Shakespeare carried his mother Mary to the table, and gently sat her down next to her husband, John.
Three generations of the family lived together—his parents, his siblings, and his children. They sat together now, in the dining hall of the family’s very modest tenement house on Henley Street.
As the head of the family, John Shakespeare, sat at the head of the table. He was a lean but very strong man of fifty-six, with a commanding but benevolent presence. To many people, he could be distant and cold. But when he was with his family, he was quite warm.
To set an example for his many children and grandchildren, he made sure to sit up firmly and confidently, as they all gathered to break their morning fast together.
As Anne divided the food for each plate, John was stung with shame when he saw so little food for so many mouths. He was not an excessively proud man. But at fifty-six, and after his very hard life and all of his hard work, he had expected to have a good measure more than he did by now.
In the past, they had food and drink in greater measure. Those days were long gone. He did not see them returning anytime soon. In the recent months, it was becoming increasingly rare that they could afford to have meat or fish, especially with such a large family. This morning, like most days, they only had some cooked vegetables, and some bread—usually made of barley, millet or vetch. Yet the food always tasted good. Mary was very creative at making do with what they had, and what she could grow in her garden.
Mary saw that look on her husband’s face, and she knew what it meant. She cleared her throat, to get his attention, and she quickly smiled at him. She melted his heart, as only she could. She had every reason to be sad and bitter, but she was the happiest person in the household. She was fifty years old, and was very dignified. But when he looked at her, he still saw the silly carefree girl he fell in love with many years ago.
She took John’s hand in hers. Her hands were quite strong from all of the hard work she did to keep their home, and care for so many children. He never ceased to be amazed at how soft her hands had become over time. He never ceased to enjoy the effect her touch had on him. She loved to feel his strong vise-like grip, from his years of using leather working tools.
In that brief moment, as they held hands, they reminded each other of the bond they had.
Their other children arrived, noisy and disorderly. Twenty-year-old Gilbert, often impatient, and sullen. Eighteen-year-old Joan, always with a smile on her face, and eyes that took delight in most everything. Thirteen-year-old Richard, and eight-year-old Edmund, who were rarely apart. Gilbert looked at the food, and was visibly upset at the small servings. His siblings never complained about the food.
Anne tried to dispel her brother-in-law’s gloom, “Gilbert, this offering may not look like much, or to your taste, but it should be enough—like leaven hidden in three pecks of meal.”
Shakespeare smiled at Anne, pleased that she enjoyed quoting the Bible. He was uncomfortable with any talk of religion in the house, especially in the last year. But he also did not want to discourage his wife’s faith.
Gilbert didn’t recognize Anne’s reference. Mary translated it for her son, “Gilbert, you should know that no matter how little food there is, Anne and I make it well. We leaven it with love, so I assure you that it will be satisfying.”
He shrugged. He was clearly still not pleased with his portion, but he was unwilling to argue with his mother at the table.
In a rebuking tone, John said, “Gilbert, you will show more respect to your mother, and Anne.”
Gilbert straightened up, and said, without much feeling, “Thank you, mother. Thank you, Anne. Thank you for this food.”
John’s tone grew harder, “Gilbert, you must learn that we may not always have the things we want. We may not always eat the food we want, or have all the food we want. Faith can feed us, too—the Bread of Life and the Living Water. But even a life of faith can be a struggle. So, we must persevere.”
Gilbert fought the urge to roll his eyes, as he said, “Yes, father.”
Shakespeare could see that John might yell at Gilbert, so he distracted John—he knelt next to him like a little boy, asking permission to eat. John had a hard time resisting his eldest son’s playfulness. He chuckled, and tousled Shakespeare’s hair, “I know that you are trying to make me laugh, even when I am not in the mood for laughing.”
Shakespeare laughed. It made John laugh, too, despite himself.
John gestured to the willow branch, hanging by the door, as he tried to sound stern, “Don’t make me get that rod!”
Shakespeare pretended to be afraid that his father would use the rod on him. He had never seen John use that rod before.
Most of the family laughed at this foolishness. Shakespeare was the one member of the family who could always be relied on to dispel conflict with a well-timed joke, or some self-deprecating funny behaviour.
Shakespeare’s own children arrived. Four-year-old Susanna shepherded her two-year-old twin siblings, Judith and Hamlet. Susanna was always so serious, and wanted more discipline from her siblings, who were always uncontrollable. She sometimes seemed to take after her grandfather more than her father.
Mary motioned for Susanna to sit by her, but Susanna moved away from her. She wanted to sit with John, “I want to sit with father…”
The adults fell silent. Gilbert snickered. Anne tried to laugh it off, as she took Anne by the shoulders and pointed at John, “No, my dear Susanna, that is your grandfather, John.”
She turned Susanna to see Shakespeare—“This is your father, William. Your father is William.”
