BOOK VI. CHAPTER I. THE DRAMATISTS OF SHAKSPERE'S SECOND PERIOD. "MANY were the wit-combats betwixt him and BEN JONSON; which two I behold like a Spanish great galleon and an English manof-war: Master Jonson (like the former) was built far higher in learning; solid, but slow, in his performances. Shakespeare, with the English man-of-war, lesser in bulk, but lighter in sailing, could turn with all tides, tack about, and take advantage of all winds, by the quickness of his wit and invention." Such is Thomas Fuller's wellknown description of the convivial intercourse of Shakspere and Jonson, first published in 1662. A biographer of Shakspere says, "The memory of Fuller perhaps teemed with their sallies." That memory, then, must have been furnished at secondhand; for Fuller was not born till 1608. He beheld them in his mind's eye only. Imperfect, and in many respects worthless, as the few traditions of these wit-combats are, there can be no doubt of the companionship and ardent friendship of these two monarchs of the stage. Fuller's fanciful comparison of their respective conversational powers is probably to some extent a just one. The difference in the constitution of their minds, and the diversity of their respective, acquirements, would more endear each to the other's society. Rowe thus describes the commencement of the intercourse between Shakspere and Jonson :-" His acquaintance with Ben Jonson began with a remarkable piece of humanity and good nature. Mr. Jonson, who was at that time altogether unknown to the world, had offered one of his plays to the players, in order to have it acted; and the persons into whose hands it was put, after | having turned it carelessly and superciliously over, were just upon returning it to him with an ill-natured answer, that it would be of no service to their company, when Shakspere luckily cast his eye upon it, and found something so well in it as to engage him first to read it through, and afterwards to recommend Mr. Jonson and his writings to the public."* The tradition which Rowe thus records is not supported by minute facts which have since become known. In Henslowe's Diary of plays performed at his theatre, we have an entry under the date of the 11th of May, 1597, of 'The Comedy of Humours.' This was no doubt a new play, for it was acted eleven times: and there can be little question that it was Jonson's comedy of 'Every Man in his Humour.' A few months after we have the following entry in the same document :-"Lent unto Benjamin Jonson, player, the 22nd of July, 1597, in ready money, the sum of four pounds, to be paid it again whensoever either I or my son shall demand it.” Again: "Lent unto Benjamin Jonson, the 3rd of December, 1597, upon a book which he was to write for us before Christmas next after the date hereof, which he showed the plot unto the company: I say, lent in ready money unto him the sum of twenty shillings." On the 5th of January, 1598, Henslowe records in the same way the trifling loan of five shillings. An advance is also made by Henslowe to his company on the 13th of August, 1598, "to buy a book called 'Hot Anger soon cold,' of Mr. Porter, Mr. Chettle, and Benjamin Jonson, in full payment, the sum of six pounds." We thus see, that in 1597 *Life of Shakspeare.' "My hundred of grey hairs Told six and forty years." and 1598 there was an intimate connection | Curtain Playhouse." We know where Marof Jonson with the stage, but not with Shak- lowe was killed, and when he was killed. spere's company. It can scarcely be sup- He was slain at Deptford in 1593. Gifford posed that Jonson was a writer for the stage supposes that this tragical event in Jonson's earlier than 1597, and that the "remarkable life took place in 1595; but the conjecture piece of humanity and good nature" re- is set aside by an indisputable account of corded of Shakspere took place before the the fact. Philip Henslowe, writing to his connection of Jonson with Henslowe's the- son-in-law Alleyn on the 26th of September, atre. He was born, according to Gifford, in 1598, says, " Since you were with me I have 1574. In January, 1619, he sent a poetical lost one of my company, which hurteth me "picture of himself" to Drummond, in which greatly, that is Gabrell [Gabriel], for he is these lines occur:slain in Hogsden Fields by the hands of Benjamin Jonson, bricklayer; therefore I would fain have a little of your counsel, if I could." This event took place then, we see, exactly at the period when Jonson was in constant intercourse with Henslowe's company; and it probably arose out of some quarrel at the theatre that he was "appealed to the fields." The expression of Henslowe, "Benjamin Jonson, bricklayer," is a remarkable one. It is inconsistent with Jonson's own declaration that after his return from the Low Countries he "betook himself to his wonted studies." We believe that Henslowe, under the excitement of that loss for which he required the counsel of Alleyn, used it as a term of opprobrium, that was familiar to his company. Dekker, who was a writer for Henslowe's theatre, and who in 1599 was associated with Jonson in the composition of two plays, ridicules his former friend and colleague, in 1602, as a "poor lime and hair rascal -as one who ambled "in a leather pilch by a play-waggon in the highway"-" a foul-fisted mortar-treader"— "one famous for killing a player"-one whose face "looks for all the world like a rotten russet-apple when it is bruised"— whose "goodly and glorious nose was blunt, blunt, blunt"-who is asked, "how chance it passeth that you bid good bye to an honest trade of building chimneys and laying down bricks for a worse handicraftness ?"