Vladimir Z. Nuri wrote:
a friend gave me a book called "the cryptographic shakespeare" in which he found some patterns in shakespearean texts that might tend to suggest some codes were embedded in it.
In what sense? Most of the time, plain old lit analysis is looking for "keys" and then applying them to "unlock" the "hidden message". An allegory is a simple substitution cipher, and then it goes all the way up to lit equivalents of one time pads and steganography (say, 'Lolita' or Frank O'Hara's poetry). Concerning Shakespeare, I thought those involved in this discussion might be amused by the following. I would have posted it earlier but didn't have the book at hand, and then Lem's prose isn't particularly friendly for the translator. It's all taken out of context, but will speak for itself, I am sure. -------------- STANISŁAW LEM DIARY FOUND IN A BATHTUB (chapter IV, excerpt) Here goes, I said at last, opening my eyes. My ears have yet not drunk a hundred words of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound. Art thou not Romeo? Fine. The captain punched keys briskly, typing in the line I offered. A slot that looked like an ancient letterbox began spitting out paper ribbon which spun slowly in the air. Captain Prandtl held it gently and handed it to me. I held the tip of the ribbon, waiting patiently. The paper snaked out of the slot inch by inch and when I tugged at it carefully I could feel the feeding mechanism vibrate. Suddenly, the barely perceptible tremor ceased and the ribbon spun on, blank. I held it to my eyes. BAS TARD MAT HEWS BAS TARD DRAW HIM & QUARTER WITH HOLY DE LIGHT MAT HEWS PIG SEED MATH HEWS MATH. And what is this? I asked, not even trying to conceal my dismay. The captain nodded. I presume that when he wrote the scene, Shakespeare was unfavourably disposed towards a man named Mathews. . . and encoded the sentiment in the lines of his play. You expect me to believe that? Do you mean to say that he deliberately filled this wondrous, lyrical passage with crude interjections at some Mathews person? I never said he did so deliberately. A code is a code, no matter what the authors intent. Do you mind? I asked. I approached the control panel and keyed in the freshly obtained plaintext myself. The ribbon moved again, twisting into a spiral. I caught a brief, peculiar smile on Prandtls lips, but he didnt say a word. THAT ASS YEAH HER ASS FUN FAT ASS FUN FAT YEAH ASS HER ASS HEY THAT FAT ASS - read the tidily printed syllables. What is this? I demanded. What is it?! Another layer. Well, what did you expect? Weve exposed a deeper layer of the psyche of a 17th century Englishman, plain and simple. This cannot be! Youre telling me this beautiful poem is nothing but a vessel to conceal some pigs and asses?! And that if you feed the most sublime literary achievements, pinnacles of human genius, immortal epics, sagas - it will all come out hodgepodge? Hodgepodge it is, mister. Art... literature... do you realise what their purpose is? To divert attention! From what? You dont know? I dont. Thats too bad. You ought to know. What are you doing here, then?! I didnt answer. With skin on his face taut like a tents canvas stretched over sharp rocks, he continued in monotone: A broken code remains a code. Under the eye of a professional cryptographer it will shed one moult after another. It is inexhaustible. It has no end nor bottom. You can delve into progressively deeper, progressively more arcane strata, but this journey never terminates. -------------- (This 1960 novel is available in English translation, hopefully better than my attempt here, as "Diary Found in a Bathtub", though i *really* should be called The (Original) Puzzle Palace, 'coz that's what it's about. It's Kafka plus David Lynch plus TCMay rolled in one :) .marek -- General Frenetics, Discorporated: http://www.lodz.pdi.net/~eristic/