Susanna occasionally mistook John for her father and Mary for her mother. They would patiently remind her who they were. Shakespeare tried not to let it get to him. He knew that Susanna was was still learning to identify things and people. But it did sometimes rub him the wrong way. He smiled at her now, in the hopes that she would never make this mistake again. However, he knew that it would only really stop when he could finally afford to live in a house of his own—which might not be any time soon, considering how unprofitable their business was in the last few years.
Anne patiently waited to see if Susanna understood. Susanna looked confused. She nodded slightly. But then she pulled away, and went to John anyway.
John took her on his lap, despite the look of disapproval from Mary. She knew how extremely fond he was of his eldest grandchild, but she did not want him to teach her the wrong things.
Shakespeare did not show how disappointed he was. He just smiled, as he reached out for Hamlet, and hoisted him on his lap. Anne took Judith on her lap.
Once everyone was seated, they looked at John, who nodded. They extended their hands out, to pray. John was momentarily lost as he stared at all of them together, with so little food, in such a small house, that was not exactly falling apart, but had seen better days.
“John…?” Mary whispered, to prompt him to lead the prayer.
John snapped out of it. Without thinking, he began to say grace the old Catholic way, and he reflexively made the sign of the Cross, “Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which—”
Shakespeare cleared his throat. John stopped. He saw the look of disapproval on his son’s face. Shakespeare had repeatedly and sternly warned his father not to say grace that way any longer. He told John that he had to say it the Protestant way. He also warned John that it was dangerous if anyone heard him saying grace that way.
John did not care if people called England a Protestant nation. To him, England always was and always would be a Catholic land. He knew that it was hard to have complete privacy in their tenement—their neighbors could hear what they said, every bit as much as they could hear what their neighbors said. He did not care if they heard him.
John believed that he had a greater duty to obey his God, whom he was raised to worship as a Catholic. Against Shakespeare’s wishes, John now repeated the prayer, as it was taught to him when he was a child, by his parents who only knew an England that was Catholic—“Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty…”
As he spoke, he looked up towards Heaven, his eyes steady and firm, and held them aloft until he was moved to finish the prayer.
“… through Christ, our Lord.”
John knew Shakespeare would never forgive him if he did not include a blessing for the Queen, as much as John would rather not. But John did include it, and said, “And please bless our sovereign, Queen Elizabeth, and for all that are in authority. May we lead a quiet a peaceable life in all godliness and honesty. Amen.”
John made the sign of the Cross again, which was was no longer permitted in England. Shakespeare did not say anything, but he was clearly upset. The children were confused. Shakespeare hoped that the children would not speak of what John just said and did, or repeat any of it, especially not in public. If they accidentally crossed themselves in church, it could be a very serious problem, for the whole family.
John did feel like he should say something, to explain himself. But he did not want it to sound like an apology. He could not think of what to say. His son was the one with a way with words. But Shakespeare held his tongue. The whole family was silent.
There was so much John wanted to say, because he wanted to give them some hope. He wanted to tell them that there would soon come a time when the town and the nation would prosper again. He wanted to tell them that trade would improve, and their business would grow and thrive. He wanted to tell them that there would be less poverty, and that fewer vagabonds would roam the nation in search of food and shelter. He wanted to tell them that there would be less acts of violence, and not to fear their neighbors, and their fellow Englishmen. He wanted to tell them that the very young English boys and very old men, fighting in the Netherlands, a war he thought had no end in sight, would return home soon, alive and unharmed.
But he could not say that. He did not believe that any such words were true. All too often, and especially lately, he held his tongue. He could not find anything good to say, so he said nothing. His throat dried, and he was ashamed of himself, for his own lack of faith.
He thought of how much the Scriptures, and the precious history contained within it, meant to him—as a man, as a husband, as a father, and as a grandfather. He had so much to teach them, now that he was a grandfather. He was no longer a boy, with foolish ideas in his head, and who believed the wrong things and the wrong people. He was a man who had a lifetime of lessons that he had learned. He had his beliefs tested, and he now knew how to be a better believer. He was desperately eager to pass on all of this to his own family. He wanted to tell them what he believed, and why he believed it, and how to believe. He wanted to tell them about his relationship with God. He wanted to tell them how important the Bible is, and how much it could benefit their lives. He did not want them to be afraid of talking about it, ever. He wanted to teach them these things, because they were the most important things he could teach them. But he knew all too well that England had become a land where any such talk could be grounds for imprisonment or worse.
All of this broke his heart.
Mary squeezed his hand, and gestured to the children, who looked confused. She knew that John wanted to say more. She smiled at him, to show him how much she admired his restraint. She said softly, “Thank you, John. Amen.”
Anne knew how much John hated being silent when it came to matters of faith. She was touched by what John did say and did not say, and how affectionate Mary was to her husband. Anne thought of a way to lighten the mood. She turned to Joan, Edmund and Richard—“Even though we have very little food, do you know what we should do if strangers come to the door?”
Shakespeare strained to smile at his wife. He knew that Anne only meant well, but he had told her many times that they should not talk about anything having to do with religion, in the house. But he loved Anne too much to stop her from saying what she was going to say.
