Subject: Sanity
From: KQKnave
To: humanities.lit.authors.shakespeare
Date: 2/19/01
This was posted here by one of our illustrious group
members quite a while ago. I think it's time for
an encore.
**************************
Thirty-Six Plays in Search of an Author
by William M. Murphy
Union College Symposium
Summer copyright1964
In libraries that catalogue books by the Dewey Decimal
System works dealing with the supposedly non-Shakespearean
authorship of Shakespeare's plays and poems are classified
under 822.33A (English Literature, Shakespearean
Authorship) - Modern librarians are hardly responsible for a
practice that began quite innocently a long time ago, but
surely the time has come to recognize the melancholy truth
that the books properly belong under 132 (Abnormal or
Pathological Psychology). Abnormal Psychology attempts "to
explain human conduct and thought that cannot be understood
in terms of ordinary common sense," and is therefore precisely
the discipline by which anti-Stratfordianism must be examined
and evaluated.
Most of us know that irrational behavior carried to extremes
can result in a form of mental disturbance that may require
hospitalization. In many cases, however, the victims seem
superficially in control of themselves and act perfectly normal
except when concerned with the subject through which their
derangement is manifested; here they inhabit a universe of
their own creation, like those unfortunate beings in mental
institutions who think they are Napoleon or Jesus Christ. In its
simplest form the affliction is called Paranoia. Any student who
has devoted considerable thought to the question of the
authorship of the Shakespearean plays cannot avoid the
conclusion that the tortured attempts to prove Shakespeare
didn't write his own works are the product of paranoid
thinking. The subject is clearly not one for Professors of
English or of history but for psychologists.
For the evidence that William Shakespeare of
Stratford-on-Avon (1564-1616) wrote the works attributed to
him is not only abundant but conclusive. It is of the kind, as Sir
Edmund Chambers puts it, "which is ordinarily accepted as
determining the authorship of early literature. It is better than
anything we have for many of Shakespeare's dramatic
contemporaries." If, to satisfy those who insist that anything is
possible in a complex world like ours, we admit a theoretical
possibility that someone else wrote the works that possibility
would have to be expressed as 1 : ~. In the real world of our
experience, however, there is not the remotest possibility that
anyone else was the author.
It might be profitable to review very briefly the evidence
bearing on authorship. It is the same kind of evidence we use
to determine what Geoffrey Chaucer wrote, or Dante, or
George Washington. In evaluating it scholars use simple
common sense, the kind that tells you that if your tire is flat it
probably has no air in it. Briefly, it can be reduced to five
positive arguments and one negative.
(1) Of the plays in the First Folio of 1623, all of which are
universally conceded to be by the same man (although some
may be inaccurate in places and may even occasionally show
the work of another hand), fifteen were published as separate
works in one or more editions during Shakespeare's lifetime;
fourteen of these bear Shakespeare's name on the title page.
The First Folio is entitled "Mr. William Shakespeares
Comedies, Histories, & Tragedies." No one else's name is
associated with the quartos or folios, although Shakespeare's
name was used by some unscrupulous publishers on the title
pages of other plays which he did not write. In short, at the
time of the publication of the First Folio, the plays were
commonly believed to have been written by someone named
William Shakespeare, whoever he might be.
(2) The company that produced Shakespeare's plays numbered
among its members John Heminge (or Heminges), Henry
Condell, Richard Burbage, and William Shakespeare. It was
quite common in those times for men to bequeath sums of
money to their friends for the purchase of "memorial rings."
The William Shakespeare who died at Stratford-on-Avon in
1616 and was buried there in the Church of the Holy Trinity
left in his will money for the purchase of memorial rings to
Heminge, Condell, and Burbage. Common sense tells us that
the Stratford Shakespeare was the partner of the other three in
the theatre.
(3) During his lifetime Shakespeare was referred to specifically
by name as a well-known writer at least twenty-three times,
not counting the appearance of his name on title pages. The
references range in time from 1595 (W. Covell's "All praise
worthy Lucretia Sweet Shakespeare") to 1614 (when Sir
Thomas Freeman praises the poet in a sonnet entitled "To
Master William Shakespeare"). Among those who
acknowledged Shakespeare as a poet or playwright during his
lifetime were Richard Barnfield, Gabriel Harvey, William
Drummond of Hawthornden, Sir John Davies, Edmund
Howes (John Stow's successor as editor of the Annals) and,
perhaps most significant of all, William Camden, the great
teacher and antiquarian. After Shakespeare's death his greatest
rival, Ben Jonson, not only commented on his poetry
(including a specific reference to Julius Caesar) but also
acknowledged that Shakespeare was a friend whom he
admired "this side idolatry."
