illustrate this--and it will be of interest to those fond of the classics--by adding a few of the lines from some of my unfinished and unpublished work, before I had discovered the bi-literal cipher in the typography of the books I was using. I will say regarding this part of my incomplete work, that a very considerable portion of the material for the first four books of the fuller translation of the _Iliad_ had been collected and arranged in sequence by the word-cipher before the work was laid aside, four years ago, on account of the discovery of the bi-literal, the development of which, it became at once apparent, was of first importance. These directions regarding it occur in the Bi-literal Cypher:

“Keepe lines, though somewhat be added to Homer; in fact, it might be more truly Homeric to consider it a poeme of the times, rather than a historie of true events.” (p. 168.) “... In all places, be heedfull of the meaning, but do not consider the order of the words in the sentences. I should join my examples and rules together, you will say. So I will. In the 'Faerie Queene,’ booke one, canto two, second and third lines of the seventh stanzo, thus speaking of Aurora, write:

“Wearie of aged Tithones saffron bed,
Had spreade, through dewy ayre her purple robe.

“Or in the eleventh canto, booke two, five-and-thirtieth stanzo, arrange the matter thus, to relate in verse the great attacke at the ships, at that pointe of time at which the great Trojan took up a weighty missile, the gods giving strength to the hero’s arme: it begins in the sixth verse:

“There lay thereby an huge greate stone, which stood
Upon one end, and had not many a day
Removed beene--a signe of sundrie wayes--
This Hector snatch’d and with exceeding sway.” (p. 169.)

Illustrative of the argument, the incident in Book I., where the priest Chryses “was evilly dismissed by Agamemnon,” the bi-literal epitome reads:

“And th’ Priest, in silence, walk’d along th’ shore of the resounding sea. After awhile with many a prayer and teare th’ old man cried aloud unto Apollo, and his voice was heard.”

In the fuller translation by means of the word-cipher, the lines collected from the different books result in the following rendering of the passage:

“The wretched man, at his imperious speech,
Was all abashed, and there he sudden stay’d,
While in his eyes stood tears of bitterness.
The resounding of the sea upon the shore
Beats with an echo to the unseen grief
That swells with silence in the tortur’d soul.
Apart upon his knees that aged sire
Pray’d much unto Latona’s lordly son:

“Hear, hear, O hear, god of the silver bow!
Who’rt wont Chrysa and Cilla to protect,
And reignest in this island Tenedos,
If ever I did honour thee aright,
Thy graceful temple aiding to adorn,
Or if, moreover, I at any time
Have burn’d to thee fat thighs of bulls and goats,
Do one thing for me that I shall entreat--
O Phœbus, with thy shafts avenge these tears.”

A little farther on, after Achilles had “summon’d a councill” and charged Calchas to declare the cause of the pestilence, Bacon’s lines--that he warns the decipherer to retain, “though somewhat be added to Homer”--gives the altercation thus:

To whom Atrides did this answer frame:
“Full true thou speak’st and like thyself, yet, though
Thou speakest truth, methinks thou speak’st not well.
It is because no one should sway but he
He’s angry with the gods that any man
Goeth before him; he would be above the clouds,
His fortune’s master and the king of men,
And here is none, methinks, disposed to yield:
For though the gods do chance him to appoint
To be a warriour and command a camp,
Inserting courage in his noble heart,
Do they give right to utter insults here?”

There interrupting him, noble Achilles
Answer’d the king in few words: “Ay forsooth!
I should be thought a coward, Agamemnon,
A man of no estimation in the world,
If what you will I humbly yield unto,
And when you say, 'Do this,’ it is perform’d.
I, for my part--let others as they list,--
I will not thus be fac’d and overpeer’d.
Do not think so, you shall not find it so:
Some other seek that may with patience strive
With thee, Atrides; thou shalt rule no more
O’er me.”

The transalation by George Chapman, Book I., page 20, line 11, reads:

“All this, good father,” said the king, “is comely and good right;
But this man breaks all such bounds; he affects, past all men, height;
All would in his power hold, all make his subjects, give to all
His hot will for their temperate law: all which he never shall
Persuade at my hands. If the gods have given him the great style
Of ablest soldier, made they that his license to revile
Men with vile language?” Thetis’ son prevented him, and said:
“Fearful and vile I might be thought, if the exactions laid
By all means on me I should bear. Others command to this,
Thou shalt not me; or if thou dost, far my free spirit is
From serving thy command.”

The translation by William Cullen Bryant, book 1, page 13, line 22, reads:

To him the sovereign Agamemnon said:
“The things which thou hast uttered, aged chief,
Are fitly spoken; but this man would stand
Above all others; he aspires to be
The master, over all to domineer,
And to direct in all things; yet, I think
There may be one who will not suffer this,
For if by favor of the immortal gods,
He was made brave, have they for such a cause
Given him the liberty of insolent speech?”

Hereat the great Achilles, breaking in,
Answered: “Yea, well might I deserve the name
Of coward and of wretch, should I submit
In all things to do thy bidding. Such commands
Lay thou on others, not on me; nor think
I shall obey thee longer.”