Anne smiled at her husband lovingly. Then, as soon as she got Susanna’s attention, Anne looked up at the ceiling, as if there was something there, above their heads.
Susanna suddenly understood that her mother wanted her to say the word that she had recently taught her. She blurted out—“Angels! Angels!”
Mary was delighted and clapped, as John bounced his granddaughter on his knee and gave her a squeeze, to reward her. Susanna giggled.
Anne smiled at her daughter—“Yes—Angels! If strangers come to the door, they might be angels! We should invite them in, and we should feed them!”
Susanna did not understand all of that, but she nodded happily.
Despite the fact that she knew that Shakespeare would disapprove, Mary then said, to John—“Isn’t that your favorite story, John—how the angels of the Lord saved Lot and his family, because of Lot’s hospitality?”
John knew that his wife was inviting him to speak, and to tell the story of Lot and his family, but he glanced at Shakespeare, who looked even more apprehensive.
Shakespeare could not stop his mother nor his wife, but he hoped that John would stop this right now. As much as it hurt him, he had repeatedly asked his parents not to teach the children about faith. He said that the children should only learn what was said and taught in their local church. In the last year especially, he had to raise his voice to his own parents, as he implored them not to speak of religion at all outside of church.
Mary and John knew why Shakespeare was so concerned, but they firmly disagreed. They knew that they had an obligation to teach their family about faith. To them, there was nothing more important than the souls of their children, and grandchildren. They said they would never hand over the moral education of their children to anyone else, not even to the Church.
Also, he knew that his parents believed that hospitality was perhaps the most urgent lesson for children to learn. John had once said, “Hospitality is a most important lesson, from the time of Abraham, the father of our religion. All parents must teach their children this lesson. If they do not learn it as a child, they might never know what it means. They must learn it before they become more accustomed to closing their hearts than opening them.”
It was hard for Shakespeare to object to what they said, especially since it was how his parents had raised him. He could remember how much they told him, and taught him, about the Bible—and how much they inspired him. They were some of the most precious memories he had of his parents. He sorely missed talking about such things in their house. There was even a time, when Susanna, Judith and Hamlet were born, that he was eager for his parents to teach his children in private about matters of faith—when they were old enough to understand them. Despite the risks, he wanted them to inspire his children, every bit as much as they had inspired him.
Shakespeare had grown up in a home where Jesus Christ was the center of their family, and where they freely discussed the angels and the saints. His relationship with God started before really understanding the meaning of worship, or religion, or faith. He had wanted the same thing for his children. But in the last year, ever since the events in York, Shakespeare had changed his mind. He told them to say nothing to the children, at least for the time being. He did not know how long this prohibition would last. He just believed that it was too dangerous. He simply did not know when it would be safe to talk about religion again. Shakespeare feared what people might hear them say—or even worse, what people might accuse them of saying. Such unfriendly ears are everywhere, he thought. He remembered about how a Catholic priest named John Lowe was recently caught in London, after he was overheard talking to his mother. He was swiftly arrested and executed.
Anne understood why Shakespeare was so worried, but even she did not agree with him. She wanted to talk about religion as much as possible, even in the last year. She had been raised in a family with very little religious feeling or commitment. In the years that she was married to Shakespeare, and had lived together with his parents, she had come to enjoy learning and exploring spiritual matters with John and Mary. She had no desire for that to end.
Anne even told Shakespeare about some of the private talks she had with John. She had never known a man as eloquent as John before. He was a man who had a hard life, and she enjoyed hearing his hard-won wisdom. She often said that he should have been a vicar.
John and Mary had raised Shakespeare and his siblings to outwardly conform to the Protestant Church of England—while secretly raising them as Catholics. They had to go to church and pretend to worship as if they were Protestants. If they did not attend church, they would be harassed with fines, which could bankrupt them. Any Catholics who stubbornly refused to worship as Protestants were known as recusants. They faced even harsher punishments, including imprisonment, the confiscation of their property, and even death.
In secret, John and Mary taught their children about those things which the Church of England had prohibited—including the books of the Bible that had been removed. They taught them never to even hint at their real feelings and thoughts. They taught them to agree with whatever they were expected to say. They taught them that some day would come when they, or their sons and daughters, would be able to stand up, and live openly as Catholics. John said that until then, they had to continue to “thresh wheat at the bottom of a winepress, and to hide their grain.”
John and Mary never gave up hope that England would become a Catholic nation again, and stay that way, once and for all time. As difficult as it was to live as secret Catholics, they wanted to preserve their Catholic faith. They wanted their family to be prepared for the time when England would become a Catholic nation again—and they fervently believed that God would reward them for their faith.
They believed that the religious storm of the English Reformation might actually blow over, perhaps in a few years or so, perhaps sooner. They knew that before King Henry VIII broke from the Catholic Church, England had been a Catholic country for almost one thousand years. In their lifetimes, England went from being a Catholic nation to a Protestant one, then back to a Catholic nation, then again to a Protestant one. John and Mary were witness to these sudden changes. They had many stories of what it was like when the Church of England betrayed them when it changed, and changed, and changed once more.
