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Histoire et secret à la Renaissance

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François Laroque

3. Shakespeare et le secret

Ghostly Fathers: Shakespeare’s Equivocation

Richard Wilson

Résumé

L’histoire des années perdues que Shakespeare passa dans le Lancashire catholique, à laquelle E. K. Chambers fut le premier à s’intéresser et qu’Ernest Honigmann a maintenant reconstituée, fait apparaître le contraste étonnant qui oppose Shakespeare aux autres dramaturges élisabéthains: tous sans exception ont gravité autour des institutions métropolitaines des Universités et de Londres. Une telle différence devait avoir des conséquences majeures dans l’œuvre théâtrale de l’homme de Stratford, ainsi située en dehors du telos de la révélation et de la manifestation qui, dans l’œuvre de ses rivaux citadins, définit un espace public de “lumières”. L’opacité notoire du “roi des ombres” semble au contraire se rattacher à une culture du secret et de la fuite, semblable à celle des catholiques anglais, loyaux mais divisés, ceux qu’on appelait les papistes d’Église. Car la trajectoire professionnelle de Shakespeare l’aurait conduit à suivre un itinéraire bien différent, quoique finalement non moins illustre, si la campagne de conversion des Jésuites qui l’avait amené dans le Lancashire avait réussi. Des documents passionnants récemment mis à jour établissent l’existence de liens entre le jeune Shakespeare et ce mouvement clandestin; mais, après le démantèlement de celui-ci par les services secrets élisabéthains, Shakespeare se trouva détourné de la route qui le menait droit au martyre glorieux que tant de gens subirent dans son cercle, pour aboutir à cette existence d’auteur fantomatique qu’on lui connaît désormais.

Texte intégral

  • 1 Francis Bacon, “Of the True Greatness of Kingdoms and Estates”, The Essaye, ed. John Pitcher, Harm (...)
  • 2 Ifor Evans & Heather Lawrence, Christopher Saxton: Elizabethan Map-Maker, Wakefield: Wakefield His (...)
  • 3 A. G. Dickens, The English Reformation, London: Batsford, 1964, p. 312.
  • 4 Joseph Gillow, Lord Purghler’s Map of Lancashire in 1590, London: Arden Press & Catholic Records S (...)

1William Cecil, Lord Burghley, was obsessed wlth visual aids. In his chambers, Queen Elizabeth’s Lord Treasurer was equipped wlth the latest graphic techniques to represent panoptic power, and educated his nephew, Francis Bacon, in the moral of the modem prince: that “the greatness of a State in bulk and territory doth fall under measure and its finances under computation. Population may appear by musters and the number and greatness of cities by maps or cards”1. With his docks, globes, charts of France, and murals of European towns, Cecil was the grey eminence of this new science of invisible surveillance, and power at one remove was the darker purpose of the project he sponsored between 1574 and 1579: Christopher Saxton’s survey of English counties, which he assembled in proof and annotated for his secretariat. With their unprecedented combination of field observation and typographic detail, Saxton’s charts amply Justify Marshall McLuhan’s thesis that in the age of Mercator “the map was key to a new vision of the peripheries of power”2; but in 1590 the spymaster commanded his cartographer to sharpen focus on one of the most remote of all limits of Elizabethan empire. The map of Lancashire he ordered from Saxton that year plotted a mental as well as geographical divide, since it pinpointed the houses of recusants in the most Catholic of English shires. Here in diagrammatic form, historians believe, Cecil imagined his worst nightmare: “with one arrow stretching from Spain to Ireland, a second from Ireland to Lancashire, and a third from Lancashire to London”3. As he sat in his clockwork planetarium, the old minister therefore scored with an ominous cross the name of every Catholic under suspicion; but in the centre, at Hoghton Tower, he wrote only that its owner, Thomas Hoghton, was “the fugitive”. The legend of this outlaw from a Protestant State is significant, because it was in his Tower, with its fenced and forested park, that the young Shakespeare is said to have passed his mysterious “lost years”4:

  • 5 Joseph Gillow, The Haydock Papers: a Glimpse into English Catholic Life, London: Burns & Oates, 18 (...)

At Hoghton high, which is a bower
Of sports and lordly pleasure,
I wept and left the lofty tower
Which was my chiefest treasure.
To save my soul and lose the rest
It was my true pretence;
Like frighted bird, I left my nest
To keep my conscience5.

  • 6 William Allen, A True, Sincere and Modest Defence of English Catholics, London: 1584; repr. London (...)
  • 7 Quoted, Elliot Rose, Cases of Conscience: Alternatives open to Recusants and Puritans under Elizab (...)
  • 8 Stephen Greenblatt, Renaissance Self-Fashioning: From More to Shakespeare, Chicago: Chicago Univer (...)
  • 9 Beckingsale, op. cit. (note 3), p. 126.

2The story of Thomas Hoghton, who saved his soul but lost the world, is told in a ballad, “The Blessed Conscience”, attributed to his faithful steward, Roger Anderton. It tells how “the fugitive” sailed from Lancashire during the last Catholic rebellion, the doomed rising of the northern earls, in the winter of 1569. A founder of the English seminary at Douai, Hoghton died at Liège in 1580, but his fame lived on, with that of his son Thomas, a priest executed in Salford gaol, as a model of the pure in heart: “His life a mirror was to all, His death without offence; / Confessor, then, let us him call, / Of blessed conscience”. Hoghton’s “blessed conscience” in fact reflected the militancy of the Counter-Reformation, expounded by his guest at Hoghton, the President of Douai, Cardinal Allen, when he asserted that “the temporal State” has no claim over “our soul’s health”6. The first to defy English law with this doctrine was the jurist Edmund Plowden, who on the eve of the rising refused the endorsement of the Prayer Book demanded by ministers as a test of loyalty, pleading “scruple of conscience”7. Forged between the Catholic confessional and Protestant Prayer Book, Hoghton’s conscience thus confirms Stephen Greenblatt’s dating of English self-fashioning to the clash of two rival Systems of inwardness, when a modern subjectivity is being shaped even as “traditional examination of conscience by virtue of the Church’s power of the keys is bitterly renounced”8. By fleeing his castle and county for the continent and confessional, Hoghton was prostrating before the papal absolutism that would in 1570 declare Elizabeth excommunicated and deposed; but he left a perilous predicament for his heirs. In the words of the ballad, it “made his conscience sad” when his family paid lawyers a fortune to ensure he “should not come home again”, but their excuse was Cecil’s resolve to “attaint and try” the rebels for treason, so “the Queen shall have forfeiture of their land”9. In the absence of “the fugitive” Hoghton Tower was locked in legal limbo, the true loyalty of its inheritors an enigma to the crown:

At Hoghton where I used to rest
Of men I had great store,
Full twenty gentlemen at least,
Of yeomen good three score!
And of them all, I brought but two
With me, when I came thence.
I left them, all the world knows how,
To keep my conscience.