The translation by William Sotheby, M. R. S. L., book 1, page 16, line 21, runs as follows:

“Wise is thy counsel”--Atreus’ son reply’d--
“Well thy persuasive voice might Grecia guide,
But this--this man must stretch o’er all his sway,
All must observe his will, his beck obey,
All hang on him--such, such o’erweening pride,
Rage as he may, by me shall be defy’d.
The gods, who to his arm its prowess gave,
Loose they his scornful tongue at will to rave?”
Him interrupting, fierce Pelides said:
“Be on my willing brow dishonor laid,
If I--whate’er thy wish--whate’er thy will,
Imperious tyrant!--thy command fulfil.
O’er others rule; by others be obeyed;
No more Achilles deigns the Atridae aid.”

The Earl of Derby’s translation, book 1, page 16, line 12, reads:

To whom the monarch, Agamemnon, thus:
“Oh, father, full of wisdom are thy words;
But this proud chief o’er all would domineer;
O’er all he seeks to rule, o’er all to reign,
To all dictate, which I will not bear,
Grant that the gods have giv’n him warlike might;
Gave they unbridled license to his tongue?”
To whom Achilles, interrupting thus:
“Coward and slave I might indeed be deemed,
Could I submit to make thy word my law;
To others thy commands; seek not to me
To dicate, for I follow thee no more.”

It is true that the presence of the bi-literal cipher in any work does not prove authorship, being merely a matter of typography which can be incorporated in any printed page, as it was in fact in Ben Jonson’s writings, for Bacon’s purposes. But when it is worked out, and its chief purpose is found to be to teach the word-cipher, and that the latter produces practicable results such as given above, the confirmation of both ciphers is unmistakable. On the other hand, the word-cipher is a complete demonstration of the fact that the author of the interior work was the author of the exterior.

I am not infrequently asked, and it is a very natural question, why should Bacon put translations of the Iliad and Odyssey in his works, when neither required secrecy? I quote a sentence from the _Bi-literal Cypher_ (p. 341), deciphered from _Natural History_:

“Finding that one important story within manie others produc’d a most ordinarie play, poem, history, essay, law-maxime, or other kind, class, or description of work, I tried th’ experiment of placing my tra’slations of Homer and Virgil within my other Cypher. When one work has been so incorporated into others, these are then in like manner treated, separated into parts and widely scatter’d into my numerous books.”

In this connection I will add another extract from _Advancement of Learning_ (original edition, 1605, p. 52):

“And Cicero himselfe, being broken unto it by great experience, delivereth it plainely: That whatsoever a man shall have occasion to speake of (if hee will take the paines), he may have it in effect premeditate, and handled in these. So that when hee commeth to a particular, he shall have nothing to doe, but to put too Names, and times, and places; and such other Circumstances of Individuals.”

In other words, Bacon first constructed, then reconstructed from the first writing, such portions as would fit the “names and times and places, and such other Circumstances of Individuals,” about which he wished to build a new structure of history, drama, or essay. The first literary mosaic, containing dangerous matter, as well as much that was not, was transposed--the relative position of its component parts changed--to form the one we have known. The decipherer’s work is to restore the fragments to their original form.

As intimated at the beginning, the value of anything I could say upon the Bacon-Shakespeare controversy resolves itself into a question of fact--Have I found a cipher, and has it been corectly applied?

I repeat, the question is out of the realm of literary comparisons altogether. Literary probabilities or improbabilities have no longer any bearing, and their discussion has become purely agitations of the air: the sole question is--What are the facts? These cannot be determined by slight or imperfect examinations, preconceived ideas, abstract contemplation, or vigour of denunciation.

During a somewhat lengthy literary life, I have come to perceive the sharp distinction between convictions on any subject and the possession of knowledge. I know it is no light thing to say to those who love the literature ascribed to Shakespeare, “You have worshiped a true divinity at the wrong shrine,” and the iconoclast should come with knowledge before he assails a faith.

The limits of this article will not permit me to do more in the way of illustration; but I beg to assure the English public that I speak from knowledge obtained at a cost of time, money, and injury to eye-sight and health greater than I should care to mention.

I am satisfied that my work will not be disregarded; but instead, given a respectful, kindly and intelligent examination in Great Britain, the home of Shakespeare and Bacon.

I say nothing at this time of the validity of all the claims Bacon has made; but if they are accepted there will presently be accorded to one of the line of English kings the royal title of “the greatest literary genius of all time.”

BOOK REVIEWS

BACON-SHAKESPEARE.

Mrs. Elizabeth Wells Gallup Throws New Light Upon the Mystifying Question--The Bi-Literal Cipher.

_Detroit Free Press._

It is always difficult to make headway against a well-established tradition. Hence argument going to prove that Shakespeare did not write the dramas that have come down to us in his name, is discredited largely because we have so long accepted his authorship as a matter of fact. But the literature of the anti-Shakespeareans is increasing, and the time is past when a contemptuous ejaculation or a shrug of the shoulders can dispose of the evidence they have so carefully and patiently constructed. In truth, the opponents of Shakespeare have been met so often by this sort of rebuttal that they are becoming stronger and more numerous every year.

