by Tim Rayborn
Act II
A Dark and Weird Theatrical Miscellany
1
The Shakespeare You May Not Know
William Shakespeare, a name known to almost everyone, beloved by drama enthusiasts, and feared by high school students everywhere. We native speakers are told that we need to love his works because they are among the greatest things ever written in the English language. Indeed, some consider his ability to express emotion and human turmoil to be unsurpassed, though others find him boring and don’t care. So, why is he so important?
Well, he created some of the most memorable characters in all of literature, and the list of phrases that he invented that are still in use is astonishing:
• All that glitters is not gold (The Merchant of Venice)
• It’s Greek to me (Julius Caesar)
• Wear one’s heart on one’s sleeve (Othello)
• Break the ice (The Taming of the Shrew)
• A laughing stock (The Merry Wives of Windsor)
• Jealousy is the green-eyed monster (Othello)
• Heart of gold (Henry V)
• Knock knock! Who’s there? (Macbeth)
• Love is blind (The Merchant of Venice)
• Wild-goose chase (Romeo and Juliet)
• For goodness’ sake (Henry VIII)
• In my heart of hearts (Hamlet)
• One fell swoop (Macbeth)
• Set my teeth on edge (Henry IV, Part I)
• What’s done is done (Macbeth)
• Play fast and loose (King John)
This brief selection isn’t even close to being exhaustive. The number of words that Shakespeare seems to have invented—or are at least recorded for the first time—is equally impressive. His poetry and plays thrive and never seem to go out of fashion, being endlessly reinterpreted for the modern stage. His plays have been imagined in virtually every setting possible, from the distant past to the twenty-first century to the far future (the movie Forbidden Planet is an adaptation of The Tempest, for example). He is truly a writer for all times.
Given Shakespeare’s popularity, it may come as a surprise to many that we know very little about the man and his life; years at a time are missing from his biography, leaving scholars to hypothesize and attempt to reconstruct what may have happened. This distinct lack of written records has led some to believe that Shakespeare didn’t write the plays attributed to him at all. Since the late eighteenth century, some conspiracy theorists have believed that Shakespeare the man was just a hack writer and mediocre actor, and that the true author of the plays hid behind his name and wrote them anonymously, because in those days, playwriting was not considered a particularly respectable profession or exercise of one’s literary talents; poetry was the true art. This belief was especially prevalent among the upper classes, where the “real” Shakespeare is often supposed to have dwelled. We’ll delve into the authorship controversy later in the chapter.
Other questions about the man also abound. For example, what were his religious beliefs? The answer may surprise you. What exactly was his relationship to his wife, whom he married in haste after she became pregnant and to whom he left his “second best bed” in his will? He lived away from her for months, even years at a time, so they probably weren’t all that close, despite having three children.
In this chapter, we’ll delve into some of those mysteries and in keeping with the spirit of this book, we’ll also examine the bloodier side of his works. You may just walk away with a greater understanding and respect for the man, even if you’re still not quite sure what he’s talking about sometimes.
Was Shakespeare a secret Catholic?
One of the more intriguing theories circulated in recent decades (through proposed much earlier) is that Will’s family had strong Catholic sympathies, always a dangerous set of beliefs to hold, particularly in the paranoid, spy-filled Protestant England of the 1580s. This was the time when Mary Queen of Scots was implicated in a plot to assassinate Queen Elizabeth I. This led to Mary’s execution in 1587 and the subsequent showdown with Spain’s Armada in 1588.
Shakespeare’s mother, Mary Arden, came from a prominent Catholic family. She was second cousin to William Arden, a wealthy gentleman. William Arden’s son, Edward, shared his father’s faith and employed his own secret priest, disguised as a gardener. Edward and his son-in-law, John Somerville, devised a plan to assassinate Queen Elizabeth, for which they were executed by decapitation in 1583. As with all traitors, their heads were placed on pikes at the entrance to London in Southwark, on the bridge across the Thames (near the playhouses). It’s possible that Edward at least was innocent, having been accused by the Earl of Leicester, who despised him. The fact that other Arden family members were released from arrest and suspicion after Edward’s execution may prove that the accusation was a vendetta.
