Postscript & Supplementary Note

POSTSCRIPT

[64] BY the kindness of Mr. W. F. S. Dugdale, of Merevale Hall, the "lineal descendant" of Sir William Dugdale, to whom Mr. Spielmann alludes in the footnote to page 21 of his recent work, I have once more (viz. on October 21, 1925) had an opportunity of inspecting and comparing Dugdale's original drawing of the Stratford Bust, and the engraving thereof in the first edition of his Antiquities of Warwickshire. That the original drawing is by Dugdale himself is not disputed, either by Mr. Spielmann or any other critic. It is in his own notebook which contains many other drawings by him of monuments, heraldic designs, armorial bearings, etc., and is surrounded by notes in his own handwriting. Mr. Spielmann who, as already mentioned, dismisses this important fact in a curt footnote, writes that "the plate departs in details from the sketch," and that both the sketch and the engraving "are libels on the original." That last statement, of course, begs the question of what Dugdale's "original" really was. With regard to the "details" there is really very little difference between the plate and the sketch. In both the monument is surmounted by two little nude boys, one holding an hour-glass, and the other a spade, but it may be noted that these figures are better placed and poised in Dugdale's original than in the engraving. They certainly differ in toto from the small boy figures which are now seen on the monument at Stratford, and, [65] as I wrote many years ago, they are placed "as no monumental sculptor would be likely to place them." [The Shakespeare Problem Restated (1908), p. 247 n.] Let us therefore admit that Dugdale's sketch, and the engraving taken from it, are erroneous in respect of these little urchins, "perched insecurely," as Mr. Spielmann says, "on the edge of the cornice." We will admit, therefore, that the "details" are defective. But this is really not a question of "details." The whole question hinges upon the central figure of the monument. Here we see both in Dugdale's original drawing and in the engraving, an elderly man, with drooping moustache, and hair under and surrounding his chin, resting both his hands upon a cushion very much in the form of a bolster. Mr. Spielmann waxes humorous over this. He tells us that the engraving "shows us a sickly decrepit old gentleman, with a falling moustache, much more than fifty-two years old." Now it is true that the figure has a falling—i.e., drooping—moustache, and that the face leaves an impression of melancholy, but there is nothing whatever to show that the original was either "sickly" or "decrepit," and unless Mr. Spielmann, among his other great gifts, which we so much admire, is endowed with some special power of diagnosing the age of a man, or rather of a graven image, it is extremely difficult to see how he can take it upon him to pronounce that Dugdale's original, as he appears in the sketch and the engraving, must have been "much more than fifty-two years old," at which age, of course, William Shakspere of Stratford departed this life in his native town.

But Mr. Spielmann waxes still more humorous over the Dugdale engraving. "Do sculptors," he facetiously asks, "in their monuments, represent the great [66] departed in their dying state, pressing pillows to their stomachs? Yet both hands are here upon a cushion which, for no reason, except perhaps abdominal pains, is hugged against what dancing-masters euphemistically term 'the lower chest!'"

It is really delightful to find Mr. Spielmann as a humorist, and not for worlds would we deprive him of his little jokes. One might just observe, however, if it be permissible to quit the region of farce for that of fact, that Dugdale has not represented his model, whoever that model may have been, in a "dying state" at all. It is true that his figure differs very materially from the smirk, self-satisfied, fat-cheeked, well-fed, dandified figure that now does duty for "the immortal bard" in the monument at Stratford, but Dugdale's figure, as any unprejudiced observer can see, might well be that of a man between forty and fifty, nor is it true that the figure is "hugging" the cushion on which his hands are resting, for, again as any unprejudiced observer can see, the hands are resting quite lightly on that cushion, and there is no suggestion in the figure that the original is suffering pain, whether abdominal " or otherwise. All this, though when Mr. Spielmann reads it to an admiring audience it will, no doubt, be followed by the word "laughter" (in brackets), is mere prejudice, and has really nothing whatever to do with the question at issue.

What is that question? It is this. Can any reason­able man believe that Sir William Dugdale, a Warwick­shire man, a practised draughtsman, well-acquainted with Stratford, and its Church, and the Monuments therein, and engaged in the preparation of a great book which was to be, as Mr. Spielmann writes (p. 14), "his masterpiece (up to that time) and to stand at the head of all county histories," could sit down—or stand, [67] for the matter of that—to copy the effigy of "Shakespeare" as it now appears in the Church at Stratford, and produce as a copy a figure so preposterously unlike his model as that which appears in his sketch that it could only excite the άσβεστος γέλως—the jeers and laughter of all Warwickshire men, and of all visitors to that Church? I assert with absolute confidence that no reasonable man could entertain such a belief, unless, indeed, his judgment was distorted by the dementia Stratfordiana, or unless he assumes that Dugdale, fraudulently and of malice prepense, and for no conceivable motive, concocted such a travesty of the figure which was before him, and which he was supposed to copy. But this latter hypothesis will, I take it, be accepted by no man or woman of sound mind and understanding. The conclusion, therefore, is obvious; namely, that the bust which Dugdale copied, whatever may have been the mistakes that he made with regard to the "details" of the Monument, was altogether different from the effigy which we now see in the Church at Stratford-upon-Avon.

