Part 8

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_.