Bacon and Shakespeare 15

Bacon and Shakespeare 15

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.