That Shakespeare’s plays were not written by the William Shaksper of Stratford, was probably first suggested by the discrepancy between the plays and what we know of the man. That Francis Bacon, the great scholar, profound thinker and literary genius of the Elizabethan era might be their author was first suggested by similarity of philosophy and sentiment, and parallelisms of thought and expression.

That Bacon’s was the greatest mind of his age is incontrovertible. Pope calls him “the greatest genius that England, or perhaps any other country, ever produced.” Lord Macaulay says: “Bacon’s mind was the most exquisitely constructed intellect that has ever been bestowed upon any of the children of men;” while Edmund Burke is even more eulogistic: “Who is there that, hearing the name of Bacon, does not instantly recognize everything; of genius, the most profound; of literature, the most extensive; of discovery, the most penetrating; of observation of human life, the most distinguishing and refined.”

If we can accept Mrs. Elizabeth Wells Gallup’s new book, “The Bi-Literal Cipher of Francis Bacon,” as a genuine discovery and the story it tells for what it purports to be--Bacon’s own--the Bacon-Shakespeare controversy is forever at rest. There can be no further doubt that Bacon wrote not only the plays ascribed to Shakespeare, but also the works appearing under the names of Spenser and Peele, Greene and Marlowe, and Burton’s Anatomy of Melancholy. Mrs. Gallup’s discovery of a cipher running through them all explains the remarkable similarities that have perplexed critics by demonstrating beyond a shadow of doubt--if we accept it at all--that Bacon’s genius originated them all.

Some inquiries naturally suggest themselves. The first and most natural question is, Was Bacon a writer of ciphers? The business of statesmanship required skill in ciphers in his day, and little important court and diplomatic business was carried on except under such cover. Bacon’s earliest public experience was with Sir Amyas Paulet for three years in the court of France, and his was one of the brightest intellects of his time.

The next question is, Did he possess the cipher here used? This must be answered in the affirmative, for it is found fully explained and its uses pointed out in his Latin work, “De Augmentis,” the original of which, published in 1624, has been submitted to the writer for examination. It is found also translated in full in the standard Spedding, Ellis & Heath edition of Bacon’s works, found in every library.

A third question is, What is the nature and method of the cipher? We cannot do better than quote directly from Bacon’s “Advancement of Learning,” copied from this volume:

“For by this art a way is opened whereby a man may express and signify the intentions of his mind at any distance of place, by objects which may be presented to the eye and accommodated to the ear, provided those objects be capable of a two-fold difference only--as by bells, by trumpets, by lights and torches, by the reports of muskets, and any instruments of a like nature.

“But to pursue our enterprise, when you address yourself to write resolve your inward infolded letter into this Bi-literarie alphabet, * * * together with this you must have a bi-formed alphabet, as well capital letters as the smaller characters, in a double form, as fits every man’s occasion.”

Bacon calls this the “omnia per omnia,” the all in all cipher, and speaks of it as an invention of his own made while at the Court of France, when he was but 16 or 18 years of age.

This cipher and its obvious adaptations, it is stated, is the basis of nearly every alphabetical cipher code in present general use--the alternating dot and dash of the Morse telegraph code, the long and short exposure of light in the heliographic telegraph and the “wig-wag” signals of flags or lights in the armies and navies of the world.

As used by Bacon, two slightly differing fonts of Italic type were employed, one font representing the letter a, the other the letter b. These were alternated in groups of five in his literature, each group of five letters representing one letter of the alphabet in the secret work. The full alphabet and several illustrations of the working of the cipher in the original works are given; in fact, every possible aid to the student and investigator who wishes to verify for himself the existence of the cipher and the mode of its deciphering is freely offered in the introduction, prefaces and fac-similes in Mrs. Gallup’s work.

Assuming that the cipher is Bacon’s and that it has been accurately transcribed, the story told the world in it is beyond the dreams of romance; it is simply astounding.

The cipher story asserts that Bacon was the grandson of Henry VIII., the son of Queen Elizabeth and rightful heir to the throne of England. That while imprisoned in the Tower of London, where Lord Leicester was also confined, Elizabeth, before becoming queen, was secretly married to Leicester. The issue of the marriage was two sons, the so-called Francis Bacon--whose life was, there is little reason to doubt, preserved through the womanly pity and compassion of Mistress Anne Bacon--and Robert Devereaux, afterward Earl of Essex. The political exigencies of the time did not admit the public acknowledgment of the marriage. Francis was raised as the son of Nicholas and Anne Bacon, and Elizabeth crowned as the Virgin Queen. It pleased her to continue the deceit and Francis remained ignorant of his descent until about sixteen years of age, when Elizabeth, in one of her historic rages, revealed the truth to him and banished him to France.

