Shakespeare, Crypto-Catholicism, Crypto-criticism.
A HALF century after Shakespeare's death, Richard Davies, chaplain of Corpus Christi College, Oxford, and later rector of Sapperton, declared that Shakespeare "died a papist." (1) For, he suggests, the inscription on Shakespeare's tomb in Holy Trinity Church in Stratford curses anyone who might move his bones, and blesses those who leave them still interred. It is this sepulchral warning that also tempts Richard Wilson, in his fascinating recent book, Secret Shakespeare, to guess that Shakespeare's own copy of the Borromeo Testament of faith brought by Campion to Milan is interred with his bones. (2) In this way Shakespeare carries his secret Catholicism with him to the grave and ensures that it may remain buried. Only a desecration could reveal such a secret, and so it maintains its potent, hidden power, derived from surmise, taboo, and the fear of violation.
But perhaps Wilson's compellingly literal fantasy is better analyzed as a symptom of what might be called the encryption of Catholicism in English historiography, including the history of the page and stage. For Nicholas Abraham and Maria Torok, the crypt is a relation to the past, a form of repressed and unfinished mourning, a foreign area of incorporation that "keeps the dead alive, intact, safe (save) inside me, but .... only to refuse to love the dead as a living part of me, dead save in me, through the process of introjection, as happens in so-called normal mourning." (3) Sealed off inside the mourner, the dead one can remain intact but at the price of an internal foreignness. Shut up in this way, the past will be safe, but it can never transform the consciousness of the mourner. Wilson's fantasy about Shakespeare's intact, never to be disturbed secret might be better understood as a fantasy enacted in England's peculiar relation to Catholicism. Preserved in the hermetic form of Catholic apologia, and in the polemical, enduring drives of antipa-pistry and Whig history, Catholicism can remain hidden, unseen, fully internal, and at the same time foreign, exotic, and alien. It will never get itself mixed up with the history in which it is encrypted.
Alison Shell has recently described English Catholicism as a "catacomb culture, defined by secret or discreet worship," studied for a long time only by its own loving ancestors, and exiled from English history. (4) Between 1558 when Elizabeth I acceded to the throne and the Supreme Head of the English Church to the Glorious Revolution of 1688, Catholicism was mainly associated with certain key events in the Protestant imaginary: the rebellion of the northern earls in 1569, the Gunpowder Plot of 1605, the Spanish marriage for James I's son, Charles, in the 1620s, the Irish Rebellion of 1641, and the Popish Plot of 1678-81. (5) Yet it was a visit to the Christian catacombs outside Rome that helped to convert Sir Toby Mathew, the son of the very Calvinist bishop of Durham, who converted to Catholicism in 1606, and entered the Jesuit order in 1619: "the sight of those most ancient crosses, altars, sepulchers, and other marks of the Catholic religion, having been planted there in the persecution of the primitive Church ... did strike me with a kind of reverent awe, and made me absolutely resolve to repress my insolent discourse against Catholic religion thereafter." (6) Mathew's subsequent history as an exile, poet, chronicler of his own conversion, and historian of Counter-Reformation Catholicism, and later sojourn at Henrietta Maria's court, is precisely an instance of what Anthony Milton has called cross-confessionalism, the imbrication and converse between Catholicism and Protestantism and the movement, surprisingly common, through conversion, between them. (7) In fact the combined effect of the important work of Michael Questier, Anthony Milton, Alison Shell, and Arthur Marotti, to name a few, decisively establishes the pervasiveness and visibility of Catholic culture, and its complete imbrication in early modern culture as a whole.
Richard Wilson is also the coeditor with Alison Findlay and Richard Dutton of an extraordinarily rich series of papers at a conference that gives the collection under review its name: Lancastrian Shakespeare, where Lancashire stands at once for Catholic regionalism but also for the Lancastrian history explored in Shakespeare's two tetralogies. The conference was held at Hoghton Tower and the University of Lancaster in 1999, and its starting point was the possibility, explored in Ernst Honigman's book, Shakespeare: The Lost Years, and before that in the Victorian critic Richard Simpson's work on Campion and Shakespeare in the 1870s, that William Shakespeare was the "Shakeshafte," mentioned in Alexander Hoghton's will in 1581. (8) This will, now in the Lancashire County Records Office in Preston, recommended that the actor Fulk Gillom and William Shakeshafte be taken into the service of Sir Thomas Hesketh or some other good master, and it places the "lost," "undocumented," "mysterious" years of Shakesepeare's young adulthood at the heart of a network of seigneurial recusancy, connected at once with the Catholic hinterland of Lancashire, and with an international Counter-Reformation Catholicism and the Jesuit missions of Campion and Parsons. The two volumes taken together provide a set of robust, dense, and highly stimulating investigations of the implications of the Honigman hypothesis. It is part of the stimulation and provocation of the collection that it pursues those implications so tenaciously and compellingly that what emerges is a very thick description of the sheer cultural reach of Lancashire as a "sink of popery."
