[From a Cast taken after death.]
BEN JONSON.
The rapid growth and early maturity of the drama form a remarkable portion of the literary history of Britain. Within forty years from the appearance of the first rude attempts at English comedy, all the most distinguished of our dramatists had graced the stage by their performances. Among the worthies, he whom we familiarly call Ben Jonson holds a prominent place. He was born in Westminster, June 11, 1574, and placed, at a proper age, at Westminster School, where Camden then presided. He made unusual progress in classical learning, until his mother, who was left in narrow circumstances, married a bricklayer, and removed her son from school, that he might work with his step-father in Lincoln’s-Inn. In his vexation and anger at this domestic tyranny, he enlisted as a private soldier, was sent abroad to join the English army in the Netherlands, and distinguished himself against the Spaniards by a gallant achievement. In an encounter with a single man of the enemy, he slew his opponent, and carried off his spoils in the view of both armies.
Engraved by E. Scriven.
BEN JONSON.
From a Picture in the possession of Mr. Knight.
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.
London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street, & Pall Mall East.
On his return home, he resumed his former studies at St. John’s, Cambridge; but thither the miseries of slender means followed him, and he quitted the University after a short residence. He then turned his thoughts to the stage. The encouragement afforded to dramatic talent coincided with his taste and inclination; and the example of Shakspeare, who had successfully adopted the same course under similar difficulties, determined his choice. He was admitted into an obscure theatre, called the Green Curtain, in the neighbourhood of Shoreditch and Clerkenwell; but his salary there must have been insufficient for his support, and his merits were too meagre to entitle him to a place in any respectable company. While in this humble station, he fought a duel with one of the players, in which he was wounded in the arm, but killed his antagonist, who had been the challenger. During his imprisonment for this offence, he was visited by a Popish priest, who profited by his depressed state of mind to win him over to the Church of Rome, within the pale of which he continued for twelve years. Thus did melancholy produce a change in his religious condition; but his spirits returned with his release, and he ventured to offer up his recovered liberty on the altar of matrimony.
Considering that he was only about twenty-four years of age when he rose to reputation as a dramatic writer, his life had been unusually, but painfully, eventful. He had made some attempts as a playwright from his first entrance into the profession, but without success. His connexion with Shakspeare has been variously related. It has been stated that when Jonson was unknown to the world, he offered a play to the theatre, which was rejected after a very careless perusal; but our great dramatist, having accidentally cast his eye on it, thought well of the production, and afterwards recommended the author and his writings to the public. For this candour he is said to have been repaid by Jonson, when the latter became a poet of note, with an envious disrespect. Farmer, of all Shakspeare’s commentators, was most inclined to depart from these traditions, and to think the belief in Jonson’s hostility to Shakspeare absolutely groundless. This question, triumphantly, but with needless acrimony, argued by Mr. Gifford, we regard as now determined in Jonson’s favour. Without any imputation of ingratitude, the acknowledged superior in learning might chequer his commendations with reproof; as he undeniably did, partly from natural temper, and partly from a habit of asserting his own preeminence, as having first taught rules to the stage. He has been loosely, not to say falsely, accused of endeavouring to depreciate The Tempest, by calling it a foolery, a term which unquestionably cannot be applied to any work without such design. But he called it, not a foolery, but a drollery. In present acceptation the terms may be nearly equivalent; but in that age, the word conveyed no censure. Dennis says, in one of his letters, that he went to see the Siege of Namur, a droll. In after-times, the word implied a farcical dialogue in a single scene. Where Jonson says, “if there be never a servant-monster in the fair, who can help it?”—he is supposed to fling at Caliban; but the satire was general. Creatures of various kinds, taught a thousand antics, were the concomitants of puppet-shows. In the Dumb Knight, by Lewis Machin, 1608, Prate, the orator, cautions his wife thus:—“I would not have you to step into the suburbs, and acquaint yourself either with monsters or motions; but holding your way strictly homeward, show yourself still to be a rare housewife.” It has been alleged in the controversy, that Jonson seems to ridicule the conduct of Twelfth Night in his Every Man out of his Humour, where he makes Mitis say, “that the argument of the author’s comedy might have been of some other nature, as of a duke to be in love with a countess, and that countess to be in love with a duke’s son, and the son to love the ladies’ waiting-maid; some such cross-wooing, with a clown to their serving-men, better than to be thus near, and familiarly attired to the time.” Unfortunately for Stevens’s application of this passage, Ben Jonson could not have ridiculed Twelfth Night, which was produced at least eight years after the play quoted. Among the commendatory poems prefixed to the editions of Shakspeare, Jonson’s is not only the first in date, but the most judicious, zealous, and affectionate. His personal attachment is expressed on various occasions with more enthusiasm than is apt to be felt by men of his temperament. We have no right to doubt its sincerity.
We are told that, “having improved his fancy by keeping scholastic company, he betook himself to writing plays.” The comedy entitled Every Man in his Humour was his first successful piece. It was produced in 1598, on the stage with which Shakspeare was connected, and the generous poet and proprietor sanctioned it by playing the part of Kno’well. This was followed the next year by Every Man out of his Humour. After this time he produced a play every year, for several years successively. In 1600 he paid his court to Queen Elizabeth, by complimenting her under the allegorical character of the goddess Cynthia, in his Cynthia’s Revels, which was acted that year by the choristers of the Queen’s Chapel, In his next piece, The Poetaster, which was represented in 1601 by the same performers, he ridicules his rival Decker under the character of Crispinus. Some reflections in it were also supposed to allude to certain well-known lawyers and military men. A popular clamour was raised against him; in vindication of himself, he replied in an apologetical dialogue, which was once recited on the stage, and on the publication of his works annexed to this play. But Decker was bent on revenge, and resolved, if possible, to conquer Jonson at his own weapons. He immediately wrote a play called Satiromastix, or the Untrussing of the Humourous Poet, in which Jonson is introduced under the character of Horace Junior. Jonson’s enemies industriously gave out that he wrote with extreme labour, and was not less than a year about every play. Had it been so, it was no disgrace: the best authors know by experience, that what appears to be the most natural and easy writing is frequently the result of study and close application. But the insinuation was meant to convey, that Jonson had heavy parts, and little imagination: a charge which applies only to two of his works, Sejanus and Catiline. Jonson retorted upon Decker in the prologue to Volpone, or The Fox. We are there told that this play, which is one of his best, was finished in five weeks. He professes that, in all his poems, his aim has been to mix profit with pleasure; and concludes with saying, that all gall is drained from his ink, and “only a little salt remaineth.”