Thenceforward Bacon’s life was one long disappointed hope, which found expression in the secrecy of the cipher. This he interwove in every original edition of his works, hoping, and intending, that in the long future the cipher would be read, and he be justified in the opinion of mankind. If his cipher was discovered too soon, his life would pay the forfeit, if never, his labor would be in vain. In 1623, when 62 years of age and near his death, he published the key to the cipher in “De Augmentis” in the hope that it would lead to the unraveling. If this volume is correct, it took 300 years of time and a bright American woman to separate the web and woof.

If this story seems incredible, the literary claim is still more so. The literary and philosophical works of Bacon are sufficiently wonderful, without more. All reviewers and biographers regard him as possessing one of the most wonderful intellects in the world’s history. These opinions were based upon his known works. We are now asked to believe that not only these, but the works ascribed to Shakespeare, Spenser, Marlowe, Greene, Peele, Burton, and part of Ben Jonson’s were written by him, and that in each and every one of them this bi-literal cipher was placed, to the end that his rights and claims, wrongs and sufferings could become known, at some time, to the world.

Not the least of these marvels is that the “Anatomy of Melancholy” of Robert Burton is found to have been published under the name of T. Bright, when Burton was 10 years of age. A later edition is now found to contain, in the bi-literal cipher, the Argument of the Iliad, with portions freely translated into blank verse, differing in form from any translation heretofore made and remarkable for elegance of style and diction. Take for example a passage describing the outbreak between the Greeks and Trojans, incited by Minerva by the order of Jove, at the solicitation of Juno:

“As in the ocean wide,
A driving wind from the northwest comes forth
With force resistless, and the swelling waves
Succeed so fast that scarce an eye may see
Where one in pain doth bring another forth,
Till, on the rockie shore resounding loud
They spit forth foam white as the mountain snows,
And break themselves upon the o’er-jutting rocks--
Thus mightily, the Grecian phalanxes
Incessantly mov’d onward to th’ battaile.
It might not then be said that anie man
Possessed power of human speech or thought,
So silentlie did they their leaders follow
In reverentiall awe. Each chief commanded
The troops that came with him--each led his owne--
Glitt’ring in arms, bright shining as the sunne,
While in well ordered phalanxes they mov’d.

“The Trojan hosts were like unto a flock
Close in a penne folded at fall of night,
That bleating looked th’ waye their young ones went
And filled th’ avre with dire confusion--
Such was the noyse among the Trojan hosts.
No two gave utterance to the same crye,
So various were the nations and the countries
From whence they came. * * *

“Like wintry mountain torrent roaring loud
That frightes th’ shepheard in th’ deepe ravine
Mixing the floods tumultuously that poure
From forth an hundred gushing springs at once,
Thus did the deaf’ning battaile din arise,
When meeting in one place with direful force
In tumult and alarums th’ armies joyned.
Then might of warriour met an equall might;
Shields clasht on shields, the brazen spear on spear
While dying groans mixt with the battaile cry
In awesome sound; and steedes were fetlock deepe
In blood, fast flowing as the armies met.”

Still another chapter in the romance of Bacon’s life is disclosed in the cipher. Because of a late and somewhat mercenary marriage, he has been considered as having a cold nature, a conclusion hightened by the loveless comments of his Essay on Love. But the cipher writing discloses an early disappointment as the cause. While in France, and 17, he was violently enamored of the beautiful but dissolute Marguerite, wife of Henry of Navarre, and his senior by something like eight years. A divorce from Henry and her union with Bacon, the rightful Prince of Wales, was actually planned. The fair Marguerite proved fickle also, but his writings are filled with references to his affection for her which her falseness could not, apparently, extinguish. He tells us himself that “Romeo and Juliet” was written to picture their love, saying: “The joy of life ebb’d from our hearts with our parting, and it never came againe into this bosom in full flood-tide.” Another interesting episode brought out is Bacon’s account of his brother’s treason and his self-justification and remorse at his own part in the punishment that was meted out to him.

The verity of the cipher Mrs. Gallup has so painstakingly and with such unwearied patience unfolded would seem to be sustained by the fact that it is Bacon’s own invention, fully--even elaborately--set forth in one of his later writings, when, Elizabeth being dead and he himself near his end, he had less fear of consequences should his secret be discovered--indeed, he came to fear it would not be discovered and that he would not be justified to posterity.

So much of reserve as is due to lack of personal demonstration is maintained by the writer, but here are 360 pages of deciphered matter, with sufficient means of proof to satisfy any investigator. There can be no middle ground; one must accept or deny it in toto. Either the decipherer has made a most remarkable discovery to which the key has been open for three centuries, or the book is equally remarkable from an entirely different point of view. If accepted, truly “th’ tardy epistle shall turn over an unknowne leaf of the historie of our land.”

FRANCIS BACON’S BI-LITERAL CIPHER.

BACONIANA, LONDON.

