Shakespeare\'s Bones
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C. M. Ingleby >> Shakespeare\'s Bones
Transcribed by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk
SHAKESPEARE'S BONES
THE PROPOSAL TO DISINTER THEM,
CONSIDERED IN RELATION TO THEIR POSSIBLE BEARING
ON HIS PORTRAITURE:
ILLUSTRATED BY INSTANCES OF
VISITS OF THE LIVING TO THE DEAD.
By C. M. Ingleby, LL.D., V.P.R.S.L.,
Honorary Member of the German Shakespeare Society,
and a Life-Trustee of Shakespeare's Birthplace, Museum, and New
Place,
at Stratford-upon-Avon.
"Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs."
Richard II, a. iii, s. 2.
This Essay is respectfully inscribed to
The Major and Corporation of Stratford-upon-Avon,
and the Vicar
of the Church of the Holy Trinity there,
by their friend and colleague,
THE AUTHOR.
SHAKESPEARE'S BONES.
The sentiment which affects survivors in the disposition of their
dead, and which is, in one regard, a superstition, is, in another, a
creditable outcome of our common humanity: namely, the desire to
honour the memory of departed worth, and to guard the "hallowed
reliques" by the erection of a shrine, both as a visible mark of
respect for the dead, and as a place of resort for those pilgrims
who may come to pay him tribute. It is this sentiment which dots
our graveyards with memorial tablets and more ambitious sculptures,
and which still preserves so many of our closed churchyards from
desecration, and our {1a} ancient tombs from the molestation of
careless, curious, or mercenary persons.
But there is another sentiment, not inconsistent with this, which
prompts us, on suitable occasions, to disinter the remains of great
men, and remove them to a more fitting and more honourable resting-
place. The Hotel des Invalides at Paris, and the Basilica of San
Lorenzo Fuori le Mura at Rome, {1b} are indebted to this sentiment
for the possession of relics which make those edifices the natural
resort of pilgrims as of sight-seers. It were a work of superfluity
to adduce further illustration of the position that the mere
exhumation and reinterment of a great man's remains, is commonly
held to be, in special cases, a justifiable proceeding, not a
violation of that honourable sentiment of humanity, which protects
and consecrates the depositaries of the dead. On a late occasion it
was not the belief that such a proceeding is a violation of our more
sacred instincts which hindered the removal to Pennsylvania of the
remains of William Penn; but simply the belief that they had already
a more suitable resting-place in his native land. {2}
There is still another sentiment, honourable in itself and not
inconsistent with those which I have specified, though still more
conditional upon the sufficiency of the reasons conducing to the
act: namely, the desire, by exhumation, to set at rest a reasonable
or important issue respecting the person of the deceased while he
was yet a living man. Accordingly it is held justifiable to exhume
a body recently buried, in order to discover the cause of death, or
to settle a question of disputed identity: nor is it usually held
unjustifiable to exhume a body long since deceased, in order to find
such evidences as time may not have wholly destroyed, of his
personal appearance, including the size and shape of his head, and
the special characteristics of his living face.
It is too late for the most reverential and scrupulous to object to
this as an invasion of the sanctity of the grave, or a violation of
the rights of the dead or of the feelings of his family. When a man
has been long in the grave, there are probably no family feelings to
be wounded by such an act: and, as for his rights, if he can be
said to have any, we may surely reckon among them the right of not
being supposed to possess such objectionable personal defects as may
have been imputed to him by the malice of critics or by the
incapacity of sculptor or painter, and which his remains may be
sufficiently unchanged to rebut: in a word we owe him something
more than refraining from disturbing his remains until they are
undistinguishable from the earth in which they lie, a debt which no
supposed inviolable sanctity of the grave ought to prevent us from
paying.
It is, I say, too late to raise such an objection, because
exhumation has been performed many times with a perfectly legitimate
object, even in the case of our most illustrious dead, without
protest or objection from the most sensitive person. As the
examples, more or less analogous to that of Shakespeare, which I am
about to adduce, concern great men who were born and were buried
within the limits of our island, I will preface them by giving the
very extraordinary cases of Schiller and Raphael, which illustrate
both classes: those in which the object of the exhumation was to
give the remains a more honourable sepulture, and those in which it
was purely to resolve certain questions affecting the skull of the
deceased. The following is abridged from Mr. Andrew Hamilton's
narrative, entitled "The Story of Schiller's Life," published in
Macmillan's Magazine for May, 1863.
