Presentment of Shakespeare,” as no one had placed the drawing in the
lists of credited or discredited likenesses. Dr. Gollancz and Dr.
Furnivall altered the title, and the Editor accepted it, though I
always thought the new title too aggressive for _my_ meaning. Since
in it I first drew attention to the discrepancies between Dugdale’s
representation and the present tomb, there have been many heated
discussions about it. Sentimentalists did not like the notion that
there had been _any_ change in the precious memorial, _critical_
sentimentalists, seeking for some support of their opinion, satisfied
themselves that these discrepancies only proved the inexactitudes
of Dugdale. Baconians accepted Dugdale eagerly, as they do accept
everything that they think can be made to seem derogatory to
Shakespeare in any way. Thereby they obscured the whole question, and
ignored my work and statements. Good Shakespeareans thought they had
demolished me in discrediting the value of Dugdale’s testimony. The
two last articles published by Mr. Andrew Lang were on this subject,
and it took a large place in the book published since his death, but I
have not been allowed to reply to these. Mr. Robertson, who had ignored
my “Bacon-Shakespeare Question” in his “Baconian Heresy,” also ignored
my article on this subject, and says: “Incidentally by reproducing
Dugdale’s version of the Carew Monument in Stratford, and confronting
it with a photograph of the actual monument, he has exploded the small
mystery built up by Mr. Greenwood, out of the difference between the
actual Shakespeare Monument and Dugdale’s representation of it in
1656.” Mr. Greenwood had expressed strong faith in Dugdale’s general
correctness, and had quoted Dr. Whitaker to the effect that “his
scrupulous accuracy, united with his stubborn integrity, has elevated
his ‘Antiquities of Warwickshire’ to the rank of legal evidence.” Mr.
Lang in 1912 said: “Mrs. Stopes argues that the monument was entirely
reconstructed....” “It is positively certain her opinion is erroneous.”
Then he gives as his absolute _proof_, the Carew Monument in Stratford.
(For the reversing of the position of the recumbent figures from north
to south, we probably have to thank a printer’s accidental reversal of
plate.) But Mr. Lang’s argument contains not one, but _two_ logical
fallacies. In the first place it claims to _prove_ that because Dugdale
was incorrect in one monument he must have been incorrect in all. There
may have been special reasons for the carelessness; if any, Dr. Thomas
has suggested them in his second edition. And the argument _against_ is
no stronger than the argument _for_ Dugdale, in that the Lucy tomb is
a fair representation of the present one, and therefore reasoning from
it, he might be treated as correct. There were special reasons that
Dugdale should have taken extra care with Shakespeare’s tomb, because
he mentions the poet in his text as an honour to his native town, and
Dugdale knew it well.
Mr. Lang’s second fallacy is more important. It is the old logical
fallacy of _accident_, or, as some logicians put it, “of cooked meat.”
I had definitely refused to accept as witness against Dugdale’s
trustworthiness the evidence of any other tomb which had also been
“repaired and beautified.” Now the Clopton tomb has been “repaired and
beautified,” and therefore, without some stronger support, it has no
convincing power at all. I fear that I made a little confusion by my
use of the word “fundamental,” for Mr. Lang seems to have attached a
wider meaning to it than I did. If I may take a woman’s simile, I may
make it clear. When a woman sends an old dress to be “repaired and
beautified,” it may be relined, turned, the worn pieces cut out and
replaced, alterations made in design to make up for losses by wear,
trimmings laid on to cover seams, and yet after all it would remain
_the same dress_, and her male friends might notice no change in it.
But the dressmaker would call it, as to her work, a _fundamental_
change. I saw that it was by some such process that it was _possible_
to harmonize the discrepancies. I did not start wishing to prove any
particular point. I did not even want to prove myself right, for I have
no prejudices about it, I only wanted to seek for, and to find _the
truth_. None of my opponents have done any original work concerning
this matter, and therefore _the question_ stands exactly where it did,
_i.e._ Dugdale’s representation is different from what the tomb is
to-day. Why is it so? The two answers are, Dugdale’s representation was
incorrect, or, the tomb has been modified.
Since I wrote the paper, I have done a good deal of further work on it.
I found the contemporary letters of “the restorers,” 1746-9, published
them in the “Pall Mall Gazette,” and have reprinted them now in my Note
XIII. I have also gone through all the consecutive _history_ of the
Bust. Dugdale himself tells us his method of going through the country,
by hundreds, and by rivers, _beginning with the Avon_. He says that
he asked the nearest heirs of the famous individuals whose monuments
he had inserted, to co-operate with him, to give him information,
and, where possible, to pay the expenses of the plates. At the time
he wished Shakespeare’s bust to be prepared, the poet’s daughters,
granddaughter, and son-in-law, Thomas Quiney, were still alive, and
would be more or less able to criticize. But Mrs. Susanna Hall died
in 1649, and her only daughter had married John Barnard who evidently
thought little of his father-in-law’s genius.