Before these lines are printed, Mrs. Gallup’s very important work on “The Biliteral Cipher of Francis Bacon”[1] will have been for two months in the hands of the public. Since it is probable that there may be due discussion of its wonderful contents, it seems desirable to say a few words, not by way of review or mere expression of personal opinion (in such a case valueless), but in order to draw attention to certain points which, if not at present capable of absolute verification or contradiction, yet surely demand and are worthy of the closest investigation. Questions of this kind must naturally arise, “Is this cipher such as any person of ordinary intelligence can follow? Is it provably correct? Has any one besides Mrs. Gallup succeeded in depihering by the same means, and with similar results?”

These questions may without hesitation be answered in the affirmative. With the explanation given by the great inventor himself, anyone can master the method described in the _De Augmentis_ (Book VI.). Ordinary patience and contrivance enable us to arrange two different alphabets of Italic letters and to insert these in the printed type, forming cipher sentences one-fifth in length of the “exterior” sentence or passage. Thus to bury one story within another is easy enough. To unearth it is another matter, and more difficult.

In the first place, there is nothing which particularly invites the decipherer to discriminate between the two forms of Italic letters which are essential to this typographical cipher; or, if differences or deformities in letters are observed, we have been required to believe them “errors,” defects in printing, carelessness of the compositor, or anything else which may explain them away. Be not deceived; there is no error, but consummate skill and subtle contrivance, all helping towards the cryptographer’s great ends.

Before beginning the work of deciphering, it is needful thoroughly to learn by heart the Biliteral Alphabet given by its Inventor in the _De Augmentis_. Here we see that the letters of the common Alphabet are formed by the combination of the letters A and B in five places, these two letters (A and B) being represented by two distinct “founts” of Italic type. To discriminate between these two founts, is the initial difficulty; but observing that, in the Biliteral Alphabet, _A’s preponderate_, and that _no combination begins with two B’s_, we judge that the most frequent forms of Italic letters are almost certain to be A’s. A decision is best arrived at by repeatedly tracing and drawing out the various letters; and the decipherer must have keen eyes and powers of observation to detect the minute differences. For our Francis would not make things too easy. He speaks of “marks” and “signs” to be heeded, and Roman letters are often interspersed. It is also patent (and was found by Mrs. Gallup, and independently by others) that, in every biliteral alphabet, letters are here and there intentionally exchanged, as a device to confuse and confound the would-be decipherer.

In many cases we find alphabets suddenly reversed--A becoming B, and B, A, a change hinted by some “mark” or “sign,” as a tiny dot. These changes seem to occur most frequently in very small books, where the limited space makes it the more needful to set snares and stumbling-blocks at every turn. Such things show that, besides the good eyes and keen wits required for successful deciphering, there must be no small amount of that “eternal patience” which Michael Angelo honored with the title of “genius.”

Let us contemplate the goodly volume presented to us by Mrs. Gallup, and try to realize the fact that every one of those 350 pages of deciphered matter was worked out _letter by letter_; that each ONE letter in this deciphered work represents FIVE letters extracted from the deciphered book--say, _Shakespeare_, or _Spenser_, _Burton_, or any of the eight groups of works indicated in the cipher. Not only should such reflections cause us highly to respect the “endless patience,” perseverance, and skill of the cryptographer to whose labors we are so deeply indebted, but they should warn us from depreciating or discrediting statements or methods which we ourselves are incapable of testing. “Disparage not the faith thou dost not know,” is a good, sound principle to begin upon, and Francis (“cunyng in the humours of persons”) had evidently observed the tendency of the human mind to fly from things troublesome, or to take refuge in disparagement and ridicule. His notes teem with reflections on this matter. “Things above us are nothing to us”--“just nothing.” “Many things are thought impossible until they are discovered, then men wonder that they had not been seen long before.” On the other hand, he continually encourages himself with thoughts, texts and proverbial philosophy, which we find him instilling into his disciples. “Everything is subtile till it is conceived.” “By trying, men gained Troy,” and so forth. But we must “woorke as God woorkes,” wisely, quietly, with persistent patience and unremitting care, and “from a good beginning cometh a good ending.”

So much, then, for the “biliteral” itself. Another crop of inquiries springs up when we attempt briefly to rehearse the wonderful revelations now before us, and which it is within our power to examine and essay to prove.

Elizabeth, when princess, and prisoner in the hands of Mary, secretly married Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester. Of this secret marriage two sons were born. Francis the elder would have been “put away privilie” by the wicked woman whom he never could bring himself to think of as “mother.” Lady Anne Bacon, however, saved his life, and under an oath of secrecy adopted him as her own son. The scene when these facts came to his knowledge, and again when they were tearfully confirmed by his “deare,” “sweete mother,” Lady Anne, are graphically described in the cipher narrative extracted from the “_History of Henry VII._” (Ed. 1622). Further details of the same extraordinary episode are, as may be remembered, introduced in the “word cipher,” discovered, and in part published, by Dr. Owen, some seven years ago. From the disclosures made in the books deciphered, “it is evident,” says Mrs. Gallup, “that Bacon expected the biliteral cipher to be the first discovered, and that it would lead to the finding of his principal or word cipher which it fully explains, and to which is intrusted the larger subjects he desired to have preserved. This order has been reversed, in fact, and the earlier discovery by Dr. Owen becomes a more remarkable achievement, being entirely evolved without the aids which Bacon had prepared in this for its elucidation.”