"At the time of his death Schiller left his widow and children
almost penniless, and almost friendless too. The duke and duchess
were absent; Goethe lay ill; even Schiller's brother-in-law Wolzogen
was away from home. Frau von Wolzogen was with her sister, but
seems to have been equally ill-fitted to bear her share of the load
that had fallen so heavily upon them. Heinrich Voss was the only
friend admitted to the sick-room; and when all was over it was he
who went to the joiner's, and, knowing the need of economy, ordered
'a plain deal coffin.' It cost ten shillings of our money.
"In the early part of 1805, one Carl Leberecht Schwabe, an
enthusiastic admirer of Schiller, left Weimar on business.
Returning on Saturday the 11th of May, between three and four in the
afternoon, his first errand was to visit his betrothed, who lived in
the house adjoining that of the Schillers. She met him in the
passage, and told him, Schiller was two days dead, and that night he
was to be buried. On putting further questions, Schwabe stood
aghast at what he learned. The funeral was to be private and to
take place immediately after midnight, without any religious rite.
Bearers had been hired to carry the remains to the churchyard, and
no one else was to attend.
"Schwabe felt that all this could not go on; but to prevent it was
difficult. There were but eight hours left; and the arrangements,
such as they were, had already been made. However, he went straight
to the house of death, and requested an interview with Frau von
Schiller. She replied, through the servant, 'that she was too
greatly overwhelmed by her loss to be able to see or speak to any
one; as for the funeral of her blessed husband, Mr. Schwabe must
apply to the Reverend Oberconsistorialrath Gunther, who had kindly
undertaken to see done what was necessary; whatever he might direct,
she would approve of.' With this message Schwabe hastened to
Gunther, and told him, his blood boiled at the thought that Schiller
should be borne to the grave by hirelings. At first Gunther shook
his head and said, 'It was too late; everything was arranged; the
bearers were already ordered.' Schwabe offered to become
responsible for the payment of the bearers, if they were dismissed.
At length the Oberconsistorialrath inquired who the gentlemen were
who had agreed to bear the coffin. Schwabe was obliged to
acknowledge that he could not at that moment mention a single name;
but he was ready to guarantee his Hochwurde that in an hour or two
he would bring him the list. On this his Hochwurde consented to
countermand the bearers.
"Schwabe now rushed from house to house, obtaining a ready assent
from all whom he found at home. But as some were out, he sent round
a circular, begging those who would come to place a mark against
their names. He requested them to meet at his lodgings 'at half-
past twelve o'clock that night; a light would be placed in the
window to guide those who were not acquainted with the house; they
would be kind enough to be dressed in black; but mourning-hats,
crapes and mantles he had already provided.' Late in the evening he
placed the list in Gunther's hands. Several appeared to whom he had
not applied; in all about twenty.
"Between midnight and one in the morning the little band proceeded
to Schiller's house. The coffin was carried down stairs and placed
on the shoulders of the friends in waiting. No one else was to be
seen before the house or in the streets. It was a moonlight night
in May, but clouds were up. The procession moved through the
sleeping city to the churchyard of St. James. Having arrived there
they placed their burden on the ground at the door of the so-called
Kassengewolbe, where the gravedigger and his assistants took it up.
In this vault, which belonged to the province of Weimar, it was
usual to inter persons of the higher classes, who possessed no
burying-ground of their own, upon payment of a louis d'or. As
Schiller had died without securing a resting-place for himself and
his family, there could have been no more natural arrangement than
to carry his remains to this vault. It was a grim old building,
standing against the wall of the churchyard, with a steep narrow
roof, and no opening of any kind but the doorway which was filled up
with a grating. The interior was a gloomy space of about fourteen
feet either way. In the centre was a trap-door which gave access to
a hollow space beneath.
"As the gravediggers raised the coffin, the clouds suddenly parted,
and the moon shed her light on all that was earthly of Schiller.
They carried him in: they opened the trap-door: and let him down
by ropes into the darkness. Then they closed the vault. Nothing
was spoken or sung. The mourners were dispersing, when their
attention was attracted by a tall figure in a mantle, at some
distance in the graveyard, sobbing loudly. No one knew who it was;
and for many years the occurrence remained wrapped in mystery,
giving rise to strange conjectures. But eventually it turned out to
have been Schiller's brother-in-law Wolzogen, who, having hurried
home on hearing of the death, had arrived after the procession was
already on its way to the churchyard.