—who is twitted with "dost stamp, mad Tamburlaine, dost stamp; thou think'st thou 'st mortar under thy feet, dost ?"—one whose face was "punched full of eyelet-holes like the cover of a warming-pan"-"a hollow-cheeked This would place his birth in 1573*. Drummond, in narrating Jonson's account of "his own life, education, birth, actions," up to the period in which we have shown how dependent he was upon the advances of a theatrical manager, thus writes: "His grandfather came from Carlisle, and, he thought, from Annandale to it: he served King Henry VIII., and was a gentleman. His father lost all his estate under Queen Mary, having been cast in prison and forfeited; at last turned minister: so he was a minister's son. He himself was posthumous born, a month after his father's decease; brought up poorly, put to school by a friend (his master Camden); after, taken from it, and put to another craft (I think was to be a wright or bricklayer), which he could not endure; then went he to the Low Countries; but returning soon, he betook himself to his wonted studies. In his service in the Low Countries, he had, in the face of both the camps, killed an enemy and taken opima spolia from him; and since his coming to England, being appealed to the fields, he had killed his adversary which had hurt him in the arm, and whose sword was ten inches longer than his; for the which he was imprisoned, and almost at the gallows. Then took he his religion by trust, of a priest who visited him in prison. Thereafter he was twelve years a Papist." Aubrey says in his random way, "He killed Mr. Marlowe the poet on Bunhill, coming from the Green * See 'Jonson's Conversations with Drummond,' published by the Shakespeare Society. * Letter in Dulwich College, quoted in Collier's 'Memoirs of Alleyn.' scrag." It is evident from all this abuse, which we transcribe as the passages occur in Dekker's Satiro-Mastix,' that the poverty, the personal appearance, and, above all, the original occupation of Jonson, exposed him to the vulgar ridicule of some of those with whom he was brought into contact at the theatre. They did not feel as honest old Fuller felt, when, describing Jonson, being in want of maintenance, as "fain to return to the trade of his father-in-law," the old chronicler of the Worthies says “Let not them blush that have, but those who have not, a lawful calling." We can understand what Henslowe means when he says "Benjamin Jonson, bricklayer." In the autumn of 1598 the bricklayer-poet was lying in prison. At the Christmas of that year 'Every Man in his Humour,' greatly altered from the original sketch produced by Henslowe's company, was brought out by the Lord Chamberlain's company at the Blackfriars. The doors of Henslowe's theatre on the Bankside were probably shut against the man who had killed Gabriel, "whose sword was ten inches longer than his." There seems to have been an effort on the part of some one to console the unhappy prisoner under his calamity. He was a writer for a rival theatre, receiving its advances up to the 13th of August, 1598. His improved play was brought out by the company of a theatre which stood much higher in the popular and the critical estimation a few months afterwards. There was an act of friendship somewhere. May we not believe that this proud man, who seems to have been keenly alive to neglect and injury who says that Daniel was at jealousies with him "-that "Drayton feared him"that "he beat Marston, and took his pistol from him"-that "Sir William Alexander was not half kind to him"-that "Markham was but a base fellow" that "such were Day and Middleton"-that "Sharpham, Day, Dekker, were all rogues, and that Minshew was one"-that "Abraham Francis was a fool"-may we not believe that some deep remembrance of unusual kind *All these passages are extracted from his 'Conversations with Drummond.' ness induced him to write of Shakspere, "I loved the man, and do honour his memory on this side idolatry as much as any. He was indeed honest, and of an open and free nature?" We have no hesitation in abiding by the common sense of Gifford, who treated with ineffable scorn all that has been written about Jonson's envy, and malignity, and coldness towards Shakspere. We believe with him "that no feud, no jealousy ever disturbed their connection; that Shakspere was pleased with Jonson, and that Jonson loved and admired Shakspere." They worked upon essentially different principles of art; they had each their admirers and disciples; but the field in which they laboured was large enough for both of them, and they each cultivated it after his own fashion. With the exception of such occasional quarrels as those between Jonson and Dekker, the poets of that time lived as a generous brotherhood, whose cordial intercourse might soften many of the rigours of their worldly lot. Jonson was by nature proud, perhaps arrogant. His struggles with penury had made him proud. He had the inestimable possession of a well-educated boyhood; he had the consciousness of great abilities and great acquirements. He was thrown amongst a band of clever men, some of whom perhaps laughed, as Dekker unworthily did, at his honest efforts to set himself above the real disgrace of earning his bread by corrupt arts who ridiculed his pimpled face, his doubt that a man of vigorous understanding had arisen up to devote himself to the exhibition of "popular errors," - humourspassing accidents of life and character. He himself worked upon more enduring materials; but he would nevertheless see that there was one fitted to