SHAXSPER

St John’s College,

Friday morning

 

The morning sunshine is brilliant, an overnight shower had addes some water droplets to the flower-beds and the grass so that the sunlight reflects more brightly than usual.   Before the millenium, photographers had called this brilliance Kodachrome Light, referring to the slide film which had produced deep saturated colours in so many famous pictures taken before the advent of digital photography.

 

Clusters of men and women are cheerfully talking outside the seminar room in the Second Court.

 

“So ? What happened last night ?”

 

“Ruby, you were right of course. He did make a play but he was rather too easily foiled.”

 

“Really ?”

 

“Yeah. We all went for dinner to the Indian restaurant and then came back here for drinks in the senior common room. You saw that he followed me around like my shadow. After Professor Sir Peter shooed us away around 1:00, a few of us stayed and it was when that rump-group was breaking up that he tried it on with me.”

 

“How did he broach it ?”

 

“Quite casually, in fact. He used the old line, “would you like to come up to my room for a night-cap ?” But I don’t think he was expecting much in the way of a positive response from me because he gave in meekly after I told him that “I didn’t swing that way.” “

 

“You mean…

 

“That’s right. He joked about his aging gay-dar.”

 

At this moment, Professor Sir Peter Schofield emerges from the doorway to the seminar room. To everyone’s amused amazement, he is ringing a little bell, the kind of instrument which is used to summon wayward guests to the dinner table. And, what is even more surprising – it works. The men and women file into their seminar room with great alacrity. They seat themselves in the haphazard fashion which, after just four sessions, has become the custom. They have all internalized Professor Sir Peter’s injunction against cliques. Everyone seems to be completely at ease and a bright chatter fills the room.

 

“Chaps” intones Professor Sir Peter, above the sound of their voices. He calls everyone “chaps” in much the same way that Americans of a certain age call everyone “guys”. Almost immediately, the room falls silent.

 

“Thank you. I must report the success of my herding methods to my colleague in psychology who specializes in the group dynamics of sheep !”

 

Somewhat taken aback and slightly embarrassed, everyone around the table laughs nervously. They are equally surprised at the way in which order has been quickly proclaimed. For most of them, it is an unusual experience to be so deftly shepherded.

 

“We have two more exciting days ahead of us. First, of course, we are going to hear about biographical and topical elements in the works of Edward de Vere. Then, in the afternoon, we will have a session devoted to “Oxford in the Shadows”, which will be concerned with Edward de Vere’s last days. In our final, formal session, tomorrow morning, we will be discussing “Posthumous Oxford”. Saturday afternoon we will have some time for informal networking and also make our provisional plans for our next meeting at Hearst Castle in California. Then, tomorrow evening, our colleague, Dr Beth Raine, has invited us all to a special dinner in the Master’s Lodge.

 

This morning’s session follows on from Cecil Burgher’s pre-circulated paper. We all know Cecil so I can forego any kind of formal introduction and we can get down to brass tacks.”

 

Cecil Burgher is a short, extremely heavy man. He speaks with a strong regional accent from the West Midlands. He had retired from Warwick University several years earlier but, like so many academics, he has been unable to put aside his life’s work. While others have garnered celebrity and recognition from their adherence to the Oxfordian movement, Burgher has been a foot-soldier who has steadfastly worked in the trenches. To his own great disappointment, his research on Edward de Vere’s social life has never resulted in “a big book”. But he has produced an impressive resume listing a great many scholarly articles which – taken together – have gone a long way towards establishing Lord Oxford’s central role in writing entertainments for Queen Elizabeth and her courtly circle.

 

“Good morning, all. It’s a great pleasure for me to have been asked to participate once again in the bi-annual Oxford jamboree. These meetings are the highlight of my academic calendar and I’m only disappointed that they are not scheduled on an annual basis.

 

My paper concerns an obscure poem from the mid-1590s, “Willobie His Avisa: Or the True Picture of a Modest Maid and of a Chaste and Constant Wife”. In our earlier sessions, we’ve heard a lot about William Cecil’s role in what they call “constructing the archive”. (Parenthetically, I want to make it clear that I am no relation to William Cecil. [this attempt at tension-breaking mirth evokes no response whatsoever].) I have long been intrigued by our difficulties in grasping the Elizabethans’ intentions when so many of their plays and poems seem to have been written in coded language. I have spent years trying to decode them and have been reasonably successful in that endeavour. They seem to be indirectly referring to people who were contemporaries in the little world of the Tudor court. I think that “Willobie” is a good case in point.

 

Somehow, this text got into public circulation and became an immediate success. It was wildly popular. Why did the Stationer’s Register agree to give the poem’s printer the right to make it available to the public ? Indeed, who wrote the poem ? And why did it strike such a responsive chord ? These questions immediately present themselves for further consideration because the poem itself has been little studied and most of the interest in it is linked to the Orthodox Stratfordians’ belief that one of the protagonists – “H.W.” – was likely Henry Wriothesley while another character “W.S.” – refers to William Shakespeare, or as he was then known, William Shake-speare. My argument is that these attributions are superficial and actually conceal more than they reveal.

 

When it was first published in September, 1594, “Willobie” was a sensation – just like “Venus and Adonis” and “The Rape of Lucrece” – which had been published in the preceding eighteen months. The anonymously-printed satire’s author is thought to be the otherwise completely-obscure Henry Willoughby, the scion of a Wiltshire gentry family. But, in fact, this attribution is – as I have argued in my paper which was circulated before the conference over the internet – still the subject of scholarly uncertainty. But, be that as it may be, “Willobie’s Avisa” created such a stir that it even prompted an anonymously-published reply – “Penelope’s Complaint” – which was supposed to have been written by another unknown, Peter Colse.

 

“Willobie’s Avisa” worried some members of the ruling elite who were always wary of the many-headed-monster of popular participation in politics. Indeed, at the end of the decade when there was great political instability due to the Earl of Essex’s factional striving, Robert Cecil and Archbishop Whitgift revoked the publisher’s permits. “Willobie’s Avisa” was then kept out of circulation for the next few years, although by that time the proverbial horse had left the proverbial barn. But even then, events superseded literary celebrity. The dangers to Queen Elizabeth’s throne – and the Regnum Cecilianum – quickly peaked and then, just as quickly, the dangers posed by Essex were summarily halted when Robert Cecil outmanoevred Essex, who paid for his maladroit pretensions with his head.

 

The contemporary interest in “Willobie’s Avisa” stemmed from the window it seemed to open on Queen Elizabeth’s courtships. The clues were meant to be pretty straightforward to everyone in the know. It was something less than an open secret to contemporaries who read the poem that “Avisa” was meant to be Queen Elizabeth. Who else could it have been ? As Professor De Luna writes, the hints are thick and fast. Avisa’s five letters in the text are connected in relation to the Queen’s personal motto (“Semper Eadem” – “Always the Same”). These connections are highlighted by large black typescript so that no one will miss the clue “Alwaies the same, /Avisa”.

 

Equally pointed hints include Elizabeth Tudor’s crest, her golden sceptre, her principal heraldic emblems – the Rose, the Moon, and the Phoenix. Avisa is described as being her parents’ love child:

 

“First Venus fram’d a luring eye,

A sweete aspect, and comly grace:

There did the Rose [Henry Tudor] and Lillie [Anne Boleyn] lie,

That bravely deckt a smiling face,

Here Cupids mother bent her wil,

In this to shew her utmost skill.” (Canto I, stanza 9)

 

As if all this wasn’t suggestive enough to uncover her identity, Avisa’s great learning is praised:

 

“Her high conceites, her constant minde;

Her sober talke, her stout denies;

Her chast advise, here shall you find,

Her fierce assaults, her milde replies,

Her dayly fight with great and small,

Yet constant vertue conquers all.” (Canto I, stanza 36)

 

In glorifying Avisa’s chastity and erudition, the author’s description is replete with both Biblical and Classical allusions, as well as references to both English history and mythology. Like the invented mythology of the Virgin Queen, Avisa is portrayed as living in married chastity:

 

“At length by Juno’s great request,

Diana loth, yet gave her leave,

Of flow’ring yeares, to spend the rest

In wed-locke band; but yet receive,

Quod she, this gift; Thou virgin pure,

Chast wife in wed-lock shalt indure.” (Canto I, stanza 26)

 

Avisa’s condition of married virginity resoundingly echoes Elizabeth’s oft-repeated claim that she was married to her people. This odd displacement of her natural body, provides the springboard from which the poem jumps into its main theme – Avisa’s refusal of marriage from five different suitors. And these were not just random admirers because they were described in such a way that their identities could be easily linked with Elizabeth’s most famous suitors in her long and winding road away from the marriage altar. There is a complication in that while three of these men can quite readily be identified as distinct individuals, two of the suitors are amalgams, comprising characteristics of more than one person.

 

Avisa’s first “triall” involves “The Nobleman”. He appears to be incontrovertibly based on Thomas Seymour. His relationship with the teen-aged Elizabeth Tudor has already been the subject of several contributions in our symposium so we need not spend much time on this attribution. Suffice it to say, The Nobleman’s advances are summarily rejected. Everyone knew that Elizabeth Tudor’s coronation culminated in her “marriage” when she quite famously stated before a Parliamentary deputation in January 1559,

 

“Yea to satisfy you, I have already ioyned my selfe in marriage to an husband, namely, the Kingdome of England.”

 

The subsequent courtships of Avisa proceed in chronological order.

 

The second Canto tells us about a “Second Temptation…after her marriage” by “Caveileiro”, an Italianate name. To my mind – and in contra-distinction to previous scholars such as Barbara De Luna and Mark Anderson – it strikes me that the second suitor can only be Robert Dudley, who later became Earl of Leicester. Dudley had known Elizabeth Tudor both before and after her “marriage” to the English people – before and after her coronation as Queen Elizabeth I. Second, after her coronation, Dudley was almost immediately given the office of “Master of Horse” and “Cavaliero” suggests as much. Third, the suitor and Robert Dudley were inconstant suitors and thoroughly untrustworthy in matters of the heart. Fourth, Dudley was widely reputed to be a “Machiavel” and a poisoner, both traits were associated with Italian dirty politics in the Renaissance. And, fifth, it was generally believed that Dudley wore “the French mans badge” (or venereal disease).

