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1、【国外英文文学】STRATFORD-ON-AVON 1819-20 THE SKETCH BOOK STRATFORD-ON-AVON by Washington Irving Thou soft-flowing Avon, by thy silver stream Of things more than mortal sweet Shakspeare would dream; The fairies by moonlight dance round his green bed, For hallowd the turf is which pillowd his head. GARRICK.
2、TO a homeless man, who has no spot on this wide world which he cantruly call his own, there is a momentary feeling of something likeindependence and territorial consequence, when, after a weary daystravel, he kicks off his boots, thrusts his feet into slippers, andstretches himself before an inn fir
3、e. Let the world without go as itmay; let kingdoms rise or fall, so long as he has the wherewithal topay his bill, he is, for the time being, the very monarch of all hesurveys. The arm-chair is his throne, the poker his sceptre, and thelittle parlor, some twelve feet square, his undisputed empire. I
4、t is amorsel of certainty, snatched from the midst of the uncertainties oflife; it is a sunny moment gleaming out kindly on a cloudy day: and hewho has advanced some way on the pilgrimage of existence, knows theimportance of husbanding even morsels and moments of enjoyment. ShallI not take mine ease
5、 in mine inn? thought I, as I gave the fire astir, lolled back in my elbow-chair, and cast a complacent lookabout the little parlor of the Red Horse, at Stratford-on-Avon. The words of sweet Shakspeare were just passing through my mind asthe clock struck midnight from the tower of the church in whic
6、h helies buried. There was a gentle tap at the door, and a prettychambermaid, putting in her smiling face, inquired, with ahesitating air, whether I had rung. I understood it as a modest hintthat it was time to retire. My dream of absolute dominion was at anend; so abdicating my throne, like a prude
7、nt potentate, to avoid beingdeposed, and putting the Stratford Guide-Book under my arm, as apillow companion, I went to bed, and dreamt all night of Shakspeare,the jubilee, and David Garrick. The next morning was one of those quickening mornings which wesometimes have in early spring; for it was abo
8、ut the middle ofMarch. The chills of a long winter had suddenly given way; the northwind had spent its last gasp; and a mild air came stealing from thewest, breathing the breath of life into nature, and wooing every budand flower to burst forth into fragrance and beauty. I had come to Stratford on a
9、 poetical pilgrimage. My first visit wasto the house where Shakspeare was born, and where, according totradition, he was brought up to his fathers craft of wool-combing. Itis a small, mean-looking edifice of wood and plaster, a truenestling-place of genius, which seems to delight in hatching itsoffs
10、pring in by-corners. The walls of its squalid chambers are coveredwith names and inscriptions in every language, by pilgrims of allnations, ranks, and conditions, from the prince to the peasant; andpresent a simple, but striking instance of the spontaneous anduniversal homage of mankind to the great
11、 poet of nature. The house is shown by a garrulous old lady, in a frosty red face,lighted up by a cold blue anxious eye, and garnished with artificiallocks of flaxen hair, curling from under an exceedingly dirty cap. Shewas peculiarly assiduous in exhibiting the relics with which this,like all other
12、 celebrated shrines, abounds. There was the shatteredstock of the very matchlock with which Shakspeare shot the deer, onhis poaching exploits. There, too, was his tobacco-box; which provesthat he was a rival smoker of Sir Walter Raleigh: the sword alsowith which he played Hamlet; and the identical l
13、antern with whichFriar Laurence discovered Romeo and Juliet at the tomb! There was anample supply also of Shakspeares mulberry-tree, which seems to haveas extraordinary powers of self-multiplication as the wood of the truecross; of which there is enough extant to build a ship of the line. The most f
14、avorite object of curiosity, however, is Shakspeareschair. It stands in the chimney nook of a small gloomy chamber, justbehind what was his fathers shop. Here he may many a time have satwhen a boy, watching the slowly revolving spit with all the longing ofan urchin; or of an evening, listening to th
15、e cronies and gossips ofStratford, dealing forth church-yard tales and legendary anecdotesof the troublesome times of England. In this chair it is the custom ofevery one that visits the house to sit: whether this be done withthe hope of imbibing any of the inspiration of the bard I am at a lossto sa
16、y, I merely mention the fact; and mine hostess privatelyassured me, that, though built of solid oak, such was the fervent zealof devotees, that the chair had to be new-bottomed at least once inthree years. It is worthy of notice also, in the history of thisextraordinary chair, that it partakes somet
17、hing of the volatile natureof the Santa Casa of Loretto, or the flying chair of the Arabianenchanter; for though sold some few years since to a northernprincess, yet, strange to tell, it has found its way back again to theold chimney corner. I am always of easy faith in such matters, and am ever wil
18、ling to bedeceived, where the deceit is pleasant and costs nothing. I amtherefore a ready believer in relics, legends, and local anecdotesof goblins and great men; and would advise all travellers who travelfor their gratification to be the same. What is it to us, whetherthese stories be true or fals
19、e, so long as we can persuade ourselvesinto the belief of them, and enjoy all the charm of the reality? Thereis nothing like resolute good-humored credulity in these matters;and on this occasion I went even so far as willingly to believe theclaims of mine hostess to a lineal descent from the poet, w
