Of all the critical paradoxes that have ever been seriously advocated, few have been received with such general and derisive indifference as that which declares Bacon to have been the author of the dramas ascribed to Shakespeare, and which couples this declaration with another—more startling still—that these dramas are not dramas only, but are besides a series of writings in cypher, whose inner meaning bears no relation whatever to their ostensible meaning as dramas, but which consist of memoranda or memoirs concerning Bacon himself, and secrets of Queen Elizabeth. The mere theory that Bacon was the real author of the plays, though the mass of Shakespeare’s readers still set it down as an illusion, does not, indeed, contain anything essentially shocking to common sense. On the contrary, it is generally recognised that on purely à priori grounds there is less to shock common sense in the idea that those wonderful compositions were the work of a scholar, a philosopher, a statesman, and a profound man of the world, than there is in the idea that they were the work of a notoriously ill-educated actor, who seems to have found some difficulty in signing his own name. This latter idea, which is still generally accepted, has little evidence to support it beyond tradition, which is strong, and strong only, in the absence of evidence to the contrary; and were such evidence forthcoming, it would be impossible for the candid mind to reject it on the grounds that it pointed to any improbable conclusion.

But with regard to the theory of the cypher the case is different. This is generally rejected or neglected both by scholars and the reading public, not on the ground that the evidence for it is insufficient, but on the ground that it is in itself so unlikely, so fantastic, so impossible that it is not worth a sane man’s while to consider the misguided ingenuities by which a few literary monomaniacs have endeavoured to make it plausible. How is it possible, the ordinary man asks, to believe that the finest and profoundest poetry in the world—that the verses which give us in music the love of Romeo and Juliet, the torture of Hamlet’s philosophy, the majestic calm of Prospero’s—was composed, or rather constructed, as an elaborate verbal puzzle, the object of which was to preserve for some future decipherer a collection of political and mainly personal information, which the author was too timid to confide himself to his contemporaries? We might just as well believe that Paradise Lost is in reality a kind of Pepys’ Diary, in which the poet has recorded for posterity the curtain-lectures of Mrs. Milton. Such is the argument which the ordinary man uses; and if he consents to consider the matter a little farther, and finds, as he will find, that the advocates of the cypher theory maintain that Bacon, in the Shakespearian plays, has hidden away not one cypher but six, his dismissal of their theory will be yet more curt and contemptuous. Of this attitude of mind I am able to speak with sympathy, for the excellent reason that it was till lately my own. A remarkable volume, however, known at present to surprisingly few readers, has been recently published, dealing with the subject before us—a volume which at first I glanced at with apathetic distrust, but which has caused me, when I read it carefully, to reconsider the question. The contents of this volume I shall here briefly summarise, leaving the reader to escape from its conclusions if he can. The volume is called The Bi-literal Cypher of Francis Bacon. It was first, I believe, printed privately, less than two years ago; and a small second edition was issued last year to the public. I will begin with describing its exact scope, which is limited. Of the six Baconian cyphers alleged to exist in Shakespeare, this volume deals only with one; and it is with this one only that I shall ask the reader to concern himself.

The biliteral cypher possesses two remarkable characteristics, which it is desirable to mention at starting, because they at once dispose of all those à priori objections which suggest themselves, as we have just seen, against the cypher theory generally. In the first place this cypher, whether it exists in the Shakespearian plays or not, is demonstrably not the invention of any modern literary lunatic. It was invented by Bacon himself; and an elaborate account of it, together with examples of its use, is to be found, as will be shown presently, in one of his most celebrated works. In the second place—and this is a point which it is still more important to urge on the à priori sceptic—the biliteral cypher has nothing whatever to do with the composition or the wording of the works into which it is introduced. There might be a biliteral cypher in Hamlet from end to end, without any thought of a cypher having been present to the author when he was writing it. It is, in other words, altogether a matter of typography. It depends not on what the author writes, but on the manner in which he is printed. Accordingly, when what we may call the Baconian party informs the world that they have discovered a biliteral cypher, of which the author is Bacon, running through the plays of Shakespeare, they are really indulging in a gross inaccuracy of language, which does much to prevent a fair hearing being accorded to them. What they really mean is that this biliteral cypher runs not through the plays themselves, but through one particular edition of them—that is to say, the celebrated first folio. This edition, as every student knows, is remarkable for many extraordinary anomalies in its typography. Of these anomalies an explanation is now for the first time offered to us. They are presented to us—and it is claimed that they are thus explained completely—as part and parcel of the newly discovered typographical cypher. If we take these devices away the cypher disappears with them. If we resort, with the aid of the printer, to devices of the same kind, we could embody the cypher anew, and every sentence that Bacon committed to it, in any book we might choose to reprint, so far as its length permitted—in Pickwick, in Vanity Fair, in Tupper’s Proverbial Philosophy, in the Apocalypse of St. John, or in the advertisement-sheet of the Times.

I will now proceed to describe what the nature of the cypher is; and it shall first be introduced to the reader in the words of Bacon himself. In the De Augmentis Scientiarum Bacon writes thus:[7]

Let us come to Cyphars. Their kinds are many, as Cyphars simple, Cyphars intermixt with Nulloes, or Non-significant characters; Cyphars of double letters under one character; Wheele-cyphars, Kay-cyphars, Cyphars of Words, Others.... But that jealousies may be taken away, we will annexe one other invention, which, in truth, we devised in our own youth, when we were in Paris: and it is a thing which yet seemeth to us not worthy to be lost. It containeth the highest degree of Cypher, which is to signify omnia per omnia, yet so as the writng infolding may bear a quintuple relation to the writing infolded. No other condition or restriction whatsoever is required. It shall be performed thus. First, let all the letters of the alphabet, by transposition, be resolved into two letters onely; for the transposition of two letters by five placings will be sufficient for thirty-two differences, much more for twenty-four, which is the number of the alphabet. The example of such an alphabet is in this wise:

A aaaaa I abaaa R baaaa
B aaaab K abaab S baaab
C aaaba L ababa T baaba
D aaabb M ababb V baabb
E aabaa N abbaa W babaa
F aabab O abbab X babab
G aabba P abbba Y babba
H aabbb Q abbbb Z babbb

... When you addresse yourself to write, resolve your inward infolded letter into this Bi-literarie Alphabet. Say the interior letter be 'Fuge.’

Example of Solution

FUGE
aababbaabbaabbaaabaa

Together with this you must have ready at hand a bi-formed Alphabet, which may represent all the letters of the Common Alphabet, as well Capitall Letters as the Smaller Characters, in a double forme, as may fit every man’s occasion.