 

The third suitor, “D.B. A French man”, is quite clearly identifiable as Francois de Valois, the Duc d’Alencon, whose Flemish title was “Duke of Brabant”. The so-called “French Match” began as early as 1570 and dragged on until Elizabeth paid him to go away, with a big bag of coins, more than a dozen years later.

 

“Dydimus Harco, Anglo-Germanus” represents the fourth trial of Avisa’s constancy. De Luna has argued that this character most likely represents Sir Christopher Hatton, who Elizabeth nicknamed her “Sheep”. The name given to the fourth suitor seems to be connected to Hatton’s visit to Spa, in the Dutch Netherlands, in 1573. In the poem, Didymus Harco pledges Avisa “perpetual constancy” and “honest love” (Canto XLII). . Unlike the other suitors, Hatton never married. This is the usual attribution but as I later indicated in my paper, I am unconvinced in that I believe that this connection is only part of the story.

 

The final suitor, “Henrico Willobego, Italo-Hispalensis”, is usually referred to in the text as “H.W.” and most authorities have excitedly suggested that this is an obvious reference to Henry Wriothesley, Earl of Southampton. However, it would make more sense for us to see that this is a subterfuge and that the character is, in fact, another “composite”. This is not to deny the clues suggesting Wriothesley – because “H.W.” is described as “a headlong youth” in the throes of “fantastical fits”. Furthermore, to the great interest of all Orthodox Stratfordians, “H.W.” is counselled to moderate his youthful ardour in his courtship practices by “W.S.” who is said to be “an old player”. “W.S.” would seem to indicate The Bard himself, who is actually named in the second stanza, “William Shake-speare”.

 

However, the fifth suitor’s often-overlooked descriptor, “Italo-Hispalensis”, suggests that we look elsewhere. Like Leicester before him, Robert Devereux was known to be high-spirited and a “Machiavellian” in his political activities. Moreover, while Essex’s triumphs against Cadiz and the Azores were still in the future, the audience for this long satirical poem would have associated Devereux with the earlier, 1589 Spanish expedition led by Sir Francis Drake, which ended as an expensive failure. But the attribution is clinched by Willobie’s description of the undignified nature of “H.W.”’s “phantastically fury” and the “extremity of passionate affections” in Canto LXVIII. All accounts of Essex’s comportment in the royal presence are in complete agreement with this description while, Henry Wriothesley, was just a kid, twenty-one years old in 1594.

 

So far, so good. But the identification of the five suitors is not the beginning of the end but, rather, the end of the beginning of my paper. What interests me more, is how this evidence seems to point towards an identification of the poem’s authorship.

 

At this point, I want to harken back to J. Thomas Looney’s method of interrogating published Elizabethan poetry texts in search of an alternative author to William Shaksper of Stratford. We will recall that Looney created an “identikit persona” from the collected works of the canonical William Shakespeare and then looked through a collection of Elizabethan verse to locate possible contenders for the throne. Having alighted on Edward de Vere, the Seventeenth Earl of Oxford, Looney then reversed his procedure and “taking new and outstanding facts about his performances and personality, we should have to enquire to what extent they were reflected in Shakespeare’s works.” I think that a modified version of Looney’s “vast accumulation of extraordinary circumstances” might be a useful method to connect “Willobie his Avisa” with Edward de Vere.

 

First, there is the parallel between the six-line stanzas found in the 1594 poem and much of the lyric poetry which was written in “de Vere stanzas” and published by Oxford, in his own name, prior to 1576. This brings us to a subsidiary point, the similarity in structure between Oxford’s poetic works and “Willobie”, on the one hand, and both “Venus and Adonis” and “The Rape of Lucrece”, on the other. I go into these parallels at some length in my paper so it is perhaps enough to quote Looney in this regard: “ “Shakespeare” was either a kind of literary understudy of De Vere’s, guilty of a more unseemly plagiarism from his chief, or he was none other than the Earl of Oxford himself.”

 

Second, the multiple references to classical and biblical literature that are studded throughout “Willobie” are also characteristic of “Shakespeare’s” two long poems, which appeared in the fifteen months preceding the publication of “Willobie”. There is so much written about Edward de Vere’s education and cultural sophistication that it is unnecessary to dwell on this point any further in my spoken remarks.

 

Third, the question of “Identity Confusion”. Here again, one needs to keep the chronology of these poems in sight because the first mentions of “William Shake-speare” occurs with the publication of “Venus and Adonis” in the summer of 1593. The second mention of this pseudonym occurs on the title page of “The Rape of Lucrece” in the springtime of the following year. And the first exogenous mention of the name of William Shake-speare occurs in “Willobie His Avisa”.

 

Now, all of us believe that “William Shake-speare” is a cover name – that is, actually, a litmus test for membership among Oxfordians – so it is unnecessary to spend any time whatsoever before this audience in explicating this point. What is more interesting – and hitherto overlooked – is the way that the author of “Willobie” has confused the issue of identity by setting a false trail in full view for the reader. It’s all a kind of twisted pre-view of what Edgar Allan Poe did in “The Purloined Letter” – hiding in plain sight..

 

I think that we can go further with the question of “Identity Confusion” by asking who “Willobie” is supposed to be. Standard scholarship refers us to a “Henry Willoughby” who graduated from Exeter College, Oxford with his B.A. degree in 1595. This person was the second son of a Wiltshire gentleman but, beyond that, nothing – not another thing – is known about him. Here again, we have an example of those self-fulfilling assumptions that bedevil so much of what purports to be Orthodox Stratfordian scholarship. First, they speculate and then that speculation is taken as proof.

 

“Willoughby” is, of course, a common surname. Indeed, Peregrine Beattie, the brother-in-law of Edward de Vere, was later known as the Thirteenth Baron Willoughby de Eresby. Furthermore, he was born in Wesel in the German Rhineland which gives one pause to re-consider the attribution of the fourth suitor’s identity.

 

Lord Willoughby was sent on a two-month mission to Denmark in 1582 and then, again, he served as the English ambassador to the royal court of Denmark, at Elsinore, for five months in 1585, negotiating conditions for further English involvement in the religious wars in the Netherlands. While there, he met two courtiers; one was named – you guessed it ! – Rosencrantz and the other one was called Guldenstern.

 

An interesting sidelight on the inter-connectedness of the English aristocracy is that in 1626, when Edward de Vere’s only son, Henry, the Eighteenth Earl of Oxford, died fighting “for the Protestant religion and the liberties of Europe under the walls of Maestricht” (as Macaulay writes), the title passed to a cadet line but the honorific “Lord Great Chamberlain of England” passed to the collateral line, through Edward de Vere’s sister’s husband Peregrine Bertie, Baron Willoughby de Eresby. This office, which had been held for centuries by the de Veres, Earls of Oxford, has been associated with the Willoughby de Eresby family since that time.

 

But, now, I’m getting ahead of myself. Why would Edward de Vere give his brother-in-law’s name to the supposed author of this poem ? In a very real sense, this is a question mal-posee; indeed, why wouldn’t he ? Peregrine Bertie’s marriage to Mary de Vere in 1577 had been initially been opposed by her brother, Edward, because of Bertie’s great friendship with Sir Phillip Sidney. But time heals wounds and a few years later we learn that Oxford and Bertie stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the street duels with the Vavasour/Knyvet clan.

 

Peregrine Bertie was known to be a pit-bull and a swashbuckler, the kind of highly-strung Elizabethan nobleman whose short fuse is clearly the model for Tybalt or Mercutio. In that tiny court-world of in-jokes and knowing looks, then, how much mirth would be derived from suggesting that the sensitive poet “Willobie” was drawn from life as an inverted image of the choleric Peregrine Bertie ?”
Willy’s AfterLife

 

“Henry, you well remember “Willobie”, is that not so ?”

 

“For sure. Those of us in junior positions in the court-world were very excited about that poem. We talked about it a lot. It created a frisson of scandal because of what it implied about Bess’ earlier life.   In contrast to that stultifying malarkey about the Virgin Queen, it seemed to be saying that she had dallied with a great number of suitors.”

 

“Hold on for a second ! As I remember matters, Edward’s poem seemed to be telling its readers that I was courted by a number of fine gentlemen but that I was both constant in my vows and always chaste thereafter.”

 

“Well, Bess, you and I know differently, don’t we ? But, be all that as it may be, “Avisa” is indeed portrayed as being both constant and chaste. That was the way in which you were represented; that was your mask in my masques, so to speak. But my “Willobie” poem, coming after both the great success of both “Venus and Adonis” and “The Rape of Lucrece”, was never meant to be published. It was written as an in-joke, for your entertainment.”

 

“But you have to admit it was confusing to outsiders since you give a prominent role to “W.S.” and then confirm that identity in the second stanza:

 

“Yet Tarquin pluck his glistening grape,

And Shake-speare paints poor Lucrece rape.”

 

“I know. Amazingly, some people took it to be a picture drawn from real life. They didn’t see that I was displacing myself by referring to “Shake-speare” as if he were not the author of the poem

 

But that’s not so surprising. I also wrote three little poems and many of my plays about this comedy of confused identities. Most people who read those sonnets were similarly puzzled, thinking that you were my rival for the affections of my lover/wife. They never understood – or even imagined – that you were my son even though I wrote,

 

Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won,

Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assailed;

And a woman woos, what woman’s son,

Will sourly leave her till he hath prevailed ?

 

Reading these lines literally one might think it’s all about Henry’s pursuit of My Lady Elizabeth but, in actual fact, it’s about Elizabeth’s need to gain Bess’ approval of our match. This same scenario is played out at length in “Willobie”, in which “H.W.”’s courtship is gently rejected by the chaste and constant Avisa – who could be either Bess or My Lady Elizabeth Trentham. Confused identities is a staple plot-line in my comedies. Similar stories about two brothers courting the same woman are found in several of my plays. Only a died-in-the-wool literalist would expect to understand my motivations and experiences boiled down in a simple-minded fashion.”

 

“Willy, I see what you’re getting at. I knew at the time that one of the reasons why you had to write under a pseudonym was because many of the stories and characters in your plays were thinly-veiled descriptions of court life. I suppose that by having me act as your front-man, all such readings were deflected.”

 

“Oh, yes, but it’s become much more than that ! Literalists have persisted in reading my plays – and my poems – as if they are the work of a simple genius whose imagination was touched by God, like Adam in MichelAngelo’s painting on the Sistine Chapel’s ceiling.”