  • 10 Christopher Haigh, Reformation and Resistance in Tudor Lancashire, Cambridge: Cambridge University (...)
  • 11 Ibid., pp. 222-223.
  • 12 Ibid., pp. 52-53.
  • 13 Ibid., pp. 46-47.

3Thomas Hoghton’s conscience was “blessed” precisely because he was so conspicuous amongst his peers. As the historian of Tudor Lancashire, Christopher Haigh, has written, what was notable about this county was that in 1569 it did not follow Hoghton into resistance, but took its lead instead from its overlord, the Earl of Derby, who “played a game at which he excelled, waiting to gauge the strength of the opposing forces before throwing in his lot with the stronger”10. So, though the Spanish ambassador had predicted that the whole county would rise since it was so Catholic; and the Queen herself feared its disaffection was “as we hear not of the like in any other parts”11; it was the very conservatism of Lancashire which assured its acquiescence in the status quo. Outside the purview of the Council of the North, the palatinate of Lancaster was an appendage to the English nation-state, the patrimony of John of Gaunt, which had preserved semi-independence and a homage System investing power in a handful of lords who bore the names of their land and gave them to their clans. It was this seigneurialism which fuelled the disorder of a shire with the highest proportion of soldiers in England, where “those at the top of the hierarchy maintained their authority by violence and intimidation”, and as the Earl of Derby warned in 1581, a dynasty like the Poghtons was “so great in kindred… and so stored with friends as if they should be burned in the hand” they would create such “a ceaseless and most dangerous quarrel… as any county hath this many years contained”12. And it was also feudalism which made Lancastrians “this so unbridled and bad an handful of England”, as Lord Strange depicted his countrymen in 1583, since “the detestable crimes of adultery, incest and fornication” were as intrinsic to its extended familles as child-marriages. Thomas Hoghton’s father, Sir Richard, typified this “blindness and whoredom” in keeping four mistresses and siring numerous bastards who shared in his estate13; so when Tudor ministers looked north-west what they feared was not so much “the fugitive” as their reliance on his kin.

  • 14 Francis Bacon, The Works of Francis Bacon, ed. James Spedding, 14 vols., London: Macmillan, 1857-1 (...)
  • 15 Acts of the Privy Council, Vol. 8, pp. 276-7; Adrian Morey, The Catholic Subjects of Elizabeth I, (...)

4“Where be thy tenants and thy followers? […] / Are they not now upon the western shore, / Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships?” (Richard III, IV.5.411-413): Richard’s doubts about Derby before Bosworth condense in one of Shakespeare’s earliest texts the misgivings over Lancashire of successive English kings. For if the playwright exaggerated the rôle of the Stanleys as power-brokers, what he grasped was the equivocalness of the Duchy’s magnates towards a régime they would aid, in 1485, in the 1536 Pilgrimage of Grace, and in 1569, to their “best advantage”, lurking not “too forward” but on the side in “this doubtful shock of arms” (Richard III, IV.4.480-482; V.3.93-95). Cecil’s map expresses this marginality by turning “the western shore” to the top, defining the Coastal delta as the most benighted of all “dark corners of the land”. Again, it was “the power of the gentry”, in Bacon’s view, that was a “chief danger of the good subject here”, since it was where feudalism held that Catholicism survived”14. Economically archaic, sparsely populated, and exempt from the Queen’s writ, the wetlands of west Lancashire had resisted the Reformation more stubbornly than any region, and were identified in Madrid as well as London as the beachhead for the armada. In the words of a 1574 Privy Council memorandum, this was “the very sink of popery, where more unlawful acts are committed and more unlawful persons held secret than in any other part of the realm”. Here mass had been sung on private estates and statues dressed in lonely chapels by an underground of “popish and perverse priests”, the Marian or Old clergy, who “misliking religion”, it was said in 1564, “have forsaken the ministry to live in corners, being kept in gentlemen’s houses, and held in great esteem by the people”15. In 1571 more than fifty of these Old priests were still practicing “predictions, divinations, sorceries, charmings and enchantments” in the area, eighteen of whom were presented for drunkenness or lechery. A “dicer, carder… hawker and hunter”, the Old priest remained a folk hero in Lancashire, and the charisma of the vicar of Whalley, who taught that Anglican communion was a mere dole of bread and wine, explains why he outraged the reformers:

  • 16 Haigh, op. cit. (note 10), pp. 240-241.

A common drunkard, and such an ale-knight as the like is not in our parish, who in the night when most men be in bed is in the alehouse with a company like himself, but not one of whom can match him in ale-house tricks, for he will, when he cannot discern black from blue, dance with a full cup on his head, far surpassing all the rest16.

  • 17 Ibid., pp. 219 & 222.
  • 18 F.R. Raines (ed.), A Description of the State, Civil and Ecclesiastical, of the County of Lancaste (...)
  • 19 Haigh, op. cit. (note 10), pp. 219 & 248.
  • 20 George Gifford, A Dialogue between a Papist and a Protestant, applied to the capacity of the unlea (...)
  • 21 Raines, op. cit. (note 18), p. 4.
  • 22 Sir Benjamin Rudyerd speaking in the House of Commons in 1628, quoted Hill, op. cit. (note 14), pp (...)

5While Thomas Hoghton bared his confessing soul, his Lancashire kin were happy to dance behind their priest with a tankard on his head. Protected by such leaders, theirs was a religion of outward observance, where piety was manifested with bells, candies, rushbearing or holy water, and people were used to “signing themselves with the cross in every action, even when they gape”17. As reformers bemoaned, this popular catholicism was impervious to evangelism because “Those that seem to be reformed behave so unconformably: withdrawing to the farthest part of the church in private prayers; talking… and departing when Service is half done; Crossing their breast with beads closely handled, or remaining in the churchyard, from whence stones are thrown and many a clamorous noise given out to the disquieting of the congregation”18. In these backwoods where altar cloths or icons were hidden in so many homes, open recusancy was never necessary, Haigh shows, as “Those who did not appreciate the services could stuff their ears with wool and concentrate on their rosaries”, or signify defiance by bellowing Latin psalms at the tops of their voices”19. Lancashire was the heartland, that is to say, of the church papists, first characterised in a puritan polemic of 1582 as “Papists who keep their conscience to themselves and yet go to church”, and in a recent survey as those “who responded prudently to the re-established Church of England” by nominal attendance while “adhering tenaciously to the faith in which they had been baptised”20. Such were the squires who avoided church “except for one Sunday before the assizes”, or the labourers who caused “notorious disorder” with their “tumultuous” appearance once a year at Easter. But they were also the temporising majority of Lancastrians, according to informers, whose lip-service was paid with a “scornful laughing countenance”21. If rebellion was futile, the two-faced natives of the “uttermost skirts of the North” could still chant their “spells and charms” while the organ drowned out the preacher, as ignorant of the true God, according to one M.P., as the Indians of Virginia22.

