{"id":"5f802c716cee07000646ad55","slug":"a-year-in-the-life-of-william-shakespeare-en","title":"A Year in the Life of William Shakespeare","audio_url":"https://hls.blinkist.io/bibs/5f802c716cee07000646ad55/5f802c716cee07000646ad57-T1602235658.m4a?Expires=1656166997&Signature=WTY7Br~Y9yfzy5UUkfW4TStScQTIWcyhW0QzECBc0DW3lfgXPPjikl33a~y5n5WW7bx3UETmEn~2MLzaGCBfSZ61MQw9hMJXqGrFrsb-xdjHF6QWKrAKvo3FSIwz3hMOqttVpycWqZXka2Npdd4iecaVdOnIXMPvE5spR0hEJT81S7WtIqRJ3OBzapQpN--14M86wrIY79SWm450~Fwdc7p-VGMnkIP~W1cSAXPGBIMYWZDa~g~SfA7HeiREk4kaLWkQFVEkA2j4zyaJA6WGnoTb4Y6LFuVSWn8GVQQ9S5s3Brlzn4snUjhglecNg~wFCDQn6L6AQOlJz7Z7edyk-A__&Key-Pair-Id=APKAJXJM6BB7FFZXUB4A","chapters":[{"id":"5f802c716cee07000646ad57","title":"Londoners loved the theater, but there weren’t many talented playwrights in the 1590s.","text":"

Tudor London, a city of around 200,000, was famous for its theaters.

At the close of the sixteenth century, two “playing companies” dominated the city – the Lord Chamberlain’s Men (William Shakespeare’s company) and their chief rivals, the Admiral’s Men.

The theaters in which these companies performed could accommodate between two and three thousand spectators. If two theaters staged plays on the same day, it’s likely that some three thousand Londoners attended, even if the theaters were half-empty. Over a week, that figure rose to 15,000 Londoners, meaning that almost a third of the city’s population paid to see a play each month.

It was this extraordinary cultural scene that brought Shakespeare, then an ambitious dramatist in his twenties, to London in 1585.

The key message in this blink is: Londoners loved the theater, but there weren’t many talented playwrights in the 1590s.

The popularity of plays was a boon for playwrights like Shakespeare, but it was a headache for the city’s authorities.

Theaters were typically found in seedy areas notorious for prostitution, petty crime, and heavy drinking. As London’s lawmakers, the aldermen, saw it, funneling two or three thousand boisterous theatergoers into these neighborhoods was a recipe for trouble.

In the summer of 1597, they petitioned the government to close London’s theaters. The stage, they argued, contained “nothing but profane fables.” Worse, such immorality attracted “vagrant persons, masterless men, thieves, horse stealers, and whore-mongers.”

True, common folk did love the theater, but London’s well-heeled citizens were just as fond of playgoing as their plebeian counterparts. Theater audiences may have had their fair share of “masterless men,” but they also contained plenty of young gentlemen and aristocrats. It was ultimately the latter’s patronage that saved London’s playhouses from closure.

Despite its eager and large audiences, the 1590s was a lean decade. The best dramatists of an earlier generation had exited life’s stage. By 1597, master playwrights like Christopher Marlowe, Robert Greene, and George Peel were all dead. The new generation, which included dramatists destined for greatness like Ben Jonson, was only just finding its voice.

That left Shakespeare – the only significant playwright to straddle these two generations. Labeled an “upstart crow” by the first, he was closer to a grizzled veteran in the eyes of the second. But it was only in 1599 that he established himself as the finest dramatist of the day.

"},{"id":"5f802c716cee07000646ad58","title":"Investing in a permanent theater secured Shakespeare’s financial future.","text":"

London’s playhouses weren’t just cultural landmarks – they were also businesses. In 1599, entrepreneurs hoping to cash in on Londoners’ love of the stage invested heavily in new theaters. The Admiral’s Men moved into a purpose-built theater called the Fortune just outside the city gates. Other venues, like the Boar’s Head, appeared in the eastern suburbs.

The Lord Chamberlain’s Men lacked a permanent playhouse. Faced with tighter competition than ever before, Shakespeare and his fellow actor-shareholders took a risk and decided to put their own money toward building a new home – the Globe.

The key message in this blink is: Investing in a permanent theater secured Shakespeare’s financial future.

The cost of constructing theaters like the Fortune was covered by businessmen. In return, these investors kept the lion’s share of the profits generated by companies like the Admiral’s Men.