(4) In the most remarkable listing of Elizabethan works
recorded by a contemporary, Francis Meres, a young
clergyman who came up to London in the mid-1590's, in his
Palladis Tamia (1598) mentions Shakespeare by name no
less than nine times and as the author of twelve plays, two
poems, and some sonnets.
(5) In 1623 appeared the First Folio, the title page of which has
already been given. In addition to that, two facts are of interest
to us: (i) that in a commendatory poem Ben Jonson referred to
the author as "Sweet Swan of Avon"; (ii) that the volume was
edited and published by John Heminge and Henry Condell,
who tell us in a preface that they undertook the labor "only to
keep the memory of so worthy a friend and fellow alive as was
our Shakespeare." Common sense would suggest that the
Shakespeare of whom they wrote was the one who left them
money to buy memorial rings. Again, all the known evidence
points to the Stratford Shakespeare as the writer of Hamlet,
Macbeth, Henry V, and the other plays and poems that have
kept the world at the author's knees for almost four hundred
years.
(6) Equally important, in view of the foregoing five arguments,
is the fact that none of the plays or poems is attributed to
anyone but Shakespeare not only during his lifetime but for a
century and a half after his death. No document of the period
has been found which connects any other person directly
with the plays or poems. All such claims have been
thoroughly exploded, but in a brief paper of this kind it is not
possible to consider them in detail. This will infuriate those
anti-Stratfordians who feel that their own arguments have not
been heeded. I must fall back on the same explanation given
by H. N. Gibson in his valuable book, The Shakespeare
Claimants: "It is hardly necessary to state that I cannot include
in my survey every individual argument put forward by every
individual theorist. Their very number makes any such idea
absolutely impossible. Hundreds of books and pamphlets have
been produced in the course of the controversy, and the
literature of the Baconians alone would stock a fair-sized
library. It is true that there is much repetition and overlapping
in these works, but even so it would require several bulky
volumes to review them all adequately."
It should be apparent to anyone possessing normal common
sense, then, that Shakespeare's authorship of the works is not
merely "probable" or "likely," as some softheads have put it,
but absolutely compelling. Yet it is common knowledge that
after Delia Bacon published her vague notions about
authorship in 1856 defenders of her unorthodox views and
creators of others multiplied like rabbits, and any reader of the
modern newspaper knows that the tribe increases every year.
How can it be, one asks, that questions arise about the
authorship of Shakespeare's works but not about Jonson's or
Greene's or Marlowe's? How is it also that the doubts have
given rise to a major preoccupation of thousands of people
with a vast body of writing to their credit?
The answer to the first of these questions is not far to seek. It
lies in Shakespeare's unique position. He is by common
agreement the greatest writer the world has ever known.
Despite certain defects - his carelessness, his willingness to
write about trivial subjects for the sake of the commercial
theatre he worked for - he has spoken directly to the individual
human being in the western world in the centuries since his
death. His manner of expression was such that people of the
most diverse views have found in him the perfect expression of
exactly what they themselves felt. It is a commonplace of
literary evaluation that Hamlet is Everyman -and
Everywoman. We all find something of ourselves in one or
another of the characters in the plays. As Emile Legouis has
expressed it, in a famous passage: "No other literature,
whatever its beauty, does not seem monotonous after
Shakespeare. Free of every theory, accepting all of life,
rejecting nothing, uniting the real and the poetic, appealing to
the most various men, to a rude workman as to a wit,
Shakespeare's drama is a great river of life and beauty. All
who thirst for art or truth, the comic or the tender, ecstasy or
satire, light or shade, can stop to drink from its waters, and at
almost every instant of their changing moods find the one drop
to slake their thirst." To some extent we all share Legouis'
views. But Shakespeare is not only a writer who expresses
himself beautifully: he is an oracle, a prophet, almost a divinity.
No other mortal writer shares his pinnacle. And so it becomes
necessary to deify the poet, to make him more than he is. Just
as thousands of years ago man created God in his image, so
the anti-Stratfordians have created a Shakespeare in their own
image, or in the image of what they would like themselves to
be or imagine themselves to be.
To the second question the answer is equally simple: that
eccentric ideas arise at random about almost every subject.