In the preface to the first edition of Shakespeare: The Lost Years, Honigman announces the genre: "The book is really a detective story, and the mystery it grapples with is one that experts have tried to solve for two hundred years. Where was William Shakespeare in the so-called 'lost years' before 1592, and what was he doing?" If the delectation and dissolution of mystery--this one is definitely the country house version--sometimes hangs over the collection, it is to the credit of the editors and authors that they have moved away from a myopic obsession with Hoghton's will, to explore not merely the context that makes that will significant but the social, political, and regional affiliations that render it meaningful. In her analysis of the "cultural neighbourhood of Lancashire," in Theatre and Religion, Mary Black-stone uses William Cecil's manuscript map of Lancashire to show how carefully Cecil annotated the network of religious allegiances in Lancashire to mark out the most dangerous and untrustworthy recusant households. (9) These included the Hoghton and Hesketh households, mentioned in Hoghton's will. The Hoghtons endowed the college at Douai, founded by Cardinal William Allen, and Lancashire provided numerous recruits to the new college. Thomas Hoghton was himself an exile in Belgium from 1569 until his death in 1580, and Richard Wilson has argued that the Hoghton household was the center of the first Jesuit mission to England, used by Campion as his base as he traveled across and helped to create a clandestine community of Counter-Reformation Catholicism. Blackstone proposes that Hoghton's players, including William Shakeshafte would have had a role to play in the construction of that community as they traveled from household to household, and so it is both missionary priests and performers who are instrumental in creating the cultural links of a Catholic "neighbourhood" (RRP, 191). If Shakeshafte joined the Derby household, he would have been joining a troupe of players who, touring extensively since 1563-64 in a network that twice included the court, had created a broad and influential "cultural neighbourhood" (RRP, 194). Both Blackstone and Sally Beth MacLean chart the itineraries of the dramatic patronage of the Earls of Derby in detail, so establishing a world, the putative world of Shakespeare/Shakeschafte's apprenticeship in which "religious and political allegiances were openly under negotiation" (RRP, 192). Suzanne Westfall's opening essay indicates that the 1572 act, requiring all players to be under aristocratic patronage, establishes the household as a constitutive player in the establishment of early modern theater. The complex and manifold links between the recusant households and the world of international Catholicism is investigated by Marion Wynne-Davies in her essay as she reconstructs the founding of the Abbey of Our Lady of Consolation in Cambrai, a house that became home to the daughters of the Mores, the Gascoignes, Ropers, De Hoghtons, and Carys. This abbey was under the jurisdiction of the English Congregation of monks of the Order of St. Benedict, and Wynn Davies begins the extraordinary work of excavating the textual production of these nuns from the fifty-nine boxes of manuscript material now located in the public archive in Lille (RRP, 122). (10)
Phebe Jensen's examination of the court records connected with the performance at Gowthwaite Hall of the recusant traveling troupe who had Pericles and King Lear, as well as a St. Christopher play in their repertoire, David George's work on the playhouse at Prescot, and Peter Greenfield's essay on regional theater establish a very different map of early modern performative culture from the metropolitan-centered world of the professional theaters. (11) For Richard Wilson, in his essay "The Management of Mirth: Shakespeare via Bourdieu," this world is thematically encoded in the Shakespearean repertoire: the household is a constant setting of Shakespeare's plays, but service in the seigneurial household offered a certain freedom from commerce, one that he sees must be related to the kind of differentiation from money and prestige that engenders a relative autonomy for art, making Shakespeare one of the "dominated dominators" in the literary field. The recusant household is the particular focus, too, of Anne Lecercle's essay on Twelfth Night, a somewhat recherche essay heavily reliant on forms of punning and encryption to argue its point.
