(title from Little Black Boy by William Blake)
In this novel, based on the lives of Charles Lamb, known today as an essayist, and his sister Mary, a document has been discovered showing that Shakespeare was not a Papist as generally supposed, but a member of the English Church.
Now read on:
. . . On a cold evening in the following week Samuel and William Ireland were invited into the library of Church House beside St Mildred’s, Fetter Lane. Here they were greeted by Doctor Parr and Doctor Warburton, both of them identically dressed in clerical black with white stocks, white wristbands and dusted grey periwigs.
`Delighted,’ said Doctor Parr.
`Immeasurably’ said Doctor Warburton.
They both bowed very gracefully.
`Mr Malone has written to the Archbishop.’
`The Archbishop is overjoyed.’
William was so intrigued by these two elderly clerics that he felt obliged to look away for a moment. He concentrated upon a print of Abraham and Isaac, surrounded by a heavy black frame.
`To know that our foremost poet has been freed of all suspicion of papistry. It is a great joy.’
William noticed, also, that both divines smelled of bruised oranges.
`Will you join us in an amontillado?’ Doctor Parr asked them.
`The driest of the dry.’
Doctor Warburton rang a small bell and a black boy—dressed in black, also, with white wristbands and a grey periwig—brought in a silver tray with four glasses and a decanter. Doctor Parr poured the sherry and proposed a toast to the `divine bard’.
Samuel Ireland then took from his carrying-case the document that William had brought back in triumph the week before.
‘Can you read the Secretary hand, sir?’
`I have known it all my life.’
`Then this will cause you no difficulty’. Doctor Parr took the vellum from him and handed it to his colleague. Doctor Warburton, putting on his spectacles in a ritual he clearly enjoyed, began to read aloud. ‘Forgive us, oh Lord, all our sins and cherish us like the sweet bird that under the cover of her spreading wings receives her little brood and hovering over them keeps them — what is this word?’
He passed the paper to Doctor Parr. ‘Harmless, Warburton.’
`—who keeps them harmless and in safety. Keep in safety, too, your sovereign James divinely appointed. ‘This is excellent, Parr. He subscribed to our English Church. Note the image of the bird.’
William walked over to a window and looked down into Fetter Lane. There was a plaque on the wall there, beneath the elm tree, which read
THIS IS WHERE THE GREAT FIRE OF LONDON WAS
. . . On a cold evening in the following week Samuel and William Ireland were invited into the library of Church House beside St Mildred’s, Fetter Lane. Here they were greeted by Doctor Parr and Doctor Warburton, both of them identically dressed in clerical black with white stocks, white wristbands and dusted grey periwigs.
‘Delighted,’ said Doctor Parr.
‘Immeasurably’ said Doctor Warburton.
They both bowed very gracefully.
‘Mr Malone has written to the Archbishop.’
‘The Archbishop is overjoyed.’
William was so intrigued by these two elderly clerics that he felt obliged to look away for a moment. He concentrated upon a print of Abraham and Isaac, surrounded by a heavy black frame.
‘To know that our foremost poet has been freed of all suspicion of papistry. It is a great joy.’
William noticed, also, that both divines smelled of bruised oranges.
‘Will you join us in an amontillado?’ Doctor Parr asked them.
‘The driest of the dry.’
Doctor Warburton rang a small bell and a black boy—dressed in black, also, with white wristbands and a grey periwig—brought in a silver tray with four glasses and a decanter. Doctor Parr poured the sherry and proposed a toast to the ‘divine bard’.
Samuel Ireland then took from his carrying-case the document that William had brought back in triumph the week before.
‘Can you read the Secretary hand, sir?’
‘I have known it all my life.’
‘Then this will cause you no difficulty’. Doctor Parr took the vellum from him and handed it to his colleague. Doctor Warburton, putting on his spectacles in a ritual he clearly enjoyed, began to read aloud. ’Forgive us, oh Lord, all our sins and cherish us like the sweet bird that under the cover of her spreading wings receives her little brood and hovering over them keeps them — what is this word?’
He passed the paper to Doctor Parr. ’Harmless, Warburton.’
‘—who keeps them harmless and in safety. Keep in safety, too, your sovereign James divinely appointed. ‘This is excellent, Parr. He subscribed to our English Church. Note the image of the bird.’
William walked over to a window and looked down into Fetter Lane. There was a plaque on the wall there, beneath the elm tree, which read
THIS IS WHERE THE GREAT FIRE OF LONDON WAS HALTED
Hanging in this library, between the window and the shelves, was a tapestry depicting ‘Jesus among the Doctors in the Temple’ ; there were some threads unravelled loosely from it and, on an impulse, he plucked them out and put them in his pocket.
When he turned round he realised that the black servant had been observing him; the boy was shaking his head and smiling at him. Since the others were deeply intent upon examining Shakespeare’s testament, William walked over to him.
‘A memento,’ he said. ‘A memory of this place.’ The boy’s eyes were large and tremulous. It was as if he were looking at William from under water.
‘That is no concern of mine, sir.’
William was astonished at the purity of his diction. The boy might have been an Englishman. William’s only previous contact with a Negro had been the crossing-sweeper by London Stone, who scarcely seemed able to speak at all.