The Globe was different. Half of the cost of building it – around £700 – was covered by two entrepreneurial brothers, Richard and Cuthbert Burbage. The other half was covered by Shakespeare and four other actor-shareholders, who each stumped up £70.

This was a considerable sum. To put it into perspective, a freelance dramatist received about six pounds for a play while a day laborer was lucky if he made more than ten pounds in a year. So why did Shakespeare and his colleagues take this risk? Well, if the Globe prospered, they would, too. Unlike the actor-shareholders of other companies, they’d each have a 10 percent stake in the theater’s future profits. Given Londoners’ insatiable appetite for the stage, that could mean as much as £100 a year per stakeholder – an income large enough to secure their place in the well-to-do middle class.

The Globe, a timbered building constructed around a circular stage topped with a thatched roof, was situated in a rough-and-tumble neighborhood outside the city’s southern limits. This neighborhood, Bankside, made its way into Shakespeare’s plays. In Twelfth Night, for example, one character is advised to lodge in the “South suburbs, at the Elephant” – a reference to a Bankside brothel recently converted into an inn that must have raised knowing smiles in the Globe’s audience.

The Globe was due to open in July. Before that, though, Shakespeare needed to write a new play to mark the occasion. Contemporary events would offer plenty of inspiration.

"},{"id":"5f802c716cee07000646ad59","title":"Elizabethan England was locked in a theological and military battle with Catholic Spain.","text":"

Before we continue with our narrative, we need to rewind back to the 1530s – one of the most important decades in England’s history.

In the 1520s and ’30s, England was still a Catholic country, meaning that, in religious matters, it took its cue from the pope in Rome. But religious change was on the horizon. In the late 1520s, Henry VIII, England’s king, expressed his wish to annul his current marriage and marry another woman – a union that the pope forbade. Despite the pope’s interdict, Henry pressed ahead. Church and king were now at odds.

This dispute, originally political in nature, began to take on an added theological dimension. If the English king could disobey the pope, didn’t that mean he was the highest religious authority in England? A series of acts passed in the 1530s established just that, making Henry the head of the English church. This was the opening salvo of the English Reformation, an offshoot of the Protestant Reformation in Europe.

The key message in this blink is: Elizabethan England was locked in a theological and military battle with Catholic Spain.

Henry VIII kick-started England’s conversion to Protestantism, but it was Elizabeth I who completed the “English Revolution,” as it came to be called. In 1559, Elizabeth, who had ascended to the throne in 1558, introduced a new theology that drew heavily on Protestant reformers such as Luther and Calvin. This act put her on a collision course with Europe’s largest Catholic power – Habsburg Spain.

The Spanish empire was vast, stretching from Latin America to Italy and today’s Philippines. The Spanish king at that time, Philip II, wasn’t just a devout Catholic – he also saw himself as a defender of Catholicism, which he believed to be under threat from Protestant revolutionaries like Elizabeth.

He wasn’t entirely wrong. In the Netherlands, another Spanish colony, Protestant revolutionaries were fighting for independence from Spain. Elizabeth supported these insurgents and sent English troops to assist them. In retaliation, Philip backed Catholic rebels struggling against English rule in Ireland. But Philip and Elizabeth’s clash wasn't limited to mere proxy wars. It soon escalated into direct conflict.

In 1588, Philip decided to overthrow Elizabeth and return England to the Catholic fold. That year, he dispatched a fleet, or armada, of 130 ships carrying Spanish troops to England. Bad weather and the English navy’s use of highly maneuverable vessels against Spain’s heavily laden galleons blocked this bid to depose Elizabeth, but it was only a temporary reprieve for the English queen.

By 1599, with English troops tied down in fighting in the Netherlands and Ireland, England was once again vulnerable to invasion – Spain’s new king, Philip III, and Elizabeth both knew it.

"},{"id":"5f802c716cee07000646ad5a","title":"Shakespeare captured the mood in London as the city prepared for a Spanish invasion.","text":"

When the Globe opened in July 1599, England was in a state of panic. English forces in Ireland had suffered multiple defeats and were stalemated in the Netherlands. The treasury meanwhile was running dry.

In Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, a play completed around this time, Brutus bitterly reprimands Cassius, another Roman senator, for withholding “gold to pay my legions.” It was a reference Shakespeare’s audience would have understood immediately. All summer, rumors circulated that English soldiers in Ireland were about to mutiny “for want of pay and scarcity of victuals.”