These historical speculations are also given flesh in Richard Dutton's investigation of the role of the Duchy of Lancaster both in Shakespeare's plays and in the history of the English Crown. Tracing the peculiar history of the Duchy of Lancaster, he establishes the extent to which the Duchy of Lancaster was a "living, tangible and inescapable reminder of the fact that the monarchy after Richard II was compromised" (RRP, 151) and of the continual jostling and factional accommodations that were bound to attend on even a peaceful succession." An exemplary instance of a Lancashire recusant household is traced over the longue duree in John Callow and Michael Mullet's analysis of the Shireburnes of Stonyhurst between the persecutions under Elizabeth I until the cessation of penal conditions in the later eighteenth century. This essay is a wonderful "thick description" of one Catholic family's relationship with the fortunes of the Stuart monarchy, with Jacobit-ism, and Catholic resistance, and it provides one rich case history for the interrelations of Catholic loyalism, royalism, and patriotism and the difficulties of this complex amalgam in English Catholicism. This essay is a welcome engagement with the larger political context of Catholicism in England, and the specificity of Reformation fortunes in a country that, though without any direct involvement in the Thirty Years War convulsing Europe, fights its own internal religious wars, putting its own monarch, Charles I, on formal trial and executing him.
The contributors to this volume have painted a very different picture of the emergence of early modern theater than the one with which we are familiar. One might say that it provincializes that older picture; that metropolitan royalist fashioning a monarchical display of power, mesmerized by as he seeks to extend court charisma, now looks decidedly declasse.
If the first volume of Lancastrian Shakespeare treats the complex networks of allegiance in the interconnected households of Lancashire, the second volume explores more specifically the doctrinal and performative connections of Jesuit and Counter-Reformation culture and provides more food for thought about the interconnections between religion and theater. Richard Wilson, in Secret Shakespeare, made Campion's mission a central piece of the puzzle that connects Stratford with the Lancashire households, and Peter Milward continues to mine the connections between Stratford and Lancashire in his essay. This is one of several essays that explore the nature of Jesuit education and drama, both of which might have provided a context for Shakespeare's own Jesuit schoolmasters (Milward), and the forms of Jesuit drama produced in early modern England (Miola). For Jesuit education, as Miola argues, makes the imagination absolutely central. An argument is also made by Sonja Fieletz for a new Jesuit source for Timon of Athens.
Those who disseminated the texts of the Counter-Reformation, such as Richard Verstegan, the influential printer and engraver, spy for William Allen, and exile in Antwerp, are extensively investigated in Donna Hamilton's essay, and Jesuit writings come under scrutiny in Jean Christophe Mayer's examination of Person's Conference about the Next Succession, a fascinating reading of that text in relation to Shakespeare's Lancastrian kings. The hunters, torturers, and spies of Counter-Reformation Catholicism are also addressed in Frank Brownlow's essay on Topcliffe who here comes across as not so much an isolated sadist, but a Crown functionary whose correspondance with Elizabeth I shows him in a disturbingly chatty and intimate relation with her. A judicious essay by Marotti complements his fine new book. (12) Eamon Duffy, with his usual stylish succinctness explores the monastic landscape of "bare ruin'd choirs" in Shakespeare and other contemporary writers.