But to return to our story.

Francis was now sent abroad by Elizabeth’s orders (_not_, as has been declared by his biographers, because Sir Nicholas Bacon wished him to see the wonders of the world abroad, but) in order to get him out of the way at the time when he had been the unwitting cause of a Court scandal. He left England in the suite of Sir Amyas Paulet, the English Ambassador. We know a little, and surmise more, concerning his travels, and the places which he visited, or where he stayed studying and writing. The sad story of his ill-fated love for “My Marguerite” is briefly touched upon, rather as a thing understood to the reader than as a record, and of this more will be related in a future volume. The present extracts are from the undated 4to. of _Romeo and Juliet_, where we may read:

“This stage-play, in part, will tell our real love-tale. A part is in the Play previously nam’d or mention’d as having therein one pretty scene acted by the two. So rare and most briefe the hard-won happinesse, it affords us great content to re-live in the Play all that as mist, in summer morning did roule away. It hath place in the dramas containing a scene and theame of this nature, since our fond love interpreted th’ harts o’ others, and in this joy, th’ joy of heaven was faintlie guessed.”

In the closing lines of _King John_ are these instructions:

“Join _Romeo_ with _Troy’s_ famous _Cressida_ if you wish to know my story. Cressida in this play with Juliet b----,” which, says the Editor,[2] “ends the cipher in _King John_ with an incomplete word. Turning to _Romeo and Juliet_ (p. 53), the remainder of the word and of the broken sentence is continued, being a part of the description of Marguerite, and the love Francis entertained for her.”

This love never faded from his heart, although before he married, at the age of 47, he had, he says, hung up, as it were, the picture of his love on the walls of memory. We remember the calm and uneffusive fashion in which he then imparted to his friends the news that he had found “a handsome maiden who pleased him well.” The tones in which he bewailed his lost love are pitched in a different key.

“It is sometimes said, _no man can be wise and love_, and yet it would be well to observe many will be wiser after a lesson such as wee long ago conn’d. There was noe ease to our sufferi’g heart til our yeares of life were eight lustres.[3] The faire face liveth ever in dreames, but in inner pleasances only doth th’ sunnie vision come. This will make clearlie seene why i’ the part a man doth play heerein and where-ere man’s love is evident, strength hath remained unto the end--the want’n Paris recov’ring by his latter venture much previouslie lost.”

A second son was born to Elizabeth, and named Robert, after his father, the Earl of Leicester. Robert was “made ward” of Walter Devereaux, Earl of Essex, who “died” conveniently and unexpectedly, when Robert was old enough to succeed to his title and estates. At what period the brothers became aware of their kinship has not yet been told in the cipher. Francis describes the personal beauty, gallantry, and boldness of his brother, and says that for these qualities Robert was a great favorite with the Queen, who thought that he resembled herself. The tale is still incomplete; but enough has already been disclosed to give us a firm sketch of the miserable outline. We see Robert taking advantage of the Queen’s doting fondness for him, and Francis endeavoring to keep his ambition within bounds, and to smooth matters with his irascible mother when, as was often the case, she became irritated beyond endurance by his arrogant audacity. The aim of Essex was, not only in the future to supplant his elder brother, but even in the Queen’s lifetime to seize the crown, and rule as king. It is a dark and painful page in history, and the more we read the less we marvel at the efforts made by Elizabeth to destroy or garble the records of her own private life, and of the times in which she lived. Having spoilt and indulged Essex so long as she believed him devoted to herself, she turned upon him “in a tigerlike spirit” when his treachery became patent, and because Francis had spoken strongly on his brother’s behalf, and had endeavored to shield him from the wrath of the Queen, she punished him by forcing him, under pain of death, to conduct the case (in his official capacity) against Essex, whom she had foredoomed to execution. An allusion is made to the ring which the Queen expected Essex to send her, but which miscarried. This story has been held doubtful, but it seems as though we may find it true.

The sentence passed upon Essex was just; but the horror of the trial and the circumstances connected with the execution, haunted Francis for the rest of his life, his tender and sensitive nature, and his highly strung imagination continually reviving, whilst they shrank from, the recollection of the horrible details of which hereafter we shall have to read. Although Francis speaks in affectionate terms of his “deere” and cruelly used brother, we cannot but think that the tenderness grew out of a deep pity; for Robert had long ago proved himself a most selfish and unsatisfactory person, and a perpetual thorn in his brother’s side, but, however this may have been, the gruesome tragedy remained imprinted on his soul, and clouded and embittered his whole life. “His references to the trial and execution of Essex, and the part he was forced to take in his prosecution, are the subject of a wail of unhappiness and ever-present remorse, with hopes and prayers that the truth hidden in this cipher may be found out, and published to the world in his justification.