The tomb has generally been supposed to have been raised by Gerard
Johnson, a tombmaker, entered among the lists of the Strangers in
London in 1593. But I have lately found a lawsuit which proves that his
wife was acting as his widow before 1616. Therefore, if the _name_ be
correct, it must have been not his, but that of his son, who succeeded
him in his business. It is not quite so clear which of them built
Combe’s Monument. John Combe made his will in January 1612-3, leaving
£60 for “a convenient tomb.” He died on 10th July 1614. There are
traditions that he had been “seeing to” the preparations for his tomb
while he was yet alive. He might have fixed his sculptor, and he might
have secured the elder Gerard Johnson. The tradition concerning the
poet’s satirical suggested epitaph, is the only tradition about the
poet which has a respectable antiquity, being referred to in a Diary of
Travel in 1636, when a lieutenant and two friends, travelling through
some of the county, saw that Shakespeare had a “neat monument” by that
time (the first definite allusion to it).
The _material_ of the monuments is worth nothing. I have seen a small
piece of Combe’s Monument which has been accidentally broken off, and
have been assured on the best of authority that Shakespeare’s is
the same, as a little piece of the stone at the back has been left
unpainted. It is a peculiarly soft and friable stone for the purpose,
variously described as a “soft bluish grey stone,” a “loose freestone,”
a “soft whitish grey limestone,” with pillars of marble and ornaments
of alabaster.
Given a soft and friable stone, we have to consider probabilities and
possibilities, as well as certainties, in duly estimating the story of
its _struggle for existence_. Time works against it with greater odds
in his favour than he has in reducing stronger materials.
It may not be quite irrelevant to note, that there was (“Wheler Misc.,”
i, p. 124) a peculiar list of charges brought against the Vicar, the
Reverend Thomas Wilson, for which “being notorious,” he was suspended
for three months from 5th June 1635. Among these charges it was stated
that he allowed his maids to dry linen in the chapel, his fowls to
roost, his pigs and dogs to couch there, and his children to play at
ball and other sports. He himself was said to have “walked about the
church in the time of divine service.” In the vestry minutes it is
recorded: “The minister’s study over the bone-house to be repaired.”
Now, if the children also carried their sports and balls to the Church
it might account for many accidents, and the very first items to fall
victims to boys and balls would be the legs of the little alabaster
angels above Shakespeare’s bust.
We have also to remember that every church _ran risks_ during the civil
wars, as they were so frequently used as barracks.
I have found in Add. MS. 28,565, a whole volume of Bills for Damages
by the Parliamentary forces in Stratford 1645, from private people[28]
which are only representative of many others.
In March 1691 the Chancel was repaired, the contributors being chiefly
the descendants of those who had monuments of their ancestors there.
The names of most of these are given, but there is no record of any
descendants or friends of Shakespeare then, so that it may be supposed
the tomb was left in a worse state of repair than the others. (“Wheler
Misc.,” iv, p. 99.)
The very fact of the admiration of visitors was a source of danger.
Foolishly enthusiastic adorers are known to have chipped pieces from
other monuments elsewhere as personal remembrances, and it is quite
possible they may have done so here. At any rate, from many combined
causes, we have clear testimony from contemporary records, that by
1746 it was “_in great ruin and decay_.” It is idle to attempt to
estimate the degree of ruin, but that it had shocked the sensibilities
of the poet’s reverent adorers, is quite clear. The mere wearing off
of _paint_ could not have done so, _that_ rather creates an impression
of greater antiquity. The details of the events are given in the
notes, and their results. One thing must be made clear, that everybody
concerned was _giving_ at that time according to his power. The Actors
gave their performances, the Committee their time and trouble, the
Schoolmaster was honorary secretary, and there were sundry donations.
Therefore a close estimate of the purchasing power of money at that
time cannot be justly made. It is nearly certain that Mr. John Hall,
Limner, and his other unknown coadjutor, who was to prepare the greatly
ruined monument to receive his painting, would be doing it at the
lowest possible charges. So the amount of work put into the job would
probably far exceed the ordinary cost price. Mr. Hall was told to
“repair and beautify,” and to let it remain as like as possible to the
original.