Perhaps surprisingly in such a volume, no scholar addresses the culturally and aesthetically important survival of the cathedrals and some collegiate foundations as corporations. They, after all, continued to sponsor a vital sung liturgy, not least in Elizabeth's Chapel Royal and Westminster Abbey, that royal mausoleum sitting cheek by jowl with the law courts and the Houses of Parliament. This was a tradition that continued in pronounced contradistinction to the sung metrical psalms that were the style followed in the parish churches along Genevan lines. Diarmaid MacCullough has argued that the continuity of this tradition, that "did not regard beauty as an obstacle to worshipping God," was not merely a reminder that the Reformed character of the Church of England never achieved "total dominance," but through the backing of even such figures as William Cecil and his protege Richard Neile, might even have fueled the central aesthetic of "avant-garde conformism." (13) Though music is mentioned, most notably by Sally Beth MacLean, there is little attention in these volumes to the performative culture that nourished and sustained the exquisite music of, for example, William Byrd, who was a close friend of Father Garnet, and who played the organ for the Jesuit meetings at the house of Anne Vaux in Erith, Kent. If the recent work of John Finnis and Patrick Martin is anything to go by, "The Phoenix and the Turtle" is a funeral elegy, set to music by William Byrd for Anne Line, the Catholic martyr. (14)
Gary Taylor, who has written an essay much quoted by the other contributors, dwells on the "maybe" that is such a central part of this book's speculations. (15) James Mabbe (or Mebbe; pronounced "Maybe") was an Oxford scholar and translator, and author of one of the commendatory verses prefacing the first edition of the Folio. He was also tutor to the son of William Trumball, an English diplomat, stationed in Brussels, who controlled a network of spies in the Low Countries and "the balkanized sub-states of the old Holy Roman Empire" (TR, 242). Taylor reads the fascinating correspondance of Trumball and Mabbe to make links between the publication of the First Folio and the vexed, difficult politics of early modern Europe. The lovely pun on Mabbe and Maybe is an index of the epistemological anxieties that trouble the modern critic and scholar as much as they did Shakespeare's contemporaries. Mabbe looks like an ardent Protestant in his letters, but it is likely that he is in fact a Catholic spy--so the question becomes "How can I know what someone else believes?" (TR, 243). These epistemological anxieties are a welcome focus in the collection because Richard Wilson's stunningly intricate speculations, bracing and intelligent as they are, sometimes waves so many smoking guns that it is hard to see through the smoke. Taylor has reconstructed Mabbe's relation to Edward Blount, the publisher of the First Folio to hypothesize 1623 as a high-water mark in "Counter-Reformation publishing in English" (TR, 250). The four men who wrote the commendatory verses for the Folio, for example, all had Catholic connections--Ben Jonson as a onetime convert, Hugh Holland as an open Catholic, and James Maybe and Leonard Digges as "notorious Hispanophiles" (250). The First Folio, he points out, begins with The Tempest, which features resolution through inter-dynastic marriage--a little like the marriage proposed between Charles and the Spanish Infanta, Henrietta Maria, and it ends with Cymbeline, not really in its proper place as a tragedy, but a play that ends with a restored peace between England and Rome: "Let / A Roman and a British ensign wave / Friendly together" (Cymbeline, 5.6.480-83).
The introduction to Theatre and Religion lays down the gauntlet to new historicism's pursuit of "discourse" at the expense of authorial agency. Simpson's work, affirms Wilson, and its wealth of archival detail, provides the "inescapable horizon for a historicist reading of the plays," which only a criticism sunk in the "historically well-determined little pedagogy of the death of the author continues to reject" (15). Taken all in all, these essays indeed offer a very different Shakespeare from the one we have been fed by recent orthodoxies, and they provide detailed and concrete evidence for what many historians have recently been arguing--that Catholicism is absolutely central to the development of the very existence of a public sphere in English early modern culture. (16) Cumulatively, the essays offer nothing short of a new genealogy of the English theater and this is surely a welcome and exciting development, a testimony to a collection that is more than the sum of its parts. This collection will open up rich and fruitful avenues of interpretation and research and it will license the kinds of creative speculation that energize the field of Shakespeare studies. The essays offer an understanding of a culture in which the improvisational self is not just a playful possibility but often a survival skill. Whiffs of the country house mystery occasionally hang in the air; some of the essays appear to promise that sense that all difficulties are made easy when they are known, even while they admit that the need for equivocation and encryption, for secrecy and hiddenness in the heavily proscribed culture of English Catholicism necessarily entails an epistemology of the priest hole, a structure unknowable and unseeable from the outside. The most dangerous kind of Catholic was the unseen one. (17) That was why the Addled Parliament went so far as to propose that Catholics should "weare yellowe Cappes and slippers." (18) In the excitement over "secret Shakespeare" there is a danger of collusion with the implications of the language of unveiling and exposure, the central logic that linked the discourse of anti-Catholicism with the discourse of theater in Protestant rhetoric. For though the discourse of appearance and reality appears very frequently in Shakespeare's plays, those plays eschew the satirical logic of exposure and unveiling explored so stunningly in, say, Jonson's comedy of humors, or Middleton's city comedy, pursuing and creating instead a theatrical language that seeks to embody and perform trust, wonder, and especially reconciliation--if you like, communion. (19) But they do so by virtue of fully confronting and exploring the increasingly compelling language and logic of the split between the inner and outer, the tongue and the heart. Here, for example is one pervasive early modern fantasy:
When Jupiter had made man, being delited with such a cunning piece of workmanship, he demanded of Momus (to) find a fault, what he could spy, in so fine a feature and curious frame, out of square and worthie just reproof: Momus commended the proposition and comely disposition of the lineaments; but one thing (saith he) I like not well, that thou hast forgotten to place a window in his brest through which we might behold whether his heart and his tongue did accord. If a window were framed in the brests of these discontented catholickes, that her Majestie and the state-guiding counsel and all true friends to the kingdom might know their secret intentions .... many false hearts would be found in painted hoods, and cakes of foule cancred malice under meale mouthed protestations." (20)
Elizabeth I was more supposedly circumspect: she did not like to "make windows in men's hearts, and secret thoughts." (21) But John Baxter, dreaming of the perfect means of surveillance for the discovery of treasonous English Catholics, and Elizabeth postulating the limits of her surveillance--what men and women do and not what they think--share a common fantasy of perfect knowledge. If they could only secure a clear vision of the inside of suspects and subjects, they would be able to discern all that was obscure and hidden to them. Indeed hiding from them would become permanently impossible, for everything would be laid open to their view. Such a picture, Stanley Cavell following Wittgenstein would say, envisions thoughts as things held inside a body that obscures and veils them. The body in this picture stands in the way of our knowledge, blocking our view. (22) Yet for Shakespeare the body was the supreme expressive resource, the best picture for the human soul. That is why he developed a theater at once more transformative and restorative than the kind of theatricality so often granted to him, and why he was such a brilliant diagnostician of the need for and the costs of the retreat to the hidden "inner," the suspicion of the obscuring "outer." Indeed the problem with Richard Wilson's picture of the Shakespearean oeuvre as a complex and elaborate cover for his Catholic identity is that it occludes altogether the insistent drive of the plays to embody a restored community. The social body disappears in a reading of the plays as cover and disguise and the critical operation becomes one of uncovering and decoding. Yet Shakespeare sounded the depths of the exile of his characters from their words, of the profundity of despair encountered when personal utterances will not convey meanings that can be held in common, of the gaps between mind and world that makes of his characters strangers to others--and to themselves, in exile from their own words. He explores the resources and opportunities and the extraordinary losses attendant on his characters when conventions become not so much a cultural inheritance that can grasp the person's self-understanding but the occasion for new improvisations. And he remained from first to last interested in charity as a relation between people, as a bond that was never dependent on any one individual's consent, that must precede negotiation, and that worked as a relation, not a possession. This, you might say, is what he evolved his theater to restore, but such a project of recovery was never the retrieval of a static past but always an imaginative transformation of that past's deepest legacy. And it is a mode of mutual habituation, a form of participation, not a doctrine or a content--and thus fragile to, existent only in conversation, bodied forth in the gorgeous complicity of theater. Such a model of theater is likely to want to argue for a greater autonomy for theater, a willingness to see it as a confrontation with not an extension of a theatricality necessitated more and more intensely by the corrosive uncertainties, the generative doubts, the tyrannous predations of a culture that wanted the conformity of the heart and soul of its subjects yet that could not envisage a toleration that would grant such hearts and souls the truth of their consciences.
In this endeavor, as Arthur Marotti suggests, there is an "incarnational aesthetic" at work that might have its roots in the deepest logic of Catholicism. For all the links so scrupulously and interestingly explored in these essays with continental Catholicism, there was, as Anthony Milton has said, "a form of Roman Catholicism that was not alien or exotic, but familiar, even reassuring, and from which a sense of estrangement had not necessarily been achieved--and that was England's own Roman Catholic past." (23) The indispensable revisionist work of Eamon Duffy, Ronald Hutton, and Christopher Haigh has shown against the earlier work of A. G. Dickens that Catholicism was exceptionally well endowed and thriving and that the Reformation was a centrally organized project that worked in a top-down manner to transform the material culture of popular Catholicism, a project that was slow and to which there was widespread and long-standing resistance. (24) John Bossy argued somewhat differently that the post-Reformation English Catholic was a creation of the missions after 1570 and so posited a break between an indigent Catholicism, the Catholicism of the ancestors, and the recusant culture that, he argues, succeeded it. (25) But the recent work of Peter Lake, Alexandra Walsham, and Helen Cooper has shown, against the grain of this influential revisionist historiography, that the popular culture of Catholicism and the popular culture of Protestantism used the same tropes--providentialism, romance, the performance of repentance, the same narrative forms, and the same "multifarious bric-a brac left strewn across the English social and cultural landscape." (26) In the vicinity of St. Paul's, for example, the printers of St. Paul's walk, the players of Blackfriars, the court-sponsored preachers of St. Paul's Cross, the godly ministries of St. Anne's at Blackfriars were cheek by jowl with each other. But they don't just share an intimate physical space; they inherit and compete for the same languages--of sin and repentance and providence. Very often they compete for exactly the same audience.
