The Sun.
London, England, 1867-02-20 00:00:00

The Dedication to Shakspere's Sonnets.

The following exquisitely ingenious suggestion
of au explanation to the hitherto all but inscrutable
enigma of the Dedicatory Page prefixed to the first
edition of "The Sonnets of Shakspere" is thrown
out in last Saturday's Athenxem by a correspondent
of that journal signing himself " Philarete Chasles."
First, however—that is, before giving this ingenious
hypothesis of Philarete Charles's—it will be as well
to observe that in the letter addressed by him to the
Atheuxum under date " Palais de l'lnstitute, Paris,
9th February, 1867"—the writer speaks of Mr.
Gerald Massey's recent book about the Sonnets, and
of one upon the same subject now about to appelr
from his own hand. Mr. Massey's ability be ad-
mires so much that although he in no way coin-
cides in his views in regard to the Sonnets, he pro-
poses to dedicate his own work upon those Sonnets
to him—Mr. Massey. In fact, he says, in regard to
this :

Although I cannot always agree with him, I admire
Mr. Massey's talent ; and to Him I intend to dedicate my
humbler volume on Shakspere's Sonnets.

As the form of my dedication explains my reading of a
puzzle which remains unsolved, you will perhaps allow me
to quote here :

TO . THE . SUBTLE . EXPOUNDER. OF .
THE . SHAKSPERIAN . SONNETS .
MR. P. C. ALL . HONOURS .
AND . THAT . REWARD .

DUE .
TO .

HIS . MOST-ERUDITE . SAGACITY .
WISHETH .
THE . WELL WISHING .
ADVENTURER . IN .
SETTING .
FORTH .

IT. P.*

* Henry lion, the Parisian Editor and Printer.

To . The . Onlie Begetter . Of .
These . Insuing . Sonnets .
Mr. W. 11. All . Happinesse
And . That . Eternitie

Promised .
By

Orr . Ever . Living . Poet .

IVisheth .

The . Well-Wishing .
Adventurer . In .
Setting .
Forth .

T T.

The above is an exact copy of the famous dedica-
tion of Thomas Thorpe. Why Mr. Massey wastes
any doubts on the very evident sense of the words
which I reproduce is more than I can understand.
Most dedications of the Elizabethan period are
written in the same form, the name of the dedicator
following closely that of the dedicatee, and the verb
being left at the end of the sentence.
But, says Mr. Gerald Massey, why divide a single
sentence into two parts? I answer, that Thomas
Thorpe's addition is a mere signature, a flourish,
a postscriptum. I answer, that the great man of
the batch is the one first mentioned, the begetter,
the only true creator, the father of Shakspere's
Sonnets, Southampton. Ile figures at the head of
the inscription, crowned with immortality, while
T. T. remains humbly crouching at the base, and
W. 11. kneels in an obscure corner.
Wko is the begetter of Shakspere's genius?—
Lord Southampton.

Who is the timid adventurer, I'. T., who fears to
lose his money and wishes well, hoping with a gentle
sigh that the enterprise may bcprofitable ?—Thomas
Thorpe (the publisher).
And, lastly, who is the still more bashful " well-
wisher?" Who is this W. IL? To unravel this mys-
tery seems the most difficult part of our task.

is this W. H., who does not even claim a
whole line for himself, and advances, hat in hand,
with bended knee, requesting our great Lord to
excuse him, asking pardon from the begetter of the
poems which he dares to print with the help of the
publisher Thomas Thorpe?
Who is W.H.?

11'. H. is clearly a man of small note, a timid
man : but he has a right to dictate the book to
Lord Southampton. What kind of right ? Has he
collected the scattered poems, the sibyline leaves,.
which have fallen, shaken by the tempest, from the
aspen tree of passion, love and mediation of Shak-
spere's genius—to be handed from lord to lady,
from lady to lord, circulating among the author's
private friends ? My first idea, which the Athenaeum
had the kindness to record (No. 1787, Jan. 25,

1662), led me to believe that %V. H. was William
Herbert, Earl of Pembroke. Maturer reflection
induces me to abandon that ground. A man of
the world, a knight of the Garter, a Court-fa-
vourite, could scarcely submit, especially in the
proud days of Elizabeth's reign, to such a forget-
fulness of his rank and titles.

After due consideration, and some obstinate peer-
ing into old books, I remain convinced that Lord
Pembroke and W. 11. are not the same person. But
who was he? I wandered through the Hughes',

Hewes', Harpmans, Hartmans, Heywoods, Hails-
ways, ilolloways, Hcartseases, Hiektuans, Horners,
Hornbys, Ilutchinsons, and others who happened
to have aW. for their baptismal initial. The man
can have been but a Mister or even a Master; still,
he must have been rather intimate, or at least fami-
liarly acquainted, with the poet, whom he salutes in
the most hail-fellow-well-met style.
I see but one person in whom the two requisite
conditions could be fulfilled. He must, about the

time of the publication of the Sonnets, not only
have been an inhabitant of London, but often and
necessarily with Shakspere. The great thinker,
after many years of hard labour as actor, author
and manager, probably tired of the turmoil of the
metropolis, had then wade up his mind, counted
his savings, built his future abode, settled his
accounts with his partners, and was ready to retiro
to New Place, in order to enjoy a dignified rural
repose. lie was loved and courted by the a-hole
community of Stratfordians ; some would wish to
make an inroad on his purse ; others sought his
patronage. We know of no quarrel between him,
his cousins, half-brothers, or nephews. That the
brother of his wife Ann Hathaway (whom he mar-
ried when he was still in his teens—a right strong
woman, who survived him for six years)—that
William' Hathaway (W. II.) should have visited his
relative, William Shakspete, cannot be a matter of
doubt. That those visits may have become more
frequent and protracted at the time of Shakspere's
projected withdrawal from London, when he had
to draw up his inventories and arrange his papers,
does not seem an idle sur.nise. I use the word
surmise purposely. All Shaksperian facts, if we
except some dates, are but conjectures. Let us ac-
cept the most likely. Whatever may be the
shrewdnes,, the sagacity, the divining art of the
guesser, we must rest satisfied with a mere calcu-
lation of probabilities, partaking more or less of
mathematical exactness.

• Without rashly venturing to affirm—and putting
forward some conjectures (which in such a matter
ha,ve a right to claim a hearing, but nothing more),
I say that W. H. and William Hathaway may be
identical ; that Shakspere, whose youthful verses
made much noise, had probablykept rough draughts,
copies and duplicates of his fugitive pieces, seems
also very probable. He thought little about glory,
publicity, and literary rewards; this is most unques-