Whether they catch on is another matter. When the two
answers are combined the aberration falls into place. It was not
in itself surprising that in 1781, a hundred and sixty-five years
after Shakespeare's death, an obscure English divine, James
Wilmot, should profess to find similarities between the works
of Sir Francis Bacon and Shakespeare and suggest a
connection. (His views were not made known until 1805 and
then only to a private society.) Nor was it surprising that a
similar idea should have occurred to a frustrated spinster in
New Haven in 1846. What might appear more surprising to
those who do not recognize the force of Legouis'
interpretation of Shakespeare's universal appeal is that Delia
Bacon's strange spark should have lighted so many fires.
Delia, a crusty, highly intelligent lady, one of the famous
female lecturers of the nineteenth century, was a sister of the
formidable Congregational minister Leonard Bacon, pastor of
the Centre Church on the Green in New Haven, within
slingshot range -- unfortunately for Delia -- of the Yale
Campus. Miss Bacon had developed her theory in its essentials
by 1846, when she took time out to be seduced by a
handsome and wealthy young blackguard eleven years her
junior. Badly hurt emotionally by the experience, she traveled
to England with Emerson's encouragement, bearing his letter
of introduction to Thomas Carlyle. She was to remain there
until her magnum opus was completed and published (at
Nathaniel Hawthorne's expense) in 1857, after which she
completed the descent into the insanity that was to darken the
remaining two years of her life. The prose in her book, The
Philosophy of Shakespeare's Plays Unfolded, was so
impenetrable that, according to Hawthorne, only one person
was known to have read it through. Miss Bacon promised a
second volume dealing with the "historical" proof of
non-Shakespearean authorship; the first (and, as it proved, the
only) confined itself to an analysis of the plays designed to
show that there was a "hidden undercurrent of philosophy" in
the works of both Bacon and Shakespeare. The works of the
latter were the property of Bacon, Ralegh and others;
Shakespeare himself was a blind. The philosophy and the
secret of authorship were concealed in an allegory and cipher
which she intended to explain later. Unfortunately she was
soon committed to a mental institution in England, brought
back in confinement to Connecticut, and died in Hartford in
1859.
A year before her book was issued Delia Bacon had found a
publisher for her views in an American magazine. But
Putnam's printed the first part of her two-part article in 1856
only at the insistence of Ralph Waldo Emerson, who feared for
her sanity if the essay should be rejected. With Emerson's
recommendation it was not surprising that Putnam's should
print her first essay; having printed the first it was not
surprising that it should flatly refuse to print the second. Upon
the appearance of the Putnam's article an anguished outcry
arose in England from one William Henry Smith, who claimed
he had the idea first. Whoever deserved the priority, Smith at
least had the advantage of Miss Bacon in the clarity of his
style. He asserted simply that Sir Francis Bacon (with whom
Delia claimed no kinship, incidentally) was the Real Author and
so supplanted Delia's vague and ill-defined notion of multiple
but never clearly defined authorship. Soon other men looking
for a cause flocked to his banner, or to Miss Bacon's. In
America a judge from St. Louis, Nathaniel Holmes, soon to
become a professor at the Harvard Law School, exercised the
logic of his profession to prove," in the teeth of the evidence,
that Sir Francis Bacon was the Real Author. He was not the
last lawyer to enter the fray; indeed the attraction the
anti-Stratfordian madness has always exercised upon lawyers is
enough to persuade any sane person to compose his
differences out of court, especially if his cause be just. Needless
to say, neither Smith nor Holmes, nor Miss Bacon, adduced
any documentary evidence of any kind to link Bacon with the
works.
But Delia Bacon had unconsciously struck a chord that
vibrated in harmony with the newly-educated middle classes of
England and America. By 1877 the hundredth publication on
the subject had been printed. Today a student could spend a
lifetime reading nothing but anti-Stratfordian argumentation
and never come to the end of it. In 1947 a mere listing of
books and articles on the subject filled more than 1,500
typewritten pages; it was so vast that no publisher could afford
to print it. By 1962 the number of rival claimants had
increased to 57. In order to give some idea of the broad
approach of the anti-Stratfordians as a class, however, the
following outlines may be delineated.