David Cressy, Peter Marshall, Michael Neill, and Stephen Greenblatt have all shown the impact of the cultural transformation of mourning in the early modern period and given rich testimony to the symbolic residue of Catholic culture. (27) Yet the project of exploring the transformation of a sacramental culture from the medieval to the early modern period has barely begun, and an exploration of the performative logics of liturgy, Church, and theater in all their cultural complexity is still at its very early stages. Literary history in this regard still deploys a latent functionalism when it imagines the relation of medieval ritual and early modern theater, and it has not sufficiently thought through the relation of intention and convention in the huge transformations effected in the Reformation. This is partly because literary history is phobic about theology, because the religion of intellectual history is still not grasped as a performance of faith, and because Christianity is still too readily envisaged according to its own polemical, sectarian self-understanding. And that makes it external to the society and to the psyches that it shapes and that are shaped by it. To be seen in their most profound relation to each other, both theater and Church must, as Thomas Nashe might say, "come within the compass of the five senses."
1. Richard Davies, quoted in E. K. Chambers, William Shakespeare, 2 vols. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1930), 2:257.
2. Richard Wilson, Secret Shakespeare: Studies in Theatre, Religion and Resistance (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004), 298. Wilson's thesis is that Shakespeare, being the Shakeshafte mentioned in Hoghton's will, was dangerously close to the Jesuit-inspired, martyr-bound missions of heroic Catholic resistance, and especially Campion and Parsons's mission to England in 1581, that he eventually resisted that resistance, but that living in constant terror of Tyburn, he had every reason to "immure the relics of the martyrs in their urn through an encryptment that has indeed proved virtually impenetrable," 298.
3. Nicolas Abraham and Maria Torok, The Wolf Man's Magic Word: A Crypto-nymy, trans. Nicholas Rand (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1986). The quotation is taken from Jacques Derrida's foreword to the book, xvi, his italics. Derrida's description of the crypt in fact is quite strikingly analogous to the priest hole, a structure invisible from the outside, yet intricately hidden inside the structures of the recusant household in which the priest would seek to hide from pursuivants: "The crypt is ... not a natural place (lieu), but the striking history of an artifice, an architecture, an artifact: of a place comprehended within another but rigorously separate from it, isolated from general space by partitions, an enclosure, an enclave" (xiv).
4. Alison Shell, Catholicism, Controversy, and the English Literary Imagination, 1558-1660 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 16.
5. Arthur Marotti, Religious Ideology and Cultural Fantasy: Catholic and Anti-Catholic Discourses in Early Modern England (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2005), 9.
6. Marotti, 118.
7. The term cross-confessionalism is used by Anthony Milton in his essay, "A Qualified Intolerance: The Limits and Ambiguities of Early Stuart Catholicism," in Arthur Marotti, ed., Catholicism and Anti-Catholicism in Early Modern English Texts (Houndsmills, Basingstoke: Macmillan Press, 1999), 91. Also see Michael Questier's major study of conversion in Conversion, Politics, and Religion in England, 1580-1625 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996).
8. E. A. J. Honigman, Shakespeare: The Lost Years, 2nd ed. (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1998); Richard Simpson, "The politics of Shakespeare's historical plays," The New Shakespere Society's Transactions 2 (1874): 396-441; and the essays in The Rambler 9 (1858). One of the volumes of Lancastrian Shakespeare (Theatre and Religion) is dedicated to Ernst Honigman. Richard Simpson's pioneering work on his biography of Campion is a major inspiration for Richard Wilson in his book Secret Shakespeare, 6, 116.
9. The volumes treated in this essay will be identified by their main titles rather than their shared subtitle, and pages will be given in parentheses after the quotations in the main body of the text. Henceforth, Region, Religion and Patronage will be RRP and Theatre and Religion, TR.
10. Here she is building on the influential work of Mary Rowlands in her "Recusant Women, 1540-1640," in Women in English Society, 1500-1800, ed. Mary Prior (London and New York: Methuen, 1985).