 

Silence ensues. Bess, Henry, and Will look confused by this arcane reference.

 

“Excuse me, I beg your pardons. I forgot that none of you had visited Rome during LifeOnEarth. You really missed something special. I was there in 1576. But before I went there, I had met old man Titian in Venice and then his friend, Giulio Romano, who was the court artist patronized by the Dukes of Mantua. They were wonderful painters – Giulio Romano was also a sculptor, rather like MichelAngelo Buonarroti. Both recommended that I take the opportunity to visit Rome before returning to England. I made a special detour to do just that.

 

Renaissance Rome was a truly magical place, graced everywhere by the arts sponsored by the Fathers of the Church. The Sistine Chapel, its crowning glory, is attached to the recently-constructed papal church of St Peter’s. Its ceiling frescoes were painted by MichelAngelo, who was commissioned to decorate the Chapel by Pope Julius. The image I had in mind depicts the moment of The Creation when God reaches out his finger to touch Adam, thereby giving him life. Well, that’s a long-winded way of making the point that the literalists who credit Will with divinely-inspired genius seem to believe that his imagination was touched by God himself.”

 

“Willy, are you talking about those “Orthodox Stratfordians” ?”

 

“Of course. Their absurd fantasies have taken on the colour of the literal truth. Most people believe that a glover’s son wrote the works of “Shakespeare”. They suspend dis-belief and live happily with this romantic fable.”

 

Cecil House

August, 1594

 

Old William Cecil and his hunchback son, Robert, are locked in a close conversation

 

“I’ve been getting all sorts of verbal abuse from Whitgift. He’s mightily offended by Edward’s literary endeavours. I could put him off when he complained about the unseemliness of those two long poems which told all sorts of tales-out-of-school about his relationship with Her Majesty but, now, he seems to have gone quite beyond the pale.”

 

“Who ? I don’t follow you.”

 

“Robbie, Edward has just submitted another one of his long tell-alls to the committee which oversees publishing permissions. This latest one is much more imprudent. Of course, I was shown a pre-publication version as part of the vetting process – and so was Whitgift. The Archbishop believes that Edward has crossed the boundary of discretion with his fulsome and fanciful discussion of Her Majesty’s private life. He is strenuously arguing with me against giving our approval for this publication. I want you to read this and come back to me this afternoon with your comments. We need to be very careful with material that opens up Her Majesty’s secrets to every Tom, Dick, and Harry. It’s bad enough that several copies of “Willobie His Avisa” are already circulating among some of the courtiers. Outside our circle, we can trust none of these people.”

 

“Father, I will read what Edward has written and return in a few hours – after lunch – to discuss this matter with you.”

 

“Good boy.”

 

Robert Cecil gets out of his low chair with difficulty and then he limps to the door, leaving his old father alone with a pile of papers. As Robert Cecil exits, Keith (the scribe) enters the room.

 

“Keith, my good man, what do we have to do to tie up any loose ends that might come back to bite us from that messy affair with Dr Lopez ?”

 

“Your Lordship’s tracks are well hidden. William Wade saw to that. He did a masterful job in fixing matters for you. At the trial, likewise, Sir Edward Coke did a fine job in his presentation to the jury of obscuring both your connections with the Doctor and his role in relaying your messages to the Spanish. Sir Edward was really masterful in de-fanging the Earl of Essex, who gained a hollow victory with Lopez’s execution because the Doctor had actually become more dangerous to our cause if he had lived.

 

Lopez knew too much. And like all men who inhabit that neverland of conspirarcy, he was playing all sides against one another for his own benefit. At the end of the day, it was impossible to know exactly what he was up to, except for his desire to fill his own coffers and steal away out of the kingdom.

 

Our biggest obstacle was Her Majesty’s personal attachment to the Jew. He knew her intimately, in a manner of speaking, for a very long time. But I think that the results of the trials – and especially the unanimous guilty verdict – brought her around. Her whole life as monarch has been one treachery after another so she could not be too surprised that someone else she trusted with her most intimate person was disloyal and betrayed her trust.”

 

“That’s true. She was very upset to discover that her loyalty had been tricked and privacy had been breached by a person who had been in her confidence for so many years. The fact that Lopez had had such intimate knowledge of her person could only have made Her Majesty’s distress keener. Her anger has been hard to mollify. She had a profound personal attachment to her Doctor and has shown mercy to his widow. I think that she feels that she can trust no one. When she’s in this kind of mood, distraction is the best remedy.”

 

[A few hours pass: Leaving his study, William Cecil joins his wife for lunch, followed by prayers. After these daily rituals, he goes into the garden for a walk and diversion from his endless paperwork.]

 

Cecil House’s garden is an oasis of calm and beauty yet beyond its high walls the crowded city presses in on all sides. Sitting on a bench, under a spreading chestnut tree, the Queen’s trusted adviser nods off.

 

Robert Cecil approaches his father and momentarily he is taken aback to see what an old man he has become. It is only in moments like this – moments when he is commanding neither respect nor subordination – that his age is betrayed. William Cecil’s seventy-fourth birthday is now only a month away but, to his son, he has never appeared to be old because until a few years previous, William Cecil’s own mother was still alive and living in their household. Even at the very height of his power and influence, William Cecil was always an obedient, dutiful, and respectful son. Jane Cecil died in 1588, the year of the Armada, in her eighty-eighth year. She had been born when Henry VII was in the middle of his reign and the ill-fated Arthur Tudor was Prince of Wales, betrothed to Katherine of Aragon the daughter of the King and Queen of Spain.   Her presence in the household had always created the illusion that William was not yet the senior member of the family. Her presence had blunted her son’s aging.

 

An old man living with an aged mother, William Cecil’s life-cycle, too, is out of joint. His younger son, Robert, has grown up with this peculiar distortion of generational transition and so he is not able to fully appreciate his father’s biological aging process. And, of course, if his grandmother’s example was anything to go by, William Cecil would possibly be alive for another twenty years. But, no one knew the future and this afternoon in the pleasant surroundings of his garden, designed and supervised by John Gerard, William Cecil looks like just another old man catching forty winks on a park bench.

 

“Father.”

 

“Father.”

 

“Father.” Robert Cecil’s third appeal does the trick. The old man slowly responds to his son’s gentle wake-up calls. It takes him a few seconds to gain his bearings and a bit longer to exercise his usual mastery of any situation.

 

“Oh, Robbie, you’ve caught me in a trance. I must have been replaying Frobisher’s stories of his expeditions in my dreams. I was sailing madly north-by-north-west.”

 

“I never dream. My sleep is deep and short.”

 

“It’s usually that way for me, too. Sometimes, though, I nod off and that’s when my imagination takes flight. Then, I’m transported away from my cares, my responsibilities, and my place in time.

 

“Well, I’m afraid that it’s with another man’s altogether different imaginings that I have come to trouble you.”

 

“Oh, yes, Edward’s most recent poem. What are we to do about it ?”

 

“As I see it, Whitgift’s animosity is going to be trumped by Her Majesty’s love of Edward and her absolute craving for flattery. She is always willing to overlook his indiscretions – my word, if she could overlook those of Robert Dudley and now Robert Devereux then it’s obvious that she is indulgent to a fault to those she favours.”

 

“That’s all true. She is uncomfortable with Whitgift. He is too serious and has no sense of amusement. For that matter, she also keeps me at arm’s length. I do a job-of-work for her, she values me for doing it, but that is about the limit of her regard for me. I suppose that if I would be more of a playboy – which is hard to imagine isn’t it ? – that our relationship might have be different.”

 

“Father, I can see you as being more of a playboy than I could ever be. But neither of us are cut from that cloth. Liecester, Oxford, and now Essex have all been educated to provide amusing company for the monarch. Those men came into their positions by virtue of their birth. Their training educated them to become skilled in the courter’s arts of entertainment. Theirs is a far cry from the discipline demanded from lesser servants of the crown. Men like you have had to fight for your rewards by providing loyal service and countless hours of hard grafting. I well remember you telling me that you won her trust through providing her with closely-reasoned assessments of her policy options, which always gave her the belief that she was making the ultimate choice. And I also remember that you told me that the art of the job was in presenting the options to her in such a way that you made her choice easy and seem obvious.”

 

“That’s right. The job of a ruler’s principal secretary is one of sifting information and re-packaging it in such a way that hard choices are rendered simple.”

 

“In this case, I can’t see any benefit coming to us from supporting Whitgift. Her Majesty is not inclined to accept his precisionist criticisms nor is she likely to be happy with his recommendations about punishing Edward for his recklessness and temerity in exposing her secret confidences to public view.”

 

“You’re right about that. As she’s gotten older, Her Majesty is less and less inclined to moderate her thirst for flattery. And, Edward more than anyone else, knows how to lay it on with a trowel.   She just adores his sweet talk and the adulation with which he toadies to her weakness.’

 

‘I also think that she’s been badly hurt by Raleigh’s betrayal of her trust by his clandestine trysts with that girl. You know how she loses control when her vestal virgins are discovered to be both carnal and illicit in their behaviour. Besides, she’s now an old woman and these foolish dalliances with her young favourites are becoming unseemly and, quite frankly, embarrassing. So, anything that can give her pause to think badly of Lord Essex can only redound in our favour.”

 

“Why do you say that, Robert ?”

 

“I’m no expert on poetry but it struck me that that the descriptions of the last character, “H.W.”, smacked on Robert Devereux’s childish tantrums. He – “H.W.” – is quite transparently based on Lord Essex’s behaviour. I think that we need to do whatever we can to keep him from reforming himself. His lack of decorum and respect will be his undoing when the stakes are high.”

 

“Good point, son. I had an inkling of that headstrong passion in his pursuit of Doctor Lopez. Lord Essex overplayed his hand against Lopez which was how Wade and Coke were able to undermine his strategy against us. I doubt that we’ve seen the last of his strategems designed to replace us in Her Majesty’s favour, so we’d be best advised to just let this little tempest blow over. In the meanwhile, Whitgift’s fulminations will actually work to our advantage by stiffening Her Majesty’s resolve to allow Edward’s poem to become available to the public.”
St John’s College,

Friday morning (continued)

 

“Thank you, Cecil. That was a most intriguing presentation, chock-full of new ideas and interesting connections. As has been our practice, there will now be two replies. Our first respondent will be Dr Terence Connolly of University College, Dublin.”

