Shakespeare, page 57
As we have seen, there is a theatrical tradition concerning the role of Henry VIII in All Is True which suggests direct supervision by Shakespeare. It was suggested in the late seventeenth century that the “part of the King was so right and justly done by Mr. Betterton, he being instructed in it by Sir William [Davenant], who had it from old Mr. Lowin, that had his instructions from Master Shakespeare himself.”2 So the line of direction descends as far as John Lowin, who was indeed a member of the King’s Men in the last years of Shakespeare’s life. It seems that Shakespeare coached the then young actor in his penultimate play.
Shakespeare may also have returned to London in the spring of 1615 when he and six others entered a bill of complaint against Matthew Bacon of Gray’s Inn, for withholding the deeds of certain properties in Blackfriars. Yet this is the last possible recorded occasion of his stay in the city. When he returned to Stratford, he would never leave it again.
Since in the first weeks of 1616 he gave instructions for the drawing up of his will, it is likely that he began to suffer from some serious malady; he had given instructions on 18 January, and had arranged to execute it a few days later, but for some reason the appointment was postponed.3 It has been estimated that the usual period between the making of the will and death was approximately two weeks, so Shakespeare may have experienced some form of remission or relief.
The nature of his ill-health, or his disease, has been endlessly debated. There are some who believe that he was suffering from tertiary syphilis, a not uncommon condition in the period and one to which he could undoubtedly have been exposed. Analysis of his final signatures has suggested that he had contracted a malady known as “spastic cramp,” a variant of “scrivener’s palsy” that affected voluminous writers. This would make it impossible for him to write at any length, and would also provide some explanation for his withdrawal from play-writing. Others have suggested that he died of alcoholism. Reference has already been made to the “merry meeting” between Shakespeare, Michael Drayton, and Ben Jonson. It is reported, by the Stratford vicar, that they “drank too hard, for Shakespeare died of a feavour there contracted.”4 This of course need not have been a sign of alcoholism.
Yet the disease may not have been of a degenerative kind at all. It may have seized him suddenly and violently, withdrawing once only to invade him with greater virulence. A seventeenth-century doctor noted that fevers were “especially prevalent in Stratford” and that 1616 was a particularly un-healthful year.5 In the winter of 1615 and 1616 there was an epidemic of influenza; the winter itself had been “warm and tempestuous,” a sure nurse of ague. There was also a small rivulet running past New Place, and it was later proven that these small streams were carriers of typhus. The supposition might then be that he was carried off by typhoid fever. The funeral was held so soon after the death that his fatal illness may have been considered to be contagious.
One reason for the postponement of the execution of the will, however, may have been the imminent marriage of his remaining daughter. Judith Shakespeare was betrothed to one of Shakespeare’s family friends, Thomas Quiney, but in the following month they were excommunicated for having married in Lent without the possession of a special licence. They may have married in haste. It seems that the local vicar had been at fault, but the punishment was reserved for the participants. This was succeeded by worse news, when Quiney was brought before the bawdry court for unlawful copulation with a local girl. The girl herself, Margaret Wheeler, had died in childbirth together with her infant. Mother and child had been buried on 15 March, just a month after the marriage between Quiney and Judith Shakespeare. It must have been common knowledge and local gossip, at the time of the marriage, that a girl made pregnant by Quiney was still living in town and proclaiming the paternity of her child. It was a local disgrace, something of a humiliation touching the family of the Shakespeares, and as a result Shakespeare changed his will by striking out the name of Thomas Quiney.
The will itself was drawn up on 25 March 1616. It has sometimes been suggested that the will has been executed in Shakespeare’s own hand; but this is very unlikely. It was no doubt composed or transcribed by his lawyer, Francis Collins, or by the lawyer’s clerk. A preliminary will had been made in January, but this was now altered. A new first page was substituted, and there were many changes made on the second and third pages. It opens in the conventional manner with the pious declaration that “In the name of god Amen I William Shackspeare … in perfect health & memorie god be praysed doe make & Ordayne this my last will and testamente.” It is not clear that Shakespeare was in perfect health or memory; the evidence of his final signatures suggests a weak and debilitated man.
He deals first with the case of his daughter Judith, who had recently entered such an unsatisfactory marriage with Thomas Quiney. The reference to “my sonne in L[aw]” has been crossed out, and the phrase “daughter Judyth” substituted. He left her £150 on condition that she renounced any claim to the cottage he owned in Chapel Lane close to New Place. This suggests that she and her new husband had been living there. He also bequeathed her a further £150, three years later, if she or any of her heirs were still living. Thomas Quiney could only claim this sum if he gave Judith lands valued at the same amount. It was not a large bequest, at least compared to the largesse bestowed upon her sister, and in equity she could have expected three or four times that amount. It is apparent, therefore, that Shakespeare was in some respects stern or unyielding with his younger daughter.