11. The Gowthewaite episode is used again in Peter Womack's rich essay, "Shakespeare and the Sea of Stories" in JMEMS 29:2 (Winter 1999): 169-87.
12. Arthur Marotti, Religious Ideology and Cultural Fantasy: Catholic and Anti-Catholic Discourses in Early Modern England (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2005).
13. Diarmaid MacCullough's comments are in his splendid, compendious recent survey, The Reformation (New York: Viking, 2004), 494-95.
14. John Finnis and Patrick Martin, "Another turn for the Turtle: Shakespeare's intercession for Love's Martyr," Times Literary Supplement, 18 April 2003, 12-14, and Secret Shakespeare, 12.
15. Gary Taylor, "Forms of Opposition: Shakespeare and Middleton," English Literary Renaissance 24, no. 2 (1994): 283-314.
16. This is an argument made in Peter Lake and Michael Questier's article, "Puritans, Papists and the 'Public Sphere' in Early Modern England: The Edmund Campion Affair in Context," in The Journal of Modern History 72 (September 2000): 587-627, an argument brilliantly extended in The Anti-Christ's Lewd Hat: Protestants, Papists and Players in Post-Reformation England, by Peter Lake with Michael Questier (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2002).
17. Anthony Milton, "A Qualified Intolerance," 105.
18. Commons Debate 1621, ed. W. Notestein, F. H. Relf, and H. Simpson, 7 vols. (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1935), 7:636, cited in Milton, "A Qualified Intolerance," 105.
19. The resources of trust and wonder are explored in Tom Bishop's book, Shakespeare and the Theatre of Wonder (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996). Arthur Marotti notably takes up Shakespeare's profound interest in "the immanent, miraculous, and wondrous" in his essay, 280.
20. A Toil for Two-Legged Foxes (1600), 109-10, by John Baxter, cited in Jullian Yates, "Parasitic Geographies: Manifesting Catholic Identity in Early Modern England," in Catholicism and Anti-Catholicism in Early Modern English Texts, ed. Arthur Marotti (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1999), 65.
21. Frances Bacon, Certain Observations Made Upon a Libel Published this Present Year, 1592, in James Spedding, Letters and Life of Frances Bacon, vol. 1 (London: Longmans, Green, and Co., 1890), 178.
22. This is, of course, the brilliant insight of Stanley Cavell in his book, The Claim of Reason: Wittgenstein, Skepticism, Morality and Tragedy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1979), a work that has yet to be properly received and understood by Shakespeareans. Cavell's extraordinary reading of skepticism could be very usefully explored in relation to the epistemological crises generated in and by the Reformation.
23. Milton, "A Qualified Intolerance," 103.
24. A. G. Dickens, The English Reformation (New York: Schocken Books, 1964); Eamon Duffy, The Stripping of the Altars: Traditional Religion in England, 1400-1580 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1992); Christopher Haigh, Reformation and Resistance in Tudor Lancashire (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1975); Ronald Hutton, The Rise and Fall of Merry England: The Ritual Year 1400-1700 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994).
25. John Bossy, "The Character of Elizabethan Catholicism," Past and Present, no. 21 (April 1962); "The Counter-Reformation and the People of Catholic Europe," Past and Present, no. 47 (May 1970). See also as a counterargument, Christopher Haigh, "The Continuity of Catholicism in the English Reformation," Past and Present 93 (1981).
26. Peter Lake, The Anti-Christ's Lewd Hat, xvi; Alexandra Walsham, Providence in Early Modern England (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999); Helen Cooper, The English Romance in Time: Transforming Motifs from Geoffrey of Monmouth to the Death of Shakespeare (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004).
27. David Cressy, Birth, Marriage, and Death: Ritual, Religion and the Life-Cycle in Tudor and Stuart England (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997); Peter Marshall, Beliefs and the Dead in Reformation England (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002); Stephen Greenblatt, Hamlet in Purgatory; Michael Neill, Issues of Death: Mortality and Identity in English Renaissance Tragedy (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997).
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|Title Annotation:||Lancastrian Shakespeare: Region, Religion and Patronage; Theatre and Religion: Lancastrian Shakespeare|
|Publication:||Medieval and Renaissance Drama in England|
|Article Type:||Book review|
|Date:||Jan 1, 2006|
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