The Shakespeare Myth

In Short

This book is a staunch defense of the "Baconian theory," asserting that Francis Bacon, not William Shakespeare, authored the plays attributed to the Stratford actor. The argument rests on the premise that the Elizabethan stage and the 1623 Folio contain hidden ciphers, symbolic imagery, and deliberate visual clues—such as the "harlequin" clothing in the famous portrait—that point directly to Bacon. It serves as an early, fervent manifesto in the long-running authorship controversy, blending literary analysis with a conspiratorial reading of historical documents and contemporary title pages.

The Story

The narrative begins with a bold rejection of the traditional Shakespearean biography. The author characterizes the Stratford man as a mere "dummy" or "pseudonym," a person of no education who was paid a sum of one thousand pounds to shield the true author from royal scrutiny. This act of concealment was necessary, the argument goes, because Queen Elizabeth was notoriously offended by the play Richard II, and a high-ranking statesman like Bacon could not risk being identified as the writer of such potentially seditious content.

The author proceeds to dismantle the "Shakespeare myth" by scrutinizing the 1623 Folio. He asserts that the plays contained within it were not simply printed, but meticulously curated and altered by Bacon to serve as a "Great Instauration" of human knowledge. The author points to the mysterious, stiff, and "stuffed" figure of the Bard in the Folio’s frontispiece, arguing that the strange sartorial details—such as a coat with two left arms—were intentional "masonic" symbols designed to signal that the figure was a "left-handed" or false representation. Using cryptic readings of Ben Jonson’s introductory verses, the author claims that Jonson was acting as a confederate, instructing readers to look past the "dummy" and focus only on the written word within.

The argument then shifts to the "signatures" of William Shakespeare. The author examines several legal documents from the period, including a mortgage deed and a will, and concludes that none of these are genuine autographs. Instead, he posits that they are the work of various skilled law clerks who were tasked with forging the name of an illiterate man. Having "disproven" the authorship of the Stratford man, the author turns to visual evidence from title pages of Bacon’s other works. He describes elaborate engravings, including one where Bacon is depicted with his hand resting on his own philosophical texts while "putting forward" a man in a goat skin—the classic symbol for a tragedian—to represent the stage.

The book culminates in a grand theory of linguistic creation. The author claims that the English language itself was essentially forged by Bacon to match the majesty of the French Pléiade, and that Bacon—as the master of a "workshop" of writers—was responsible for both the King James Bible and the entirety of the Shakespearean canon. He concludes by citing various historical figures, from Lord Palmerston to Prince Bismarck, who expressed skepticism about the Stratford man’s authorship. The final note is one of triumph: the "myth" is declared dead, and the true, scholarly genius of Francis Bacon is finally unmuzzled for the modern age to admire.

How It Unfolds

The fabrication of the Stratford legend The author introduces the idea that Shakespearean anecdotes were largely late-eighteenth-century inventions designed to bolster tourism. He establishes a timeline where plays were initially published anonymously, only receiving a name once the author had been safely sent away from London.

The sartorial puzzle of the Folio A detailed investigation of the 1623 frontispiece reveals that the portrait is a "dummy" designed to hide the truth. The author meticulously describes the "harlequin" coat and the awkward figure to prove that it was never intended to be a real human likeness.

The decryption of Ben Jonson’s lines The author provides a new translation of the famous introductory poem, interpreting "hit" as "hidden" and "do out" as "extinguish." This transforms a traditional tribute into a coded instruction to ignore the mask and focus on the secret author.

The forgery of the signatures The book examines six legal documents, arguing that the "signatures" are clearly the work of professional law clerks rather than an illiterate actor. The author concludes that no authentic handwriting of the Stratford man ever existed.

The evidence of the title pages By analyzing contemporary engravings, the author identifies symbols—such as the goat skin and the bridle without a bit—that represent Bacon’s hidden labor. These visuals are presented as objective proof that Bacon was managing the production of the plays from the shadows.

The linguistic birthright The final section credits Bacon with the invention of modern English, linking his philosophical work to the majesty of the plays and the Bible. It frames the entire Elizabethan literary output as a singular, Herculean project directed by one master mind.

The People

William Shakespeare is presented not as a poet, but as a "Stratford clown" and an illiterate "dummy." He is the central prop in a long-standing deception, a man who merely lent his name to the works in exchange for money and a comfortable retirement in a remote province.

Francis Bacon emerges as the true protagonist: a polymath, statesman, and secret literary genius. He is depicted as a man of immense foresight who intentionally used masks and ciphers to protect his reputation while simultaneously enriching the English language and educating the public.

Ben Jonson acts as the "foreman" of Bacon’s literary workshop. He is portrayed as a collaborator who helped manage the deception, using his own verse to leave subtle breadcrumbs for later generations to find.

The Law Clerks appear as the anonymous agents of the myth. They are the skilled penmen who created the false signatures on deeds and wills, acting under the direction of those who needed to maintain the illusion of Shakespeare’s legal existence.

The Reader is the person the author addresses directly, challenging them to move from being an "uninitiated inquirer" to an "informed" investigator. The author trusts that once the reader is shown the "triplets" and the visual clues, they will inevitably discard their previous beliefs.

In Its Own Voice

"Halliwell-Phillipps says: 'It was not till the Jubilee of 1769 that the tendency to the fabrication of Shakespeare anecdotes and relics at Stratford Museum became manifest.'"

The author uses this citation to undermine the historical reliability of the entire Shakespearean tradition.

"The tunic, coat, or whatever the garment may have been called at the time, is so strangely illustrated that the right-hand side of the forepart is obviously the left-hand side of the back part; and so gives a harlequin appearance to the figure, which it is not unnatural to assume was intentional."

This observation serves as the foundation for the author’s claim that the Folio's frontispiece contains a hidden message.

"Bacon very frequently signed with some form of cypher the first page of his secret books."

This statement establishes the author's belief that numerical patterns and visual clues serve as a deliberate, verifiable signature.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an exploration of the power of intellectual legacy and the skepticism of authority. It operates on the assumption that a "master mind" of Bacon’s caliber would naturally seek to influence the future through secret, encoded channels, believing that the public of his own time was not ready for his full contribution. It asks whether historical figures can be reduced to the artifacts they leave behind—or whether those artifacts are merely stage props designed to deceive. The argument is driven by a deep-seated belief that genius is too grand to be left to chance or to the hands of the "unlearned," suggesting that the structure of history itself is a veil that must be pierced by the diligent investigator.

Why Read It Today

This book is a fascinating artifact of early twentieth-century intellectual obsession. A reader who enjoys the history of literary mysteries—or one who is curious about the mechanics of conspiratorial thinking—will find the author’s intensity and meticulous attention to detail compelling. The prose is earnest and urgent, reflecting the author’s genuine conviction that he is unlocking a long-hidden truth.

However, readers should be prepared for the dense, sometimes repetitive nature of the arguments. The reliance on period-specific "emblem books" and the belief in complex numeric ciphers can be challenging for those not familiar with the specific context of the Baconian controversy. Furthermore, the author’s dismissive attitude toward the "Stratford clown" and his rigid, absolute tone may feel antiquated to a modern reader. Despite these hurdles, the book provides a unique window into a specific strain of historical revisionism that has persisted for over a century. It remains a classic of its kind, offering a masterclass in how to build a case out of the gaps, ambiguities, and "silences" in the historical record. It leaves one with a lingering question about the nature of authorship and the way we construct our most cherished literary icons.