John once said, "But our Catholic faith never changed. We remained steadfast, and the faith between us Catholics only grew stronger. We are being tested by God, and God will reward us for our faith. God will soon open the eyes of the Protestants, who should not be our enemies. They will wake up, to see the error of their ways, and we will have peace."
England had been a Protestant country since 1558, for almost thirty years—and for as long as Shakespeare had lived. But John and Mary did not lose faith. They prayed daily that England would become Catholic once again. “If we wait long enough, England will be Catholic again,” John had often said. “It will return. England will be a Catholic nation again—for a thousand years or more.”
Many Catholics, like his parents, talked about the importance of 597 AD—when Saint Augustine of Canterbury first landed in Kent. He was sent by Pope Gregory to refound the church in Britain, where paganism was flourishing again, and where Christianity had waned since the time of King Lucius, the first Christian king of Britain. Many Catholics, like his parents, believed that the Catholic Church would be refounded again in England, in the year 1597—which was only ten years away. For many years, Shakespeare and his family prayed for order to be restored among Christians in England—and they spoke of this coming revival of 1597 often.
For his whole life Shakespeare outwardly conformed to the Protestant Church of England. To his neighbors and to the government, he and his family appeared as if they were Protestants. His parents had to teach him how to act the part of being a faithful Protestant, when he was not. He had intended to teach his children to do the same. By the time they were born, he knew how to raise them as something they were not.
However, everything changed in March 1586, less than a year ago, when they heard the news from York. Shakespeare had never been stricken with such fear in his whole life. In the days and weeks since, he struggled to understand how much England was changing. He feared for the worst, and he prayed more than he ever had before. He saw fear almost every day. He heard talk about the possibility of rebellion—and how the powerful lords were probably fearful of uprising. He heard people say how fearful they were of Spain, and of Rome, and how much fear there was of even more war in Europe. Some people feared that England might be torn apart in a war of religion, like the vicious and bloody one that was being fought in France. The Saint Bartholomew Day’s massacre was still fresh in people’s minds. Fear was on the lips of every person Shakespeare knew, and it was impossible to stop his ears from hearing the word “fear.”
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Even now, sitting at the table with his family, he began to form images and make sounds, to recreate that event in York. He had not been there, and he had not witnessed the event himself. But he had a powerful imagination, which often recreated events in his mind.
To stop his imagination before it started, he quickly said, as softly and pleasantly as he could, “Mother, please leave the story of Lot, and such questions, for when the children eventually begin to have their catechism classes at the church.”
Mary was polite but stubborn, and she said with a wink, “I am confident that they will have an excellent catechism teacher. I just want to make sure that the children know that the story of Lot is their grandfather’s favorite story from the Bible. Surely you won’t mind if your father says something about Lot and the angels.”
She had winked at him, because for over two years, Shakespeare taught catechism—the principles of the faith—at Holy Trinity Church. Shakespeare had an excellent and rare education. He did not leave Stratford after he finished school, to go to university, like so many of the other students. So the vicar asked him to teach catechism. As much as Shakespeare’s parents disapproved, it would have been suspicious if he had turned the vicar down. And anyway, he enjoyed teaching.
Mary smiled politely at her son, and did not press the matter. Shakespeare looked at John, hoping that his father would drop the matter. However, it was clear that John indeed wanted to talk about Lot and the angels. He hoped that his son would not object now.
Shakespeare loved his father, especially because he was such a stalwart Catholic, at a time when Reformation Europe was engulfed by religious war. Catholic history and traditions in England were being erased. People who had sincere beliefs as Catholics were now criminals. To be a Catholic in England was to be an outlaw. The Catholic clergymen who did not flee England were being hunted, and imprisoned. Some were even executed.
Many Englishmen hated Catholics, and helped to hunt them down and persecute them. It seemed like there was no safe haven, not even in Stratford. Shakespeare knew many stories and rumors about how the noble Lucy family of Warwickshire was especially keen to remove Catholics from England entirely.
Some Catholics had fled the country. Shakespeare and his family did not have the financial means to leave. He thought, And even if we did have the money, and a place to go, how could we leave this England, this land of our birth, the land that we love so much?
The Reformation was tearing the nation apart, like a catastrophic seismic event—with fissures running through almost every single town, and almost every single household. Shakespeare sometimes could feel that fissure in his own heart. He cherished the Catholic traditions his parents had taught him, but he had serious questions about the Pope, and the Catholic Church in Rome. He had never lived an open and public life as a Catholic. He lived a life as a secret Catholic—while having to learn and adopt the new traditions of the Protestant Church of England. He had to attend church with his family, because it was the law. He wanted to be a good and lawful Englishman, which meant he had to be a Protestant—but he would not denounce or abandon his Catholic faith.
