Just over the grave, in a niche of the wall, is a bust ofShakspeare, put up shortly after his death, and considered as aresemblance. The aspect is pleasant and serene, with a finely-archedforehead; and I thought I could read in it clear indications of thatcheerful, social disposition, by which he was as much characterizedamong his contemporaries as by the vastness of his genius. Theinscription mentions his age at the time of his decease- fifty-threeyears; an untimely death for the world: for what fruit might nothave been expected from the golden autumn of such a mind, sheltered asit was from the stormy vicissitudes of life, and flourishing in thesunshine of popular and royal favor.
The inscription on the tombstone has not been without its effect. Ithas prevented the removal of his remains from the bosom of hisnative place to Westminster Abbey, which was at one time contemplated.
A few years since also, as some laborers were digging to make anadjoining vault, the earth caved in, so as to leave a vacant spacealmost like an arch, through which one might have reached into hisgrave. No one, however, presumed to meddle with his remains so awfullyguarded by a malediction; and lest any of the idle or the curious,or any collector of relics, should be tempted to commitdepredations, the old sexton kept watch over the place for two days,until the vault was finished and the aperture closed again. He told methat he had made bold to look in at the hole, but could see neithercoffin nor bones; nothing but dust. It was something, I thought, tohave seen the dust of Shakspeare.
Next to this grave are those of his wife, his favorite daughter,Mrs. Hall, and others of his family. On a tomb close by, also, is afull-length effigy of his old friend John Combe of usurious memory; onwhom he is said to have written a ludicrous epitaph. There are othermonuments around, but the mind refuses to dwell on any thing that isnot connected with Shakspeare. His idea pervades the place; thewhole pile seems but as his mausoleum. The feelings, no longer checkedand thwarted by doubt, here indulge in perfect confidence: othertraces of him may be false or dubious, but here is palpable evidenceand absolute certainty. As I trod the sounding pavement, there wassomething intense and thrilling in the idea, that, in very truth,the remains of Shakspeare were mouldering beneath my feet. It was along time before I could prevail upon myself to leave the place; andas I passed through the church-yard, I plucked a branch from one ofthe yew trees, the only relic that I have brought from Stratford.
I had now visited the usual objects of a pilgrim's devotion, but Ihad a desire to see the old family seat of the Lucys, at Charlecot,and to ramble through the park where Shakspeare, in company withsome of the roysterers of Stratford, committed his youthful offence ofdeer-stealing. In this harebrained exploit we are told that he wastaken prisoner, and carried to the keeper's lodge, where he remainedall night in doleful captivity. When brought into the presence ofSir Thomas Lucy, his treatment must have been galling and humiliating;for it so wrought upon his spirit as to produce a rough pasquinade,which was affixed to the park gate at Charlecot.** The following is the only stanza extant of this lampoon:-A parliament member, a justice of peace,At home a poor scarecrow, at London an asse,If lowsie is Lucy, as some volke miscalle it,Then Lucy is lowsie, whatever befall it.
He thinks himself great;
Yet an asse in his state,
We allow by his ears but with asses to mate,If Lucy is lowsie, as some volke miscalle it,Then sing lowsie Lucy whatever befall it.
This flagitious attack upon the dignity of the knight so incensedhim, that he applied to a lawyer at Warwick to put the severity of thelaws in force against the rhyming deer-stalker. Shakspeare did notwait to brave the united puissance of a knight of the shire and acountry attorney. He forthwith abandoned the pleasant banks of theAvon and his paternal trade; wandered away to London; became ahanger-on to the theatres; then an actor; and, finally, wrote forthe stage; and thus, through the persecution of Sir Thomas Lucy,Stratford lost an indifferent wool-comber, and the world gained animmortal poet. He retained, however, for a long time, a sense of theharsh treatment of the Lord of Charlecot, and revenged himself inhis writings; but in the sportive way of a good-natured mind. SirThomas is said to be the original Justice Shallow, and the satire isslyly fixed upon him by the justice's armorial bearings, which, likethose of the knight, had white luces* in the quarterings.
* The luce is a pike or jack, and abounds in the Avon aboutCharlecot.
Various attempts have been made by his biographers to soften andexplain away this early transgression of the poet; but I look uponit as one of those thoughtless exploits natural to his situation andturn of mind. Shakspeare, when young, had doubtless all the wildnessand irregularity of an ardent, undisciplined, and undirected genius.
The poetic temperament has naturally something in it of thevagabond. When left to itself it runs loosely and wildly, and delightsin every thing eccentric and licentious. It is often a turn-up of adie, in the gambling freaks of fate, whether a natural genius shallturn out a great rogue or a great poet; and had not Shakspeare'smind fortunately taken a literary bias, he might have as daringlytranscended all civil, as he has all dramatic laws.