  • 23 Haigh, op. cit. (note 10), p. 265.
  • 24 E. E. Chambers, “William Shakeshafte”, Shakespearean Gleanings, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1 (...)
  • 25 Ibid., pp. 3-4 et passim. For John Weever, see chap. 5.

6Shakespearean Lancashire was infamous as the poorest and most primitive county in England, a wild west which was “lamentable to behold”, in the eyes of southerners, because of the violence and immorality of its people23. Yet what made this rain-washed coastline such a challenge to London was not so much its lawlessness as its potential as a bridgehead of the Counter-Reformation, and it was as such a half-way house that Lancashire may have figured in Shakespeare’s intellectual formation, since he travelled there as young as the age of sixteen, according to E.K. Chambers, around 1580. The theory, first aired in an article of 1944, that the author is identifiable with William Shakeshafte, a player kept by the Hoghtons, was expanded by Ernst Honigmann in his 1985 book, Shakespeare: the “ost years”, and appears substantiated. It does so because of Honigmann’s discovery that John Cottom, the Stratford schoolmaster from 1579, belonged to Lancashire gentry who were tenants and relatives of the Hoghtons24. Cottom and Shakeshafte were legatees when Alexander Hoghton, the head of the family, made his will on August 3 1581, bequeathing his stock of theatre costumes and musical instruments to his brother, and enjoining his neighbour, Sir Thomas Hesketh, “to be friendly unto Fulke Gillam and William Shakeshafte now dwelling with me, and either take them into his service or help them to some good master”. Hesketh retained Gillam, a player from Chester, but recommended Shakeshafte, Honigmann conjects, to the Stanleys, one of the last noble houses to provide educational training. The Stanleys also maintained a playhouse at Knowsley, and it was under their patronage, as one of the Earl of Derby’s and then Lord Strange’s Men, that Shakespeare began his career in London; where his earliest admirers included the Lancashire poet, John Weever, a cousin of the Hoghtons25. Such is the trajectory of Shakespeare’s “lost years” in Lancashire, but the questions it begs are why a young Midlander should have beaten a path to such a poverty-striken backwater, and why, if he did, it should have remained so secret.

  • 26 Stanley Schoenbaum, William Shakespeare: A Documentary Life, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1975, p. 38.
  • 27 D. L. Thomas & N. E. Evans, “John Shakespeare in the Exchequer”, Shakespeare Quarterly, 15, 1984, (...)
  • 28 Edmund Spenser, A View of the Present State of Ireland, ed. W. I. Renwick, Oxford: Oxford Universi (...)
  • 29 Henry S. Bowden, The Religion of Shakespeare, Chiefly from the Writings of the late Mr. Richard Si (...)
  • 30 John Henry de Groot, The Shakespeares and “The Old Faith”, New York: King’s Crown Press, 1946, pp. (...)

7If William Shakespeare assumed an alias as Shakeshafte he was reverting to the name of his fathers, as this had been one variant used by his grandfather Richard. The motive is likely to have been the crisis that hit his actual father after 1576, when he suddenly ceased to attend Stratford corporation meetings and “obstinately refused to resort to the church”, in the words of 1592 depositions, pleading “fear of process of debt”26. For four hundred years John Shakespeare’s financial alibi was swallowed by most scholars, until research in the Exchequer records revealed in 1984 that the Stratford businessman remained rich to the end and active as a banker27. What did grip Warwickshire in the late-1570s, however, was not an economic but a religious fever, for it was then that seminary priests began arriving from Douai, “by long and dangerous travel”, in Spenser’s account, “knowing peril of death awaiteth them, and no reward nor riches to be found”28. In Stratford they were drawn, none the less, to a town which has been described by historians as “essentially a Catholic stronghold down to the middle of the sixteenth century”; one of the least Protestant communities outside Lancashire until the 1580s; and as a battleground thereafter between a Calvinist élite, led by the Grevilles, and a “middling sort” who were church papists29. One of their earliest converts may, indeed, have been the master who taught Shakespeare from the age of seven to eleven, Simon Hunt, who fled to Douai in 1575 and ended as a priest at St. Peter’s in Rome30. But it was his successor, Cottom, who is likely to have provided their safe-house in Stratford, since the 1580 mission under the Jesuits Edmund Campion and Robert Parsons included his brother Thomas, who was returning from Poland when he was arrested at Dover. Whether or not the teacher hid Parsons on his journey through the Midlands, it was during this mission that a profession of faith was signed by Shakespeare’s father from “the bottom of his heart”: the Spiritual Testament the Jesuits had brought from Milan, where it had been presented to them by no less an authority than Saint Carlo Borromeo.

  • 31 Ibid., p. 86.
  • 32 Jeremy Tambling, Confession: sexuality, sin, the subject, Manchester: Manchester University Press, (...)
  • 33 Richard Simpson, Edmund Campion, A Biography, London: John Hodges, 1896, p. 233.
  • 34 Schoenbaum, op. cit. (note 26), pp. 44-45.

8“He had learned and most godly speeches with us”, wrote Parsons of his eight days with Borrnmeo, “tending to contempt of this world and perfect zeal of Christ’s service, whereof we saw so rare an example in himself, being in effect nothing but skin and bone through continual pains, fasting and penance”31. As Jeremy Tambling comments, Borromeo can be ranked with Bentham as an inventor of the disciplinary society, for the confession box he designed, sealed so that not a pea might penetrate its grille, anticipates the Panopticon as a machine for the internalisation of guilt by the dissociation of speaking from seeing: in this black and private space “the subject is made to speak knowingly a language given by the Church”32. A similar analysis can be applied to Borromeo’s other innovation, the Testament he devised during the plague of 1578, which likewise instituted a repetitive formula for the production of truth by the confessing self. According to Parsons, the meetings at which this Testament was distributed were convened in houses “we entered as kinsfolk of some person within, where putting ourselves in priest’s apparel we had secret view and conference with the Catholics that might come, whom we ever caused to be ready that night late for Confession, and nemt morning very early we had Mass and after an exhortation”33. Such was the fervour in which John Shakespeare appears to have put his name to Borromeo’s text, confessing himself an “abominable and grievous sinner”, vowing to suffer “violence of pain and agony… like a sharp cutting razor” rather than renounce his faith, beseeching his “friends and kinsfolk” to celebrate mass, and appointing the Virgin as “chief Executress” of his will34. Later copies of this Testament would be printed in thousands, but John Shakespeare’s was handwritten, presumably by one of the Jesuits, so his son can hardly have been oblivious of his initiation, marking as it did his passage into what Foucault terms a new technology of the self, “ordered so as to extract from the depths of oneself a truth which the very form holds out like a shimmering haze”:

  • 35 Ibid., Michel Foucault, The History of Sexuality, trans. Robert Hurley, 3 vols., Harmondsworth: Pe (...)