It was all so confusing to him. He also worried that being a secret Catholic, and living a life pretending to be a Protestant, was making him something less than a true Catholic. He often thought, I want to be a Catholic without having to pretend to be anything else. I don’t want to be false anywhere or to anyone—especially in the church, and especially to my neighbors. I don’t want to live a life as a Catholic where I have to remind myself, sometimes as often as each day, that I am not a Protestant. Why can’t I be a Catholic and just a Catholic? I want to be a good Christian and a good Englishman, and be done with it!
Sometimes he wished that the Reformation had never happened, and that England had not split from the Catholic Church. But he knew that it was a foolish thought. I could sooner go back in time and stop the Reformation, and erase the negative and positive effects it has had on England, and even on me—than I can go back and stop the Romans, Angles, Saxons, Danes, and Normans from invading England. I can do nothing to the past. I can not wish it away. I can not gather up water that was spilt on the ground.
As a Christian, Shakespeare did not hate anyone. He was taught to love his enemies. He did hate the divisiveness, the violence, the bloodshed—and especially the executions. He wanted the tumult across England to stop. He wanted a solution, but did not know what it was, or if it could ever be found. Even the Gordian Knot is not this knotted, he frequently thought. I doubt even Alexander the Great could cut through this with his sword.
He wanted a better future, but there were times when he could not see it. He struggled with doubts, and his faith. He worried that no one could stop the violence and the bloodshed of the Reformation. In his darker moments, he often reflected on what Hesiod wrote, Perhaps the Reformation is like when the jar of Pandora was opened, to uproar the universal peace and confound all unity. The evils within have flown free to roam and wander throughout the whole of England, which might likely only know unspeakable thousandfold sorrowful sicknesses, grievous plagues, painful diseases—with miseries defiling its waterways, and spoiling the soil. Only Hope remains within the jar, to tantalize us. Will it purge England of the evils? Or is it an evil itself—to torment us, and to deceive us?
As he looked at his father now, Shakespeare preferred not to discuss anything having to do with religion. But for a man of firm faith like John however, religion was the most important thing to discuss.
To John, nothing was more important than his soul, and the souls of his family. As Catholics, they could not save their eternal soul if they could not perform the rites and ceremonies of the Catholic Church. Without Purgatory, without the sale of indulgences, without the burial and funeral rites, and so much more, John believed the souls of all faithful Catholic Englishmen were being stolen. With the Reformation, and the religious persecution against Catholics in England, John often said that their universe had been turned upside down. “We are living in a Hell on Earth,” he would say.
John blamed the Tudor monarchs—especially King Henry VIII—and their royal councillors. Shakespeare was not so certain. He heard the stories and the rumors about how Queen Elizabeth persecuted Catholics, including and especially Mary, Queen of Scots. He heard about how Henry Percy, 8th Earl of Northumberland, had died mysteriously in the Tower. He heard about how Thomas Somerset, who spent over twenty years in prison, had died while a prisoner. He also heard some people say that those Catholics deserved punishment and imprisonment, because they were traitors to England, and they had been caught conspiring against Her Majesty.
Shakespeare did not know the full truth, and the last person he wanted to doubt was his own monarch. He also fundamentally could not believe that God would anoint Queen Elizabeth to rule over England as God’s Vice-Regent on Earth, and to rule as the Supreme Governor of the Church of England, only to abuse her subjects. It simply made no sense to him.
Also, since all Englishmen had to obey Queen Elizabeth as they would obey God Himself—Shakespeare could not understand why God would want him to obey a wicked queen. He wanted to have faith that the Church of England and Queen Elizabeth, as the head of the Church, would lead the nation on the right path. He tried to reason with John, but there was almost no reasoning with his father as far as faith was concerned.
Shakespeare often thought that perhaps the lords and ladies who served the Queen were to blame for the troubles in England. Or perhaps the Queen herself was unaware of what was being done in her name, or was unable to stop it from happening. Or what the Queen needed most were good and virtuous people to go and serve her, and remove the wicked people from power.
Shakespeare could not believe that the Queen would not help the people of England, if she were fully aware of the problems they had. He thought that, at the very least, the Queen deserved the benefit of the doubt. He prayed that the Queen would use her influence for good and not for evil.
John told him that he was being naive. Shakespeare was surprised that his father was so disbelieving. It was John who had taught him about how powerful prayer could be. Before Shakespeare had read the Bible for himself, it was his father who first told him that prayer saved the life of a king. Shakespeare thought, If Abraham’s prayers saved Abimelech, then perhaps my humble prayers might help the Queen, even if it is in some small way.
In the recent years and months, John was often right about the persecution of Catholics—like in York a year ago.
Shakespeare did not want to believe that their family was in danger, or that they would be persecuted—but he also was not entirely confident in that belief. John often said that things would likely get far worse before they got better, for Catholics in England.
Shakespeare saw something of that persecution against Catholics in Lancashire in 1581. He had never forgotten the tragic events there.
He grew even more worried two years ago, when an Act of Parliament made being a Catholic priest in England a crime punishable by death. It caused a nationwide crackdown on Catholics—and “disobedient persons.”