‘How long have you worked here?’
‘Since I was a very small child, sir. I was brought across the ocean and redeemed here.’
William did not quite know what the boy meant by ‘redeemed’ but it had some connotation of debt or purchase. And yet it might have meant that he had been baptised.
Joseph’s mother, Alice, had taken him aboard a ship sailing from the Barbadoes with a cargo of sugar cane; Alice had recently become the captain’s mistress, and had pleaded for her small son to join them on the journey to England. Joseph was then six years old. On their arrival at the Port of London the captain took mother and son to the Evangelical Mission for Seamen, on Wapping High Street, and ordered them to wait there for his return. They sat upon the steps all night.
The following morning Alice told Joseph to wait there for the captain while she went in search of food. She never returned. Or, rather, she had not returned seven hours later when Hannah Carlyle had found the young black boy curled up against the door of the Mission.
‘Goodness me,’ she asked no one in particular, ‘what is it?’ He knew only the Bajan patois of his country, and she did not understand what he answered. ’‘Bless you for your heathen tongue,’ she said. ‘Your skin is black, but your soul is white. You have been sent here for a purpose.’
The boy’s colour caused little remark among the illegitimate white children of this neighbourhood, sailors’ children who ran wild through the riverside alleys and warehouses of the docks. This was a strange world where it seemed to Joseph that the sea entered London. The wind was like a sea-wind, and the birds were sea-birds. The ropes, and masts, and barrels, and planks, gave him the impression of a ship upon land.
Yet Joseph was eventually taken out of Wapping by Hannah Carlyle, who gave him to her cousin who was the housekeeper of Church House in Fetter Lane. So he was brought up in the company of Doctor Parr and Doctor Warburton; they taught him English, and he acquired from them the slightly old-fashioned diction that had surprised William Ireland. The divines also took turns in entering his bed. Doctor Parr would suck his member and masturbate himself, whereas Doctor Warburton would simply fondle him before returning with a sigh to his own room.
‘It may interest you to know, sir, that my name is Shakespeare. Joseph Shakespeare.’
William could not help smiling.
‘How is that possible?’
‘It was a name given to the unfortunate slaves, sir. It was a jest.’
HALTED
Hanging in this library, between the window and the shelves, was a tapestry depicting ‘Jesus among the Doctors in the Temple’; there were some threads unravelled loosely from it and, on an impulse, he plucked them out and put them in his pocket.
When he turned round he realised that the black servant had been observing him; the boy was shaking his head and smiling at him. Since the others were deeply intent upon examining Shakespeare’s testament, William walked over to him.
‘A memento,’ he said. ‘A memory of this place.’ The boy’s eyes were large and tremulous. It was as if he were looking at William from under water.
‘That is no concern of mine, sir.’
William was astonished at the purity of his diction. The boy might have been an Englishman. William’s only previous contact with a Negro had been the crossing-sweeper by London Stone, who scarcely seemed able to speak at all.
‘How long have you worked here?’
`Since I was a very small child, sir. I was brought across the ocean and redeemed here.’
William did not quite know what the boy meant by ‘redeemed’ but it had some connotation of debt or purchase. And yet it might have meant that he had been baptised.
Joseph’s mother, Alice, had taken him aboard a ship sailing from the Barbadoes with a cargo of sugar cane; Alice had recently become the captain’s mistress, and had pleaded for her small son to join them on the journey to England. Joseph was then six years old. On their arrival at the Port of London the captain took mother and son to the Evangelical Mission for Seamen, on Wapping High Street, and ordered them to wait there for his return. They sat upon the steps all night.
The following morning Alice told Joseph to wait there for the captain while she went in search of food. She never returned. Or, rather, she had not returned seven hours later when Hannah Carlyle had found the young black boy curled up against the door of the Mission.
‘Goodness me,’ she asked no one in particular, ‘what is it?’ He knew only the Bajan patois of his country, and she did not understand what he answered. `Bless you for your heathen tongue,’ she said. ‘Your skin is black, but your soul is white. You have been sent here for a purpose.’
The boy’s colour caused little remark among the illegitimate white children of this neighbourhood, sailors’ children who ran wild through the riverside alleys and warehouses of the docks. This was a strange world where it seemed to Joseph that the sea entered London. The wind was like a sea-wind, and the birds were sea-birds. The ropes, and masts, and barrels, and planks, gave him the impression of a ship upon land.
Yet Joseph was eventually taken out of Wapping by Hannah Carlyle, who gave him to her cousin who was the housekeeper of Church House in Fetter Lane. So he was brought up in the company of Doctor Parr and Doctor Warburton; they taught him English, and he acquired from them the slightly old-fashioned diction that had surprised William Ireland. The divines also took turns in entering his bed. Doctor Parr would suck his member and masturbate himself, whereas Doctor Warburton would simply fondle him before returning with a sigh to his own room.
`It may interest you to know, sir, that my name is Shakespeare. Joseph Shakespeare.’
William could not help smiling.
‘How is that possible?’
`It was a name given to the unfortunate slaves, sir. It was a jest.’
a wayfarer’s notes 