The devout person who will make use of this spiritual writing, for the good of his soul let him read or hear it read often, especially when he hopes he is in a state of grace after Confession. And let him keep it in some place of note and near unto him: when he goeth any journey, let him carry the same always with him to have it ready upon all occasions. And when he shall fall sick, let him renew by reading, or hearing read, this Testament in presence of others, confirming finally what he hath formerly at all times promised and bequeathed for the good of his soul35.

  • 36 Ibid.
  • 37 Keith Thomas, Religion and the Decline of Magic: Studies in Popular Beliefs in Sixteenth and Seven (...)
  • 38 Ibid., pp. 26, 30.
  • 39 Ibid.
  • 40 Arnold Oskar Meyer, England and the Catholic Church under Queen Elizabeth, trans. J. R. McKee, Lon (...)
  • 41 Pritchard, op. cit. (note 6), p. 38.
  • 42 Walsham, op. cit. (note 20), p. 30.

9“For a long time an individual was vouched for by reference of others”, observes Foucault of such techniques, but “now he was authenticated by the truth he was obliged to pronounce concerning himself. Western man became a confessing animal”36. It was as part of this shift from “a ritual method of living” to one defined by “moral scrutiny and interiorised piety”37, that John Shakespeare’s recusancy took shape. For church attendance would have been intolerable to the signatory of such a text, which was drafted “to breed a spirit of resistance and reprisal”. As Alexandra Walsham shows, these Counter Reformation tracts opposed churchgoing as “contempt of conscience, of that inviolable absolute, self”, and grounded recusancy in “remarkably developed notions of intellectual freedom”38. Thus, one wondered why “the hell you feel in your souls, the horrible torture of your consciences, enforceth you not to leave that hellish Synagogue; as another warned that “how good soever the action were in itself’, churchgoing would be “a damnable sin unto the doer, because it seemed naught in his conscience”39. Such strictures would split English Catholics between activism and the conformism of those, like the nobles who petitioned the Queen in 1585, who protested undying allegiance; but to prove “the only gain they covet is souls”, even Jesuits were forbidden by Rome to “mix in affairs of State, to write about political matters, or allow others to speak against the Queen”40. So Campion insisted at his trial that he was “forbidden to deal with matters of State, as those things appertain not to my vocation”; and the effect of this abstention was to give Catholics the moral advantage of “martyrs who suffered for conscience… innocent of anything that could be called treason”41. As Walsham notes, texts like John Shakespeare’s were framed for “persons whose very possession of prohibited reading matter was a defiant assertion of identity”, yet they still assumed the right to prescribe what that identity should be: “‘Conscience’ was less an autonomous faculty than an interior machine harnessed to clerical ideology”42.

  • 43 Greenblatt, op. cit. (note 8), p. 256; Simpson, op. cit. (note 33), p. 191.
  • 44 Calendar of State Papers Domestic, ed. Robert Lemon, London: Her Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1865 (...)
  • 45 Simpson, op. cit. (note 33), pp. 205, 222-223.
  • 46 De Groot, op. cit. (note 30), p. 87.

10It was a paradox of Renaissance self-fashioning, Greenblatt reminds us, that in its new illusion of freedom “the human subject began to seem remarkably unfree: the ideological product of power relations in a particular society”; and the contradiction was to entangle Thomas Cottom, who having been freed on bail, “conceived some scruple about it”, and obeying the Jesuit maxim that “A Catholic pays his debts”, went “with a merry countenance to the Star in New Fish Street, and offered himself prisoner to Lord Cobham, who carried him to the Tower”43. He had in his possession a letter from Shakespeare’s schoolfellow, Robert Debdale, a seminarian in Rome, in which he “commended Cottom to his parents at Shottery, and sent by him certain tokens”44. In 1586 Debdale would follow Cottom to the scaffold, and it his consistency of purpose which supplies a possible itinerary for the perverse route now taken by his Stratford contemporary. For if Chambers and Honigmann are correct, Shakespeare rode north at exactly the time of another journey connecting Stratford to Hoghton, when Campion departed Lapworth Park, the seat of Sir William Catesby, leaving behind the knot of Warwickshire gentry which wauld later seal the Gunpowder Conspiracy. This was the moment when the politics of Saint Bartholomew’s Day crossed the Channel, incited by the French embassy, with the swearing of the so-called Sodality of “young gentlemen of zeal and forwardness”, whose “joy and alacrity” in vowing chastity and poverty, and ardour “to pry into corners and inveigle youths to fly overseas to seminaries”, mimicked the Catholic League45. With both his father and teacher so close to the leaders of this secret society, it would be strange if the sixteen-year old star of Stratford grammar school were not pressed to join the “great harvest” of “new soldiers”, who “give up their names”, Campion exulted, “while the veterans offer their blood”46. Historians take this italicised phrase to mean that the Sodality adopted aliases: if so, it might have seemed a small sacrifice to renounce the fate of a Shakespeare to find a truer identity as William Shakeshafte.

  • 47 John Aubrey, Brief Lives, ed. Oliver Lawson Dick, Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1962, p. 438.
  • 48 John Dover Wilson, The Essential Shakespeare, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1932, pp. 40- (...)
  • 49 Pierre Bourdieu, Homo Academicus, trans. Peler Collier, Cambridge: Polity Press, 1988, p. xix.