Shakespeare then left £30, and his clothes, to his sister. Joan Hart was also allowed to stay in Henley Street for a nominal rent, and £5 were left to each of her three sons. Unfortunately Shakespeare forgot the name of one of his nephews. He scarcely refers to his wife, but Anne Shakespeare would have been automatically entitled to one-third of his estate; there was no reason to mention her in an official document. But he does make one provision. As an afterthought in the second draft he added “Item I gyve unto my wief my second best bed with the furniture.” This has aroused much speculation, principally concerned with the burning question why he did not leave her the “best” bed. In fact the “best” bed in the household was that characteristically used by guests. The “second best bed” was that reserved for the marital couple and, as such, is best seen as a testimony to their union. As one cultural historian has put it the marital bed represented “marriage, fidelity, identity itself” and was “a uniquely important possession within the household.”6 The bed may indeed have been an heirloom from the Hathaway farmhouse in Shottery. It may have been the one on which Shakespeare was lying. The fact that he added this bequest as an afterthought suggests the benevolence of his intention. He is unlikely to have wished to snub his wife at the last minute. It is of some interest, however, that he did not feel the slightest need to call his wife by the conventional testamentary phrases of “loving” or “well beloved”; he did not need, or like, conventional sentiments. Nor did he name his wife as his executrix, and instead left everything in the hands of his apparently more capable daughter. Anne Shakespeare may therefore have been incapacitated in some way.
The larger part of his bequest did indeed go to his older daughter, Susannah, and to her husband. They are nominated by Shakespeare as the ones to hold together his estate. He left the Halls “All the rest of my goods Chattels Leases plate Jewels & household stuffe whatsoever.” The “leases” may have included his shares in the Globe and in Blackfriars, if he still in fact retained them. He left his daughter New Place and the two houses in Henley Street as well as the gatehouse in Blackfriars; in addition Shakespeare bequeathed her all the lands that he had gradually purchased over the last few years. The bequest was to be held entire and in turn left to the first male son of the Halls, or to the son of the second son, going down through the generations of males in the putative Shakespearian genealogy. His patriarchal instincts were clear, even though nature thwarted his intentions.
There were other gifts to relatives and to neighbours, as well as the price of three gold rings for three of his colleagues from the King’s Men—Richard Burbage, John Heminges and Henry Condell. Since Heminges and Condell were the begetters of the subsequent Folio edition of his plays, the rings can be considered to be a “forget not” token. It makes it more, rather than less, likely that in Stratford he had been revising his plays for future publication.
He left £10 for the relief of the poor of Stratford, by no means an extravagant sum, and his processional sword to Thomas Combe. It has been considered odd or singular that Shakespeare mentions no books or play-manuscripts in this will, but they may have been included in the “goods” generally inherited by the Halls. They could also have formed part of an inventory that is now lost. In his own will, at a later date, John Hall refers to his “study of Bookes” which were entirely scattered to the winds. There was also a report that Shakespeare’s granddaughter (he had no male heirs) “carried away with her from Stratford many of her grand-father’s papers,”7 but this cannot now be verified.
It is a sensible and business-like document, evincing Shakespeare’s eminently practical temperament. It is true that other early seventeenth-century testators are more effusive in their allusions to family and friends, but they had not spent a lifetime writing plays. When one eighteenth-century antiquary complained that the will was “absolutely void of the least particle of that Spirit which Animated our Great Poet,”8 he forgot that he was dealing with a legal document rather than a work of art. The distinction would not have been lost on Shakespeare himself. He signed the first two sheets of the will “Shakspere,” and the final sheet was completed with the words “By me William Shakspeare.” The surname trails off, as if the hand could hardly hold or direct the pen. These were the last words he ever wrote.
Shakespeare lingered for four weeks from March into April; if he was indeed suffering from typhoid fever, the period is right. He would have experienced insomnia, fatigue and overwhelming thirst which no amount of liquid could reasonably assuage. It is reported from no very reliable source that “he caught his death through leaving his bed when ill, because some of his old friends had called on him.”9 We have had cause to note the belief that “he dyed a Papist,” which may mean that he was given extreme unction according to the old Catholic rite. As death approached, the passing bell was rung in the Stratford church. He died on 23 April and, having been born on the same day, he had just entered his fifty-third year.
He was embalmed and laid upon the bed, wrapped in flowers and herbs in the process known as “winding” the corpse. His friends and neighbours walked solemnly through New Place to view the body; the principal rooms and staircases were draped with black cloths. The corpse was then “watched” until interment. He was wrapped in a linen winding sheet and, two days later, carried down the well-worn “burying path” to the old church. It was sometimes the custom to accompany the burial procession with music. He was said to have been buried at a depth of some 17 feet; this seems a deep pit indeed but it may have been dug out of fear of contagion from the typhus. He was placed beneath the floor of the chancel, beside the north wall, as his status as lay rector and receiver of tithes required. It is likely to have been Shakespeare himself who wrote the epitaph:
GOOD FREND FOR IESVS SAKE FORBEARE,
TO DIGG THE DVST ENCLOASED HEARE!
BLEST BE YE MAN YT SPARES THES STONES,
AND CVRST BE HE YT MOVES MY BONES.