"In the year 1826, Schwabe was Burgermeister of Weimar. Now it was
the custom of the Landschaftscollegium, or provincial board under
whose jurisdiction this institution was placed, to CLEAR OUT the
Kassengewolbe from time to time--whenever it was found to be
inconveniently crowded--and by this means to make way for other
deceased persons and more louis d'or. On such occasions--when the
Landschaftscollegium gave the order 'aufzuraumen,' it was the usage
to dig a hole in a corner of the churchyard--then to bring up en
masse the contents of the Kassengewolbe--coffins, whether entire or
in fragments, bones, skulls, and tattered graveclothes--and finally
to shovel the whole heap into the aforesaid pit. In the month of
March Schwabe was dismayed at hearing that the Landschaftscollegium
had decreed a speedy 'clearing out' of the Gewolbe. His old prompt
way of acting had not left him; he went at once to his friend
Weyland, the president of the Collegium. 'Friend Weyland,' he said,
'let not the dust of Schiller be tossed up in the face of heaven and
flung into that hideous hole! Let me at least have a permit to
search the vault; if we find Schiller's coffin, it shall be
reinterred in a fitting manner in the New Cemetery.' The president
made no difficulty.
"Schwabe invited several persons who had known the poet, and amongst
others one Rudolph, who had been Schiller's servant at the time of
his death. On March 13th, at four o'clock in the afternoon, the
party met in the churchyard, the sexton and his assistants having
received orders to be present with keys, ladders, &c. The vault was
opened; but, before any one entered it, Rudolph and another stated
that the coffin of the deceased Hofrath von Schiller must be one of
the longest in the place. After this the secretary of the
Landschaftscollegium was requested to read aloud from the records of
the said board the names of such persons as had been interred
shortly before and after the year 1805. This being done, the
gravedigger Bielke remarked that the coffins no longer lay in the
order in which they had originally been placed, but had been
displaced at recent burials. The ladder was then adjusted, and
Schwabe, Coudray the architect, and the gravedigger, were the first
to descend. Some others were asked to draw near, that they might
assist in recognising the coffin. The first glance brought their
hopes very low. The tenants of the vault were found 'over, under
and alongside of each other.' One coffin of unusual length having
been descried underneath the rest, an attempt was made to reach it
by lifting out of the way those that were above it; but the
processes of the tomb were found to have made greater advances than
met the eye. Hardly anything would bear removal, but fell to pieces
at the first touch. Search was made for plates with inscriptions,
but even the metal plates crumbled away on being fingered, and their
inscriptions were utterly effaced. Two plates only were found with
legible characters, and these were foreign to the purpose. Probably
every one but the Burgermeister looked on the matter as hopeless.
They reascended the ladder and closed the vault.
"Meanwhile these strange proceedings in the Kassengewolbe began to
be noised abroad. The churchyard was a thoroughfare, and many
passengers had observed that something unusual was going on. There
were persons living in Weimar whose near relatives lay in the
Gewolbe; and, though neither they nor the public at large had any
objection to offer to the general 'clearing out,' they did raise
very strong objections to this mode of anticipating it. So many
pungent things began to be said about violating the tomb, disturbing
the repose of the departed, &c., that the Burgermeister perceived
the necessity of going more warily to work in future. He resolved
to time his next visit at an hour when few persons would be likely
to cross the churchyard at that season. Accordingly, two days later
he returned to the Kassengewolbe at seven in the morning,
accompanied only by Coudray and the churchyard officials.
"Their first task was to raise out of the vault altogether six
coffins, which it was found would bear removal. By various tokens
it was proved that none of these could be that of which they were in
search. There were several others which could not be removed, but
which held together so long as they were left where they lay. All
the rest were in the direst confusion. Two hours and a half were
spent in subjecting the ghastly heap to a thorough but fruitless
search: not a trace of any kind rewarded their trouble. Only one
conclusion stared Schwabe and Coudray in the face--their quest was
in vain: the remains of Schiller must be left to oblivion. Again
the Gewolbe was closed, and those who had disturbed its quiet
returned disappointed to their homes. Yet, that very afternoon,
Schwabe went back once more in company with the joiner who twenty
years before had made the coffin: there was a chance that he might
recognise one of those which they had not ventured to raise. But
this glimmer of hope faded like all the rest. The man remembered
very well what sort of coffin he had made for the Hofrath von
Schiller, and he certainly saw nothing like it here. It had been of
the plainest sort, he believed without even a plate; and in such
damp as this it could have lasted but a few years.