11“Though, as Ben Jonson says of him, he had but little Latin and less Greek, he understood Latin pretty well, for he had been in his younger years a schoolmaster in the country”: John Aubrey’s anecdote has always been a starting-point for discussion of Shakespeare’s education, but it is Catholic resistance which may offer the key to mysterious omissions from his curriculum vitae47. For as Dover Wilson recognised in 1932, if “John Shakespeare fell into trouble about 1580 due to being a member of the “oold religion” who refused to attend church… as an ardent Catholic he might well seek other means for his son’s education in the service of a Catholic nobleman”48. And it is recusancy that supplies a due to one salient fact about the Stratford writer, which is that of all Elizabethan and Stuart dramatists, he alone emerged outside the golden academic triangle of Cambridge, Oxford and London. Thus, Beaumont, Chapman, Daniel, Davenant, Ford, Lyly, Marston, Massinger, Middleton, Peele and Shirley all attended Oxford; and Day, Fletcher, Gascoigne, Greene, Heywood, Marlowe and Randolph Cambridge; while Kyd, Lodge and Webster went to Merchant Taylors’ School; Field to St. Paul’s; and Jonson to Westminster. The Londoners, Chettle and Munday were apprenticed to printers; and links with guilds or Inns of Court can be inferred for Dekker and Tourneur; but the only dramatist whose provenance resembles Shakespeare’s is his Warwickshire contemporary, Drayton, who came to London as a page in Leicester’s circle. So, if Chambers and Honigmann are right, it was a detour to the recusant north that took Shakespeare in the opposite direction to the social logic of his professional field and constituted his freakish statistical difference. It was his Lancashire affiliation that made Shakespeare the outstanding example of what Pierre Bourdieu terms the academic heretic, whose cultural power arises from his marginality to great metropolitan institutions, “liberated from the privileges and constraints of the ordinary intellectual”49. And it was northern Catholicism that isolated Shakespeare from all those who wrote for the London playhouses, as in actual fact the least a Londoner.

  • 50 Honigmann, op. cit. (note 24), pp. 129-130.
  • 51 Ibid., p. 9.
  • 52 Simpson, op. cit. (note 33), pp. 222, 226, 252,266.
  • 53 Evelyn Waugh, Edmund Campion, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1935, p. 127.

12While every other dramatist gravitated towards the metropolitan centre, research suggests that young Shakespeare made his lonely way through the Marches to the wildest corner of the kingdom. Even Honigmann is puzzled “Why Shakespeare should have been sent so far from home”, speculating that it was to distance him from Anne Hathaway50. But then he underrates the force of Catholic circumstance, as when he merely notes that if the boy was retained by the Hoghtons in late 1580, their “Catholic sympathies are important, as it is unlikely such a family would employ, at a lime so dangerous for recusants, a servant who was not a practising Catholic”51. In fact, we know Campion took the same road that autumn accompanied by a picked escort of young “subseminarians” or “conductors”, sworn by the Sodality to “content themselves with the bare necessities for the good of the cause”; and that he stayed with the Hoghtons and their neighbours until May 15 1581, writing his book, Heresy in Despair, to arm recusants with “reasons of refusal” of the Church of England. According to his biographer, Richard Simpson, “Lancashire was chosen because it was furthest from London and best affected to the Catholic religion, but also because there was more hope to find there the books to help him answer the heretics if they should provoke him, as they would shortly do”. For before retreating north, Campion had issued his famous “brag” to ministers, to “avow our Catholic Church by proofs invincible”, and at Hoghton he was equipped with all the “scriptures, fathers, councils, histories, and works of natural and moral reason” needed to prepare for public debate. No wonder that as late as 1660 locals recalled how “many persons of quality spent whole nights in barns so they might be early next day to hear his sermon on the King who went a journey”52. Evelyn Waugh enthused, “the rich rhetoric that had stirred the lecture halls of Oxford and Douai, Rome, Prague and Rheims, now rang through the summer dawn”53. If Shakespeare was Shakeshafte, he was a member of a household which was for six months, it seems, nothing less than the secret headquarters of the English Counter-Reformation.

  • 54 Raines, op. cit. (note 18), p. 3; Haigh, op. cit. (note 10), p. 291.
  • 55 C.P. Beales, Education Under Penalty: English Catholic Education from the Reformation to the Fall (...)
  • 56 Ibid. pp. 74-75, 78-79.
  • 57 Ibid., pp. 74-75, 78-79 & 83; Haigh, pp. 278-279, 291-293. For the importance af the relationship (...)
  • 58 Beales, op. cit., (note 55), p. 78.

13It is in the light of Campion’s retreat that the story of Shakespeare’s schoolteaching acquires its significance. For of all counties, Lancashire was where “The youth of both the gentry and common sort” were reckoned to be most “noseled up in Popery by Popish schoolmasters fostered in gentlemen’s houses”54. And if the author was one of those so “fostered” by the Hoghtons he would have been recruited to a System historians describe as “the most dangerous device of Catholic resistance and the most important means of maintaining priests”55. To be such a schoolmaster in Lancashire was to be automatically suspect, since as the official “Regulations for Schools” calculated, “three out of four papists were not twelve years old when the Queen came to her crown, but have learnt it in her reign from corrupt schoolmasters in private houses”. In 1592 an apostate priest listed ten leading Catholic gentry in the county as keeping “recusants as schoolmasters”, including Alexander Houghton, his cousin Richard, who had “this twenty years had one after another”, his brother-in-law Bartholemew Hesketh, and Vivian Haydock, a kinsman of the Cottoms56. All were related, the informer duly noted, to Cardinal Allen, and it was this family which ensured that “one-sixth of those who entered Douai by 1584 came from Lancashire”57. It was no accident, then, that nine of twenty-one Catholic schoolmasters executed under Elizabeth were from the north-west. With thirty-two Catholic schools, Lancashire was the embarcation for Jesuits like Thomas Hoghton and Thomas Cottom, who both taught there before sailing to Douai; or John Finch, hanged at Lancaster in 1584 for operating a liaison chain between recusant houses while ostensibly a tutor58. The son of the Stratford recusant had models for such a vocation in his master, Hunt, and schoolmate, Debdale; but if he was also Shakeshafte, the Lancashire novice had also run between the two most active Catholic cells in England. If Shakespeare was Shakeshafte, by the sumner of 1581 he would have had dazzling prospects, which would have taken him from Lancashire to Douai, and with all the certainty of his martyred mentors, from the schoolroom to the scaffold.

  • 59 Simpson, op. cit. (note 33), pp. 309, 320, 343: those listed as arrested with Campion and his two (...)
  • 60 Ibid., pp. 341-343, 355.
  • 61 Honigmann, op. cit. (note 24), p. 23.