 

A red-faced man with a mane of white hair, Terry Connolly has been the enfant terrible of Oxfordian studies. He had shocked the Stratfordian establishment with his book on Autobiographical Themes in Shake-speare’s Comedies. That book came out just before the millenium. Since then, he has been cruising on his reputation. It is rumoured that his next book is being readied for publication. However, this rumour is just that – a gossipy rumour – because there have been no pre-publication papers to suggest that a larger work would be forthcoming.

 

Like several other presenters/respondents, Connolly’s mode of presentation can be best described as “full bore”. There is nothing languid about his delivery, he delivers his address with all the subtlety of a chain-saw.

 

“Thank you, Professor Sir Peter. I was especially engaged by my old friend Cecil’s discussion of autobiographical themes in “Willobie”. His exposition of the correlations between de Vere and Peregrine Bertie was, indeed, very adroit. The links between Bertie’s diplomatic sojourns and “The Danish Play”, have rarely been so clearly elucidated. I was also struck by Cecil’s new information about the Willoughby de Eresbys’ assumption of the de Vere’s inherited office of Lord High Chamberlain. This connection has never before, to the best of my knowledge, been discussed in the literature relating to the Earl of Oxford’s career. Or, rather, his posthumous career. Of course, the fact that Edward de Vere had been dead for twenty years might have something to do with that silence but, as Cecil so deftly suggested, the dead hand of the past came to life in his discussion of the authorship of “Willobie His Avisa”.

 

My intention is not to re-hash Cecil’s revisionist arguments, to criticise them, or even to quibble with them. Instead, I want to follow from his lead and pick up another suggestive clue from the poem which might lead us further towards attributing its authorship to Edward de Vere. Admittedly, my argument is very, very tentative but I think its inferences are warranted because, as we all know, Elizabethan authors liked to play with riddles, symbols, and codes. I believe that “Willobie’s” tangential allusions to Chaucer’s Clerk of Oxenford is another such example of hidden identity.

 

In her edition of “Willobie His Avisa”, Professor B.N. De Luna suggests that the author – “Willobie” – has been influenced by “The Clerk’s Tale” in Avisa’s first stanza of Canto V:

 

“Needs must the sheepe strake all awaie,

Whose sheepheards wander from their way”

 

Professor De Luna suggests that these two lines are “Chaucerian in both form and substance”. Furthermore, she goes on to tell us that the segment of The Canterbury Tales which “Willobie” had in mind when writing these lines was a reworking of Boccaccio’s story of patient Griselda told by The Clerk of Oxenford. Griselda’s story is about a “chaste and constant” wife’s virtue being tested. Patient Griselda’s trials and tribulations – her resistance to temptation – are similar to the main theme of “Willobie His Avisa”.

 

The Clerk of Oxenford is one of Chaucer’s most famous characters – he is portrayed as a diligent student of philosophy, with a large collection of books. Throughout his life, Edward de Vere frequently signed himself as “Edward de Oxenforde”. Is it merely an irrelevant coincidence that in 1570, William Cecil paid a bill for his nineteen-year old ward, Edward de Vere, Seventeenth Earl of Oxford, to William Seres, Stationer ? This man Seres was also the printer of the translation of Ovid’s Metamorphoses which Oxfordians believe was the work of Edward de Vere, although it was published under the name of his uncle, Arthur Golding. The 1570 document itemizes “a Geneva Bible, gilt, a Chaucer, Plutarch’s works in French, with other books and papers”. This might not be a smoking gun but you have to admit that the gun’s barrel is still warm to the touch.

 

If one follows Professor De Luna’s probes into the connection between the Clerk of Oxenford and “Avisa”, her claims are enhanced because Chaucer’s “Clerk’s Tale” employs the Old French term “avyse”, which is derived from the royal veto: “Le roy s’avisera” which “was a formula used when the King meant to refuse the request.” Most interestingly, De Luna quotes Charles Williams with regard to Queen Elizabeth’s rejection of Parliamentary proposals to execute Mary, Queen of Scots: “La reyne s’avisera”.

 

Finally, to bring these arcane references back to our concern with Oxford/Shake-speare, in the poem’s “Hexameton” the connection is made explicit:

 

“Let Lucres-Avis be thy name,

The English Eagle sores alone,

And farre surmounts all others fame,

Where high or low, where great or small,

This Brytan Bird out-flies them all.”

 

The “Brytan Bird” refers, of course, to the Phoenix which was a symbol – what De Luna calls “an emblem and … a conceit” – closely associated with Queen Elizabeth in the coded language of the day. More to the point, “Avis” (Avisa) is linked with “Lucres” (Lucrece), the heroine of the poem written by de Vere (“Shake-speare”) and published a few months earlier than “Willobie His Avisa” was to be found on the booksellers’ stalls. My own opinion is that the later poem had been written to expand the themes of beseiged virtue, which are central to “Lucrece”, by making them more topical for contemporary readers.

 

In closing, I would be the first to acknowledge that my reading of “Willobie His Avisa” -and my heavy borrowings – near-plagiarism ? – from Professor De Luna’s arguments, has created a series of tenuous linkages. I’m not sure what strength any single one of my points has but, taken together with the connections which Cecil has teased out of this poem, I think that an Oxfordian reading takes on some new and unexpected possibilities. To do that, it is always necessary to acknowledge that much of what the Elizabethans wrote was meant for the eyes of insiders for whom “open secrets” were the lingua franca of their vernacular idiom. Their coded language was hidden within history. To understand their argot, we need to reveal its historical references.”

 

“Thank you so very much, Terry. Your last point about their coded idioms being hidden within history is certainly germane to our attempts to squeeze meaning from Elizabethan poetic riddles.”
Willy’s AfterLife

 

“What that Professor Sir Peter just said makes perfect sense to me. And I was there !”

 

“Will, you might have been “there” but you were not an insider.”

 

“That’s for certain. Whenever I met up with the pals of Willy or Henry, I always had the experience of being on the outside, looking in. They spoke to one another in English but it might as well have been Latin. I frequently had no clue what they were on about. People had nicknames – double or even triple titles – which served to marginalize me because I could never be sure who they were talking to, who they were talking about nor, in fact, what they were talking about. It was a dialect that was as inpenetrable to them as my Arden-speak was to Henry.”

 

“He’s not lying about that. When Will would meet up with one of his countrymen in London, they would switch into their shared tongue. It was as remote from the English we are now speaking as if we were on a deserted island on the other side of the world.”

 

“I can also vouch for Will’s sense of dislocation when meeting up with so-called English speakers from another stratum of society. I don’t think you ever experienced this, did you Bess ?”

 

“Only when I was a little girl and was shunted from one estate to another after my mother was murdered. Even then, it was only the scullions and lower servants whose dialect was unintelligible to me.”

 

“I know what you mean. Even though I spent long periods of time at my Bilton or Billesley estates near The Forest, when the local switched into Arden-speak, I often had trouble following them.”

 

“OK, then, I understand that point, but what about Cecil’s claims regarding Chaucer’s influence on your poem.”

 

“Oh, that’s just a huge reach on his part. I did buy the book, I even read The Canterbury Tales and was quite familiar with Boccaccio’s Decameron. But that was at least twenty years before I wrote the poem. Could those readings have been so deeply lodged in my memory that I was unaware of them ?”

 

“Well, that’s possible but not likely. What about the reference to Bess’ refusal to sanction the beheading of Mary, Queen of Scots ?”

 

“As a senior nobleman, I was empanneled on state-treason juries involving high-profile offenders – like Mary, the Scots Queen. I was on that jury – just as I was on the jury which found my cousin Norfolk guilty years before and Essex guilty a few years later. It was even my horrible duty to bring in a guilty verdict against Henry, for his participation in Robert Devereux’s mad-cap schemes and actions against the Queen. It was a responsibility – a duty, really – that came with my office of Lord Great Chamberlain.

 

I couldn’t avoid serving on those juries and state-treason trials were never brought forward if there was any doubt about the verdict which meant that it was pointless to argue about guilt or innocence. The most one could do to mitigate the full rigour of the law was to advocate mercy. But the bestowal of mercy was not part of the jury’s brief; because, as Portia said,

 

“…it becomes

The throned monarch better than his crown;

His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,

The attribute to awe and majesty,

Wherein doth all the dread and fear of kings:

But mercy is above this sceptred sway,

It is enthroned in the heart of kings,

It is an attribute to God himself,

And earthly power doth then show likest God’s

When mercy seasons justice.”

 

It was only in that way that Henry was saved from the executioner’s axe, although he had to spend the last years of Bess’ reign in close confinement in The Tower.”

 

“Don’t remind me of that – it was just too horrible. Was it not bad enough that I had to sanction the beheading of my boy-toy, Robin of Essex ? But that was the price I had to pay to save our son, Henry.”

 

“Excuse me, but I don’t understand how you could do such things.”

 

“Will, you won’t understand – you can’t understand, maybe no one could understand the burdensome responsibilities of power. And you won’t understand what it was like for me to grow up in the shadow of my father’s order to behead my mother. Violence and death were always a part of our world – and our nightmares.”

 

“I think that’s why you demanded such extravagant entertainments. You needed to be distracted from the sheer horror of being alive in that world.”

 

“Didn’t we all ?”

 

“There’s no question in my mind that for people from my background, entertaining distractions were thirsted after. In my world, life was almost intolerably hard, uncomfortable, and distressing. Physical pain was ever-present. Death stalked us all. Few parents didn’t bury at least one child. In my world, everyone walked through the valley of the shadow of death.”

 

“I know about that from afar. But how much more anguish was there in it for me to be the ultimate arbiter of life-or-death for people I knew – men and women who were my cousins, my intimate friends ?”
Cecil House,

August, 1594

 

“Come in.”

 

The door opens on William Cecil’s study; Edward de Vere enters the room.

 

“Hello Edward. How have you been ?   It’s been a long while since I’ve seen you.”

 

“The years do fly by as we get older, don’t they, sire”

 

“Was it a year ago that we last met ?”

 

“Longer than that, my lord. I was called to attend on you here last May. Perhaps you might recall that it was they occasion when you wanted to know about my friend, Christopher Marlowe. And then, a short time later I learned that Kit had been whisked out of the country, under the cover of having been murdered in Deptford.”

 

“Yes, yes. Now I do seem to remember that business. Marlowe was sent to Venice, if I’m not mistaken.”