"The fame of this second expedition got abroad like that of the
first, and the comments of the public were louder than before.
Invectives of no measured sort fell on the mayor in torrents. Not
only did society in general take offence, but a variety of persons
in authority, particularly ecclesiastical dignitaries, began to talk
of interfering. Schwabe was haunted by the idea of the 'clearing
out,' which was now close at hand. That dismal hole in the corner
of the churchyard once closed and the turf laid down, the dust of
Schiller would be lost for ever. He determined to proceed. His
position of Burgermeister put the means in his power, and this time
he was resolved to keep his secret. To find the skull was now his
utmost hope, but for that he would make a final struggle. The keys
were still in the hands of Bielke the sexton, who, of course, was
under his control. He sent for him, bound him over to silence, and
ordered him to be at the churchyard at midnight on the 19th of
March. In like manner, he summoned three day-labourers whom he
pledged to secrecy, and engaged to meet him at the same place and at
the same hour, but singly and without lanterns. Attention should
not be attracted if he could help it.
"When the night came, he himself, with a trusty servant, proceeded
to the entrance of the Kassengewolbe. The four men were already
there. In darkness they all entered, raised the trap-door, adjusted
the ladder, and descended to the abode of the dead. Not till then
were lanterns lighted; it was just possible that some late wanderer
might, even at that hour, cross the churchyard. Schwabe seated
himself on a step of the ladder and directed the workmen. Fragments
of broken coffins they piled up in one corner, and bones in another.
Skulls as they were found were placed in a heap by themselves. The
work went on from twelve o'clock till about three, for three
successive nights, at the end of which time twenty-three skulls had
been found. These the Burgermeister caused to be put into a sack
and carried to his house, where he himself took them out and placed
them in rows on a table.
"It was hardly done ere he exclaimed, 'THAT must be Schiller's!'
There was one skull that differed enormously from all the rest, both
in size and in shape. It was remarkable, too, in another way:
alone of all those on the table it retained an entire set of the
finest teeth, and Schiller's teeth had been noted for their beauty.
But there were other means of identification at hand. Schwabe
possessed the cast of Schiller's head, taken after death by Klauer,
and with this he undertook to make a careful comparison and
measurement. The two seemed to him to correspond, and, of the
twenty-two others, not one would bear juxtaposition with the cast.
Unfortunately the lower jaw was wanting, to obtain which a fourth
nocturnal expedition had to be undertaken. The skull was carried
back to the Gewolbe, and many jaws were tried ere one was found
which fitted, and for beauty of teeth corresponded with, the upper
jaw. When brought home, on the other hand, it refused to fit any
other cranium. One tooth alone was wanting, and this was said by an
old servant of Schiller's had been extracted at Jena in his
presence.
"Having got thus far, Schwabe invited three of the chief medical
authorities to inspect his discovery. After careful measurements,
they declared that among the twenty-three skulls there was but one
from which the cast could have been taken. He then invited every
person in Weimar and its neighbourhood, who had been on terms of
intimacy with Schiller, and admitted them to the room one by one.
The result was surprising. Without an exception they pointed to the
same skull as that which must have been the poet's. The only
remaining chance of mistake seemed to be the possibility of other
skulls having eluded the search, and being yet in the vault. To put
this to rest, Schwabe applied to the Landschaftscollegium, in whose
records was kept a list of all persons buried in the Kassengewolbe.
It was ascertained that since the last 'clearing out' there had been
exactly twenty-three interments. At this stage the Burgermeister
saw himself in a position to inform the Grand Duke and Goethe of his
search and its success. From both he received grateful
acknowledgments. Goethe unhesitatingly recognised the head, and
laid stress on the peculiar beauty and evenness of the teeth.
"The new cemetery lay on a gently rising ground on the south side of
the town. Schwabe's favourite plan was to deposit what he had
found--all that he now ever dreamed of finding--of his beloved poet
on the highest point of the slope, and to mark the spot by a simple
monument, so that travellers at their first approach might know
where the head of Schiller lay. One forenoon in early spring he led
Frau von Wolzogen and the Chancellor von Muller to the spot. They
approved his plan, and the remaining members of Schiller's family--
all of whom had left Weimar--signified their assent. They 'did not
desire,' as one of themselves expressed it, 'to strive against
Nature's appointment that man's earthly remains should be reunited
with herself;' they would prefer that their father's dust should
rest in the ground rather than anywhere else. But the Grand Duke
and Goethe decided otherwise.