14On August 4 1581, the day after Alexander Hoghton commended Shakeshafte to Thomas Hesketh in his will, the Privy Council commanded a search for “certain books and papers which Edmund Campion has canfessed he left at the house of one Richard Hoghton of Lancashire”. Campion had been hurrying north to safeguard his library when he had been persuaded to say mass at a house outside Oxford, where on July 16 he was betrayed and arrested. One of those taken with him was a young man with the same name as Shakespeare’s schoolmaster, John Cottom, who was to be released only after a month of interrogation about “what other persons” attended Campion’s mass. This sensational fact was overlooked by Honigmann, but it cannot be chance that by the end of the summer the master had left his post and himself retired to Lancashire59. His brother had been examined in December to force him to reveal the Catholic network; and on July 31 Campion was subjected to the rack to discover “Who sent him to England? At whose houses had he been received? Who had comforted and assisted him? Whom had he reconciled? Whose confessions had he heard, where did they live and what had they talked about?” Whatever was learned about the identity of his companions, by August 2, Campion’s biographer admits, “the government had suddenly acquired a flood of light about his doings. They knew where he had lodged in Lancashire and where he had left his books”: enough to order the detention of Richard Hoghton and his wife (the sister of one of the captured priests), Bartholemew Hesketh, and everyone suspected of hiding Campion or his papers60. Honigmann deduced that when he wrote his will Alexander Hoghton “may have wished to disperse family property among reliable friends to forestall possible confiscations by the government”61; but even he does not seem to have grasped the emergency in which, among more desperate measures, Shakeshafte was protected: on the very day between the first Lancashire arrests and the raids on the Hoghton estates. Even as the head of the Hoghtons helped his servants to new masters, Edmund Campion was being tortured for their names.

  • 62 Thomas Norton and Thomas Sackville, Gorboduc or Ferrex and Porrex, London: Edward Arnold, 1970, ed (...)
  • 63 Michael A.R. Graves, Thomas Norton: The Parliament Man, Oxford: Blackwell, 1994, pp. 248, 258.
  • 64 John H. Langbein, Torture and the Law of Proof: Europe and England in the Ancien Régime, Chicago: (...)
  • 65 Graves, op. cit. (note 52), p. 257.
  • 66 Ibid., pp. 249, 272-273, 277; Foucault, op. cit. (note 35), p. 59.

15Thomas Norton, Rackmaster General, believed as much as his victims in truth extracted by confession, and his tragedy of Gorboduc staged his certainty that “as glass is… clear and easily seen through, so a faithful councillor is plain and open”, whereas “under fair seeming of pleasant words, deadly poison brings the young parasites that receive it to death and destruction”62. Composed for Cecil, Sackville and Norton’s 1561 play inaugurated a manichean dramaturgy in which the State emerged purified by blood; and the Rackmaster’s other theatre of cruelty, in what his biographer calls “the dark privacy of the Tower”, was likewise powered by his histrionic instinct that “questions well fashioned will draw out the truth”63. Norton’s fanatic will to truth confirms the point made by jurists, then, that far from a being barbaric relic, torture was introduced into Tudor England as a humanist technique, “employed in aid of a rational as opposed to ritual mode of proof. Torture presupposed a legal System that wanted to base judgement on truth”64. For while trial by jury and ordeal had rendered torture redundant in medieval England, the eighty torture warrants issued between 1540 and 1640 were motivated by a subtler imperative to “urge the Queen’s subjects so far into their conscience”, Norton declared, “as everyone had been shriven” by Catholic priests65. He recognised, in other words, that torture and confession were what Foucault calls “dark twins”, and boasted how he had racked one Jesuit “a good foot longer than God made him”, to exorcise “the devil within”. And so, when Campion staggered from interrogation, with his hands “folded in linen and such feebleness as he was neither able to pluck off his mitten nor lift a drink to his mouth”, Norton smirked that he “was never so racked but he did presently write and subscribe his confessions”. It was from information “bolted out” of Campion on the rack that Cecil would plot the arrest of suspects on his map66; but as Thomas Cottom protested from his cell, the knowledge these tormentors were also seeking was the darkest secret of the soul:

  • 67 Quoted William Allen, A Defence of English Catholics, ed. Robert M. Kingdon, Ithaca, New York: Cor (...)

Indeed they are searchers of secrets, for they would needs know of me what penance I was enjoined by my ghostly father for my sins committed. And to avoid the intolerable torment of the rack I confessed what they demanded. But when they further urged me to utter also what my sins were for which penance was enjoined me (a loathsome and unchristian question), I answered that I would not disclose my offenses saving to God and my holy father alone.
Whereupon they sore tormented me, and I persisted that I would not answer though they tormented me to death67.

  • 68 John Bossy, “The Social History of Confession in the Age of the Reformation”, Transactions of the (...)
  • 69 Scott Wilson, “Rack’d on the tyrant’s bed: the politics of pleasure and pain and the Elizabethan s (...)
  • 70 Simpson, op cit. (note 33), pp. 376, 400.

16In an essay on the confessional, John Bossy concludes that the effect of Borromeo’s invention, and the “proliferation of forms, files, receipts and regulations” with which the Counter-Reformation bureaucratised the truth, was to turn culture “away from objective social relations to interiorised discipline” by “suggesting sin was essentially something which occurred in the mind. The new confessional technology was an instrument of intimate self-examination available to the average man”. Bossy suggests that the drift of this confessional régime was towards sexual prurience; and the questions posed by Norton confirm that the knowledge he produced for the ministers who stood in the shadows was likewise contemptuous of the body, and duplicated that elicited by the Father Confessors whom he racked68. As Scott Wilson notes, “There are two forms of truth produced by the torture of Campion and Cottom. One is the truth of the self, the secrets that the State wishes to extract, and the other is the truth the State wishes to instil”. Burghley and Borromeo are diabolic doubles, on this view, deadlocked in a mutual contest to subdue the speaking subject to their power: a power that, to be authenticated, “is unseen, delegated, substituted, deferred through hands of others”, installed through the dangerous supplements of torture and writing69. It was in accordance with this fight to control the discourse of truth that the Privy Council sent its officers to Lancashire to seize the Jesuit’s manuscripts; and that it allowed the author of Gorboduc to stage-manage the public show-down with its maimed and muted prisoner at which its Regius Professor attempted to “outface Campion by his high place, gay apparel, great words, and applause of Protestants standing by”. In fact, “Most of the audience were laughing in their sleeves, or even hissed” at Norton, when Campion, who was denied books, answered from “No counsel but a pure heart”70. A month later, the Rackmaster General was himself arrested and taken to the Tower to die, broken by the darkest discovery, that “It is the torturer who becomes a Sisyphus”, as Sartre observed:

  • 71 Quoted by Page du Bois, Torture and Truth, London: Routledge, 1991, p. 5.

If he puts the question at all, he will have to continue forever, for the purpose of it is to force from one tongue, amid its screams and vomiting of blood, the secret of everything… Whether the victim talks or whether he dies under his agony, the secret that he cannot tell is always somewhere else and out of reach71.