First and most important, of course, is the necessity of
destroying the formidable claims of William Shakespeare. This
is done in one of two ways. The first is to deny his authorship
negatively: we are told that a man capable of writing such
great plays would have left behind a treasure-house of
information about himself, or that his contemporaries would
have done so. But we know little of Shakespeare. True, we
know where and when he was born, died, and was buried; we
know the names of his parents, brothers, sisters, wife, children,
and grandchildren; we know the names of his colleagues in the
theatre and the name and location of the house and the land he
bought in Stratford when he became wealthy; we know about
his dealings with the College of Heralds, and with his
townsmen in the controversy over enclosure of the
pasture-land. But we don't know about him. He tells us little
about himself - the Sonnets cannot be autobiographical, of
course - and we don't know the color of his eyes, or his height,
or whether he had table manners and was really in love with
his wife.
The second method of denial is as ingenious as the first and
requires a simple reversal of it. It holds that the author of great
plays must be a great man, as the term "great" is defined by
the anti-Stratfordian conducting the argument. But we have
abundant testimony, it is claimed, to the shabbiness of
Shakespeare's moral character. It is here that the
anti-Stratfordians reveal the first clear symptoms of their
disturbance. From Appleton Morgan, who in 1880 denounced
Shakespeare as "a letterless rustic, with a reputation in his
native village for scapegrace escapades, gallantries, and
poaching expeditions, rather than for meditation, study, or
literary composition," through Gelett Burgess, who in 1948
described him as a "sordid provincial nonentity" who indulged
in "petty lawsuits and peddling malt," to Mr. Robert
Montgomery of Boston, who in 1955 called the Stratfordian a
young provincial" who attended "a hornbook grammar
school" in "the filthy little town of Stratford," the
denunciations have been violent and picturesque. Shakespeare
was a mean and lowly bumpkin who got his wife pregnant
before he married her and then left her only his "second-best"
bed when he died. He hoarded grain in time of peril, probably
to make home-brew. He was a nasty little money-grubber
interested only in buying up real estate in his home town and
waiting for it to rise in value. He reveals in the Sonnets --
which are autobiographical, of course -- that he had latent
homosexual tendencies and that he carried on a protracted and
degrading adulterous affair with a repulsive dark-skinned lady
who probably gave him a loathsome disease. In short,
Shakespeare didn't write the plays because we don't know
enough about him -- or because we know too much. The
layman takes his choice.
Having disposed of the Stratfordian's pretensions with such
thumping finality the doubters then proceed to look for an
author who might have written the plays if Shakespeare hadn't
gotten around to writing them first. Or, it would be more
accurate to say, they reveal the identity of the fellow they've
been hiding in the closet all along until the embarrassingly
present Shakespeare can be shuffled out of the house. It is an
amusing game to watch. The Real Author, when finally
revealed, proves to have been chosen, not necessarily for his
ability to write the plays (although this is always presumed) but
for a variety of other reasons, usually his social position. A
partial list of the Real Authors suggested up to now includes
Sir Francis Bacon, Viscount Verulam; Edward De Vere, the
Seventeenth Earl of Oxford; William Stanley, the Sixth Earl of
Derby; Roger Manners, the Fifth Earl of Rutland; Sir Walter
Ralegh; Sir Edward Dyer; Christopher Marlowe; Sir Philip
Sidney; John Donne; Mary Pembroke (Sidney's sister); Sir
Anthony Sherley; Anne Whately (who probably never existed);
Anne Hathaway; and Queen Elizabeth. All the candidates who
have commanded extensive support are either noble or have
connections with the nobility, a not surprising circumstance
which will be discussed later. It should be added here that there
are those, like Delia Bacon, who are afflicted with what has
been called the "Corporation Syndrome," holding that such
distinguished literature must be the work of a committee. Its
members would include, in addition to Bacon and Oxford,
Robert Greene, George Peele, Samuel Daniel, Thomas Nashe,
Thomas Lodge, Michael Drayton, and Thomas Dekker.
Agreement among such a disparate group can be expected on
only one matter, and there it is unanimous: a loathing of
William Shakespeare of Stratford-on-Avon. Beyond that
unanimity ceases. Baconians hate Oxfordians even more than
they hate Shakespeare, and the Oxfordians, if with an air of
contemptuous superiority, return the irrationality in kind.
Generally, at any given moment, the two anti-Stratfordian
schools which lead the pack in popular superstition hate each
other most. During the last thirty years or so the Baconians,
after having led the field for almost a century, have given way
to the Oxfordians, after Marlowe's stock rallied briefly, then
plummeted. Since the pretensions of the latter are if possible
even more ridiculous than those of the former, a new
candidate is bound to emerge soon perhaps Desdemona or
Mistress Quickly.
