Praise for Newton Frohlich
The Shakespeare Mask: A Novel
Winner of the Benjamin Franklin Gold Award in Historical Fiction
“A clever and imaginative merging of fact and fiction … Will no doubt win over legions of readers with Frohlich’s appreciation of Oxford as a flesh-and-blood man of the Renaissance—and the author of the Shakespeare canon.”
—Richard F. Whalen, author of Shakespeare: Who Was He?
“Frohlich makes the history of the period come alive and makes a convincing case for De Vere’s identity as the true author of Shakespeare’s work. But more importantly, he makes it a good tale—worthy of one of the finest writers in history whether De Vere is truly the man or not.”
—My Reader’s Block book blog
1492: The World of Christopher Columbus
St. Martin’s Press
“Captivating, extraordinarily vivid first novel … Frohlich, an attorney, spent eight years researching his book and brings remarkable realism to his chilling depiction of the fanaticism fueling the Inquisition … This is a convincing, detailed re-creation of the Old World on the brink of discovery.
—Publisher’s Weekly
“Frohlich … shows a fine gift for storytelling, and his recounting of the horrors of the Inquisition are striking. Columbus himself emerges as a man of great talent with an almost mystical self-confidence … The sheer power of the historical events is likely to keep the reader engaged.”
—Booklist
“1492 is a novel. And a very fine one … Newton Frohlich labored for eight years in the creation of this well-spun tale … Impressive scholarship supports Frohlich’s fiction … I read this excellent novel until the wee hours several nights successively until the final page. The presence of terror is keenly conveyed. The sense of injustice is breathtaking. The characters of queen and inquisitor and explorer take form and walk the pathways of your mind.”
—National Catholic Reporter
“A rollicking, readable, and fascinating story … For a grand, sweeping tale of the history of Spain at the end of the 15th century, 1492 is hard to beat.”
—St. Louis Post Dispatch
THE SHAKESPEARE MASK
Copyright © 2014 Newton Frohlich. New Revised Edition 2015.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
BLUE BIRD PRESS
195 King Philip Rd.
Wellfleet, MA 02667-0940
www.NewtonFrohlich.com
978-0-9960484-3-9 (trade paperback)
978-0-9960484-4-6 (e-book)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2015940165
Book design by Morgana Gallaway
For foreign and translation rights, contact Nigel J. Yorwerth
E-mail: [email protected]
This book is a work of fiction. Apart from the well-known historical figures, locales, and incidents featured in this book, the names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Table of Contents
Preface to the Second Edition
Part One: Earl John
Part Two: Sir William Cecil
Part Three: The Queen
Part Four: Italy
Part Five: Plays
Part Six: The Mask
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
For Martha
And in Her Majesty’s time … are sprung up another crew of Courtly makers, Noblemen and Gentlemen of Her Majesty’s own servants, who have written excellently well as it would appear if their doings could be found out and made public with the rest, of which number is first that noble gentleman Edward Earl of Oxford.
George Puttenham
The Arte of English Poesie
London, 1589
Preface to the Second Edition
His father owned more land in England than any other nobleman, and his title was the oldest and most venerated. Yet his father sent him away to live with a tutor because he feared for his son’s life as well as his own.
The fears were well founded. When the boy was twelve, his father was murdered and he was forced to move again—this time to the mansion of Queen Elizabeth’s prime minister, where he became a brilliant student, learned to be a courtier, and was compelled to marry the prime minister’s daughter.
After graduating from Oxford and Cambridge, this promising young nobleman began writing plays about England’s kings. But to him, Italy was the center of playwriting, and he was determined to live there. En route to Italy, the happy earl drafted two comedies. When he arrived in Venice and met merchants and Jews, he started a play about them. In Verona he drafted two more plays, one about two gentlemen, the other about two ill-starred young lovers from warring families. In Mantua he studied playwriting and fell in love with a courtesan. Together they traveled to Sicily, where he had difficulty coming up with a title for the play he was writing there. He ended up calling it Much Ado about Nothing.
On the way back to Venice, his boat was caught in a tempest. He and his companions found refuge on a strange island that inspired another play. Then on to Rome, which gave rise to plays about Roman generals, and to Padua, where he wrote a comedy about a wife who was a shrew.
When he returned to England, the queen arranged for his plays to be presented in the palace. He acquired acting companies so that his plays could also be produced for the public. But always he wrote anonymously. As the premier nobleman of England, it would have been considered improper for him to do otherwise. To further preserve his anonymity, he hired a barely literate glove-maker from Stratford who agreed to be his “mask.”
The mask’s name was William Shakespeare. The playwright and poet behind the mask was Edward de Vere, seventeenth Earl of Oxford. Or so I have dramatized in The Shakespeare Mask, a work of fiction.
Is there any proof that the Earl of Oxford wrote the works that have long been attributed to Shakespeare? No, but neither is there any definitive proof that Shakespeare wrote them. There is certainly a strong case to be made in favor of the earl, however.