G. G. October, 1925.

[68] MODERN EDITORS AND THE DROESHOUT ENGRAVING
(SUPPLEMENTARY NOTE)

SINCE the above pages were in print my attention has been directed to the new and improved version of the Droeshout engraving which appears as frontispiece to The Tempest, edited by Sir A. Quiller-Couch and Mr. J. Dover Wilson. This frontispiece is subscribed "The Droeshout Portrait from the First Folio 1623," and purports to be a reproduction of the picture as seen on the "Title Page" of that immortal work, but it really seems as if one of Mr. Spielmann's inaccurate seventeenth-century engravers had been summoned from the vasty deep to alter the plate and make it more presentable to the public.

In order to explain my meaning I would ask the reader to look at the numerous reproductions of the Droeshout engraving—there are some fifteen in all very usefully provided by Mr. Spielmann for our edification. On plate 18 he will find the "Title page of the First Folio as issued" in 1623, of course with the well-known print. On plate 21 he will find again "The Droeshout Print (First Folio)," On plate 22 we are confronted with "The Halliwell-Phillips 'Unique Proof ' of the Droeshout Portrait." On plate 23 we find a photograph of the same "Unique Proof," showing, however, little more than the head considerably enlarged, which adds to its utility for [69] the critical observer. On plate 24 we see "The Malone Proof (by permission of the Bodleian Library)." And we have other reproductions on plates 25, 27, 28, 29 and 30, of this astonishing portrait, wherein, as Jonson tells us, "the Graver had a strife with Nature to out-do the Life"—a strife in which the Graver seems to have been eminently successful!

But let the reader consider any one of these "portraits" so generously exhibited by Mr. Spielmann for choice I think I would select his plate 22 and plate 23—and he will notice a remarkable characteristic in which they all agree. On the left side of this very high-brow head (the right-hand side as seen by the spectator) he will see peeping out under our Shakespeare's lank hyacinthine locks the tip of the lobe of the poet's ear. It really seems a pity that the hair was not prolonged by the artist so as to hide this portion of the auricle, for not even the most enthusiastic admirer of the engraving could say that it is a beautiful object, being indeed somewhat quaintly reminiscent of an appendix vermiformis; but the fact seems to be that our great poet had a very pendulous ear, though hardly, one would say, an ear suitable for ear-rings such as are depicted in the "Chandos" portrait!

But now let the spectator look at the very end of this not very inviting piece of flesh. Here he will see a very remarkable feature. There is—and it clearly appears in all these fifteen copies—a very distinct and deeply marked line, descending around the jaw almost to the chin, and thus cutting off, as it were, the flesh that lies behind it. It is indeed a unique feature of portraiture which has suggested to some critical observers that "the figure" which we here "see put" was supposed to be wearing a mask, and, indeed, it can hardly be denied that such an impression is [70] produced. I do not assert, however, that any such suggestion was intended by the original "graver," but I do say that any pretended reproduction of the Droeshout engraving which omits these remarkable features, to wit, the bit of the pendulous auricle, and this curious strongly-marked and almost inexplicable dividing line—ought not to be put before the public as a true copy of that portentous print.

And now let us examine the supposed copy as pre­sented to us by Sir A. Quiller-Couch and Mr. Dover Wilson. The observer will find that the lower part of the left side of the head—on the observer's right—has been thrown into deep shade, thereby differing from all the plates provided for our inspection by Mr. Spielmann. It is true that a tiny morsel of the pendulous lobe is allowed to appear, though so softened down as to be almost, if not quite, inoffensive, but quite inexcusably the strongly marked "dividing line" to which I have alluded, and which is such a remarkable feature in the original engraving, has been omitted altogether, or, what comes to the same thing, rendered entirely invisible. There is just one other observation to be made concerning this misleading picture. The engraver, or his employers, seem to have been, very naturally, dissatisfied with that "hairy nothing" which in the original "portrait" does duty for Shakespeare's moustache, so they would appear to have referred to the "Flower Portrait," miscalled the Droeshout original (Spielmann, plate 20), which was painted at a later date by way of a much-needed improvement on that original, and though they have not endowed the immortal bard with quite such a luxuriant crop of hair on the upper lip as appears in that soi-disant portrait, they have given their figure-head quite a respectable moustache, albeit a [71] moustache which is, of course, entirely different from that which we see so curiously fashioned in the "Stratford Bust."

In a word, the supposed reproduction of the Droeshout Engraving provided for us by the Editors of this new so-called " Cambridge" edition of the Tempest is just an artificially improved version of the original, and quite untrustworthy. Needless to say I make no suggestion that the distinguished and honourable editors had any desire to present their readers with a picture so altered that it might give them a better impression of the (supposed) poet than that which is generally conveyed to all beholders by the stupefying Droeshout print, but, nevertheless, one is left to wonder by what inadvertence they came to sanction the publication of this very inaccurate—if less disagreeable—frontispiece.