Having decided the Real Author is, the claimants proceed to
"prove" their case. The methods have generally been two in
number. The first, popularized in an enormous book by
Ignatius Donnelly, The Great Cryptogram (1888), is to find a
secret cipher in the works that reveals the fact of
Shakespeare's non-authorship and the identity of the Real
Author. Donnelly's book was persuasive, even though he coyly
refused to reveal the cipher itself but only its message: that
Francis Bacon wrote the works. The most remarkable and
surely the most pathetic of the cryptographers was a Mrs. C.
F. Ashmead Windle, who published two pamphlets at her own
expense, in 1881 and 1882. In Shakespeare's slightest word
she sees more devils than vast Hell can hold. The title of every
play suggests a jingle which is in itself suggestive. For Othello
the jingle is:
A tale, oh! I tell, oh!
Oh, dell, oh! What wail, oh!
Oh, hill, oh! What willow!
What hell, oh! What will, oh!
At will, oh! At well, oh!
I dwell, oh!
"Desdemona" suggests "With a demon A, with a moan, ah!"
and means, to Mrs. Ashmead Windle if to no one else, "the
double tragedy of Bacon's muse." The jingle suggested by
Titus Andronicus is:
Tie t'us and drone accuse;
Tie t'us and drown a curse;
Tie t'us and drum the news.
The play is supposed to be Bacon's judgment of himself, "since
Martius means 'March you us,' and refers to his service;
Publius means Publish us,' and refers to his fame." There is
more, much more, of the same. I have not been able to learn
whether Mrs. Ashmead Windle died in a private institution or a
state hospital. A contemporary successor, one Mr. J. R.
Weagant of Eagle Rock, California, who still lives and should
be available for interrogation, circulates cards and slips of
paper "proving" that Bacon wrote the works. In one offering
he quotes a passage from Antony and Cleopatra and
surrounds it with extracted code letters, as follows:
S
She shall be buried by her Anthony
F
N
No grave upon the earth shall clip in it
C
A
payre so famous: High events as these
RR
Strike upon those that made them:
characteristic pattern of Bacon sig.
After carefully reflecting upon this revelation, which Mr.
Weagant had graciously mailed to me, I wrote him and
confessed that he had me completely baffled. Unhappily, in a
development that was to become characteristic of my
correspondence with anti-Stratfordians, Mr. Weagant declined
to clarify his position and I have not heard from him since. A
numerous breed, most of the cryptographers have been
Baconians. In 1957, William F. Friedman and his wife
Elizebeth published an exhaustive survey and analysis of all the
secret codes or ciphers that had been "found" in the works up
to that time. The Friedmans brought unusual gifts to the study;
he headed the United States cryptanalytic team that cracked
the Japanese diplomatic cipher just before Pearl Harbor; his
wife was chosen by the International Monetary Fund after
World War II to establish its system of secret communications.
Observing that any legitimate cipher must have a key that will
unlock its secret not only for the anti-Stratfordian with a cause
but for everyone else, they demonstrated with crushing finality
that none of the ciphers or cryptograms or codes suggested up
to that time had any validity whatever. The Friedmans, in one
devastating display, employed the system used by one
Baconian to prove that they themselves wrote the plays!
The second method of "proving" authorship is even more
engaging than the first. The cryptologists at least believed, even
if they were deluding themselves, that they had found hidden
messages in the plays. The Historical Reconstructionists are
above such childish behavior. They simply disregard or dismiss
with a lofty contempt all documentary evidence of
Shakespearean authorship and go right to the task of finding
another Elizabethan who might have written the plays during
his lifetime. If the circumstances of the Real Author's life
happen to correspond to the accepted dating of the plays so
much the better. If they do not the doubter is not troubled. He
merely changes the dates, a device freely employed by the
Oxfordians ("Romeo and Juliet was first written in
1581-83"). No documentary evidence is given for the changes;
the reader is expected to assume that in some scholarly work
someone has already established the new date as authoritative,
even though nothing of the kind has ever been done.
HISTORICAL RECONSTRUCTION is the device of Alden
Brooks in his Will Shakespeare and the Dryer's Hand.
