- -Commentary by Arthur Freeman, author of books and articles on the literature and bibliography of the age of Shakespeare
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“Who thinks it necessary to praise the sun?” wrote Wordsworth. “Modesty, and a deep feeling how superfluous a thing it is to praise Shakespeare, have kept me often, and almost habitually, silent upon that subject.” To read Shakespeare’s Sonnets as originally published in 1609 is to come to terms with a rather different book from the sonnets of the collected works. Here they stand alone as the verse of an Elizabethan poet, as a fresh and consistent body of writing, rather than as a playwright’s incidental effusions. The book has been studied for centuries, but its contents are still wrapped in mystery. The precise circumstances of publication will likely never be known: it remains uncertain when the poems were written and to whom, whether the text was revised for publication or even authorized at all, and whether its appearance was designed to tantalize a knowing coterie or delight the wider world with (as Keats wrote) “fine things said unintentionally.” The reader must clutch at straws, yet some faint clues exist. This 1609 quarto presents certain significant peculiarities lost in later transmission, such as the lapidary dedication in capital letters and the curious page breaks in some of the sonnets. Shakespeare’s editors have increasingly come to recognize the importance of the book as a physical object, an aspect tellingly conveyed in this Octavo Edition, which presents an exceptional copy from the British Library, one of only thirteen to survive.
The original book imaged for this digital edition:
6 7/8 x 4 3/4 inches (175 x 121 mm)
The original book imaged for this digital edition:
6 7/8 x 4 3/4 inches (175 x 121 mm)
Deceptive Dedication?
We would probably long since have given up trying to identify the young man to whom the majority of Shakespeare’s sonnets are addressed had not the publisher of the 1609 edition, Thomas Thorpe, written an enigmatic preface that provides tantalizing hints. In dedicating his publishing project to “the onlie begetter of these insuing sonnets Mr W.H.,” Thorpe seemed to reveal the initials of the verses’ inspirer. Since 1780 at least seventeen “W.H.” candidates have been proposed, plus three or more with the initials “H.W.”. They range in historical prominence from William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, and Henry Wriothesley, Earl of Southampton, to a stationer’s assistant William Hall, Shakespeare’s brother-in-law William Hart (a Stratford hatter), and an altogether imaginary William Hughes (Edmond Malone’s odd choice, adopted by Oscar Wilde). Every one of these candidates has at one time been successfully demolished by an advocate of another, who then inevitably found his own nominee summarily rejected. Which leaves us the choice of an even less credible, or a yet-undiscovered “W.H.,” or an old theory which has recently resurfaced: that “W.H.” is a red herring, and that Thorpe – who was given to whimsical prefaces – either did not know who was Shakespeare’s inspirer (but threw out a cryptic hint to help sales), or (if he did know) couched his acknowledgment in private terms, beyond the comprehension of contemporaries, and of us.
We would probably long since have given up trying to identify the young man to whom the majority of Shakespeare’s sonnets are addressed had not the publisher of the 1609 edition, Thomas Thorpe, written an enigmatic preface that provides tantalizing hints. In dedicating his publishing project to “the onlie begetter of these insuing sonnets Mr W.H.,” Thorpe seemed to reveal the initials of the verses’ inspirer. Since 1780 at least seventeen “W.H.” candidates have been proposed, plus three or more with the initials “H.W.”. They range in historical prominence from William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, and Henry Wriothesley, Earl of Southampton, to a stationer’s assistant William Hall, Shakespeare’s brother-in-law William Hart (a Stratford hatter), and an altogether imaginary William Hughes (Edmond Malone’s odd choice, adopted by Oscar Wilde). Every one of these candidates has at one time been successfully demolished by an advocate of another, who then inevitably found his own nominee summarily rejected. Which leaves us the choice of an even less credible, or a yet-undiscovered “W.H.,” or an old theory which has recently resurfaced: that “W.H.” is a red herring, and that Thorpe – who was given to whimsical prefaces – either did not know who was Shakespeare’s inspirer (but threw out a cryptic hint to help sales), or (if he did know) couched his acknowledgment in private terms, beyond the comprehension of contemporaries, and of us.