Fifteen years ago, I was reading about the authorship of the works of Shakespeare and I discovered that the man from Stratford left nothing in writing—not a script, not a draft of a script, not a diary, not even a personal letter. The only writing we have in his hand are six signatures on his Last Will and Testament and on a mortgage. As I delved into these puzzling facts, I learned that the authorship of the works of Shakespeare had been in doubt from the moment they were attributed to a man by that name—and for good reason.
More research uncovered that the Stratford man had no schooling except possibly a few years in a one-room schoolhouse in Stratford and that he left that school when he was twelve to work for his father, who made gloves and other leather goods. Yet the plays and poems of Shakespeare are some of the most complicated and sophisticated ever written. They draw on extensive knowledge of English, Greek, and Roman history, not to mention the topography, customs, and language of Italy.
On the other hand, Edward de Vere was tutored by the leading Renaissance scholar in England, graduated from both Oxford and Cambridge, read law at the Inns of Court, and traveled throughout Europe. Not only that, but when Edward lived for over a year in Italy he made Venice his base and traveled to Padua, Verona, Mantua, Rome, and Sicily. All of those places are settings for well-known plays of Shakespeare. In addition, Hamlet, Othello, and All’s Well That Ends Well, among other plays, are largely autobiographical of Edward’s life.
Now it all made sense. One-third of
the plays of Shakespeare are set in Italy: the Earl of Oxford lived there; the Stratford man did not. The Earl of Oxford had an intense and sophisticated education through books and travel: the Stratford man did not.
I traveled the routes in England, France, and Italy that the Earl of Oxford took to write his plays. I studied the social climate that required him to write anonymously. I examined his financial wherewithal to see if he had the resources to spend a lifetime writing at least thirty-seven plays, two long narrative poems, and many of the world’s most beautiful sonnets. As one of the richest men in England, he did indeed.
In doubting the identity of the man who wrote some of the greatest plays and poems in the English language, I am in good company. Mark Twain, Charles Dickens, Herman Melville, Henry James, Royal Shakespeare Company actors (including Sir John Gielgud), a British prime minister, five United States Supreme Court justices, and thousands of others have had doubts about Will. In fact, most people who have studied the subject and who do not assume that the Stratford man was Shakespeare have concluded that the author of this astounding corpus of work was Edward de Vere, the seventeenth Earl of Oxford.
Although much has been written about who the real author of Shakespeare’s works might be from a scholarly perspective, I felt compelled to tell this story as a novel. I wanted to describe and bring alive the intriguing intersection of the life of the Earl of Oxford and the works attributed to “Shakespeare” in the context of those enthralling Elizabethan times. The result is The Shakespeare Mask.
As I conducted my research, I came to know a brilliant, unpredictable, altogether astonishing man. Telling his story has been a great pleasure—never more so than in places where, as I have imagined it, the plays come into the historic story. I hope you will enjoy Edward de Vere as much as I have. Perhaps at last the Earl of Oxford will have justice. In the sixteenth century his authorship had to be anonymous, but in the twenty-first century it need not be.
Newton Frohlich
Time is like a fashionable host
That slightly shakes his parting guest
by th’ hand,
And with his arms outstretched
as he would fly,
Grasps in the comer.
Shakespeare
Troilus and Cressida
On a cold December night in 1554, John de Vere, the sixteenth Earl of Oxford, steered his wife through the crowded courtyard of Hedingham Castle. Grown men knelt to kiss his hand, women curtsied and held out small gifts as he made his way toward the keep.
“Earl John!” a farmer called out. “Please, save us!”
“All will be well,” Earl John said. “All will be well.” He glanced back toward the gate. Hundreds more were camped out there, a count he based on the campfires scattered across the surrounding hills.
Someone jostled him. He whipped around as his hand flew to his sword. But it was just another farmer.
Earl John tightened his grip on Margery’s arm and kept walking.
A pig roasting in the courtyard bonfire reminded him of last week’s hunt. He’d spent the whole day teaching his four-year-old son to hold a bow and arrow. That night a wild boar had invaded his camp—John skewered the animal with a flimsy French rapier he found on the ground. Edward, of course, was awestruck.
Would that all his problems were so easily solved.
His biggest one had come about because of Mary, damn her. He’d supported her claim to the throne, but then she announced her intention to marry the king of Spain and force a return to Catholicism. He wouldn’t have it! Certainly not for the few parcels of land she said she’d return. He already owned more than a hundred tracts, a mansion in London, not to mention God knows how many castles, priories, and abbeys all over England.
Now the rebellion against Mary had exploded. Robin Dudley, a Protestant nobleman, had marked Earl John for assassination. He sighed and looked at the villagers standing about in their sheepskin coats, all of them looking to him for their salvation.
“Mr. Christmas!” he shouted to his clerk. “More food, firewood, and beer for these good folk.”
Earl John waved and resumed his walk to the keep. It was up to him to preserve the Oxford name, property, and titles—a legacy that went back five hundred years. And tonight could be his last chance.
He peered up at the walls of the keep that towered eight stories high. A servant said little Edward liked to watch his father through the archers’ slits. He saw a flicker of light and smiled. Good—perhaps his son had learned another lesson about how an earl treats his people.