Brooks devotes the first 400 pages of his book to demolishing
poor "Will Shakespere" of Stratford. (Brooks, like other
anti-Stratfordians, sees a great difference between
"Shakespere," the Stratford boy, and "Shakespeare," the Real
Author; spelling becomes of enormous significance). The
Stratford fellow, Brooks concludes, "had nothing of the
poetical spirit. . . . He had no literary merit whatever. . . . He
was primarily a money-lender and businessman with eye
always on the main chance. . . . Tavern frequenter, his swagger
and pretense were immense; his morals, of a low standard.
According to those whose ill-will he aroused, he was fool,
knave, usurer, vulgar showman, illiterate bluffer, philanderer,
pander, and brothel keeper."
To a man who can tell us so much about Shakespeare on no
visible evidence, no flight of illogical fancy is impossible. "Will"
was not an "utterly bad fellow," Brooks tells us. For he had a
lasting association with the Real Author, whose achievement
he conspired in and helped to conceal. The breathless reader
turns to the second part of Brooks's volume and discovers that
"Shakespeare" was really Sir Edward Dyer, known to most
readers as a major courtier and minor poet. His dates
(1543-1608) might seem to disqualify him in the eyes of
ordinary people, who note that the earliest published work
attributed to Shakespeare was Venus and Adonis in 1593,
when Dyer was 50. But Brooks is equal to the challenge.
Obviously, the fact that a work was not printed until 1593 or
1595 or 1600 does not mean it could not have been written
earlier; with this proposition no student of elementary logic
could disagree. Buttressed by its irrefutability, Brooks simply
fits the plays and poems as we know them into the known
facts of Dyer's life.
Brooks shares two other dark suspicions with most of his
fellow doubters. One is that Shakespeare of Stratford was a
partner in a gigantic conspiracy of concealment. His name was
allowed to be associated with the plays because those in on the
secret wanted desperately not to have the Real Author's
identity known. The reasons for such modesty vary according
to the Real Author's identity; but whether Bacon, Marlowe,
Derby, or Oxford is the candidate, the champions of each
manage to create hypothetical situations in which exposure
would be dangerous. What none has yet presented is any
documentary proof to support the assumptions.
The other is the Blue Blood theory, the view that only
someone of noble birth and breeding could have written the
works. Shakespeare was too base; no one so lowly in origin
could possibly have conceived the soaring poetry of the plays
and poems. This view is at the root of the position of most of
the principal anti-Stratfordians; Bacon, Rutland, Oxford, Essex,
Southampton, Dyer, and Cecil were all close to the throne; and
even Marlowe, if the son of a shoemaker, at least owned a
degree from Cambridge which was granted out of season at
the special request of the Queen. Elizabeth herself and Mary
Queen of Scots, who have also had champions, are of course
royal and could therefore easily have written the plays. (A
story which we hope, without too much confidence, is
apocryphal is that when a supporter of Queen Elizabeth
expounded his views, a listener objected. "What!" he
exclaimed, "The Shakespeare plays written by a woman?"
"You miss my point," said the first quietly. "Queen Elizabeth
was really a man.")
Nowhere is the Blue Blood theory better observed than in one
of the most amazing and amusing examples of misguided if
laborious scholarship in the history of human folly. This is the
work of Charlton Ogburn, Sr., and his wife Dorothy entitled
This Star of England ( with a foreword by Charlton, Jr.). The
Ogburns believe in the theory first advanced by a man with
the unfortunate name of Looney (a Battey and a Feeley are
also numbered among the anti-Stratfordians) that Edward DeVere,
the Seventeenth Earl of Oxford (1550-1604) was the Real Author
either in his own right or as primus inter pares of a syndicate.
They also claim he was the father of the Earl of Southampton
by a secretly legitimized union with Queen Elizabeth. Since
the English are understandably reluctant to accept such a
novel view of their Virgin Queen, most of the Ogburns'
disciples are American. Their work is of great interest
to toilers in many vineyards: to the philosopher for their
easy substitution of the declarative sentence for logical
argumentation; to the literary historian for their cavalier
treatment of dates; to the general student for their superb
indifference toward all documentary evidence that might dispute
their own superstitions. ("Shakespeare was never referred to,
while living, as a writer," we are told; so Francis Meres and
Thomas Thorpe, Gabriel Harvey and Sir John Davies and all the
rest, are categorically disposed of.)