For most of Shakespeare’s life, before the Act, the government had mostly targeted Catholic priests. Since the Act passed, ordinary Catholic laypeople were also targeted. To Shakespeare, who knew something about the law, the term “disobedient persons” seemed to be overly broad—and it could very well put him and his family in grave jeopardy.
To Shakespeare’s best knowledge, in a period of 25 years, from 1559 to 1584, the Queen’s government had arrested, tried, and executed approximately twenty priests—like William Filby, John Payne, Thomas Ford, and most notably, Edmund Campion. To his knowledge, in that same period, there were only a few laymen who were executed for their Catholic faith. The only names he knew were John Finch and Thomas Sherwood.
In the time since the Act in 1584, in only about two years, Shakespeare heard of the execution of fifteen priests. It made him wonder how many priests were in custody now, and awaiting trial, and execution. He once heard about seventy-two priests the government had banished, and sent to France, in September 1585. He often wondered how many more priests were in prison, and would never be shown such mercy.
Shakespeare thought of how one of those banished Catholic priests, John Adams, had returned to England immediately, only to be immediately caught and imprisoned. Adams was executed, only a few months ago, by hanging, drawing and quartering, along with two other priests—John Lowe, and Robert Dibdale.
Shakespeare shuddered to think of Dibdale, who had grown up nearby, and whose kinfolk Shakespeare still saw quite regularly in Stratford. He could still remember Dibdale’s face quite well. Dibdale came from a good family, and had even gone to the same school in Stratford, that Shakespeare had attended a few years later.
The idea of Dibdale’s death was a stark reminder that the religious persecution was not very far away from Stratford. Shakespeare could still remember the royal guards who went door to door, for days afterwards, to find anyone who may have provided Dibdale with shelter or money or food. Even John had been questioned, but knew nothing.
Shakespeare did not like any of it. All of it scared him. He wanted no more of it, and he did not want to invite such trouble into the house and into their lives.
Shakespeare looked at Susanna now. She looked so keen to hear more from her grandfather. He looked at John. He did not want to ever say no to his father, or disobey him, especially when it had to do with Susanna, Judith and Hamlet. He loved his father. He always admired his father. He wanted his own children to benefit from knowing and learning from their grandfather.
Especially Susanna, he thought. After all, it was he who suggested her name, when she was born.
He could remember how much joy Susanna’s birth brought to Mary and John. Anne was delighted to have her firstborn daughter’s name resemble her own—Susanna, daughter of Anne.
Shakespeare was about to nod to his father, he suddenly grew anxious, as if the solid table was swirling and transforming into a whirling pool of water. His throat tightened, and his gorge began to rise—and he was falling into that pool, as his imagination fired up, transporting him back in time to York.
Shakespeare saw Margaret right before him, dragged from her house by a large jeering crowd, as people removed her front door from her own house. He saw her father Thomas Middleton, a former Sheriff of York, and her husband, John Clitherow, a successful butcher and chamberlain.
Shakespeare did not want to watch as guards stripped off Margaret’s clothing, but he was unable to stop his imagination from showing him the gruesome story he had heard. He could not close his eyes, as he saw how the mob forced Margaret to the ground, and then held her down under her own door. He could not stop from hearing how the mob barked commands at beggars, who dropped heavy rocks on the door to crush her. Nor could he stop his ears as she pitifully groaned under the weight, and as she clawed at the ground to get free, and as her blood ran from her body. He could not look away as her weeping turned to howling screams, which only made some people in the crowd cheer even louder.
Shakespeare blinked, and saw how he had suddenly gripped the table, and he struggled to breathe. He looked at his family again, with great relief. He wanted to say something, anything, but he could not get the thoughts of Margaret out of his head. He was told that it took many minutes before Margaret died, and her body was left out in the public and under seven hundred pounds of stones for many hours.
Shakespeare looked at his mother and at his wife, and smiled at them, to show them that he was all right. He had not told anyone that he could see the final moments of Margaret Clitherow’s life in his imagination. Ever since he heard about her death, he saw it repeatedly, at the most unusual moments.
Nothing about the story of Margaret’s death made sense to him. If they could execute the daughter of a former Sheriff, and the wife of a wealthy chamberlain—then they could come for all Catholics. My father is more right than he knew. No Catholic in England is safe. Not after Margaret’s death—her murder.
What possessed those people to crush her under seven hundred pounds?
Would six hundred not suffice?
Five hundred?
Two hundred?
He had to willfully force himself not to think of the fact that Margaret had been pregnant when she died.
He looked at his own children, and smiled, to show them that their father was all right—even as he thought, If they could murder Margaret and her unborn child—what would they be willing to do to me and my children?
He remembered how Margaret’s execution took place on Good Friday, the holy day commemorating the crucifixion and death of Jesus Christ.
His eyes began to water, as he tried to hold back tears, What kind of Christians were those people—if they could murder Margaret on a day so holy?
