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Updated: May 26, 2025
Bit by bit, compelled by a will and nervous strength far superior to his own, Henslowe was led into abrupt and blurted confidences which surprised no one so much as himself. Robert's quick sense possessed itself of point after point, seeing presently ways of escape and relief which the besotted brain beside him had been quite incapable of devising for itself.
Such are the reflections of a plain man, but to an imaginative soul there seems to be a brooding mist, with a heart of fire, which half conceals and half reveals the darkened chamber wherein abides "The Silence of Philip Henslowe." "The Silence of Philip Henslowe," Mr. Greenwood writes, "is a very remarkable phenomenon . . . " It is a phenomenon precisely as remarkable as the absence of Mr.
In the kitchen a girl of sixteen was clearing away the various nondescript heaps on which the family had slept, and was preparing breakfast. The squire looked at the floor. 'I thought I understood from Henslowe, he muttered, as though to himself, 'that there were no mud floors left on the estate 'There are only three houses in Mile End without them, said Robert, catching what he said.
Henslowe stared at him, divided between anger caused by the sore stirring of his old self-importance, and a tumultuous flood of self-pity, roused irresistibly in him by Robert's piercing frankness, and aided by his own more or less maudlin condition.
"I was going to tell you, Henny," said Aubrey, "the dope is that the President's going to leave the conference, going to call them all damn blackguards to their faces and walk out, with the band playing the 'Internationale." "God, that's news," cried Andrews. "If he does that he'll recognize the Soviets," said Henslowe.
'Well, I have no belief in a Gladstonian Ireland, still less in a Radical England. Supply and demand, cause and effect, are enough for me. The Mile End cottages are out of repair, Mr. Elsmere, so Mr. Henslowe tells me, because the site is unsuitable, the type of cottage out of date.
The lanky man in the brown dressing gown brought a table out of the shadow, put some black bottles and heavy glasses on it, and drew up a camp stool for himself. "He lives that way.... They say he never goes out. Stays here and paints, and when friends come in, he feeds them wine and charges them double," said Henslowe. "That's how he lives."
For the rest, I need not return on my tracks and explain once more such shallow mysteries as the "Silence of Philip Henslowe," and the lack of literary anecdotage about Shakespeare in a stupendously illiterate country town. Had Will, not Ben, visited Drummond of Hawthornden, we should have matter enough of the kind desired.
That is the whole explanation of the Silence of Philip Henslowe. If Shakspere did sell a play to Henslowe, why should that financier omit the fact from his accounts? To obtain a Baconian reply you must wander into conjecture, and imagine that Bacon forbade the transaction. Then WHY did he forbid it? Because he could get a better price from Shakspere's company?
"Gee, that's the Paris train! Tiens!" He pressed the franc into the man's dirt-crusted hand. "Come along, Andrews." As they left the buvette they heard again the crunching crackling noise as the man bit another piece off the bottle. Andrews followed Henslowe across the steam-filled platform to the door of a first-class carriage. They climbed in.
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