But it is the psychologist who has most to learn from their
labors. The Ogburns and their supporters are preeminent among
the anti-Stratfordians in their belief in the congenital
literary ability of those of good birth. Any earl would make
a good writer; but DeVere was the Seventeenth Earl, the
premier earl of the kingdom. The imagination reels at the
blueness of his blood. When the Ogburns reflect upon Oxford's
position they cannot restrain their adulation: "heir of the
ancient and honorable family of DeVere which was second in
eminence only to the monarch"; "the proud young Earl, sensitive,
generous, impetuous, bred in a conception of honor as absolute
as a religious code." Sir Philip Sidney, even though he had
demonstrated some poetical ability by writing one of the
world's great sonnet sequences, could not have composed
the poetry of Shakespeare because, the Ogburns sniff, he
was not knighted "until three years before his death." It
is melancholy to report what the reader will already have
suspected: that neither the Ogburns nor any other Oxfordian
presents any documentary evidence of any kind to link Oxford
with the writing of the plays and poems. If for amusement
we were to presume that the Stratford Shakespeare didn't
write the works, we should still have to conclude that Oxford
is among the least likely of the Real Authors.
But A 1200-page volume can be impressive. It convinced some
professional writers like Gelett Burgess (who once wrote that
he never hoped to see a purple cow but who must have seen
even odder fauna in the anti-Stratfordian menagerie). It is
not surprising that other innocents have been taken in. And
of course it is well-known that many men distinguished for
achievements other than those of scholarship or logic have
lent their names to the anti-Stratfordian cause and have
undoubtedly contributed to the swelling ranks of doubters:
Coleridge, Emerson, Mark Twain, Palmerston, Henry James.
But the fact is that none of these men devoted any time to
a consideration of the evidence that leads directly to
Stratfordian authorship and that none was accustomed to
dealing with the common and sensible, if rigid procedures
by which authorship is determined.
It is clear that anti-Stratfordianism is a symptom of deeper
disturbance. The fact has been recognized for almost a century
but never thoroughly explored. In 1884, W. C. Wyman noted
that the work of Delia Bacon, William Henry Smith, and Judge
Nathaniel Holmes was important "not so much for the light
which they throw on the question of authorship, as for their
interest as examples of wrongheadedness."
If it is true that Delia Bacon died in a mental institution
and that Mrs. Ashmead Windle belonged in one, it is also true
that most anti-Stratfordians have reconciled their problems
with the necessities of daily living and have learned to walk
abroad among us. But the symptoms of their distress are still
visible. Students of abnormal psychology have neglected a
rich mother-lode of basic research by ignoring the
anti-Stratfordians, who exhibit clearly defined symptoms
that mark the paranoid mind. Among these may be noted the
following:
(1) A belief in conspiracy. Most anti-Stratfordians believe
that there is a vast conspiracy of silence by the members of
what they call the "Stratford Establishment." In May, 1956,
twenty-two Oxfordians, including nine lawyers, took a
half-page ad in The Shakespeare Newsletter to berate members
of the Establishment for refusing to give their case a fair
hearing. The fact is, of course, that their case has been
heard, thoroughly explored, and found without merit. The
modern conspiracy is simply a counterpart of the earlier one
in which the Stratfordian Shakespeare connived with Bacon
(or Oxford, or Dyer, or Derby) to keep the Real Author unknown.
The fact that the conspiracy was so beautifully managed that
no records were left to betray it to later generations is
additional proof of its existence.
(2) An extreme hatred of an imaginary enemy. The enemy, of
course, is William Shakespeare of Stratford-on-Avon.
(3) The invention of new logical systems to provide desired
answers that fail to be revealed by older and more widely
accepted ones. Here the Ogburns and their crew are supreme
examples. But we should not fail to acknowledge their debt
to Ignatius Donnelly and his ciphers, nor forego a word of
praise for Mrs. Ashmead Windle and Alden Brooks for their
splendid gifts.
(4) Preternatural persuasiveness. When the reader finishes a
hundred pages of Delia Bacon or Ignatius Donnelly or Alden
Brooks or the Ogburns he is so bedazzled by the outpouring
of verbal argumentation that he may forget that none of the
logicians has offered any sensible refutation of the positive
documentary evidence of Shakespearean authorship.
( 5) Unconscious self-identification of the afflicted with
the heroic or the divine. The Real Author must be a person
of unusual distinction, royal or noble; and the one who
unmasks him shares his distinction because of his sole
possession of the knowledge, or of his membership in a
small but distinguished coterie that shares the knowledge.
(6)The intense hatred of other heretics and their false gods.