There was also talk in London of another Spanish armada. By mid-July, there were reports that 57 ships bearing 25,000 soldiers were being readied for departure in Andalusia.

The key message in this blink is: Shakespeare captured the mood in London as the city prepared for a Spanish invasion.

Elizabeth dispatched the forces that remained in England to strategic defensive positions. Thousands of soldiers poured into London, a city made vulnerable by the Thames, a wide and deep river that feeds into the North Sea. With little to do but wait for the arrival of the Spanish, these men must have welcomed the distractions offered by London’s playhouses. While we can’t be sure how Shakespeare spent his summer, it’s likely that the Globe did a brisk trade in those months.

The repertoire of the Chamberlain’s Men certainly contained plays suited to the moment. One was Shakespeare’s own Henry V, a celebration of English military glory. Then there was A Larum for London, a play about the fall of Antwerp to Spanish forces in 1576. A gory piece in which civilians are butchered, virgins threatened with rape, and Englishmen tortured, it would have sent shivers down the spines of viewers anticipating the arrival of Spanish soldiers in their own city.

In the end, the Spanish never arrived, but it’s clear that this atmosphere of panicky expectation left a mark on Shakespeare. Take Othello, a play written a few years later, which opens with generals anxiously discussing conflicting reports on the size of an approaching enemy fleet. “My letters say a hundred and seven galleys,” says one. “Mine a hundred and forty,” another states. “And mine,” adds a third, “two hundred . . .”

Similarly, the first scene of Hamlet, written in 1599, depicts jittery soldiers standing guard against an invisible enemy. “Why,” one asks, “this same strict and most observant watch / So nightly toils the subject of the land?” This dark mood, filled with uncertain threats, would have been all too familiar to Londoners who experienced that summer.

"},{"id":"5f802c726cee07000646ad5b","title":"Assassination was one of the great political questions in 1599.","text":"

Julius Caesar was one of the first plays staged in the newly opened Globe, and it appears that Shakespeare wrote it with this occasion in mind.

Many viewers find the play lopsided because its pivotal moment – the assassination of Julius Caesar by his former allies, Brutus and Cassius – occurs so early in the first act. The second and third acts, by contrast, examine the aftermath of his death.

This wasn’t an oversight or poor plotting on Shakespeare’s part, though. Although the play is set in ancient Rome, Julius Caesar isn’t a meditation on Roman history. Rather, it’s about the political questions that preoccupied Elizabethan audiences, above all the fallout from political violence.

The key message in this blink is: Assassination was one of the great political questions in 1599.

Shakespeare’s Brutus and Cassius justify their decision to kill Caesar by appealing to a moral argument. Caesar, they claim, was growing increasingly erratic and dictatorial; if they hadn’t stopped him before it was too late, he’d have led Rome to its ruin.

In their view, a ruler may be justly overthrown if he exceeds his rightful powers or threatens the interests of the state. It follows, then, that subjects only owe their loyalty to good rulers. Bad rulers are owed nothing – not even their lives.

This line of thought is a key plank of republicanism, a political ideology with roots in ancient Greece and Rome which was rediscovered by radicals in Elizabethan England. It would play a key role in the English civil war in the 1660s, which ended with republicans justifying their execution of an English king in words that echoed those of Shakespeare’s Brutus and Cassius.

Republican radicals weren’t a real threat to the English queen, though – it was Catholic assassins she feared. In 1570, the pope excommunicated Elizabeth. This meant that Catholics loyal to Rome could, in good conscience, support her assassination and even work toward that aim. Many did just that, and there was a spate of attacks on Elizabeth, one of which involved a distant relative of Shakespeare.

But Shakespeare’s point in Julius Caesar isn’t to justify or condemn one faction or another – it’s to comment on the human condition. Noble acts of whatever stripe, he shows, have unintended consequences. Like all assassins, Brutus and Cassius hoped to be quote “sacrificers, but not butchers,” yet they ended up bringing the very chaos to Rome that they had intended to prevent. England, Shakespeare suggests, would do well to heed this lesson.

"},{"id":"5f802c726cee07000646ad5c","title":"Shakespeare wasn’t just a bard – he was also a businessman.","text":"

The Reformation wasn’t just a drama played out on the stage of world history by a cast of kings and queens, empires and armies. In provincial towns throughout the country, humble subjects also contributed to the changes sweeping through Elizabethan England.