He gave the world his works, and his good fellowship, not his body or his name.
The mourners carried small bunches of rosemary or bay to throw into the grave which, to this day, is visited by thousands of admirers and pilgrims.
CHAPTER 91
To Heare the Story of Your Life
He died as he had lived, without much sign of the world’s attention. When Ben Jonson expired his funeral procession included “all of the nobility and gentry then in the town.”1 Only Shakespeare’s family and closest friends followed his bier to the grave. There were scant tributes paid to his memory by other dramatists, and the commendatory verses in the Folio of 1623 are slight indeed compared to the copious verse epistles on the deaths of Jonson, Fletcher and other fashionable playwrights. There were no books by Shakespeare in Jonson’s library. Shakespeare neither established nor encouraged any school of younger “disciples.”
It was only after half a century that the first biographical notices appeared, and no scholar or critic bothered to discuss Shakespeare with any of his friends or contemporaries. This may preface Emerson’s remark that “Shakspeare is the only biographer of Shakspeare.”2 He is one of those rare cases of a writer whose work is singularly important and influential, yet whose personality was not considered to be of any interest at all. He is obscure and elusive precisely to the extent that nobody bothered to write about him.
Yet the range of Shakespeare’s influence is not hard to discern. More than seventy issues and editions of his work appeared in his lifetime. By 1660 no fewer than nineteen of his plays had been published, and by 1680 there had been three editions of his collected plays. Theatrical reports suggest that, in hard times, the King’s Men supported themselves by replaying Shakespeare’s “old” dramas. Other playwrights, including Massinger and Middleton, Ford and Webster, Beaumont and Fletcher, were drawn to imitate him. Othello and Romeo and Juliet were particularly influential among younger dramatists, and the figures of Hamlet and of Falstaff maintained their theatrical life and presence outside the plays in which they had originally appeared. Shakespeare also seems almost single-handedly to have maintained the status of the revenge tragedy and the romance. He was a hard writer to ignore.
On the occasion of the Shakespeare Jubilee, in the summer of 1769, a painting was hung before the windows of the room where the dramatist was supposed to have been born; it displayed the image of the sun breaking through clouds. It is a wonderful emblem of birth. But it also suggests revival and return. If at a later date that sun had shone through another window of the house in Henley Street its rays would have been refracted through a score of different names, where distinguished nineteenth-century visitors had scratched or scored their signatures upon the glass. Among them are Sir Walter Scott, and Thomas Carlyle, William Makepeace Thackeray and Charles Dickens, all of them registering the fact that they were shining within the light of Shakespeare himself.
The Folio or collected volume of his plays followed some seven years after his death. It was assembled by two of his fellows, John Heminges and Henry Condell, and was dedicated to the two Pembroke brothers. The Earl of Pembroke was Lord Chamberlain and the direct superior of the Master of the Revels. It served its purpose very well, and was for three centuries believed to represent the Shakespearian “canon” of thirty-six plays with the notable exclusion of certain collaborative ventures such as Pericles (later added) and The Two Noble Kinsmen. The fact that a list of the actors was added at the beginning suggests that this was as much a theatrical as a literary celebration. It may have been the subject of discussion among Shakespeare and his colleagues before his death, and it is even possible that some of the plays were printed from a revised transcript by the playwright himself. Many of them, however, are in the hand of a professional scrivener named Ralph Crane who was often employed by the theatrical companies. The volume is adorned by the Droeshout engraving of the dramatist, which is indeed the only generally accepted likeness of William Shakespeare.
Acknowledgements
For ease of reference I have quoted line numbers from The Complete Works, Original-Spelling Edition, published by Oxford University Press (1986), easily the best modern edition of Shakespeare’s plays. I would also like to express my obligation and gratitude to its editors, Stanley Wells and Gary Taylor, for providing the closest possible transcription of Shakespeare’s printed words.
I would like to register a more private debt to my assistants, Thomas Wright and Murrough O’Brien, for their help in research and elucidation.
I would also like to thank Katherine Duncan-Jones and Jenny Overton for their invaluable suggestions and emendations and my editor, Penelope Hoare, for her patient work upon the typescript. All surviving errors are, of course, my own.
Notes
Chapter One
1 Quoted in David Cressy: Birth, Marriage and Death, page 81.
2 Jeanne Jones: Family Life in Shakespeare’s England, page 93.
3 Robert Bearman (ed.): The History of an English Borough, page 92.
Chapter Two
1 Richard Wilson: Will Power: Essays on Shakespearian Authority, page 71.
2 ibid.
3 ibid.
Chapter Four
1 Caroline Spurgeon: Shakespeare’s Imagery, page 93.
2 ibid., page 98.
3 Jeanne Jones: Family Life in Shakespeare’s England, page 22.
4 ibid, page 33.
5 Keith Wrightson: English Society 1580-1680, page 149.
Chapter Five
1 Quoted in E.K. Chambers: William Shakespeare: A Study of Facts and Problems, Volume Two, page 247.
2 Quoted in Samuel Schoenbaum: Shakespeare’s Lives, page 5.