“O God! forgiveness cometh from Thee; shut not this truest book, my God! Shut out my past--love’s little sunny hour--if it soe please Thee, and some of man’s worthy work; yet Essex’s tragedy here shew forth; then posterity shall know him truly.”[4]

The Queen commanded Francis to write for publication an account of the Earl of Essex’s treasons, and he did so. But the report was too lenient, too tender for the reputation of the Earl to satisfy his vindictive mother. She destroyed the document and with her own hand wrote another which was published under his name, and for which he has been held responsible. Such matters as these were State secrets, and we cannot wonder that Elizabeth should have taken care by all means in her power to prevent them from becoming public property by appearing in print. We may well believe that, as the cipher tells us, all papers were destroyed which were likely to bring dark things to light. Nevertheless much must have gradually leaked out through the actors themselves, and more must have been suspected, and only through dread of the consequences withheld from general discussion. “See what a ready tongue suspicion hath”; in private letters and hidden records the value of which is perhaps now for the first time fully understood, evidence is forthcoming to substantiate statements made in the deciphered pages of Mrs. Gallup, and her forerunner, Dr. Owen.

The matter gathered from the deciphered pages is not limited to personal or political history. For instance, speaking of the “_Anatomy of Melancholy_” (edition, 1628), the Editor says:--“The extraordinary part is that this edition conceals, in cipher, a very full and extended prose summary--_argument_, Bacon calls it--of a translation of Homer’s _Iliad_. In order that there may be no mistake as to its being Bacon’s works, he precedes the translation with a brief reference to his royal birth, and the wrongs he has suffered.... In the _De Augmentis_ is found a similar extended synopsis of a translation of the _Odyssey_. This, too, is introduced with a reference to Bacon’s personal history, and although the text of the book is in Latin, the cipher is in English.

“The decipherer is not a Greek scholar, and would be incapable of creating these extended arguments, which differ widely in phrasing from any translation extant, and are written in a free and flowing style.”[5]

Readers must not expect to find in this book which we are noticing, a complete and shapely narrative explaining everything, and pouring out before us the true story of our wonderful “concealed man” from beginning to end. The cipher utterances are, for the most part, nothing if not fragmentary. The writer himself says so, and adds that his objects in thus trusting his secrets to the care of his friends and to the judgment of time were, First, that he might hand down to the future age the only faithful account of himself and his history, which would ever be allowed to reach them. Secondly, he proposed to link his unacknowledged works one with another in such a way that hereafter his sons of science should from the hints given in one work be led on to another, and so to another, until the vast mass of books, Historical, Scientific, Poetical, Dramatical, Philosophical, which he wrote, should be connected, welded together like an endless chain, and the true history of the Great Restauration and of the English Renaissance fully revealed.

THE BACONIAN CIPHER[6]--I.

BY FLEMING FULCHER.

THE COURT JOURNAL, LONDON.

Dr. Rawley, “his Lordship’s first and last chaplain,” relates in his Life of Lord Bacon that “when his _History of King Henry the Seventh_ was to come forth, it was delivered to the old Lord Brooke to be perused by him, who, when he had dispatched it, returned it to the author with this eulogy: 'bid him take care to get good paper and inke; for the work is incomparable.’” We think “the old Lord Brooke” would have been justified in sending this message (with a change of pronoun) to the authoress of _The Biliteral Cipher of Sir Francis Bacon_ (for in its own way it is incomparable), and we think he would have been satisfied with the result.

The book is divided into two parts, the first containing introductory chapters, portraits, and facsimiles, while the second, rather more than three-quarters of the book, consists entirely of the story deciphered. The introductory chapters are short, pithy, and well-written, and are full of literary interest. The first chapter, from the pen of Mrs. Gallup herself, tells how she came to discover the existence of the cipher in certain books, and gives a brief account of her work, a work, to quote her own words, “arduous, exhausting and prolonged”; and shows how, though her discovery “may change the names of some of our idols,” we are gainers, not losers, by the change. If we can find a fault in this chapter, it is that there is only enough of it to whet our appetite for more details of the progress of her work. Perhaps we may hope that she will satisfy us in this respect on a future occasion when her work becomes widely known and read, as it deserves to be. After Mrs. Gallup’s “personal” chapter there follows the introduction to the first edition--printed for private circulation only. It gives a short summary of the principal facts of the cipher story, and touches on points of interest in connection with the cipher, two of which we will briefly allude to here. It shows how the cipher explains the reason for the extraordinary mispaging of the original editions, carefully adhered to in all the copies, and of which no one had previously been able to offer a satisfactory explanation; and it touches on the curious history of _The Anatomy of Melancholy_, which for nearly three centuries has been attributed to Burton, but which the British Museum catalogue shows to have been first published under another name when Burton was about ten years old, and of which in the cipher story Francis Bacon claims the authorship. The preface of the second edition, the one we are now considering and the first given to the public, shows the cogent reasons Bacon had for using the cipher. “Two distinct purposes,” says the author, “are served by the two ciphers. The Biliteral was the foundation which was intended to lead to the other, and is of prime importance in its directions concerning the construction of the Word Cipher, the keys, and the epitome of the topics which were to be written out by its aid. It seems also to have been * * * a sort of diary * * * * and, as in many another diary, we find the trend of the mind as affected by the varying moods--sometimes sad and mournful--again defiant and rebellious--and again despondent, almost in despair, that his wrongs might fail of discovery, even in the times and land afar off to which he looked for greater honor and fame, as well as vindication.