Take Shakespeare’s native Stratford, a market town around 100 miles northwest of London. In 1571, when Shakespeare was seven, crowds gathered in front of Stratford’s church to watch a glazier knock out its stained windows – a hated symbol of popery. It was a statement: Stratford would not return to the Catholic fold.

There were other changes, too. In the past, traveling actors had stopped to perform in Stratford. Now, the Puritanical town authorities issued fines to anyone caught hosting “players.” How did Shakespeare, the famed playwright, fit into this picture?

The key message in this blink is: Shakespeare wasn’t just a bard – he was also a businessman.

Shakespeare visited his wife and children in Stratford about once a year. He didn’t return in the guise of a bard – he came as a savvy investor and man of considerable wealth.

Take an incident from 1598. Richard Quiney, one of Stratford’s most prominent citizens, was down on his luck and required a loan of £30. He didn’t turn to his neighbors for help, though. Instead, he wrote to Shakespeare, his “loving good friend and countryman” in London.

We don’t know if Shakespeare gave Quiney the money or turned him down, but it’s easy to see why Quiney thought he had the money. Even before his investment in the Globe in 1599, Shakespeare appears to have been financially secure. In 1597, for example, he bought a large Stratford house called New Place boasting ten rooms, three stories, two gardens, two orchards, and two barns. It cost him £120.

Shakespeare then made another investment, buying 80 bushels of malt. This was an expensive commodity that was only profitable when bought in bulk. When he made his purchase, malt was in short supply. This shortage was so severe that the government tried to force people like Shakespeare to sell it on the open market and thus prevent popular discontent.

Shakespeare, however, took his chances with Stratford’s disgruntled poor, who by now were muttering about hanging hoarders like the playwright “on gibbets at their own doors.” Having kept the grain off the market and helped drive up the price, Shakespeare sold his malt at a handsome profit.

"},{"id":"5f802c726cee07000646ad5d","title":"The Globe helped Shakespeare cement his reputation as the greatest dramatist of the day.","text":"

At the beginning of 1599, Shakespeare was a productive and successful playwright. His work pleased audiences and sold well, albeit usually in anonymous volumes.

By the end of the year, that had changed. His name was now a draw in itself. One entrepreneur even collected his poems in a book padded out with knock-offs by lesser poets. It sold out within days. Shakespeare’s contemporaries also noticed this growing popularity, mocking the young men who searched Shakespeare’s work for pick-up lines and from whose “lips doth flow / nought but Juliet and Romeo.”

Like that unlicensed collection of poems, this probably irritated Shakespeare, but it was a sign of the times: he was now a recognized brand.

The key message in this blink is: The Globe helped Shakespeare cement his reputation as the greatest dramatist of the day.

The Globe was critical to Shakespeare’s success. Before it opened its doors, London’s theaters all staged the same repertoire of plays. Londoners didn’t go to the theater; they went to a theater – whichever one happened to be closest.

But if you wanted to see a gripping historical drama like Henry V or a finely crafted topical play like Julius Caesar, you had to go to the Globe. That wasn’t just down to Shakespeare’s own writing – it was also a reflection of his ability to spot talented actors capable of playing the parts he wrote for them.

Theater in London would never be the same again. Other companies realized that they, too, had to change to keep up with the Chamberlain’s Men. The Admiral’s Men even hired the builder who had overseen the Globe’s construction to build their new playhouse. When it opened, it also featured a program that couldn’t be found anywhere else in the city.

Shakespeare was now 35, halfway through what the Italian poet Dante called “the journey of life.” He’d written and collaborated in the writing of over 20 dramatic works, averaging two plays a year. Looking back over the year at Christmastime, Shakespeare may have felt that his artistic reputation and financial position were now secure enough to slow down a little.

At any rate, he wrote just two plays – Twelfth Night and Troilus and Cressida – between early 1600 and the death of Queen Elizabeth in the spring of 1603. In his final years, he added three great tragedies to his life’s work: King Lear, Macbeth, and Antony and Cleopatra.

Shakespeare died prematurely at the age of 52 in 1616. The Elizabethan world to which he’d belonged was quickly extinguished. England was soon plunged into a brutal civil war, bringing hardline Puritans into power. One of their first acts was to close London’s theaters and pull down the Globe.

"}]}

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