Once the keep’s massive wooden doors were bolted behind him, Earl John threw himself into a chair near the great hall’s trestle table and ordered three cups of warm wine. He and Margery were sipping their drinks when her stepbrother, a Cambridge don of about fifteen, joined them. Earl John waved him into the third chair.
“Welcome, Arthur.”
Arthur Golding kissed his stepsister, shook Earl John’s hand—the young scholar’s was clammy—and set his book on the table. Earl John picked it up: a collection of Calvin’s Protestant sermons. He tossed the book back to the table and signaled to a servant, who ladled soup into bowls for the three of them and left.
Earl John got right to the point. “What did Cecil say?”
“Smith has agreed!” Arthur beamed. “He’s said he’ll take Edward at your convenience.”
Margery looked up from her soup. “Take him where?”
Earl John glanced at his brother-in-law. “Where will they stay?”
“Smith lives in South Buckinghamshire,” Arthur said.
“Good,” Earl John said. “Not a Dudley for miles.”
Margery’s eyes moved from her husband to her stepbrother and back. “Milord, please,” she said. “What’s going on?”
Earl John inspected his soup as if he’d just discovered barley. After a long moment, he looked up to his wife. “We must move Edward to a safer place, so I asked your stepbrother to make inquiries about his staying in the home of Sir Thomas Smith.”
“But he’s only four—”
“He’ll be five in a few weeks. Did we not decide to employ a tutor when he turned seven? What’s two years?”
“But—”
Earl John slammed his fist on the table. “When I want your opinion I’ll ask for it. Until then, be silent.” He turned to Arthur. “What other news?”
“The queen’s burning Protestants again. She’s even exhuming dead bodies and adding their bones to the fire. They also say she imprisoned Lady Elizabeth.”
“Arthur, are you sure Smith’s suitable for Edward?”
“Sir Thomas Smith has not only mastered law, history and Greek and Roman literature, he speaks Latin, Greek, Hebrew, Spanish, Italian, and French. At twenty-seven, he held the first chair in civil law at Cambridge. They made him vice chancellor when he was thirty, and he was so successful at it that they made him master of requests for King Edward’s protector.”
“King Edward’s protector was a thief.”
“But he bought Smith a mansion, which cost four hundred pounds. They say it overlooks the Thames and has a splendid view of Windsor Castle. On a clear day you can see St. Paul’s.”
“If Smith’s so smart, why’s he tutoring a five-year-old?”
“He is smart. He’s not terribly … diplomatic.”
Earl John snorted.
“Queen Mary said she was forced to fire him,” Arthur said. “Though still she gave him a pension.”
“How much?”
“Ten pounds a year.”
“That’s nothing,” Earl John said. “You said Edward was too young for a Latin tutor, but he needs male company, so I’m sending Fowle as well.”
Margery half-rose from her seat. “My lord—”
“Margery, sit.”
She sat.
“Didn’t I tell you to keep quiet?”
She slumped in her chair. Arthur patted her hand.
“I can’t wait to see Smith’s library,” he sa
id. “He has four hundred books, forty or fifty in English and the rest in Greek and Latin. History, philosophy, drama, rhetoric. He invented a new way to pronounce Greek and he’s also a wordsmith. They say he’s determined that England shall have a language everyone can speak.”
“If he makes a scene, he’ll call attention to Edward.”
“Earl John, he’s just the man to direct the education of the future Earl of Oxford. And Sir Thomas is not only a brilliant scholar, he’s close to Cecil as well—the man who’ll govern England once Lady Elizabeth is queen.”
Earl John smiled.
“My Edward is a remarkable boy. Last week, he memorized all the letters of the alphabet. This week he memorized the numbers.” He put down his spoon. “I’ll summon Lewyn.”
Arthur sat back. “Who?”
“Servant of mine. Flemish fellow. Edward took a liking to him, so I made him his companion. Christian name’s William—well, not exactly Christian, I suppose. Lewyn’s a Jew. Must be a hundred of them in London now, even if it is against the law.”
Earl John called to a servant. “Bring in Lewyn.” He turned back to Arthur. “I want Edward to speak French, Italian, Spanish, German, and Dutch in addition to Greek and Latin. With all the talk about routes to the Orient, languages are England’s future. I also want him to speak proper English, not some bloody backwater dialect.” He turned to Margery. “Lewyn will escort Edward under strict orders not to let the boy out of his sight. He’ll sleep at the foot of his bed, taste his food, watch him like a hawk.”
She bit her lip and nodded.
“Earl John,” Arthur said, “may I accompany Edward as well? I’d like to meet Smith.”
“Fine, but no one else. I don’t want a crowd drawing attention to him. If someone kidnapped Edward …”
Margery looked up. “No guards?”
“Arthur will take a sword—that is, if he knows how to use one—and Lewyn will carry a pistol. Arthur, I want you to dress in the clothes of a peasant. Edward, Lewyn, and Fowle, too.”
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