Shakespeares Bones | Page 6

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
SCHILLER
in letters of cast-iron. That same afternoon Goethe went himself to the
library and expressed his satisfaction with all that had been done.
At last, on December 16th, 1827, at half-past five in the morning, a few
persons again met at the same place. The Grand Duke had desired--for
what reason we know not--to avoid observation; it was Schiller's fate
that his remains should be carried hither and hither by stealth and in the
night. Some tapers burned around the bier: the recesses of the hall were
in darkness. Not a word was spoken, but those present bent for an
instant in silent prayer, on which the bearers raised the coffin and
carried it away. They walked along through the park: the night was cold

and cloudy: some of the party had lanterns. When they reached the
avenue that led up to the cemetery, the moon shone out as she had done
twenty-two years before. At the vault itself some other friends had
assembled, amongst whom was the