 

“That’s right. I’ve been in communication with him, courtesy of Robbie’s diplomatic couriers. It didn’t take him long to find his feet there – well, in truth, Kit couldn’t be in a better place. Venice is even more cosmopolitan than London.”

 

“My reports tell me that it is a very, very wicked place.”

 

“Of course that’s true. But it’s also a very, very exciting place. When I was there nearly twenty years ago I thought that I had died and gone to heaven.”

 

“I know. We’ve heard all about that.”

 

“Well, of course, you would have, wouldn’t you ? Marlowe, too, is in his element there. And, like I just said, he’s been communicating with me. That’s been a god-send because so many of my plays are set in Venice or elsewhere, farther afield, in Italy. After nearly twenty years, I can’t remember details but Kit has acted like a kind of fact-checker for me. I’ve had to do a lot of revisions to my earlier plays to accommodate those facts. It’s a good thing, too, that Kit has an excellent ear for language because my memory for the vernacular spoken in the streets has deserted me.”

 

[William Cecil is fidgeting in his chair; he’s impatient with the drift of the conversation and changes the subject.]

 

“The girls tell me that your little Henry has become quite the handful.”

 

“Not half ! He was walking before his first birthday and now he’s running, climbing, jumping and doing those things that boys do – but not at such an early age.”

 

“Remind me. How old is he now ?”

 

“Henry was born at the end of February last year so that makes him a few days over eighteen months old now. I think he’s got the de Vere’s martial spirit that my cousins, Horatio and Francis also inherited.”

 

“Yes, of course; “The Fighting Veres” isn’t that what they’re called ?”

 

“Among other things !”

 

“So I’ve heard. Our spies in the Spanish camp tell us that Farnese’s troops quake when they hear of their approach.”

 

“They have served with great honour in the Low Countries. But they didn’t fight alone. My brother-in-law, Peregrine Bertie, and many others assisted them in doing Her Majesty proud. I only wish that I could have atayed with them but, as you know – all too well, no doubt ! – taking orders and working with others never came easily to me.”

 

“That was always the case. And, now, of course you’re something of an invalid. Is that not so ?”

 

“Too true, my lord. I’ve never properly recovered from the injuries I suffered in those street-duels with the Knyvets. It’s always rankled with me that they caught me in a corner. Otherwise I could have beat any one of them in single combat.”

 

“I’m sure that that was true but now you’re fighting in other forums. Is that not so ?”

 

“Indeed, it is. Her Majesty’s generous annuity has allowed me to devote my time to writing. I think it’s best suited to me. What’s your opinion of my plays, my lord ?”

 

“Edward, you know you’re asking the wrong man. I don’t incline in that way. But my reports are all positive. The “History plays” have been invaluable in whipping up patriotic support behind Her Majesty’s campaigns in the Low Countries.”

 

“I’m so pleased to hear that. Coming from you, it’s a huge compliment.”

 

“It’s my pleasure. Her Majesty keeps me informed about these things. And, in fact, it’s in relation to this “Willobie and Avisa” that I’ve had you summoned before me, today. Whitgift has just gone crazy because he believes that you are bringing Her Majesty into disrepute by commenting so directly on her private affairs.”

 

“Well, you know my lord, it was never my intention to have that poem published. I had originally penned it for Her Majesty’s private pleasure but she was so excited by the flattery that she had copies made and showed them off to anyone who cared to read it. I heard about that from Henry Wriothesley. He told me that he saw an early copy. He had ridden up to Stoke Newington especially to inquire if one of the characters was based on himself.”

 

“Why would he think that ?”

 

“Well, one of them is named “H.W.” and has an older companion called “W.S.” Henry thought that the companion was me because my pseudonym is “William Shake-speare”.”

 

“I knew that.”

 

“Of course, we had a discussion on just that subject a few years ago when it was decided that I had to hide my true identity. In any event, I had to disappoint young Henry because the fifth suitor for Her Majesty’s honour, “W.S.”, might have his initials but is actually based on Robin Devereux. Even being rusticated, outside London on the far side of Stratford, I have heard a great many stories about his frightful behaviour in front of Her Majesty.”

 

“She is willing to indulge him in anything and everything. It was the same with Robin Dudley, all those years ago. It took a series of scandals for her to treat him with a certain reserve. When she first came to the throne their behaviour together was almost impossible to keep quiet.

 

Our Majesty is a very needy woman. Her upbringing – her father having her mother’s head chopped off – must have given her nightmares. Added to that – as if that wasn’t enough – she had that lecher, Seymour, just about ravishing her when she had barely left her girlhood. And then that horrible little Spaniard was constantly ogling her, even in full view of his wife, her very own sister.”

 

“I’ve heard stories from her about those experiences. She still quakes and her tears well up when she thinks on it.”

 

“Really ? I don’t know her in that way. I am just her fixer, the man she calls to solve her problems. We’ve never been friendly towards one another and, of course, I’m very much the junior partner.”

 

“That partnership has served our country well, my lord.”

 

“I agree. I thank you for saying so. I think that it’s because we are so temperamentally different that we can work so well together. She’s much more like you in her playfulness and her wilfulness. Neither of you like to be bossed about and both of you bridle when you don’t get your way.”

 

“That’s so but she is different from me in one very crucial regard. She sits on the throne and gets to have the last word. I don’t. I serve her. Now, I serve Her Majesty by means of flattery whereas in earlier times…”

 

“I know all about that, too. We don’t need to continue with this. I had you come here to ask you about this “Willobie” poem. I suppose that you’re not exactly the right person to ask, but do you think it is dangerously subversive ?”

 

“Not in the least. The main character, “Avisa”, is a woman who is beseiged by five suitors, but she resists them all. Avisa is loyal, honest, chaste, and constant. It is flattery of the highest order – laid on with a trowel. The only objection that the Archbishop could have is that the poem is good publicity for Her Majesty while he would prefer silence on the matter. But I don’t understand his point, at all. Tongues wag, people chat. It’s quite harmless for them to speculate about matters about which they have no knowledge. It’s not as if people don’t think about our Queen but just idealize her. The poem protects her image and directs gossip away from her.”

 

“How does it do that ?”

 

“Well the five suitors have obscure names. Their true identities are hidden behind pseudonyms. Of course, there’s some information about each one but only a member of the court could possibly link these hidden names with actual people. And, really, how many people does that comprise ? A few score, I’d think. Even the minor hangers-on know next-to-nothing about the secrets of the court.”

 

“I can see that.”

 

“Besides, the Archbishop would want silence on all matters and that’s a really misguided strategy because, like I just said, the people are going to talk. He can’t stop them gossiping amongst themselves. The theatre – which Whitgift hates with a passion – has opened up new forums of public discussion. Not even he can put Pandora back in her box or the genie back in his bottle.”

 

“What do you mean by that ?”

 

“When it was decided to turn the theatres into what Walsingham called “public educational forums” – I believe that that was what I was instructed to do – then all sorts of new information and new ideas became a kind of common cultural currency which is shared by all. But I think that literate people over-estimate the way that the common people understand that information. The plebs are mostly illiterate and unreflective. For them, it’s all about instant titillation and the amusement of the moment. Their minds work differently from those who are trained to read, to think, to reflect, and to be critical.”

 

“Why do you think that ?”

 

“Because of my experience with them. I have actually rubbed shoulders with commoners in the stews and worked with some of them in the theatre. Men like Whitgift – and you, too, my lord – have had much narrower experiences and seem to believe that the common people can be misled by ideas. The Archbishop would like to open windows into men’s souls. But if he did, he’d be disappointed because, for most people, ideas don’t exist. Believe me, most men and women live in a world of reflexes, not reflection. To be sure, there are a few among the multitude who don’t fit that description but they are almost always outsiders who find themselves alone in a crowded room. Such men may live among the common people but they don’t live with them, if you get my point.”

 

William Cecil nods. He remains silent because he is taking in new information. He does not admire Edward de Vere’s noble virtues and he positively loathes his personal qualities but he has come to respect his insights into matters about which he, Cecil, knows himself to be ignorant. William Cecil was never a man to confuse ignorance with stupidity. He respected his own ignorance and sought to educate himself so as to improve on it.

 

“From my experience, the common people are much more conservative than you’d imagine.   For them, change is dangerous and threatening. They’re also incredibly patriotic and loyal. They simply can’t imagine an alternative to the status quo – and they all believe that their own, particular status quo is the best of all imaginable worlds. That’s why those unpatriotic Catholics I spied against were so easily caught when they tried to expand their numbers in conspiracies. And it’s also why their executions are greeted with such merriment. The common people don’t want their world turned upside-down. They want it to remain right side-up.”

 

“We’ve drifted a long way from the poem, but I can see the force of your argument. You’ve convinced me that there’s more to be lost from draconian censorship than we might gain from a small dose of toleration. Besides, Her Majesty is just thrilled with “Willobie”.”

 

“I know. She told me that herself.”
St John’s College,

Friday morning (continued)

 

“Our next respondent will be Professor Alison Forsyth of The University of Maryland, Baltimore Campus.”

 

Alison Forsyth is an old-hand at these conference seminars. She had been one of the original founders of the Oxfordian Group and has attended each and every meeting for the past twenty-four years. Her graduate work with The Timmer, at Stanford University, had been a close investigation on “topical references in Shake-speare’s tragedies”. She has produced a long stream of highly-respected articles but the lack of a “major monograph” stymied her career aspirations.

 

Even now, she is kept in a kind of limbo especially reserved for those academics who have been awarded their “union ticket” but never receive “specialist status”. This means that her teaching is largely devoted to large-enrolment first- and second-year general students rather than graduate seminars. A small woman with a flair for highly-coloured clothes, Forsyth exudes the charm of a friendly neighbour, not the reptilian glance of a careerist-on-the-make.   She has come to terms with the ways of the world and is happy in her own skin.

 

“Thank you, Professor Sir Peter. It is a great pleasure – and an honour – to have been asked once again to participate in this wonderful academic forum. Being a part of the Oxfordian Group is truly the highlight of my academic life. I learn so much from these meetings. And I greatly appreciate the informality of the proceedings which contrast so much with the back-biting of so many other professional meetings.