“Chafing under the cloud upon his birth, the victim of a destiny beyond his control, which ever placed him in a false position, defrauded of his birthright, which was of the highest, he committed to this cipher the plaints of an outraged soul. * * * To the decipherer, he unbends--to the rest of the world maintains the dignity which marked his outward life. * * * It is a wonderful revelation of the undercurrents of a hidden life.”

“Some Notes on the Shakespeare Plays,” and a reprint of an article on Shorthand in the days of Elizabeth from the able pen of Mrs. H. Pott, whose clear and logical mind, no less than her deep research into the literature of Bacon’s time, makes her writings always welcome; and lastly a brief sketch of the outlines of Bacon’s life, complete the original portion of Part I. While the importance of these introductory chapters lies for our immediate purpose in their application to the Biliteral Cipher of Sir Francis Bacon, it would be difficult to overestimate their intrinsic merit, literary and historical. We owe a debt of gratitude to the authoress and publishers for their liberality in the matter of facsimiles by which they enable us not only to follow the deciphering but also to familiarize ourselves with the style and appearance of the original editions of many old favorites, a privilege hitherto almost confined to those who have time and opportunity for visiting the great libraries. In this part are comprised Bacon’s description of his Biliteral Cipher, with examples and double alphabet; the frontispiece and preface to the _Novum Organum_, preceded by a table of the double alphabet, by means of which the cipher is unfolded; the Droeshout portrait and all the introductory pages of the famous 1623 folio of the Shakespeare plays; and the title pages of several other of the deciphered works. The preface to the _Novum Organum_ is also given in modern type, the two founts being marked _a_ and _b_ respectively, thus enabling the reader to follow _in extenso_ the method of deciphering.

The portraits of Bacon, two in number, to which we have alluded, are the well-known one in which he is seen in his Chancellor’s robes, and the exquisite miniature of Hilyard surrounded by the noblest halo that ever adorned a human portrait--“Si tabula daretur digna, animum mallem” (“If it were possible to have a canvas worthy, I had rather paint his mind”).

Of the second part, because it is the most important, we shall say least. The story it tells is startling, fascinating, strange. As fiction it would be unique; as history, though truth is proverbially stranger than fiction, it is unparalleled. Nothing that can give interest to a book is wanting. There is the excitement of discovery; the triumph of hidden truth brought to light, of error refuted; the romance of a great prince, robbed of his birthright, who finds his consolation in winning a nobler realm--the kingdom of the mind; the tragedy of a younger brother, a wild though generous spirit, seduced by misdirected ambition into the thorny path of rebellion that leads to the question and the block; the pathos of a noble soul torn by the pangs of remorse for the part he was forced to take in that brother’s death by the inexorable power of the loftiest sense of justice--that power which impelled Lucius Junius Brutus to “call his sons to punishment,” Marcus Brutus to robe his dagger in the imperial purple of liberty drawn from the veins of his “best lover”; while the one note wanting to complete the full chord of romance is struck in the tale of a fruitless passion for the fair Queen of Navarre. Besides the story of Bacon’s own life and times, or rather of that part of his life and times hitherto unknown to history, the deciphered story gives directions for working out his “Word Cipher,” and summaries of those noble poems of Homer, the _Illiad_ and _Odyssey_, with some passages translated into blank verse, which we think will compare favorably with any previous translations.

A few words must suffice as to the style. As we have already quoted, the book is a diary; and the exigencies of secrecy necessitate much repetition. For, as Bacon himself notes in the cipher story, he could not tell what book might be lost, or in which of those that survived, his decipherer would first light on the discovery. Yet in parts the writing rises to a great height of eloquence. We cannot resist the temptation to quote two passages from the cipher which seem to us, each in its own way, eminently beautiful. The first, though it refers only to the difficulty of constructing the Word Cipher can, we think, hardly be surpassed for happiness of metaphors or grace of diction. “’Tis the labour of years,” says Bacon, “to provide th’ widely varied prose in which the lines of verse have a faire haven, and lye anchor’d untill a day when th’ coming pow’r may say: 'Hoist sayle, away! For the windes of heav’n kisse your fairy streamers, and th’ tide is afloode. On to thy destiny!’”

The second is the cry of a soul in anguish.

“O Source infinite of light, ere Time in existence was, save in Thy creative plan, all this tragedy unfolded before Thee. A night of Stygian darknesse encloseth us. My hope banish’d to realms above, taketh its flight through th’ clear aire of the Scyences unto bright daye with Thyselfe. As thou didst conceale Thy lawes in thick clouds, enfolde them in shades of mysterious gloom, Thou didst infuse from Thy spirit a desire to put the day’s glad work, th’ evening’s thought, and midnight’s meditation to finde out their secret workings.