Tangled Trio
Many critics, ancient and modern, have implored readers to concentrate on the abundant art and beauty of the sonnets in vacuo, as individual poems or mini-sequences, suppressing the temptation to make a human narrative or true-life novel of the whole. But to ignore the overall “plot,” or at least to renounce interest in its source, may be asking too much of our high-mindedness, and may deprive us of an innocent secondary pleasure. The relationships that the poems describe are complex and unorthodox, ambivalent and evolving, and particular in detail. There is no good reason to regard these as purely dramatic exercises, like speeches from the mouth of a Berowne, a Romeo, or an Othello. The figures evoked but unnamed in the Sonnets, apart from the speaking poet himself, are traditionally described as the Friend (or Fair Young Man), the Mistress (or Dark Lady), and the Rival Poet. It is perhaps rash to assume that the Friend and Mistress are always the same man and woman, given that the time span of composition may be ten years or more, but those who have engaged in the search for historical equivalents – by now the most voluminously documented of all such problems in secular biography – have usually adopted that premise.
Many critics, ancient and modern, have implored readers to concentrate on the abundant art and beauty of the sonnets in vacuo, as individual poems or mini-sequences, suppressing the temptation to make a human narrative or true-life novel of the whole. But to ignore the overall “plot,” or at least to renounce interest in its source, may be asking too much of our high-mindedness, and may deprive us of an innocent secondary pleasure. The relationships that the poems describe are complex and unorthodox, ambivalent and evolving, and particular in detail. There is no good reason to regard these as purely dramatic exercises, like speeches from the mouth of a Berowne, a Romeo, or an Othello. The figures evoked but unnamed in the Sonnets, apart from the speaking poet himself, are traditionally described as the Friend (or Fair Young Man), the Mistress (or Dark Lady), and the Rival Poet. It is perhaps rash to assume that the Friend and Mistress are always the same man and woman, given that the time span of composition may be ten years or more, but those who have engaged in the search for historical equivalents – by now the most voluminously documented of all such problems in secular biography – have usually adopted that premise.
Erased Elizabethan
All knowledge of the early history of this copy of Shakespeare’s Sonnets was obscured until recently. A faint trace of the long obliterated signature of “Reynard William[s]" (possibly contemporary with Shakespeare) has now been recovered on the recto of the dedication leaf – though no further information has yet come to light regarding this early autograph. Where the book was shelved between Shakespeare’s time and the early nineteenth century is apparently irrecoverable, for the original binding no longer survives. When the Hon. Thomas Grenville M.P. (1755-1846) acquired this copy, it was standard practice among book collectors of means to have choice volumes uniformly rebound. This copy of the Sonnets therefore entered Grenville’s library in an elegant rebinding of brown leather, bulked out to double its size with 40-odd blank leaves – the added width enabled the title to be lettered across, rather than along, the spine. It was presumably at this time that the signature was effaced, as Grenville is known to have had interior signs of ownership washed out of his acquisitions.
All knowledge of the early history of this copy of Shakespeare’s Sonnets was obscured until recently. A faint trace of the long obliterated signature of “Reynard William[s]" (possibly contemporary with Shakespeare) has now been recovered on the recto of the dedication leaf – though no further information has yet come to light regarding this early autograph. Where the book was shelved between Shakespeare’s time and the early nineteenth century is apparently irrecoverable, for the original binding no longer survives. When the Hon. Thomas Grenville M.P. (1755-1846) acquired this copy, it was standard practice among book collectors of means to have choice volumes uniformly rebound. This copy of the Sonnets therefore entered Grenville’s library in an elegant rebinding of brown leather, bulked out to double its size with 40-odd blank leaves – the added width enabled the title to be lettered across, rather than along, the spine. It was presumably at this time that the signature was effaced, as Grenville is known to have had interior signs of ownership washed out of his acquisitions.
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