  • 72 Schoenbaum, op. cit. (note 26), pp. 44-45; Haigh, op. cit. (note 10), pp. 278, 321.
  • 73 Historic Manuscripts Commission, 9: Salisbury Mss., Vol. 16, p. 33: January 30 1604.
  • 74 Haigh, op. cit. (note 10), p. 321; Robert Ellrodt, “Self-Consciousness in Montaigne and Shakespear (...)
  • 75 Gary Taylor, “Forms of Opposition: Shakespeare and Middleton”, English Literary Renaissance (ELR),(...)

17Edmund Campion was hanged on December 1, 1581, and it must have been at this time that John Shakespeare hid his copy of Borromeo’s Testament beneath the tiles of his house, where it lay, a dusty secret from his son’s admirers, until 1757. The Stratford burgess had come very close indeed to the ordeal of truth which would take his ghostly fathers to the gallows, but he had not honoured the suicidal promise he signed with his “own hand”, to carry the paper “continually about me”, so to be sure to “be finally buried” with it “after my death”. And if his son was Shakeshafte, he too flinched, it seems, from the cult of confession that would send so many of his circle to their deaths. In Lancashire the young novice encountered instead an older religion that “did not lead automatically to recusancy”, and put more faith in “charms and herbs” than moral invigilation72. It was from such a faith that Thomas Hoghton had fled to safeguard his “blessed conscience”, and when he returned to the north John Cottom likewise continued to “receive into his charge youths to be educated”, and to “send catechisms and books” to “other gentlemen of Lancashire and certain priests”73. His most famous pupil must have dismayed the master, therefore, by slipping from the pulpit to the playhouse. For at some time after the raid on Hoghton, Shakeshafte vanished into the interstices of a State that preferred, in Queen Elizabeth’s phrase, not to make Windows in men’s souls, to reappear transformed from a papist into a player. Perhaps he had met that old Lancastrian who, when told of Jesus Christ, replied: “I think I heard of that man you spake of once in a play at Kendal… where there was a man on a tree and blood ran down”; or had simply looked into himself, as Robert Ellrodt thinks, to discover that conscience makes not heroes, but cowards of us all74. Whatever its cause, an act as strange as Shakespeare’s self-erasure must, as Gary Taylor recently argued, have been overdetermined75 For, in an age that demanded visibility and self-expression, he produced a world of difference from secrecy darker than the priest-hole or confession.

Notes

1 Francis Bacon, “Of the True Greatness of Kingdoms and Estates”, The Essaye, ed. John Pitcher, Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1985, p. 148.

2 Ifor Evans & Heather Lawrence, Christopher Saxton: Elizabethan Map-Maker, Wakefield: Wakefield Historical Publications, 1979, pp. 9-11, 40-41; Marshall McLuhan, The Gutenberg Galaxy: the making of typographic man, Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1962, p. 11; B. W. Beckingsale, Burghley: Tudor Statesman, London: Macmillan, 1967, pp. 222-225, 259-260.

3 A. G. Dickens, The English Reformation, London: Batsford, 1964, p. 312.

4 Joseph Gillow, Lord Purghler’s Map of Lancashire in 1590, London: Arden Press & Catholic Records Society, 1907, p. 14.

5 Joseph Gillow, The Haydock Papers: a Glimpse into English Catholic Life, London: Burns & Oates, 1888, pp. 10-15; F.O. Blundell, Old Catholic Lancashire, 2 vols., London: Bums, Oates & Washbourne, 1925, Vol. 1, pp. 131-133.

6 William Allen, A True, Sincere and Modest Defence of English Catholics, London: 1584; repr. London, Scolar Press, 1970, p. 97. See also Arnold Pritchard, Catholic Loyalism in Elizabethan England, London: Scolar Press, 1979, pp. 4-15.

7 Quoted, Elliot Rose, Cases of Conscience: Alternatives open to Recusants and Puritans under Elizabeth I and James I, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1975, p. 38.

8 Stephen Greenblatt, Renaissance Self-Fashioning: From More to Shakespeare, Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1980, p. 85.

9 Beckingsale, op. cit. (note 3), p. 126.

10 Christopher Haigh, Reformation and Resistance in Tudor Lancashire, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1975, p. 252.

11 Ibid., pp. 222-223.

12 Ibid., pp. 52-53.

13 Ibid., pp. 46-47.

14 Francis Bacon, The Works of Francis Bacon, ed. James Spedding, 14 vols., London: Macmillan, 1857-1874, 10, p. 381; quoted J.E.C. Hill, “Puritans and ‘The Dark Corners of the Land”’, Transactions of the Royal Hislorical Society, 5th series, 13 (1963), p. 99. Haigh, op. cit. (note 10), p. 97; John Bossy, “The character of Elizabethan Catholicism”, Past and Present, 31, pp. 50 & 66.

15 Acts of the Privy Council, Vol. 8, pp. 276-7; Adrian Morey, The Catholic Subjects of Elizabeth I, London: Allen & Unwin, 1978, pp. 44-45.

16 Haigh, op. cit. (note 10), pp. 240-241.

17 Ibid., pp. 219 & 222.

18 F.R. Raines (ed.), A Description of the State, Civil and Ecclesiastical, of the County of Lancaster about the year 1590, London: Chetham Society, 1875, pp. 3-4.

19 Haigh, op. cit. (note 10), pp. 219 & 248.

20 George Gifford, A Dialogue between a Papist and a Protestant, applied to the capacity of the unlearned, London, 1582, quoted in Alexandra Walsham, Church Papists: Catholicism, conformity and confessional polemic in early modern England, Woodbridge: Boydell & Brewer & Royal Historical Society, 1993, p. 1.

21 Raines, op. cit. (note 18), p. 4.

22 Sir Benjamin Rudyerd speaking in the House of Commons in 1628, quoted Hill, op. cit. (note 14), pp. 96-97.

23 Haigh, op. cit. (note 10), p. 265.

24 E. E. Chambers, “William Shakeshafte”, Shakespearean Gleanings, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1944; E. A. J. Honigmann, Shakespeare: the “lost years”, Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1985.

25 Ibid., pp. 3-4 et passim. For John Weever, see chap. 5.

26 Stanley Schoenbaum, William Shakespeare: A Documentary Life, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1975, p. 38.

27 D. L. Thomas & N. E. Evans, “John Shakespeare in the Exchequer”, Shakespeare Quarterly, 15, 1984, pp. 315-318.

28 Edmund Spenser, A View of the Present State of Ireland, ed. W. I. Renwick, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1925, p. 162.