 

My topic today is a spin-off from Cecil’s intriguing paper on the possible identities of the various suitors in “Willobie His Avisa”. In particular, I want to advance an alternative identification for “H.W.” – I am going to argue that this character is actually based on the youthful Edward de Vere, Seventeenth Earl of Oxford.

 

Let me start this argument with a forward glance. As we all know, in May, 1609 the printer Thomas Thorpe entered “a Booke called Shakespeares sonnettes” in the Stationers’ Company register. Only a few copies seem to have been printed and only a handful survived. Some scholars believe that it was an unauthorized publication and that surviving copies were gathered to keep them from public view. The only contemporary reference to the work – which, otherwise, met with total silence from contemporaries – is found in the household accounts of Edward Alleyn, the famous actor who was employed by the Lord Admiral’s Men.

 

We next learn of this collection of amazing poems – one of the real treasures of our cultural heritage – in 1711, when they were re-issued by Bernard Lintott, a London publisher who seems to have acquired a copy of the first edition which had been owned by the playwright William Congreve. Although, to be honest, many of these sonnets had been published in a 1640, pirated edition of Poems: Written by Will. Shakespeare, Gent. This second publication – by John Benson – was apparently made possible because Thomas Thorpe, the original copyright-owner, had died the year before. But Benson’s collection does not include the whole 154-poem sequence nor are the lyrics called “sonnets”. Even more peculiar was the fact that the remaining 146 sonnets were not published in the sonnet format, at all. They were re-arranged into 72 poems with such invented titles as “A Bashful Lover” and “Careless Neglect”. Thus, for all intents and purposes, the sonnets were largely unknown to seventeenth-century English readers.

 

The curious publication history of Shakespeare’s Sonnets is not, however, my concern. Rather. I want to draw your attention to original publisher’s dedication on page 2:

 

TO.THE.ONLIE.BEGETTER.OF.

THESE.INSVING.SONNETS.

MR.W.H. ALL.HAPPINESSSE.

AND.THAT.ETERNITIE.

 

 

OVR.EVERLIVING.POET.

 

 

THE.WELL-WISHING.

ADVENTVRER.IN.

 

T.T.

 

Who was “W.H.” ?

 

There have been numerous ingenious and often far-fetched answers to this seemingly straightforward question from Oscar Wilde’s clever little short story, “The Portrait of Mr. W.H.”, to more strictly genealogical guesses that it might refer to William Herbert (Earl of Pembroke). Others – perhaps the majority of commentators – think that a simple letter-reversal hides the reference to Henry Wriothesley (Earl of Southampton) – the very same man who has often been thought to be the model for “H.W.” in “Willobie”, and sometimes claimed to have been the lover and/or friend and/or patron and/or passing acquaintance of Will Shaksper of Stratford, among his other claims to fame.

 

Let’s try to stick with this clue. Where does it lead ? In Cecil’s argument concerning the authorship of “Willobie”, “H.W.” is a purposely-misleading suggestion of Henry Wriothesley who is presented as a kind of stalking-horse for Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex. But, I think, Cecil doesn’t go far enough in following this clue because, in my opinion, the Essex trail is a cold one and the clue actually leads us back to Edward de Vere, himself.

 

A great many Oxfordians believe that de Vere and Queen Elizabeth were the parents of Henry Wriothesley, the unidentified person referred to, again and again, in the sonnet collection. And, in fact, it is in the very last poem, number 154, that he is explicitly referred to as a “little Love-God” who, in the previous sonnet in the sequence, is said to be:

 

But at my mistress’ eye love’s brand new-fired,

The boy for trial needs would touch my breast,

I, sick withal, the help of bath desired,

And thither hied a sad, distempered guest.

 

But found no cure, the bath for my help lies,

Where Cupid got new fire; my mistress’ eye.

 

Hank Whittemore and a great many other Oxfordians believe that sonnets 153 and 154 were written more than thirty years before their publication – in 1573/4, during Edward de Vere’s amorous dalliance with Elizabeth Tudor which led to her pregnancy, the boy’s birth, and his secret transfer to the household of the imprisoned Earl of Southampton’s wife. The changeling was raised as the Wriothesley’s own child. The secret of the Tudor Prince’s parentage was thus concealed.

 

None of this is straightforward – nor was it meant to be. The sonnet sequence has been a constant source of quizzical queries which have long defied explication. Most of the critical literature abstains from explanation and settles for admiration of their lyric mastery. But that is not my concern right now. What I want to draw your attention to, first, is the likelihood that “W.H.” and “H.W.” were not randomly chosen sets-of-initials and, second, that the characteristics of “H.W.” fit Edward de Vere much more closely than any other contender.

 

Starting with the descriptor, “Italo-Hispalensis”, we have a very strong indication that the poem is referring to the man who was widely known to contemporaries as the most Italo-phile of all courtiers, Edward de Vere. Here, I think, it is relevant for me to repeat George Chapman’s famous description of Lord Oxford, which was published a decade after his death:

 

“I overtook, coming from Italy,

In Germany, a great and famous Earl,

Of England, the most goodly fashion’d man

I ever saw: from head to foot in form

Rare and most absolute; he had a face

Like one of the most ancient honour’d Romans

From when his noblest family was deriv’d;

He was beside of spirit passing great

Valiant and learn’d, and liberal as the sun,

Spoke and writ sweetly, or of learned subjects,

Or of the discipline of public weals;

And ‘twas the Earl of Oxford.”

 

Even more to the point of my claim, the introduction of “H.W.” in Canto XLIIII begins with:

 

“H.W. being sodenly infected with the contagion of a fantasticall fit, at the first sight of A, pyneth a while in secret griefe, at length not able any longer to indure the burning hear=te of so fervent a humour, bewrayeth the secrecy of his disease unto his familiar friend W.S. who no long before had tried the curtesy of the like passion, and was now newly possessed of the like infection….   …in viewing a far off the course of this loving Comedy, he determined to see whether it would sort to a happier end for this new actor, then it did for the old player. But at length this Comedy was like to have grown to a Tragedy, by the weake & feeble estate that H.W. was brought unto….”

 

Now, if we read this in relation to Cecil’s claim that “Willobie” was written by Edward de Vere for the personal amusement of Queen Elizabeth then I think that the various allusions not only fall into place but they also accord very well with the somewhat gnomic references to their earlier relationship that Lord Oxford wrote about with so much jealousy in the white heat of his passionate madness in sonnets 153 and 154.

 

The description of a “headlong youth” makes as much sense – if not more – as a reference to the unruly, young Edward de Vere as it does to either Henry Wriothesley or Robert Devereux. And the encouraging suggestion by “W.S.” about Avisa:

 

“She is no Saynt, She is no Nonne,

I thinke in tyme she may be wonne”

 

seems to me to refer to the earlier liaison between de Vere and Elizabeth, with a “nudge-nudge, wink-wink” regarding the virginity of The Virgin Queen who, in Canto LXVIII, dismisses his come-ons as “pathetical fancy”.   And, of course, to those in the know, “H.W.” and “W.S.” were one-and-the-same person – Edward de Vere, Seventeenth Earl of Oxford.

 

Finally, like a trace element in a radiographer’s photograph, there is that word again in Avisa’s last reply (Canto LXXXIIII Stanza 3),

 

“When Fish as haggard Hawkes shall flie”

 

This very obscure term, “haggard Hawkes”, is eerily reminiscent of de Vere’s usage in Othello’s famous lament referred to earlier in this seminar – and also, of course, Lord Oxford’s own early poems to which Looney first drew our attention.

 

These connections are, of course, quite circumstantial but I believe that their cumulative weight provides them with substance which, considered alone and/or in isolation, no single one possesses.”

 

“That was quite wonderful. Thank you so very much, Alison.

 

We’ve now reached the mid-way point in our morning session and I’m going to suggest that we all go to the college buttery for coffee and biscuits and then reassemble here in about a half-hour. We can either have a bit of a free-for-all or else we could follow on this morning’s two presentations. Let’s decide that when we return here at eleven.”

 

Professor Sir Peter’s management meets with general approval. It is a beautiful morning and St John’s has marvellous gardens. Going outside for a break would be a real respite from the hard slog of academic exchange.

 

As the group made its way out of the seminar room, Neddy Shorts came across to the doorway and waited for Joy Crayle and Ruby Hattenstone, who are the last to leave the room.

 

“What did you make of that ?”

 

The two women look at one another and pause before Ruby answers.

 

“I’m a bit troubled by what seems like a headlong rush to conjecture. The speculative nature of these Oxfordian claims can be too easily mocked. We’re in a vulnerable, minority position so our claims need to be like Caesar’s wife – beyond reproach.”

 

“That’s my feeling, too, Ruby. For a long time, we were derided by the Orthodox Stratfordians but they are now on the back foot. It’s no good giving them a rod for our backs.”

 

“Yeah, but those conjectures can be defended: first, they are being advanced with a strong recognition of their speculative nature; second, they are a prod to further research by raising questions about accepted wisdom; and, third, I don’t see why we should be afraid of being criticised by them. Thirty years ago they simply ignored us; twenty years ago we were compared to flat-earthers by Orthodox Stratfordians like Jonathan Bate. Now they’re on the defensive.

 

Furthermore, the case for de Vere has been advanced by pushing against the limits of what is known. That’s what Looney did and I think we would be well advised to continue following his example of conjectural thinking. The alternative is a dead-end. As you know, the archival materials haven’t much changed in a long time and unless there is a truly spectacular find or discovery, the arguments are likely to be based on balances-of-probability, not hard evidence.”

 

“Say that again, Neddy.”

 

“What ?”

 

“The bit about “the archive not changing”.”

 

“Oh, yeah. I was just saying that we’re up against a wall of silence. We need to find some way to expand the archive by creating a campaign to search for new materials.”

 

“That’s brill !”

 

“What ?”

 

“Neddy, you’ve just hit on an interesting topic. What would happen if we were able to start a campaign to investigate the archives and private papers with the intensity that the Stratfordians have unleashed in search of their man ? I would think that they have spent millions and millions of researcher-hours combing the archives.”

 

“True. But what have they discovered in the last century ? a few more examples of Will Shaksper’s signature and a completely laconic deposition about his knowledge of a marriage pre-contract. I think that everything else was known before World War I.”

 

“Yes, of course that’s so but the first few generations of Stratfordians had already been at work in the Georgian and Victorian periods. Nothing similar has been yet attempted for Oxford or, more especially, the papers of his daughters’ families. And, don’t forget, it was his daughters who were married to the men who financed the publication of The First Folio, in 1623, almost twenty years after Edward de Vere’s death. So far as I know, there’s not been much research into their papers.”

