The Shakespearean Myth: William Shakespeare and Circumstantial Evidence

In Short

This book serves as a formal "Brief" challenging the traditional attribution of the Shakespearean canon to William Shakespeare of Stratford-upon-Avon. The author systematically contrasts the mundane, documented life of the Stratford man—a theater manager, moneylender, and litigant—with the profound philosophical and classical erudition found within the plays. By examining historical gaps, the lack of contemporary recognition for Shakespeare as a literary giant, and the potential for anonymous authorship in the Elizabethan era, the text provides a foundational argument for the "Baconian" and other authorship theories that have intrigued scholars for over a century.

The Story

The narrative arc of the book functions as a legal challenge to a long-held historical assumption. It opens by acknowledging the "Shakespearean problem" as defined by M. Guizot: how could a man with such limited background—a butcher’s apprentice and poacher—possess the incomparable knowledge of human nature and imagination required to pen thirty-two tragedies and comedies? The book immediately pivots to a critique of the traditional biography, which often requires modern scholars to "make" a Shakespeare by inventing motives or interpretations to fill the silence of the historical record.

The author traces the path of William Shakespeare from his youth in Stratford to his career as a London theater manager. He highlights the stark disparity between the "demigod" of literature and the "practical and thrifty soul" who returned to Stratford to focus on foreclosing on neighbors and meticulously distributing his worldly chattels, including a "second-best bed," in his last will and testament. The argument builds by scrutinizing the lack of contemporary evidence connecting the man to the plays; the author notes that while the plays were celebrated, the man himself left no trace of a literary life, no library, and no mention of the works in his final, detailed legal documents.

The investigation then shifts to the cultural context of the Elizabethan era. The author argues that printing was a chaotic, often dishonest business where names were frequently attached to works without the author’s knowledge or consent. He explores how the "Shakespeare" name may have functioned as a convenient nom de plume for a learned figure—likely Francis Bacon—who needed to turn a profit or express controversial ideas without jeopardizing his political standing. The book delves into the "New Theory," which suggests that while the Stratford man was a real and talented manager of the Globe who perhaps contributed local color or comedic sketches, the profound, classical substance of the plays originated from a different, far more educated source.

The arc concludes not with an absolute, definitive proof, but with a challenge to the reader’s credulity. The author asserts that the evidence has been fully taken and that the "Shakespeare" we worship today is a modern invention, a construction of centuries of cobbling together legends. The book leaves the reader with a final, lingering question: if we strip away the myth and acknowledge the historical reality of the man, what truly remains of the claim that he wrote the plays? It suggests that the beauty of the work itself is independent of the identity of the person who penned it, yet the search for that identity remains an essential, unresolved quest for truth.

How It Unfolds

The biographical dilemma The book begins by highlighting the jarring contradiction between the "butcher's apprentice" of history and the "great philosopher" of the plays. It questions how a man could suddenly cease all production at forty-five to live in silence, effectively closing the door on his genius.

The record of the man The middle section focuses on the legal and business transactions of Shakespeare’s later life in Stratford. It contrasts his obsession with tithes, malt, and land foreclosures with the lack of any record or interest in the literary legacy he supposedly left behind.

The culture of the press The narrative moves to the reality of the Elizabethan book trade, where printers routinely assigned names to works to increase sales. It uses historical examples of authors like Heywood being misattributed to show how tenuous the claim to authorship truly was in that age.

The Baconian hypothesis The text introduces the argument that Francis Bacon, a man of immense intellect and political necessity, had clear motives to write anonymously. It posits that the plays ceased exactly when Bacon’s own political career peaked, suggesting a strategic link between the two.

The final impasse The book concludes by examining why the "Shakespeare" myth persists despite overwhelming circumstantial evidence against it. It calls for an honest appraisal of the facts, inviting the reader to move past the inherited tradition and confront the reality of the historical record.

The People

The central figure is William Shakespeare, the man of Stratford, whom the author portrays not as a villain, but as a practical, successful, and perhaps lucky theater manager. The author argues that he was likely a "Johannes Factotum"—a man who did everything at the playhouse—but lacked the deep, scholarly foundation displayed in the works.

Francis Bacon emerges as the primary candidate for the true authorship. The author presents him as a brilliant, burdened intellect who was often in financial distress and under political scrutiny. For Bacon, the use of a pseudonym was a necessary shield, allowing him to express his genius while maintaining his social and political standing.

Delia Bacon appears as a pivotal, if misunderstood, pioneer of the authorship movement. The author treats her with a sense of tragic respect, noting her absolute conviction that the key to the mystery was hidden in the grave of the Stratford man. Her intellectual fervor serves as a mirror for the author’s own desire to uncover truths buried beneath centuries of "Shakespeare-mending."

The Commentators represent the collective resistance. These are the scholars and biographers who, according to the author, spend their careers creating new versions of Shakespeare whenever the historical record fails them. They are depicted as men who prioritize the comfort of an old myth over the "intense realism" of modern investigation.

In Its Own Voice

The author highlights the discrepancy between the grand nature of the plays and the mundane life of their alleged author, noting the lack of any literary interest in his final days:

If he has done any thing worthy of posterity, he shows no especial anxiety that posterity shall hear of it.

The book discusses the nature of the "Shakespeare" myth, suggesting that it relies more on the persistence of belief than on actual proof:

It is so much easier, for instance, to believe that miracles should appear by the page, or that universal wisdom should spring fully armed from the brain of a Warwickshire clown, than that Francis Bacon, or somebody else, should write anonymously.

The author concludes by inviting the reader to reconsider the weight of the evidence, regardless of the historical attachment to the name:

The evidence is all in--the testimony is all taken.

What It's Really About

This book is a treatise on the nature of historical evidence and the power of myth-making. It argues that society prefers a comfortable, established legend over the messy, often contradictory reality of the past. The central question is not merely about who wrote the plays, but about why we insist on creating a "demigod" out of an ordinary man. It challenges the reader to distinguish between the brilliance of the art and the myth of the artist. The text is specifically concerned with how historical figures are constructed by later generations to satisfy a need for a singular, heroic source of genius, often at the expense of facts that suggest a more complex, collaborative, or alternative reality.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy detective work, historical revisionism, or the history of ideas will find this book deeply engaging. It captures the feeling of a scholarly courtroom drama, where the author acts as a persistent attorney cross-examining history itself. It is a rewarding read for anyone who has ever felt that the traditional biography of Shakespeare leaves too many questions unanswered.

However, prospective readers should be prepared for the dense, Victorian-era prose. The writing is formal, often circuitous, and requires a high level of patience to navigate. The author’s tone, while warm and personal, reflects the attitudes and debates of the late nineteenth century, which may feel jarring to a modern reader. Some sections are heavily annotated with references to long-forgotten pamphlets or scholarly disputes, which can impede the flow of the main argument. Despite these challenges, the book remains a fascinating window into the early days of a debate that still captures the public imagination. What stays with you is the author's relentless insistence that curiosity is a virtue, even when it leads one to question the most sacred icons of literature. You will likely finish the book not necessarily convinced of a particular answer, but significantly more curious about the provenance of the stories you have always taken for granted.