"Dannecker's colossal bust of Schiller had recently been acquired
for the Grand Ducal library, where it had been placed on a lofty
pedestal opposite the bust of Goethe; and in this pedestal, which
was hollow, it was resolved to deposit the skull. The consent of
the family having been obtained, the solemnity was delayed till the
arrival of Ernst von Schiller, who could not reach Weimar before
autumn. On September the 17th the ceremony took place. A few
persons had been invited, amongst whom, of course, was the
Burgermeister. Goethe, more suo, dreaded the agitation and remained
at home, but sent his son to represent him as chief librarian. A
cantata having been sung, Ernst von Schiller, in a short speech,
thanked all persons present, but especially the Burgermeister, for
the love they had shown to the memory of his father. He then
formally delivered his father's head into the hands of the younger
Goethe, who, reverently receiving it, thanked his friend in Goethe's
name, and having dwelt on the affection that had subsisted between
their fathers vowed that the precious relic should thenceforward be
guarded with anxious care. Up to this moment the skull had been
wrapped in a cloth and sealed: the younger Goethe now made it over
to the librarian, Professor Riemer, to be unpacked and placed in its
receptacle. All present subscribed their names, the pedestal was
locked, and the key carried home to Goethe.
"None doubted that Schiller's head was now at rest for many years.
But it had already occurred to Goethe, who had more osteological
knowledge than the excellent Burgermeister, that, the skull being in
their possession, it would be possible to find the skeleton. A very
few days after the ceremony in the library, he sent to Jena, begging
the Professor of Anatomy, Dr. Schroter, to have the kindness to
spend a day or two at Weimar, and to bring with him, if possible, a
functionary of the Jena Museum, Farber by name, who had at one time
been Schiller's servant. As soon as they arrived, Goethe placed the
matter in Schroter's hands. Again the head was raised from its
pillow and carried back to the dismal Kasselgewolbe, where the bones
still lay in a heap. The chief difficulty was to find the first
vertebra; after that all was easy enough. With some exceptions,
comparatively trifling, Schroter succeeded in reproducing the
skeleton, which then was laid in a new coffin 'lined with blue
merino,' and would seem (though we are not distinctly told) to have
been deposited in the library. Professor Schroter's register of
bones recovered and bones missing has been both preserved and
printed. The skull was restored to its place in the pedestal.
There was another shriek from the public at these repeated
violations of the tomb; and the odd position chosen for Schiller's
head, apart from his body, called forth, not without reason,
abundant criticism.
"Schwabe's idea of a monument in the new cemetery was, after a
while, revived by the Grand Duke, Carl August, but with an important
alteration, which was, that on the spot indicated at the head of the
rising ground there should be erected a common sepulchre for Goethe
and Schiller, in which the latter's remains should at once be
deposited--the mausoleum to be finally closed only when, in the
course of nature, Goethe should have been laid there too. The idea
was, doubtless, very noble, and found great favour with Goethe
himself, who entering into it commissioned Coudray, the architect,
to sketch the plan of a simple mausoleum, in which the sarcophagi
were to be visible from without. There was some delay in clearing
the ground--a nursery of young trees had to be removed--so that at
Midsummer, 1827, nothing had been done. It is said that the
intrigues of certain persons, who made a point of opposing Goethe at
all times, prevailed so far with the Grand Duke that he became
indifferent about the whole scheme. Meanwhile it was necessary to
provide for the remains of Schiller. The public voice was loud in
condemning their present location, and in August, 1827, Louis of
Bavaria again appeared as a Deus ex machina to hasten on the last
act. He expressed surprise that the bones of Germany's best-beloved
should be kept like rare coins, or other curiosities, in a public
museum. In these circumstances, the Grand Duke wrote Goethe a note,
proposing for his approval that the skull and skeleton of Schiller
should be reunited and 'provisionally' deposited in the vault which
the Grand Duke had built for himself and his house, 'until
Schiller's family should otherwise determine.' No better plan
seeming feasible, Goethe himself gave orders for the construction of
a sarcophagus. On November 17th, 1827, in presence of the younger
Goethe, Coudray and Riemer, the head was finally removed from the
pedestal, and Professor Schroter reconstructed the entire skeleton
in this new and more sumptuous abode, which we are told was seven
feet in length, and bore at its upper end the name