Tell Tale: Short Stories

“What about Marlowe?” another voice demanded.

“Christopher Marlowe was unquestionably one of the leading playwrights of the day, but in 1593 he was killed in a bar-room brawl, so—”

“What does that prove?” Yet another voice.

“That he couldn’t have written Richard II, Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet, or Twelfth Night, all of which were penned after Marlowe’s death.”

“Some say Marlowe wasn’t killed, but to escape the law went to live in France, where he wrote the plays, sent them back to England, and allowed his friend Shakespeare to take the credit.”

“For those who indulge in conspiracy theories, that rates alongside believing the moon landings were set up in a TV studio somewhere in Nebraska.”

“The same doesn’t apply to the Earl of Oxford.” Another voice.

“Edward de Vere, the seventeenth Earl of Oxford, was unquestionably a well-educated and accomplished scholar, but unfortunately he died in 1604, so he couldn’t have written Othello, Macbeth, Coriolanus, or King Lear, arguably Shakespeare’s greatest work.”

“Unless Oxford wrote them before his death.” The same voice.

“There can’t be many playwrights who, having written nine masterpieces, then leave them to languish in their bottom drawer and forget to mention them to anyone, including the producers and theater owners of the day, one of whom, Edward Parsons, we know paid Shakespeare six pounds for Hamlet, because the British Museum has the receipt to prove it.”

“Henry James, Mark Twain, and Sigmund Freud wouldn’t agree with you.” Another voice.

“Neither would Orson Welles, Charlie Chaplin, or Marilyn Monroe,” said Dr. Burbage, “and perhaps more interesting, they were unable to agree with one another.”

One young man had the grace to laugh.

“Can Francis Bacon be dismissed quite so easily? After all, he was born before Shakespeare, and died after him, so at least the dates fit.”

“Which is about the only thing that does,” said Dr. Burbage. “However, I acknowledge without question that Bacon was a true Renaissance man. What we would today call a polymath. A talented writer, an able lawyer, and a brilliant philosopher, who ended up as Lord Chancellor of England during the reign of King James I. But the one thing Bacon doesn’t seem to have managed during his busy career was to write a play, let alone thirty-seven.”

“Then how do you explain that Shakespeare left school at fourteen, was not well versed in Latin, and somehow managed to write Hamlet without visiting Denmark, not to mention half a dozen plays set in Italy, having never set foot outside of England?”

“Only five of Shakespeare’s plays are set in Italy,” she said, landing her first blow. “And scholars also accept that neither Marlowe nor Oxford, or even Bacon, ever visited Denmark.” Which seemed to send her recalcitrant pupils into retreat, allowing her to add, “However, the distinguished satirist, Jonathan Swift, who was born a mere fifty years after Shakespeare’s death, put it so much better than I could:

When a true genius appears in the world, you may know him by this sign, that the dunces are all in confederacy against him.”

As that seemed to silence them, Dr. Burbage felt she had won the first skirmish, but suspected the battalions were reforming before they launched an all-out attack.

“How important is it to have a good knowledge of the text?” asked someone who at least had the courtesy to raise a hand so she could identify him.

“Most important,” said Dr. Burbage, “but not as important as being able to interpret the meaning of the words, so you have a better understanding of the text.”

Assuming the battle was over, she returned to her lecture notes. “During this semester, I shall require you all to read one of the history plays, a comedy and a tragedy, and at least ten sonnets. Although you may make your own selection, I shall expect you, by the end of term, to be able to quote at length from the plays and sonnets you have chosen.”

“If we were to, between us, select every play and every sonnet, could you also quote at length from the entire canon?” The first voice again.

Dr. Burbage looked down at the names on the seating plan in front of her and identified Mr. Robert Lowell, whose grandfather had been a former president of Yale.

“I consider myself familiar with most of Shakespeare’s work, but like you, Mr. Lowell, I am still learning,” she said, hoping this would keep him in his place.

Lowell immediately stood, clearly the leader of the rebels. “Then perhaps you would allow me to test that claim, Dr. Burbage.” And before she could tell the young man to sit down and stop showing off, he added, “Shall we begin with something easy?

Our revels now are ended. These our actors,

As I foretold you, were all spirits and

Are melted into air, into thin air.

And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,