Any artist or sculptor could inferentially follow their proceedings.
_Suppose_, for the time, that Dugdale had been fairly correct. The
first things to have been broken off would be, as I have shown, the
alabaster legs of the ridiculous little cherubs. Their trunks would
probably be pushed farther back to keep them out of further danger, and
would be “restored” in the safer position. By the natural wear and tear
of such a soft and friable stone, the bust would have _lost outline_.
This had to be made up somehow to hold the paint, either by skilfully
inserted pieces of stone, or by some plastic material. We know that
the tip of the nose, the index finger, and part of the thumb had been
broken off, and probably many other projections. They had _no pattern
to go by_, except one evolved from memory, judgment, and imagination.
No one alive could remember back to the days of the unrepaired bust.
They would do their best, they could do no more. Probably the outline
of the moustache had been obliterated, and they moulded one after what
they thought the best fashion. They would mend the nose, plump out the
hollow cheeks, and fill up the eyes. When they reached the attire,
they would not see the outline clearly, and, guided by the shoulder
ridges, would bring the lines of the doublet straight down (it needed
no farther change to make the cloak such as it is to-day). They would
probably scrape down the cushion to a more normal level, and, believing
that a pen should have been held between the broken finger and thumb,
would put one there. Thus there would be a good many little repairs
made, as in a _lining to the coat_ of paint. But the result would
necessarily be very different from the original.
Perhaps it may not be irrelevant here to refer to a paper among the
“Wheler Miscellaneous Papers,” ii, f. 39.[29] It notes “The fixtures;
the things left in Mr. Talbot’s house at Stratford-on-Avon, 26th
September 1758”: “In ye Hall, _Shakespeare’s Head_.” “In the other
rooms 6 Family Pictures,” “In ye Wildernesse a Stone-Dyal.”
Now, the family portraits might have been Cloptons or Shakespeares,
but _what_ was “Shakespeare’s Head”? was it the death mask, a cast
of the old Bust, or a model for the new one, then ten years old? Or
was it a Bust made in Shakespeare’s life, from which the original was
designed? I cannot even suggest an idea about it. But it is significant
that it is noted, that in the following year “doubts arose, perhaps
not unworthy of notice, whether the original monumental bust had any
resemblance to the poet” (see Wivell’s book).
In regard to later vicissitudes of the Bust more is known. It was only
in 1793, forty-four years after the repairing, that Malone attacked
it. It is said that he had it down to examine; it is certain that he
covered up Hall’s painting, by instructing a common house painter
to lay over it a thick coating of common white paint. John Britton,
F.S.A., writes in 1849: “In Dec. 1814 I incited Mr. George Bullock to
make a cast of the monumental bust” ... “through the influence of Dr.
Bell Wheler, and the Vicar, Dr. Davenport, he was allowed to take a
model”.... “He was much alarmed on taking down the Effigy to find it
to be in a decayed and dangerous state, and declared that it would be
risking its destruction to remove it again.” Early in the nineteenth
century Abraham Wivell made a most careful examination of it, and gave
his report in his small volume (published in 1827).
A most important step was taken at the Shakespearean Committee
Room, Stratford-upon-Avon, 23rd April 1835, announced thus: “The
Shakesperean Club of Stratford-upon-Avon have long beheld with regret,
the disfigurement of the Bust and Monument of Shakespeare, and the
neglected condition of the interior of the Chancel which contains that
monument and his grave.”
Thereafter was “a new Society formed, for the Renovation and
Restoration of Shakespeare’s Monument and Bust, and of the Chancel.”
Mr. John Britton was Hon. Secretary, and sent out a prospectus. In it
he states: “A small and comparatively trifling tomb was raised to the
memory of Shakespeare, immediately after his death; but it failed to
attract anything like critical or literary notice until the time of
Malone,” of whom he gives his free opinion, and the anathematizing
lines.
The chief ostensible object of the Society was to _repair_ the
monument, also, in order to preserve it, to repair the walls and roof
of Chancel, to remove all whitewash, and to restore the colours. The
subscriptions invited were limited to £1, but many sent more. The
King subscribed £50, the Borough of Stratford the same. Many sent
their subscriptions “only for the restoration and preservation of the
Monument.” “Mr. Lucy, of Charlecote, for the Chancel £10.” One of the
subscribers says that he had lately “purchased a very fine bust of
Shakespeare at an auction.” Again comes the query--which one was this,
was it Gastrell’s one?