29 Henry S. Bowden, The Religion of Shakespeare, Chiefly from the Writings of the late Mr. Richard Simpson, London: John Hodges, 1899, p. 63; Patrick Collinson, “The Church Religion and its Manifestations”, William Shakespeare: His World, His Work, His Influence, ed. John F. Andrews, 3 Vols., New York: Columbia University Press, 1985, Vol. 1., pp. 36-39; J. E. Neale, The Elizabethan House of Commons, Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1963, p. 241. For the sectarian background to the electoral history of Stratford, see also Richard Wilson, “Against the Grain: Representing the market in Coriolanus, Will Power: Essays on Shakespearean Authority, Hemel Hempstead: Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1993, chap. 4.

30 John Henry de Groot, The Shakespeares and “The Old Faith”, New York: King’s Crown Press, 1946, pp. 135-140.

31 Ibid., p. 86.

32 Jeremy Tambling, Confession: sexuality, sin, the subject, Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1990, p. 70. See also E. Cecilia Voelker, “Borromeo’s Influence on Art and Architecture”, and Marc Venard, “Borromeo’s Influence on the Church in France”, in John M. Headley & John B. Tomaro, San Carlo Barromeo: Catholic Reform and Ecclesiastical Politics in the Second Half of the Sixteenth Century, Washington, D.C.: Folger Shakespeare Library, 1994, pp. 179, 219-220.

33 Richard Simpson, Edmund Campion, A Biography, London: John Hodges, 1896, p. 233.

34 Schoenbaum, op. cit. (note 26), pp. 44-45.

35 Ibid., Michel Foucault, The History of Sexuality, trans. Robert Hurley, 3 vols., Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1981, Vol. 1: Introduction, p. 59.

36 Ibid.

37 Keith Thomas, Religion and the Decline of Magic: Studies in Popular Beliefs in Sixteenth and Seventeenth-Century England, Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1973, p. 88; Walsham op. cit. (note 20), p. 30.

38 Ibid., pp. 26, 30.

39 Ibid.

40 Arnold Oskar Meyer, England and the Catholic Church under Queen Elizabeth, trans. J. R. McKee, London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1967, pp. 142-144.

41 Pritchard, op. cit. (note 6), p. 38.

42 Walsham, op. cit. (note 20), p. 30.

43 Greenblatt, op. cit. (note 8), p. 256; Simpson, op. cit. (note 33), p. 191.

44 Calendar of State Papers Domestic, ed. Robert Lemon, London: Her Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1865, Vol. 2.1581-90, p. 244, where it is wrongly dated June 4 1585 (in fact 1580).

45 Simpson, op. cit. (note 33), pp. 205, 222-223.

46 De Groot, op. cit. (note 30), p. 87.

47 John Aubrey, Brief Lives, ed. Oliver Lawson Dick, Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1962, p. 438.

48 John Dover Wilson, The Essential Shakespeare, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1932, pp. 40-41.

49 Pierre Bourdieu, Homo Academicus, trans. Peler Collier, Cambridge: Polity Press, 1988, p. xix.

50 Honigmann, op. cit. (note 24), pp. 129-130.

51 Ibid., p. 9.

52 Simpson, op. cit. (note 33), pp. 222, 226, 252,266.

53 Evelyn Waugh, Edmund Campion, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1935, p. 127.

54 Raines, op. cit. (note 18), p. 3; Haigh, op. cit. (note 10), p. 291.

55 C.P. Beales, Education Under Penalty: English Catholic Education from the Reformation to the Fall of James II, 1547-1689, London: Athlone Press, 1963, p. 74.

56 Ibid. pp. 74-75, 78-79.

57 Ibid., pp. 74-75, 78-79 & 83; Haigh, pp. 278-279, 291-293. For the importance af the relationship with Cardinal Allen, see also Historic Manuscripts Commission, 9: Salisbury Mss. Vol. 13: a letter to the government from Richard Hesketh detailing Allen’s influence in west Lancashire.

58 Beales, op. cit., (note 55), p. 78.

59 Simpson, op. cit. (note 33), pp. 309, 320, 343: those listed as arrested with Campion and his two priests, Ford and Collington, were “John Cotton, William Hildesley of Beham Berkshire, Humphrey and James Keynes, Philip Lowe, Edward Yate and John James, gentlemen, and William Webley and John Mansfield, yeomen”. The sumame of both John and Thomas Cottom is frequently transcribed as Cotton or Cotten in official documents.

60 Ibid., pp. 341-343, 355.

61 Honigmann, op. cit. (note 24), p. 23.

62 Thomas Norton and Thomas Sackville, Gorboduc or Ferrex and Porrex, London: Edward Arnold, 1970, ed. Irby B. Cauthen, II, Prologue, 12-23.

63 Michael A.R. Graves, Thomas Norton: The Parliament Man, Oxford: Blackwell, 1994, pp. 248, 258.

64 John H. Langbein, Torture and the Law of Proof: Europe and England in the Ancien Régime, Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1977, p. 77.

65 Graves, op. cit. (note 52), p. 257.

66 Ibid., pp. 249, 272-273, 277; Foucault, op. cit. (note 35), p. 59.

67 Quoted William Allen, A Defence of English Catholics, ed. Robert M. Kingdon, Ithaca, New York: Cornell University Press, 1965, p. 72.

68 John Bossy, “The Social History of Confession in the Age of the Reformation”, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 5th Series, Vol. 25 (1975), pp. 21-38, esp. pp. 21, 27, 29-30, 33.

69 Scott Wilson, “Rack’d on the tyrant’s bed: the politics of pleasure and pain and the Elizabethan sonnet sequences”, Textual Practice, Vol. 3: 2 (1989), pp. 234-249, esp. pp. 244-247.

70 Simpson, op cit. (note 33), pp. 376, 400.

71 Quoted by Page du Bois, Torture and Truth, London: Routledge, 1991, p. 5.

72 Schoenbaum, op. cit. (note 26), pp. 44-45; Haigh, op. cit. (note 10), pp. 278, 321.

73 Historic Manuscripts Commission, 9: Salisbury Mss., Vol. 16, p. 33: January 30 1604.

74 Haigh, op. cit. (note 10), p. 321; Robert Ellrodt, “Self-Consciousness in Montaigne and Shakespeare”, Shakespeare Survey, 28 (1975), pp. 37-50, esp. p. 43.

75 Gary Taylor, “Forms of Opposition: Shakespeare and Middleton”, English Literary Renaissance (ELR), 24: 2 (Spring 1994), pp. 283-314, esp. p. 314.

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Université de Lancaster, Grande-Bretagne

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