Is such butchery now acceptable?
Will it become commonplace?
Is this the future for England as a Protestant Christian nation?
How could any Christian have perverted Good Friday like that—by doing these things to her on the day we remember how Jesus was mocked and beaten and flogged and spit upon and smote on the head and nailed to a cross to die?
What kind of people took delight in crushing her under stones?
They must be the same kind of people who wished that Jesus had stay buried in that tomb, behind that great stone, forever.
He thought of how Jesus had saved a woman from being stoned to death by a crowd. He thought, Who among them in York was without sin, that they would crush Margaret with stones?
Shakespeare remembered when he and John first heard the news of Margaret Clitherow’s death. John said that the blame should fall primarily on Queen Elizabeth and her councillors. Shakespeare did not argue with his father, but he could not find it in his heart to blame the Queen. Shakespeare thought it was far more likely that the local authorities in York were solely to blame.
At the table, he looked now at Susanna. Shakespeare wanted to keep her safe. He did not want her to fear, or to worry, or to suffer. He wanted her to have a life that was free from such worries.
From the time he heard of Margaret’s death, he heard more stories of Catholic commoners who were executed. Shakespeare was gripped with fear. From that time, he had frequently argued with his parents, and with Anne, about their safety. He told them that he did not want to teach his children about their Catholic faith. He only wanted to teach them what the Protestant Church of England demanded. John and Mary were very patient with him. They urged him to have less fear, and have more faith. John said, “Our souls are more important than their laws. Our souls are stronger than their stones. They can even cast us all into a fire—but God will save us. Our lives are very short, here in this world, but we will spend an eternity in Heaven.”
Those words rang in Shakespeare’s ears now. He wanted to be more like his father. He wanted to have more faith.
Finally, Shakespeare shook his head at his father—to stop him from talking about Lot and the angels.
John saw the struggle within him. He knew how much it worried him, to talk about religion. He still smiled at his son, to show him how much he cared for him, and respected his decision.
John cleared his throat. He decided to tell her what the story of Lot meant to him, without telling her the story of Lot. He said simply, in a soft tone, to speak from the heart, “Susanna, all of us must have a heart that is inviting to God. God desires the heart. God desires for us to believe in Him, because He believes in us. The more we welcome other people into our hearts, the more we welcome Him, and He will dwell within us. He will be drawn to us, like a bird to an inviting nest.”
Susanna lifted her head and smiled up at him.
John continued, in a soft tone, as he touched his chest, “Susanna, you have a door to your heart, almost like the door to a house. All you have to do is keep the door to your heart open for the Lord, like I am opening the door to my heart to you right now. Do you feel my heart, and how it is open to you…?”
Susanna touched his chest, and she could feel his heart beating. John smiled when he saw how her eyes brightened.
Susanna suddenly put her ear to his chest, and giggled, “I hear it…”
Mary and Anne laughed and clapped their hands for Susanna, who laughed even more, as her grandfather gave her a big hug.
Even Shakespeare smiled, pleased that his father did not tell the story of Lot. But he was displeased that his father still insisted on saying anything. He wished his father would do as he had asked. He wished his father would not teach Susanna a religious lesson like this.
As the rest of his family began to talk, Shakespeare became silent and withdrawn. As Mary chatted with Anne and Joan, about spinning some wool with their distaff, they saw how Shakespeare became distant. But they knew better than to upset him any further.
Shakespeare did not want to look at his father. It was very hard for him, to live in a house with his father, when he was a father himself. Shakespeare tried to respect his father as the master of the household, as the king of his own home, but he thought, Having two fathers in the same household is good for neither of us. I sometimes feel like a king who is usurping the power and authority of another king, challenging his rule in the very same realm.
Shakespeare did not want to usurp John, or undermine his authority as the patriarch of the family. He loved his father, and only ever wanted to obey him. Yet, it was an unavoidable consequence of their living under the same roof.
He thought of the Wars of the Roses, and how Henry Bolingbroke undermined King Richard II. He thought of how Mary, Queen of Scots had undermined Queen Elizabeth for almost as long as Shakespeare had been alive. He thought, There must be one monarch at a time, or there is chaos.
He looked at his siblings and at his children. He loved them all, but he knew that there were simply too many of them living together. It is unnatural, our living together like this. Living here with my parents, and with my own wife and children, it creates perhaps more problems than it solves. There will have to come a time when I take my family out of this house, and the sooner the better, for all of our sakes.
He hated thinking like this because he worried that such thoughts were wicked. I love my family, I really do. But I do fear that my love for my parents and my siblings might turn to bitterness and even to hate under certain circumstances.
As Shakespeare ate in silence, he thought of King Priam of Troy. With many wives, Priam fathered sixty-eight sons and eighteen daughters. He shook his head in wonder, Priam probably struggled very hard to provide for all of his children. He probably even had difficulty remembering all of their names!
Shakespeare looked at his own father, and wondered about him. John never needed much to eat, usually just some vegetables and a piece of bread. It never ceased to amaze Shakespeare that John could eat so little and yet always have so much energy.