Shakespeare’s father, John, may well have been Catholic as well, as we will see. Several scholars have shown that Stratford-upon-Avon was still strongly in favor of the older faith, and only presented the outward appearance of conforming to the new religion for safety’s sake. Indeed, the town’s vicar was expelled for supposed “popery.” Simon Hunt, who was probably young Will’s teacher when the future poet was aged seven to eleven, eventually left England for Douai in northern France and became ordained as a Jesuit priest. Speaking of priests, John Frith, the minister who married Will and Anne Hathaway, was an ex-Catholic priest who came under suspicion by the Protestant authorities as being “unsound” and possibly having slipped back into his old beliefs.
The “secret Catholic” theory also suggests that Shakespeare lived some of his “lost years” (there is little record of his activities during the 1580s) in Lancashire in northern England, which became something of a hotspot for recusant Catholic activity, since it was far to the north and away from London politics. There, the story goes, he worked as a player and possibly as a musician and tutor for various Catholic employers. Another of Will’s possible schoolmasters, John Cottom, was a proud Catholic who was associated with missionary work to convert or reconvert the English on the sly. Because of his beliefs and the fallout from his brother’s efforts to restore the old faith, he was forced to leave Stratford in a hurry and relocate to, yes, Lancashire. Some theorize that Will might have gone with him, or been invited at a later time.
The accounts of Alexander Hoghton, a noted Catholic who lived near the Cottom family estate in Lancashire, record that he employed one “William Shakeshafte” who seems to have been a player, a musician, or both. He is mentioned more than once as someone of talent. Soon after, Shakeshafte seems to have been in the employ of another wealthy Catholic, Thomas Hesketh. In his apparent time at Hesketh’s home in Rufford, this young man would likely have encountered traveling groups of actors, who, as we have seen, had to leave London whenever there was an outbreak of plague. One of Shakespeare’s later business partners, Thomas Savage, was also from Rufford and was related by marriage to the Hesketh family. That connection may or may not mean anything, but it’s a curious coincidence and would explain how Will was later able to make an entry into the London theater scene. He would have made many contacts with players and companies formerly patronized by Catholic drama enthusiasts in the north.
All of this is interesting and could be evidence that Will was harboring some potentially dangerous beliefs. There are problems with the theory, of course. One of the biggest is that “Shakeshafte” was a genuine surname, common enough in northern parts, so the idea that there was an entertainer named William Shakeshafte who had nothing to do with our bard is completely plausible. Further, if Shakespeare were attempting to lay low in the north, it would make little sense that he would adopt a name so similar to his own and use his given first name openly. Why not go for a completely different pseudonym, like Marmaduke Malemayns, Mathusela Cockayne, or Valentine Plymmyswoode? (Note: these are authentic possible Elizabethan name combinations for boys—make of that what you will.)
However, speak
ing of names: Shakespeare’s twins, Hamnet and Judith, were named after his neighbors, Hamnet and Judith Sadler, known to be Catholic. Further, these neighbors seem to have taken on the role of being the children’s godparents, an intimate association that in those days meant at least some spiritual instruction and guidance as part of their duties. This is hardly something that a committed Protestant would want for his offspring.
Scholars who support the Catholic theory have combed Shakespeare’s works for evidence that he might have been communicating Catholic allegiances, and believe that they have found many, especially in those plays that have to do with authority and rebellion, such as Julius Caesar, Hamlet, Titus Andronicus, Romeo and Juliet, and others. In Julius Caesar, for example, Caesar represents Roman authority, and his murder is a rebellion against that authority that throws the Republic into chaos, pitting friends and family against one another, like the Protestant Reformation had done. This could easily be seen as a not-so-subtle endorsement of a return to Catholic rule, and thus, a return to the established order of things. Hamlet features the very important ghost of Hamlet’s father, a figure who has returned to speak from a purgatory-like place; purgatory is not part of Protestant doctrine. The question of whether Shakespeare made use of autobiographical details in the plays is tricky, however (see the section on the authorship controversy below).