20、hen,luckily, for my faith, she put into my hands a play of her owncomposition, which set all belief in her consanguinity at defiance. From the birth-place of Shakspeare a few paces brought me to hisgrave. He lies buried in the chancel of the parish church, a large andvenerable pile, mouldering with
21、age, but richly ornamented. Itstands on the banks of the Avon, on an embowered point, andseparated by adjoining gardens from the suburbs of the town. Itssituation is quiet and retired: the river runs murmuring at the footof the churchyard, and the elms which grow upon its banks drooptheir branches i
22、nto its clear bosom. An avenue of limes, the boughs ofwhich are curiously interlaced, so as to form in summer an archedway of foliage, leads up from the gate of the yard to the churchporch. The graves are overgrown with grass; the gray tombstones,some of them nearly sunk into the earth, are half cov
23、ered with moss,which has likewise tinted the reverend old building. Small birdshave built their nests among the cornices and fissures of the walls,and keep up a continual flutter and chirping; and rooks are sailingand cawing about its lofty gray spire. In the course of my rambles I met with the gray
24、-headed sexton,Edmonds, and accompanied him home to get the key of the church. He hadlived in Stratford, man and boy, for eighty years, and seemed still toconsider himself a vigorous man, with the trivial exception that hehad nearly lost the use of his legs for a few years past. His dwellingwas a co
25、ttage, looking out upon the Avon and its bordering meadows;and was a picture of that neatness, order, and comfort, whichpervade the humblest dwellings in this country. A low whitewashedroom, with a stone floor carefully scrubbed, served for parlor,kitchen, and hall. Rows of pewter and earthen dishes
26、 glittered alongthe dresser. On an old oaken table, well rubbed and polished, laythe family Bible and prayer-book, and the drawer contained thefamily library, composed of about half a score of well-thumbedvolumes. An ancient clock, that important article of cottagefurniture, ticked on the opposite s
27、ide of the room; with a brightwarming-pan hanging on one side of it, and the old manshorn-handled Sunday cane on the other. The fireplace, as usual, waswide and deep enough to admit a gossip knot within its jambs. In onecorner sat the old mans granddaughter sewing, a pretty blue-eyedgirl,- and in th
28、e opposite corner was a superannuated crony, whom headdressed by the name of John Ange, and who, I found, had been hiscompanion from childhood. They had played together in infancy; theyhad worked together in manhood; they were now tottering about andgossiping away the evening of life; and in a short
29、 time they willprobably be buried together in the neighboring church-yard. It isnot often that we see two streams of existence running thus evenly andtranquilly side by side; it is only in such quiet bosom scenes oflife that they are to be met with. I had hoped to gather some traditionary anecdotes
30、of the bard fromthese ancient chroniclers; but they had nothing new to impart. Thelong interval during which Shakspeares writings lay in comparativeneglect has spread its shadow over his history; and it is his goodor evil lot that scarcely any thing remains to his biographers but ascanty handful of
31、conjectures. The sexton and his companion had been employed as carpenters onthe preparations for the celebrated Stratford jubilee, and theyremembered Garrick, the prime mover of the fete, who superintended thearrangements, and, who, according to the sexton, was a short punchman, very lively and bust
32、ling. John Ange had assisted also in cuttingdown Shakspeares mulberry tree, of which he had a morsel in hispocket for sale; no doubt a sovereign quickener of literaryconception. I was grieved to hear these two worthy wights speak very dubiouslyof the eloquent dame who shows the Shakspeare house. Joh
33、n Ange shookhis head when I mentioned her valuable collection of relics,particularly her remains of the mulberry tree; and the old sexton evenexpressed a doubt as to Shakspeare having been born in her house. Isoon discovered that he looked upon her mansion with an evil eye, as arival to the poets to
34、mb; the latter having comparatively but fewvisitors. Thus it is that historians differ at the very outset, andmere pebbles make the stream of truth diverge into differentchannels even at the fountain head. We approached the church through the avenue of limes, and entered bya Gothic porch, highly orn
35、amented, with carved doors of massive oak.The interior is spacious, and the architecture and embellishmentssuperior to those of most country churches. There are severalancient monuments of nobility and gentry, over some of which hangfuneral escutcheons, and banners dropping piecemeal from the walls.
36、The tomb of Shakspeare is in the chancel. The place is solemn andsepulchral. Tall elms wave before the pointed windows, and the Avon,which runs at a short distance from the walls, keeps up a lowperpetual murmur. A flat stone marks the spot where the bard isburied. There are four lines inscribed on i
37、t, said to have beenwritten by himself, and which have in them something extremelyawful. If they are indeed his own, they show that solicitude about thequiet of the grave, which seems natural to fine sensibilities andthoughtful minds. Good friend, for Jesus sake forbeare To dig the dust enclosed her
38、e. Blessed be he that spares these stones, And curst be he that moves my bones. 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
39、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 nothav
40、e 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 hi
41、snative 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
42、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
43、 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-
44、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 mausoleu
45、m. 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
46、 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 pilgrims devoti