“The cost of restoring Shakespeare’s Monument and the Chancel” was
£1,210, 12s. on that occasion. A Bazaar was held for further repairs to
the church in 1839; other subscriptions came in, and the whole amount
expended amounted to £5,000. Yet they did not take off the white paint
then. Mr. Britton says of the work: “Had the building been left a
few years longer, it would have ranked among the Classical Monuments
of Antiquity.” Mr. Britton wrote to Mr. Hunt that: “Your builder is
dilatory, inefficient and embarrassing the progress and character
of the Shakespeare works.” Many things can be learned from the
correspondence with Mr. Hunt, now preserved in a separate volume in the
Birthplace.
Again, in 1861, the bust was treated by Mr. Simon Collins, a picture
restorer, “who with a bath of some detergent” removed the white paint.
He found under it sufficient traces of the restoring colours of John
Hall, to reproduce them again on the old lines. The only person
whom I have known to have seen it in both conditions was Professor
David Masson, and he said that “he had to confess _he_ preferred it
_white_.” Halliwell Phillipps said in his fourth edition, 1886, “that
the 1793 painting was injudicious, but did not altogether obliterate
the semblance of an intellectual human being, which is more than can
be said of the miserable travesty which now distresses the eye of the
pilgrim.” The only really fresh remarks that have been made on it were
by Dr. Keith (see “Morning Post” and “Birmingham Post,” 10th April
1914), when he estimated by anthropometric calculation of the shape and
size of the skull, from which branch of the human race the poet was
likely to have descended.
This was all that I had been able to find before this postscript went
to press. Some hard-working student in future may find more, and give
us further reasons for making up our minds.
Fortunately, before I corrected proof, Mr. Dugdale of Merivale
returned from abroad, and kindly allowed me to see the volume of Sir
William Dugdale’s Diary which contained his own special drawings for
the tombs in Warwickshire Churches. Among these are, as I expected,
Shakespeare’s Tomb. It teaches us many things. Sir William Dugdale
was not an _artist_, but an Antiquary. He did not attempt to carry
over the _expression_ of the human countenance, even as represented
in Stowe, but he was very careful as to significant details. He works
with slow and careful pen-and-ink touches. Many of the “proofs” of
his untrustworthiness vanish in the study, and a new element in
the question is introduced, the art of the _engraver_. One of the
objections brought against his rendering was the spelling of “Judicyo”
in the engraving. Dugdale himself, however, renders it “Judicio,” both
in his drawing and in his copy of the epitaph by its side. The monument
is important, the bust has some of the faults of the engraving. The
hands are quite as clumsy, but the cushion on which they rest is
not nearly so high or so woolly. The face is older even than that of
the engraver, who really improved the _expression_, possibly after
a personal visit. The moustache falls naturally down. The face, as
Dugdale draws it, is not so far removed from Rowe’s rendering as might
have been expected after “ruin and decay” had injured the outlines. And
I was surprised to find that what had proved my own stumbling-block,
the lines of the cloak, _are drawn by Dugdale as they appear to-day_,
and the engraver must have carelessly altered the sartorial effect.
The greatest “_proof_” of Dugdale’s inexactitude, so triumphantly
brought forward by my opponents, is utterly extinguished by this
volume. The drawing of the Carew Clopton Monument does not appear in
the Diary, which means, that _the Clopton family, and not Dugdale,
was responsible for its drawing and its inaccuracies_. He only drew
those which had not been sent on to him by the families whom he had
invited to do so. He evidently thought Shakespeare’s Monument, though
not sent on, specially important, and did it carefully himself. The
present Mr. Dugdale thinks, from its position in the volume, and from
some notes in the Diary, that it therefore was one of the latest of
the drawings before the final publication in 1656. I have to thank him
warmly for his help, which has satisfied somewhat my hunger for truth.
These facts, with due attention to the contemporary letters about the
restoration in 1746-9, given in Note XIII, conclude all I have to say
concerning the Shakespeare Monument.
FOOTNOTES:
[27] Halliwell-Phillipps knew of the alterations and doubted the
exact likeness of the present restoration to the old, but as he says
nothing but what Abraham Wivell said before him, and did not notice
the difference in Dugdale’s print, I have not brought him into the
necessarily contracted space of this article.
[28] Perhaps the most amusing entry is in the bill from Elizabeth
Wheeler. “Lost a pigg when the Earl of Essex passed by worth 4/.”
[29] New Place had been bought by Sir Edward Walker and given to
his daughter on her marriage with Hugh Clopton. Henry Talbot, her
son-in-law, sold it to Rev. Mr. Gastrell.