Shortly before his death, Shakespeare purchased a large London tenement, the Blackfriars Gatehouse, which had long been used as a hideout for secret Catholics and priests. He paid a good deal of money for it, which may show that he had a real interest in what was (presumably) still going on there.
There is one final bit of evidence, or not. In the mid-eighteenth century, some workers were puttering around in the Shakespeare family home in Stratford and found a curious document in the rafters, a “Last Will of the Soul” apparently written by (or for) John Shakespeare (Will’s dad), in which he declared his adherence to the Catholic faith. It resembled similar declarations known to have been clandestinely used in Elizabethan England. If true, it would be the smoking gun (flintlock pistol?), proving that the family had such religious sympathies, and it would make a good case for Will sharing these beliefs. The problem, of course, is that not everyone believes that this testament is genuine, given how long it took to be found. But if it isn’t, who put it there and why? What would be the point of hiding a forgery in the house, unless someone were trying to frame John and his family? But if that were the case, why stow it away somewhere so obscure that it took more than a century to be discovered? As always with Shakespeare, there are many questions, and the answers sometimes lead to even more questions.
Does any of it even matter? Not really these days, but historically, defining Shakespeare as a Protestant would have been a matter of English national pride and identity, which is perhaps why the theory of his possible Catholicism was for so long resisted—it was considered revolting, almost blasphemous in Victorian times. For centuries, the twin pillars of Anglo-Saxon cultural and linguistic self-respect have been the complete works of Shakespeare and the (very Protestant) King James version of the Bible. To suggest that the source of one of these pillars may have had a stronger allegiance to a spiritual authority in another country would certainly have undermined some of England’s nationalism and Protestantism. Such beliefs became increasingly intertwined after Drake and the elements checked Catholic Spain’s naval power in 1588 and England began to “rule the waves” and set the stage for building an empire. But that is another whole discussion!
The utterly awful Titus Andronicus
Titus Andronicus is one of the bard’s earliest plays, and it is so thoroughly awful, bloody, and disgusting that it deserves its own entry. Really, he wrote nothing like it again, and that’s probably just as well. Its violence and horror scenes are so over the top that it almost comes close to comedy; almost, but not quite. Think of it as sixteenth-century torture porn. It contains (at least) fourteen murders, six dismemberments, one live burial, rape, and cannibalism, all wrapped up in one five-act play. Undoubtedly, it drew inspiration from Kyd’s outrageous and popular Spanish Tragedie, and audiences were certainly thrilled by the blood and gore—seriously, baking people’s heads into a pie? Imagining how some of these scenes might have been portrayed on an Elizabethan stage is actually amusing, so maybe we’re back to comedy after all.
Set in ancient Rome, the play begins with Titus Andronicus returning from a successful ten-year military campaign, but almost immediately, things start to go to hell. He has lost most of his sons but acquired some prisoners: Tamora, the Queen of the Goths, her three sons, and Aaron the Moor, her lover. Titus sacrifices her eldest son, Alarbus, which earns him her unending hatred, and she plots revenge. Improbably, she becomes the new empress to the new emperor, Saturninus, and then she schemes to have two of Titus’s sons framed for murder, after which they are sentenced to death.
She then tells her own sons, Chiron and Demetrius, to rape Titus’s daughter, Lavinia, who endures one of the most appalling fates of any of Shakespeare’s characters. The sons do as their mother asks and then cut off Lavinia’s tongue and hands so that she cannot tell anyone who did it. Aaron then convinces Titus to have his own hand cut off to spare the lives of his sons; Titus agrees, but is later presented with their heads anyway. Titus tells his remaining son, Lucius, to flee from Rome, so Lucius leaves and makes an alliance with the Goths to return and besiege the city. All of this seems to drive Titus mad, and who can blame him? Tamora goes to him in disguise and, pretending to be the spirit of Revenge, offers him vengeance if he will convince Lucius to postpone his attack.