If the anti-Stratfordians hate Shakespeare they despise
with a raging fury other anti's who don't share their
candidate. Perhaps a quarter of the enormous nervous and
emotional energy expended on the subject has been devoted
to the attempted extermination of rival heresies.
(6)An inability to keep their aberrations within bounds.
This is one of the principal marks of the anti-Stratfordian
disorder. It is not sufficient for the Ogburns to advance
the highly improbable thesis that the Earl of Oxford wrote
the works; he must also become the lover of Queen Elizabeth,
her secret husband, and the father of the Earl of Southampton.
And if Oxford wrote Hamlet why couldn't he have written The
Spanish Tragedy too? And so poor Thomas Kyd is denied the
one play which history has granted him. An extreme exemplar
of this particular aberration is Parker Woodward, whose
illness began when he identified Bacon as the author of
Shakespeare's works; but he was unable to stop, and before
long he had added to Bacon's canon the complete works of
Stephen Gosson, Thomas Watson, John Lyly, George Peele,
Robert Greene, Christopher Marlowe, Edmund Spenser, Thomas
Kyd, Thomas Nashe, Geoffrey Whitney, William Webbe, and
Robert Burton.
In the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual: Mental Disorders
(American Psychiatric Association, 1952) under the main
heading "Disorders of Psychogenic Origin or without clearly
defined physical cause or structural change in the brain,"
and the subheading "Psychotic disorders," there is listed
"Paranoid reactions . . . (b) . . . Paranoia." The
description is given as follows: "This type of psychotic
disorder is extremely rare. It is characterized by an
intricate, complex, and slowly developing paranoid system,
often logically elaborated after a false interpretation of
an actual occurrence. Frequently, the patient considers
himself endowed with superior or unique ability. The paranoid
system is particularly isolated from much of the normal
stream of consciousness, without hallucinations and with
relative intactness and preservation of the remainder of
their personality in spite of a chronic and prolonged
course." (Italics mine.)
When the paranoia is accompanied by a separation of the
personality from its surroundings, schizophrenic paranoia
results, usually requiring institutionalization, as in the
cases of Delia Bacon and, probably, Mrs. Ashmead Windle.
The paranoid anti-Stratfordian, with instinctive shrewdness,
knows he will be carted off to the booby-hatch if he
claims to be George Washington or the Angel Gabriel. But
if he only claims to know who really wrote Hamlet and
can support his assertions with endless verbiage that
dazzles as it dulls, who can prove him wrong?
It must be admitted that the paranoid anti-Stratfordians
have been fantastically successful. Poor Mrs. Ashmead
Windle may have been demented, but her name will live
as long as men study Shakespearean esoterica. She and her
kind are the Jack Rubys of literary history. At least we
can be grateful that minds that expend their substance
on Shakespearean authorship are likely to be harmless
as long as they don't stray into other pastures. Imagine
the damage they might cause if they were involved in
real life. Translated from the world of biography into
the world of politics, they become the John Birchers
of our day who, by the exercise of some mental process
not easily comprehended but closely akin to that of the
anti-Stratfordians, believe in the teeth of all the
evidence that Dwight Eisenhower and Earl Warren are
"conscious agents of the communist conspiracy."
I contend that the irrationalities of the anti-Stratfordians
are as harmless as thunder, a loud noise upon the air
frightening some but hurting none; I contend that the
passionate bickering and the outpouring of verbal
vitriol that characterizes their dialogue is a healthy
medicine for them and a source of endless amusement for
their readers. I confess that I strongly prefer
anti-Stratfordian literature to detective stories.
Among the anti-Stratfordians one is in pure fairyland,
where escape from the pressing problems of real life
is complete. In each work is a villain named William
Shakespeare who is completely different from the William
Shakespeares in other anti-Stratfordian works and is,
like them, totally unreal. One meets strange heroes named
Bacon or Oxford or Manners who resemble nothing so much
as an imaginary ideal in the head of the writer and who
often prove to be only thinly disguised versions of the
author's view of himself or of his imagined ancestors.
The very richness of their dementia is one of their
principal charms, as is their fertility. For it is almost
as certain as daybreak that before long a now unknown
member of the tribe will burst into print with an
ingenious theory not previously dreamed of but more
ridiculous than any yet proposed. I, for one, will welcome
him. He and his kind have provided me with uncountable
hours of pleasure, and in simple gratitude I wish for
them and their movement a continued long and happy life.
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