Shakespeare had grown accustomed to eating little or no meat, and doing without fish. He could taste the garlic in the vegetables, and knew that his portion of food would probably be just enough to satisfy him, as long as it had garlic. He looked at his father, who always took less food than anyone else.
There was so much that Shakespeare did not know or understand about his father. He glanced at the rod by the door. John would regularly threaten to use the rod if the children were out of line. And yet, I have never seen him use it, not even once.
As if it were yesterday, Shakespeare could remember the one and only time that he ever saw his father take up the rod, and almost use it. John once rushed into the street and threatened to beat some men, who were passing through town. They were swearing very loudly. John was outraged. He grabbed the rod and waved it at them, as he yelled—“I will not have my family hear such filth!”
Shakespeare smiled to himself, at that strange but fond memory of his father. He glanced again at the rod, which had a rough end, as if it was broken from a longer piece of wood. He did not know where it came from, and his father never spoke of it. John never liked to talk about the past, and hardly ever spoke about himself.
Shakespeare thought of how much he enjoyed the past, and the stories of the world. He thought of how the divine gods, Jupiter and Mercury, disguised themselves as mortals, to test the hospitality of Baucis and Philemon. When they showed them hospitality, the gods spared their lives.
Shakespeare thought of how he wanted to teach this story to his children, in addition to the almost identical story of Lot and the angels. He thought of how he wanted his children to have a better education than he had. He went to school, but he had not gone to university. He was still disappointed by it.
John only allowed stories from Scripture in the house. He would not permit any such pagan stories to be told, even if they had similar positive lessons.
He had often disagreed with his father over this matter. Of course, Shakespeare wanted his children to know the Scriptures. However, he also wanted them to know about other cultures, and the history of the rest of the world—especially about the great ancient civilizations of Greece and Rome. He had learned so much about the whole world, and he wanted them to know it all. He wanted to teach them the kinds of things he had learned in the Stratford schoolhouse, where he had been inspired to learn about the world.
Shakespeare did not say anything. He just wondered to himself, How can my father not want me to teach my children what I was taught at that schoolhouse—the same school he himself helped to build with his own hands—the same school where he insisted I attend?
He loved his parents dearly, and he hated that he had even the slightest ounce of resentment towards either of them. However, I must be honest with myself. I look forward to the day when I can live under a roof of my own, and have the freedom to tell my children any story I want, however I want.
Shakespeare kept these matters to himself. He ate in silence, as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders.
He thought of how England had been a Catholic nation for over one thousand years. He thought about the Parthenon in Athens, a temple dedicated to the virgin goddess Athena. For almost one thousand years, people worshipped her. Then the Christian emperor Theodosius II decreed that the Parthenon, and all pagan temples like it, should be closed.
Shakespeare wondered, Why do some things in this world, even important things, not last very long? Why is it that even some of the most important things, like worship—the worship of Athena, and now the Catholic worship in England—do not survive more than a millennium?
As a Christian, he thought that the decree against pagan worship was good, it was progress. He thought it was a necessary step for people towards the worship of Christ. He feared what might happen now, in an England where Catholics could not worship as they once did.
He often worried, and wondered, Are we, the women and men of England, heading in the right direction, as Christians? Are we taking the right steps—towards a better future as the children of God?
Or are we taking the wrong steps—towards an uncertain future—and away from God?
Are we finding the right way—or are we getting ourselves lost?
He shuddered to think of what would happen if they were going in the wrong direction.
The ancient Athenian Greeks worshipped Athena, as their patron goddess, to protect Athens. Who will protect England if we do not properly worship God—and if He should abandon us as our patron and our Father?
Shakespeare tried to think of something else. He stared at his food for a moment.
He suddenly remembered Richard Tarlton, the famous actor, and almost laughed out loud. Tarlton and the Queen’s Men had recently performed a play in Stratford, regarding the seven deadly sins. Shakespeare never missed a play. He always saw the performances by the playing companies, when they came through town—and he would never think of missing Tarlton, who was the greatest and funniest actor in England.
Shakespeare looked at his food, and remembered the moment in the play when Progne and Philomele killed Itys and served his head to Tereus in a dish. Shakespeare’s eyes watered now, and had to wipe away the tears of laughter. He never thought that something so disgusting could be so funny. He remembered how the entire audience watching the play had cried loudly as they laughed.
Shakespeare often thought of Tarlton, and how he could find a funny moment, even in the darkest and most dramatic scene of a play. Often when Shakespeare found himself faced with a difficult moment in his life, he thought of how Tarlton would behave—and it usually brought a smile to Shakespeare’s face.
The meal was soon over, and John recited a prayer aloud that he and Mary had created together, by stitching together different verses, “We seek first the Kingdom of God, and His righteousness. We seek you, Lord, and Your strength. We seek Your face evermore. We keep our way pure and reform our ways, according to Your Word. No matter what happens, we count it all joy.”