But Titus was only pretending to be insane and succeeds in capturing her sons, killing them by slitting their throats and draining their blood, and then baking their body parts into a pie. In the play’s bloody climax, Titus kills Lavinia, because her shame is too much for him to bear; how thoughtful of him. He then triumphantly reveals to Tamora that she has just eaten her sons in the pie and stabs her with a butcher’s knife. Titus himself is killed by Saturninus in revenge, Lucius kills Saturninus to avenge Titus, and a wholesale bloodbath erupts. Among the survivors are Lucius and Aaron. Lucius becomes the new emperor and has Tamora’s corpse thrown to the wild animals. He then orders Aaron to be buried up to his neck and left to starve to death.
This crazy play may have been Shakespeare’s attempt to cash in on the revenge tragedies that were popular at the time, trying to outdo even the excesses of Kyd’s Spanish Tragedie. Or perhaps he wrote it as a kind of parody and made it as repulsive as possible in a gesture of black humor. The play has been a source of embarrassment for some Shakespeare scholars and advocates over the centuries, hardly being his best work. Some have tried to prove that he didn’t write it at all. It’s also possible that he wasn’t the sole author—he may have collaborated with George Peele (1558–ca. 1598), who was well known for his own bloody dramas; many now agree that Peele wrote parts of act I and act IV. Of the play’s many detractors, T.S. Eliot was one of the most direct when he declared it to be “one of the stupidest and most uninspired plays ever written.”
Shakespeare wouldn’t have been bothered. The play was a hit and its lowbrow nature was very appealing to theatergoers who were always eager for blood, whether real or imaginary. But thankfully, he left behind the revenge tragedy as a genre and moved on to far better things.
The bloodiest moments in Shakespeare’s plays
Even outside of Titus Andronicus, there is no shortage of blood, gore, violence, and other foul deeds in Shakespeare’s plays. In fact, a comprehensive discussion of such violence might make for a book (or at least chapter) in itself. What follows is a list of some of the best (worst?) examples from his plays of the kinds of onstage violence that Elizabethans and Jacobeans reveled in. Brace yourself.
Murders and executions
Claudius (Hamlet, act V, scene 2): Hamlet, realizing that Claudius is behind the treachery that will lead to his own death, stabs Claudius with the poiso
ned blade he wields, and then forces him to drink from a poisoned goblet.
Gertrude (Hamlet, act V, scene 2): Hamlet’s mother, Queen Gertrude, accidentally drinks from the poisoned wine cup meant for Hamlet. Oops.
Polonius (Hamlet, act III, scene 4): Polonius, while spying for Claudius, hides himself behind a curtain in Gertrude’s room in order to eavesdrop on her conversation with her son, Hamlet. Hamlet hears him make a sound and stabs his sword through the curtain as an act of precaution against a possible assassin. Sure enough, he kills the sneaky Polonius.
Julius Caesar (Julius Caesar, act III, scene 1): A group of conspirators believe that Julius Caesar is leading them into tyranny. They surround him and stab him multiple times. As he dies, he utters his famous phrase, “Et tu, Brute!” for even his friend Brutus was among the betrayers.
Duncan (Macbeth, act II, scene 2): Duncan is the rightful king of Scotland and is visiting Macbeth at his castle, Dunsinane, when he is killed. Macbeth, being told that he will be king, murders Duncan with daggers as he sleeps, though the action takes place offstage.
Desdemona (Othello, act V, scene 2): Desdemona has been erroneously accused of adultery by Iago, and Othello, in a jealous rage, smothers her, before realizing his mistake.
Duke of Clarence (Richard III, act I, scene 4): Clarence is arrested on false charges of treason and imprisoned in the Tower of London by his brother, King Richard III. Awakening from a dream in which he drowned, he finds that two of Richard’s henchmen have arrived to kill him. They stab him to death and then thrust him into a cask of sweet wine (which also contains two hogs’ heads) just to be sure that he’s dead. So in a way, he “drowns” after all.