XIV
SIXTEENTH CENTURY LOCKS AND WEIRS ON THE THAMES
The use of steam, steel, and electricity has changed not only the
methods of travelling, but the appearance of the highways of the
country. The facilities of transit have enormously multiplied the
number of travellers and the quantities of goods consigned. We have
been taught to picture the difference between the railroad of to-day
and the highway of the sixteenth century--deficient in construction
and beset by highwaymen, who lay in wait (as spiders watch for flies)
for the saddle horses, pack horses, and lumbering cars and carriages
of the time. Sometimes the difficulties of the road were artfully made
or increased, so as to bring the prey more easily within reach of the
spiders.
But there has been little or no attention paid to the changes on
another highway--a Queen’s highway, under Elizabeth as well as
Victoria--I mean the royal river of Thames. I started on the subject
years ago, because I thought it more than likely that Shakespeare
had travelled between Oxford and London by water, and I desired to
understand the appearance the river would present in “Shakespeare’s
England.” Harrison does not speak of it, nor do novelists romance of
it. The passage would not be made in the light skiffs that to-day lend
themselves to the picturesque and ideal, in quite dream-like motion
through an Arcadian land, apart from the hurry and scurry of everyday
life, where all seems peace and joy, and the only modern representative
of the old dragon is the snorting steam-yacht that churns the water.
Not such a Thames could Shakespeare see, not such a passage could
Shakespeare know--but a descent in heavily-laden barges on a busy
stream, more cumbered with dangerous locks and weirs than it is to-day,
at each of which was a struggle for life and property, and probably a
battle with the lock keepers “who sold water.”
From the earliest recorded times there had been a war waged on the
waters of the Thames between landed and vested or local interests and
travelling or commercial requirements. One of the clauses of Magna
Charta determined “that all locks and wears should be utterly pulled
down,” a clause expanded and enforced by every succeeding sovereign who
confirmed Magna Charta (see M. C. Hen. III, c. 23; 25 Ed. III, st. iii,
c. 4; 45 Ed. III, c. 2. In 21 Ric. II, c. 19, there is a recital of the
Act of 25 Ed. III, st. iii, c. 4).
The Commons shewing by their petition that the passage of boats in
the Rivers, and also Meadows, Pastures, and Arable Lands adjoining
the said Rivers be greatly troubled, drowned, wasted, and destroyed
by the outrageous inhansing and straitening of Wears, Mills, Stanks,
and Kiddles of old Time made, and levied before the time of the said
King Edward, son to King Henry, whereof great damages and losses have
oftentimes happened to the people of the Realm, and daily shall happen
if remedy thereof be not provided: It is accorded and stablished, by
the Assent aforesaid, that the said Statutes in all their articles
shall be firmly holden and kept, and also duly executed.
The statute also provided that, if any freeholder had an old weir
erected before King Edward’s time, and the Commissioners of the Thames
desired him to improve it, he should do it at his own cost. No new
ones were to be built and no old ones enlarged. This was confirmed 1
Hen. IV, c. 12; enforced 4 Hen. IV, c. 11, with new reference to the
destruction of young fish; confirmed in 1 Hen. V, and in 2 Hen. VI, c.
12. “Because of much mischief done in destruction of people, ships,
merchandise, fry of fish in the river of Thames without the bounds
of London.” In 12 Ed. IV, c. 7, and 14 Ed. IV, the statutes again
were confirmed against “Wears, Fishgarths, Kidels, &c., by Thamys,”
which were reconfirmed in 11 Hen. VII. But it may be noticed that the
statutes did not affect those weirs privileged by ancient rights or by
royal possession. For instance, in the “History of Oxford,” by William
Henry Turner (p. 54), there is given the Act 17 Hen. VIII (25 Sept.)
for the regulating of the flood-gates, etc., of the City Mills; and
in the June of 1545 “at a council held 24th June, 37 Hen. VIII., yt
ys agreed that a certen lokk, lately erected, and called Ruly Myddell
Lokk, shall be stopped upp, so that Mr Doctor Owen and his assignes
shall not drawe the same and torne the water from the Kynges Mylle of
the Cyty of Oxford; and also that all other sluces and lokks belonging
to Ruly shall be stopped at such tymes as nede shall requyer to cause
the water to have hys right course to the seid mylls,” p. 177. All the
inhabitants were bound to grind their corn at “the Castle Mills,” p.
179. At the putting down of the monasteries, Oseney Abbey was leased to
William Stumpe, Clothier, of Malmesbury, and “the Mylles, the Waters,
with the fyshyng, apperteyning to Oseney, with the benefits of the
water of Ruly, to helpe the mylles of Oseney.”