 

“Let’s talk about this with Professor Sir Peter, maybe we can get him to introduce this idea for our discussion after coffee-break.”

 

“I suppose that we can do that. He did leave the agenda rather open, didn’t he ?”

 

“He did, indeed. However, I would prefer it if one of you two spoke. I am a newbie here and I think that it would be best to have a more senior member of the seminar advance this idea.”

 

“Joy, why don’t you do it then ?”

 

“Yes, I can speak to him but I would prefer someone else to do it. But if Ruby doesn’t want to put herself forward – for a reason that makes sense to me – then I’ll be a good soldier.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Thank you, Joy. I appreciate your willingness to do this.”

 

“But don’t take all the credit !” Neddy’s joke is well received and the threesome go off in search of Professor Sir Peter.
Willy’s AfterLife

 

“These seminar-people are dogged and determined in beating the bushes in search of new ways of looking at their subject, aren’t they ?”

 

“There’s no question about that. It would seem that their animosities with the Orthodox Stratfordians are the real driving force in their life’s work. It’s as if the fact that their claims are met with complete indifference is like a red flag waving in front of a bull.”

 

“I can see that quite clearly. They’re deeply committed to the view that Willy was the “real” author and so the refusal of their opponents to countenance their claims only serves to drive them on to push harder against what they see as flaccid complacency.”

 

“What’s does “flaccid” mean ? Sometimes I get lost in your educated language.”

 

“Will, it’s the opposite of “rigid”. I don’t think I need to supply examples of its usage, do I ?”

 

“No, that won’t be necessary. I can now well understand its meaning. However, I am still a bit at a loss to understand your relationship with Willy and Henry. It doesn’t make sense to me.”

 

“I know. Looking back from this vantage point, wherever we might be, it makes no sense to me, either.”

 

“So, why did you renounce them ?”

 

“Haven’t we discussed this before ?”

 

“I think so but it’s relevant again in relation to the claims made about this obscure poem.”

 

“For the last time, I had a choice – either I could be The Virgin Queen or else I could be someone’s wife and someone else’s mother. At that time, a woman couldn’t rule on her own unless she was free of male supervision. Since I felt obliged to continue my father’s and grandfather’s job of maintaining civil concord and peace, I could only do that by being the sole ruler. And, of course, if I was to be the sole ruler then I couldn’t marry and, without a shadow of a doubt, I couldn’t be seen to be less than an unmarried virgin.

 

The whole framework of our inherited culture and its traditions of misogyny put me in a corner in that regard. Being sexually active and unmarried was simply out of the question for me. That being the case, I had a choice when I became pregnant with Willy’s child. Abortion was far too risky – even someone as skilled as Dr Lopez could not guarantee success.”

 

“I didn’t realize that Dr Lopez was known as an abortionist.”

 

“Sure he was. It was common knowledge. He was accused by that scandalous screed, Leicester’s Commonwealth. What those scandalmongers didn’t realize is how close to the truth they were although by the mid-1580s I was past childbearing. Ten years earlier, however, I was quite capable of getting pregnant and when I did so, Lopez was consulted.

 

He was then a house physician at St Bartholomew’s Hospital but he had been brought to England by Robert Dudley, when we were close with one another at the beginning of my reign. Dr Lopez was Portuguese and like so many of them, he was a Jew. Those people were closely connected with the hidden Moslems, who had stayed in Spain and Portugal even after the final stage of the reconquista, at the end of the fifteenth century.

 

I’m mentioning this because it was well known that Arab doctors were far more knowledgeable than any others. They were better trained and had recourse to the finest information, written in their own tongue in previous centuries. And, as Robin figured out, Dr Lopez was expert in abortion and also childbirth medicine.   That’s why he was recruited to London.

 

This might seem odd to men like you who were born after I came to the throne but what you have to keep in mind is that ties between Spain, Portugal, and England were very close in my father’s and grandfather’s times. My father had been treated by another Dr Lopez, Dr Hernando Lopez, in 1515.”

 

“So, what you’re saying is that you had no choice – if you wanted to be ruler then you had to renounce your child and keep your sexual affairs secret.”

 

“Obviously.”

 

“How did you deal with that ?”

 

“The main strategy was to surround myself with all those vestal virgins, to demand that they behave in a way that was beyond reproach, and to make sure that in all portraits the artist who painted me went out of his way to emphasize my quasi-Marian purity. That was done by highlighting symbolic associations, principally the moon, which stressed what the Bible would have called my “blessed singleness” but also others such as the Rose, the Star, the Phoenix, the Ermine, and the Pearl. I believe that the seminar-people would call that “representation” but we merely looked upon it as just one more element in the theater of royalty. Will, I think you can therefore appreciate why Willy’s plays and poems were written anonymously and why it was necessary to employ you as a “dumb man”.”

 

“One of the conditions of my annuity was that he was required to pay for this subterfuge. How could I not know that ?”

 

“Even after your DeathOnEarth his widow kept up payments to me. Those payments only ended with her DeathOnEarth. You can see, therefore, that an elaborate system of deception was created to protect Bess’ reputation from public knowledge of her private life.”

 

“I understand that, but what I was actually asking was somewhat different – how did the hand-over of your child affect you ? how did you deal with that emotional loss ? or was it any loss for you ?”

 

“Like I’ve said before, I had no choice. I had been born – and educated – into a life very different from the ordinary person. All that talk about “divine right” was understood to have been true – not just in the literal sense but also as a result of the magical powers invested in the monarch at the time of his/her coronation. It fit very well with the Catholic notion of “transubstantiation” which, you may or may not know, occurs when the Eucharist is mysteriously transformed from bread and wine to the body and blood of Christ. In the same way, the coronation transformed me from being a mere woman to something else. Our religion – our art and literature and music – glorified rulers above all others because of this connection with the divine.”

 

“All right, then. So Willy’s poems were written for your private entertainment ?”

 

“Certainly.”

 

“So how did they get published ?”

 

“That’s simple and straightforward to answer. The poems, and also some of the plays, were circulating among the courtiers and, I suppose, that one of them – desperate for money – began to sell manuscripts to printers and players. This was dangerous and because we couldn’t stop the practice we – well, it was William Cecil’s idea but he had spoken with Sir Francis Walsingham about it a few years before – decided that we had to, as they say, “get out in front of the story”. That’s where you came in, Will. Willy knew you – you were his kinsman, he knew that you wanted to be back in Stratford-Upon-Avon with your family. Willy sealed the deal with you – we used a sly version of your name to hide Willy’s identity and you were paid for your silence. With a reliable front man, some poems and plays could be safely printed to build up the front man’s reputation and to deflect attention from Willy himself.”

 

”If I understand this right, you’re saying that I was transferred to Lady Southampton as a matter of state in much the same way that Will was recruited to be the face of Willy’s literary efforts.”

 

“That’s right. I didn’t “abandon” you. I arranged that you had the best family and servants to look after your needs – being raised in someone else’s household didn’t estrange you from me because even if I had acknowledged you as my own son-and-heir, all the work of child-minding would have been carried out by servants. I would not have nursed you, in fact I would hardly have seen you – or held you, for that matter – any more frequently in that case.

 

Willy was more upset by this arrangement than I was. He desperately wanted a son-and-heir – which was an abiding concern for him for another twenty years – and, of course, my actions blocked his way to the throne.”

 

“I never thought about that.”

 

“I know that – but I’m sure Willy did.”
St John’s College,

Friday morning (continued)

 

The seminar members have reluctantly come inside. It is difficult to sit around a conference table on such a beautiful morning. But, being troopers, they do their duty and take their places. The group having assembled, Professor Sir Peter gets up to speak.

 

“I would like to propose a slight change of direction for this, the second part of our morning-session.   Can I ask Joy Crayle to speak.”

 

“Thank you, Professor Sir Peter. First, I have to make it clear that this is not simply my idea. It was formed in discussion with Ruby and Neddy. Second, I have to confess that the idea I am going to put forward is, to say the least, inchoate. And, third, I think it’s a very good idea but we will all need to take a role in making it happen. I hope you will excuse the somewhat rambling nature of what follows because I am going to speak off-the-cuff. Hopefully, by the time I get to the end of my short presentation our idea will become clear to all of you.

 

So, what’s “the idea” ? I think I can make it clear to you by quickly repeating our earlier conversation. After the previous session’s paper and responses, the three of us fell in to chatting as we left the seminar-room. It was suggested that the repeated emphasis on conjecture is troubling. That led to the counter-point that conjectural historical thinking has been at the heart of the Oxfordian case from the outset, since Looney’s book appeared. Then we wondered if the Oxfordian method gave a kind of comfort to the Stratfordians who could glibly dismiss our conjectures, regardless of how germane or apposite they might be.

 

Now, as they say, we can cut to the chase, because it was in response to this last point that Neddy remarked that we were at an impasse because there is an archival wall of silence in front of us. In contrast to the Oxfordian research program, there had been literally millions and millions of researcher-hours spent by Stratfordians ransacking the public record offices and private archives, which had had little return for the effort – a few signature examples and a couple of mentions in court cases seems to be the sum of it in the last century. Ruby wondered why Oxfordians did not embark on a similar campaign of archival strip-mining.

 

That proposal is the starting-point for our suggestion that we need to find some new ways to expand the archive. As we have heard in several presentations, absence of evidence is not necessarily evidence of absence. Correlatively, we have also been told of several instances in which a field of study has been either transformed or even created by new finds – the fossils of the Burgess Shale, the Dead Sea and Nag Hammadi scrolls, and the Mayan Code were mentioned in this regard. I would also add another example which is, I think, relevant to our suggestion.

 

When I was in graduate school at Princeton, at the beginning of the nineties, all English Literature graduate students were obliged to take a course of lectures on early modern English history which were given by the legendary Professor Lawrence Stone. He introduced us to a wide variety of subjects, one of which was historical demography. Some of us were already aware that the population history of England had been a hot topic in the seventies and eighties but by our time it had begun to lose its appeal.

 

Let me digress here for a minute or two.

 

Historical demography was a research subject that had begun a few decades earlier with a series of questions regarding ages at first marriage for women, child mortality rates, and so on. But after the first few studies had been published, the only remaining questions turned on decimal-point modifications of the first-generation statistics. Since no one could see the reason to invest years of study to marginally change the newly-accepted statistics, within a generation it had become, as one scholar had written, a field of research with a rich past and desiccated future.

 

I’m telling you this by way of prologue to introduce the significance of my example. What we learned in Professor Stone’s seminar is that prior to the mid-sixties, when Peter Laslett of Trinity College, Cambridge, published The world we have lost, most discussion on the subject of historical demography was based on anecdotal evidence. The most famous example of this spurious methodology is, of course, the wildly-mistaken belief that one could deduce ages at first marriage from Shakespeare’s play, Romeo and Juliet. Basing himself on pioneering family reconstitution studies which had been undertaken in France by Louis Henry of the Institut national des etudes demographiqes, Laslett claimed that early modern English women probably married in their mid-to late-twenties just like their French counterparts.

 

This was something of a bombshell. All of a sudden it seemed that a hitherto unexplored area of human experience could be studied with historical documents. But this recognition immediately came up against another problem which was akin to the archival wall of silence Neddy spoke about. To find a chink in this wall, Laslett and two of his then-young colleagues got seed-money from the Gulbenkian Foundation.

 

The amount of seed-money they received would today seem derisory but they also possessed a secret weapon – Peter Laslett, himself. He was a real character, a great story-teller, and he would later become Prince Charles’ tutor. Like so many of his generation, he had worked for some branch of the secret service during World War II. For some reason, he wrote his senior research paper on an obscure political philosopher – Sir Robert Filmer, who is known today only because it was his ideas that were so roundly rebutted by John Locke in his famous Two Treatises on Government. Filmer interested Laslett because he argued for a patriarchal and familial form of government which was directly opposed to Locke’s liberal, possessive individualism.

 

Laslett went on to edit the still-standard version of Locke’s Two Treatises and became a teaching fellow at Trinity College but he never forgot about Filmer. This is relevant because when the news of Henry’s new technique of family reconstitution filtered across the Channel, its applicability and consequence was immediately understood by Laslett who had been one of the founders of the BBC’s “Fourth Program” and so he was always granted access to the airwaves.

 

Bear with me, I’m closing in on the point of this digression.

 

When confronted with the archival richness of English parish records, their abundance, and the sheer practical problems of visiting several dozen county record offices and ten thousand parish churches, Laslett went on the BBC and issued a clarion call. He said he wanted volunteers to help him and his “Group” – which was really nothing more than two of his students, as Stone told us the story – to embark on a new kind of people’s history. A history of the common man and woman in relation to their own lived experiences.

 

He caught the zeitgeist of the times. Literally hundreds and hundred of people – many of them elderly or retired – wrote to him offering their services. Using this army of volunteers, Laslett and his colleagues were able to parlay the Gulbenkian seed-money into a data-bank of unprecedented richness. To be sure, not all the materials and information supplied to newly-formed “Cambridge Group for the history of Population and Social Structure” was usable, but a lot of it was

 

A number of graduate students were also drawn to this project which was very much in tune the more widespread excitement about quantitative history which reached its zenith in these years. By the middle of the 1970s, the basic outlines of a new demographic history of England and Wales had taken shape in place of the impressionistic image drawn from anecdotal sources. A spate of publications ensued and the field matured. So, as I mentioned earlier, the field was plotted and the maps were drawn. Nowadays, no one works in historical demography but all studies in social history are built on the shoulders of the pioneering work of Laslett, his collegues, and their students.”

 

Joy paused, gathering herself for a final push.

 

“What we think would be a tremendously exciting project would be to take advantage of new technologies to do a similar kind of archival search with regard to finding documents relating to Edward de Vere, and especially to his daughters whose husbands were the sponsors of the publication of The First Folio in 1623. There are over a hundred surviving copies of this famous volume but no one has ever uncovered a single, contemporary document relating to any of the plays or poetry which we believe were written by Lord Oxford, under the pseudonym of William Shakespeare.

 

One of the reasons why, we believe, no such documents have ever been discovered is because – to paraphrase a country-music song from my youth – “we’ve been looking for love in all the wrong places.” The hegemony of the Stratfordians has meant that all the energy devoted to archival searching has been sidetracked to their aims. None has been spent on considering an alternative scenario – an Oxfordian scenario.

 

But there is an intriguing test-case to give us pause to hope. The closest we’ve come to realizing the potential of this alternative scenario has been recently explored in Roger Stritmatter’s analysis of the Geneva Bible owned by Edward de Vere. What Stritmatter calls “Shakespeare Diagnostics” is a base-line comprised of eighty-one biblical passages which are referred to more than four times in The Bard’s works. Thirty-seven (roughly forty-five per cent) are underscored in de Vere’s Geneva Bible. In comparison, when Francis Bacon and Christopher Marlowe – the two leading alternative candidates for authorship – are used as “controls”, Stritmatter discovered that there is only a sporadic overlap. I believe that his Marlowe example discovered less than seven per cent of the biblical verses, referenced four times, were underscored in de Vere’s Geneva Bible. The overlay for Bacon was just two per cent. These numbers are based on my memory of reciting this information in lectures so they might not be perfectly accurate but they are of an order of magnitude. The key point, though, is not the accuracy of my memory but, rather, the appreciation of the ways in which research on Shakespearian Authorship can be radically changed by the use of new sources which expand our archive.

 

Finally, we don’t know if a huge effort at expanding our archive would bear fruit like the Stritmatter example or – much more spectacularly – the others I have referred to. But we really should make it a priority of our research agenda to determine if this might be the case.

 

The up-side of such a discovery would be massive and if our inklings and conjectures are going to win more generalized assent from open-minded thinkers, then we really do need to break out of the box in which we are currently confined.”

 

When Joy finishes with that flourish, there is an audible, collective respiration in the room followed by silence. This silence is troubling and Joy turns to Ruby asking if she has gone too far.

 

But before Ruby could answer, a slow clap of approval rises around the table. In another moment, everyone is standing and cheering. No one is offended by the suggestion that business-as-usual has to change. The group is energized as never before.

 

The tension ebbs from Joy’s face. She turns in her seat and smiles at Ruby, who is nodding her head in agreement. On her right side, Neddy gently grasps her arm as a gesture of his approval. Joy is happy. Job done.

 

“Wow ! Joy that is tremendous. What can we do to move matters along this path ? That’s the question we should discuss in the next thirty minutes before we break for lunch.”

 

However, in response to Professor Sir Peter’s invitation to provide new ways of seeing and new forms of archival searching, there is another looming silence. It is as if the women and men in the seminar room have been taken aback by the audacity of the suggestion put forward by Joy, on behalf of Ruby and Neddy.

 

The silence persists for what seemed like the proverbial eternity.

 

Finally, a hesitant voice,

 

“Excuse me”

 

The women and men around the table look at one another but quite clearly none of them has spoken. Then, they turn around and are astounded that the hesitant voice belongs to one of the technicians who is engaged in video-recording the proceedings. These guys have done their job well, they have been invisible but now that changes.

 

“Excuse me. My name is Graham Phillips. I’ve been here for two and a half days listening to your proceedings. I have to say that they are much much more interesting to me than the usual conferences and seminars I am engaged to record. Shakespeare versus parthogenesis in one-celled plankton – no contest !

 

You are all smart people but you’re out of your depth when it comes to media relations. You need some professional assistance and I think that my supervisor in the department of New Media and Communication Studies, Professor Luhan Marshall, might be willing to get on board with this project. Perhaps you might make want to suggest that your project could be the basis for a special subject for master’s students next year.”

 

Once the academics jaws are raised back in place, The Timmer speaks.

 

“What a terrific idea. Thank you so very much, Graham. As you so rightly said, we need all the help we can get. Coincidentally, Luhan Marshall is a fellow in my college so I could easily broach this with him. But, first, of course, we need to get a voice vote from the seminar since this is such an unusual – unprecedented, really – proposal.”

 

Around the table, hands are raised in unison. Everyone seems newly-energized by the prospect of a new direction and a new beginning for Oxfordian Studies. And, of course, the suggestion means that someone else would be responsible for taking charge which is always a great selling-point. The Timmer seems to have taken over that initiative for the others.

 

“I can see a rare unanimity. So, let’s take our lunch-break now – even if it is a bit early. I will go to my rooms and get in touch with Professor Marshall and report back to you when we reassemble this afternoon. In the meantime, why don’t you discuss this informally and we can perhaps make an agenda change for tomorrow’s last session which is usually devoted to making arrangements for future meetings and such like.”

 

No one disagrees with this surprising turn of events. Graham Phillips immediately is surrounded by Neddy, HarryT, and Ruby Hattenstone who all want to pick his brain.
Willy’s AfterLife

 

They are looking at one another in bewilderment.

 

“What was that about ?”

 

“I’m not sure but it was astonishing to see that young serving-man make such an unexpected incursion into the proceedings.”

 

“Graham Phillips most definitely surprised the seminar-people. Those servants had been taken for granted and their presence had been ignored up to that point.”

 

“I was struck by his confidence in, first, speaking up, and then, second, having something substantial to add to the proceedings. Would that have happened during our LifeOnEarth ?”

 

“I was the only one of you whose station was remotely comparable to Graham Phillips’ and I can tell you quite categorically that people like me knew that in the company of our betters we had to be seen, not heard.”

 

“Is that really true ? Of course, I wouldn’t know.”

 

“Bess, Will is close to the mark but he’s not quite hit the bull’s eye.”

 

“What do you mean by that ?”

 

“In my acting companies, for example, there was always a back-and-forth between me and my fellows. And they often told me how to change what I had written for better effect.”

 

“Willy has a point – but not a very sharp one. Those “fellows” were actually all your employees. You might not have demanded cap-in-hand, forelock-tugging deference from us but we always knew that you were the Seventeenth Earl of Oxford and we were unable to trace ourselves back more than two generations, if that. You were the man who could snap his fingers and make money appear, we had to pay bills – in full and on time.”

 

“OK, Will, I get that now. Christ, I got that point back then – during my LifeOnEarth, too. And I do realize that my situation was very different from that of the ordinary nobleman since I went out of my way to involve myself with what were considered to be dis-reputable players. I think that my stance was considered to be rather risque, much to the chagrin and disapproval of William Cecil.”
”But, Willy, you always played both sides