deal with the comedy of manners in a higher spirit than had yet been displayed. Not only was the amended 'Every Man in his Humour' acted by Shakspere's company, Shakspere himself taking one of the characters; but the second comedy from the same satirist was first produced by that company in 1599. When the author, in his Induction, exclaims "If any here chance to behold himself, Let him not dare to challenge me of wrong; For, if he shame to have his follies known, First he should shame to act 'em : my strict hand Was made to seize on vice, and with a gripe Squeeze out the humour of such spongy souls As lick up every idle vanity,”— the poet who ". was not for an age, but for all time,"-he, especially, who never once comes before the audience in his individual character, — might gently smile at these high pretensions. But he would stretch out the hand of cordial friendship to the man; for he was in earnest—his indignation against vice was an honest one. Though a little personal vanity might peep out-though the satirist might "venture on the stage when the play is ended to exchange courtesies and compliments with gallants in the lord's rooms, to make all the house rise up in arms and to cry,―That's Horace, that's he, that's he, that's he, that pens and purges humours and diseases," "Shakspere's congratulations on the success of Asper-for so Jonson delighted to call himself-would come from the heart. intercourse of some of the illustrious band to whom the young dramatist refers :"Methinks the little wit I had is lost Since I saw you; for wit is like a rest Held up at tennis, which men do the best With the best gamesters: what things have we seen Done at the Mermaid! heard words that have been So nimble, and so full of subtile flame, Wit able enough to justify the town For three days past-wit that might warrant be For the whole city to talk foolishly Till that were cancell'd: and when that was gone, We left an air behind us, which alone Sociality was the fashion of those days-in moderation, not a bad fashion. Gifford has noticed this with great justness; "Domestic entertainments were, at that time, rare; the accommodations of a private house were ill calculated for the purposes of a social meeting and taverns and ordinaries are therefore almost the only places in which we hear of such assemblies. This, undoubtedly, gives an appearance of licentiousness to the age, which, in strictness, does not belong to it. Long after the period of which we are now speaking, we seldom hear of the eminent characters of the day in their domestic circles." Jonson laughs at his own disposition to conviviality in connection with his habitual abstemiousness: "Canary, the very elixir and spirit of wine! This is that our poet calls Castalian liquor, when he comes abroad now and then, once in a fortnight, and makes a good meal among players, where he has caninum appetitum; marry, at home he keeps a good philosophical diet, beans and buttermilk; an honest pure rogue, he will take you off three, four, five of these, *Memoirs of Ben Jonson,' p. cxc. one after another, and look villainously when he has done, like a one-headed Cerberus."* He puts these words into the mouth of a buffoon. In his own person he speaks of himself in a nobler strain : "I that spend half my nights, and all my days, Here in a cell to get a dark pale face, To come forth worth the ivy and the bays; And, in this age, can hope no other grace."+ The alternations of excessive labour and joyous relaxation belong to the energies of the poetical temperament. Jonson has been accused of excess in his pleasures. Drummond ill-naturedly says, "Drink is one of the elements in which he liveth." But no one affirmed that in his convivial meetings there was not something higher and better than sensual indulgence : us, "Ah, Ben! Shall we thy guests The Dog, the Triple Tun? was a person of most reverend aspect, religious and temperate, qualities rarely meeting in a poet." Anthony Wood has a low notion of the poetical character, as many other prosaic people have. He tells us of an unhappy verse-maker of small merit who was exceedingly given to the vices of poets." Chapman was, however, the senior of the illustrious band who lighted up the close of the sixteenth century, and might be more reverend than many of them. He was seven years older than Shakspere, being born in 1557. Yet his inventive faculties were brilliant to the last. Jonson told Drummond, in 1619, that "next himself only Fletcher and Chapman could make a masque." He said also, what was more important, that" Chapman and Fletcher were loved of him," No one can doubt the vigour of the poet who translated twelve books of *Every Man out of his Humour.' the Iliad in six weeks,-the daring fiery spirit of him who, in the opinion of the more polished translator, gave us a Homer such as he might have been before he had come to the years of discretion. This is meant by Pope for censure. Meres, in 1598, enumerates Chapman amongst the " tragic poets," and also amongst the "best poets for comedy." We have no evidence that he wrote before the period when Shakspere raised the drama out of chaos. He had not the power to become a great dramatist in the strict sense of the word; for his genius was essentially didactic. He could not go out of himself to paint all the varieties of passion and character in vivid action; but he could analyze the passion, exhibit its peculiarities, describe its current, with wondrous force and originality, throwing in touches of the purest poetry, clothed in the most splendid combinations of language. Dryden has not done justice to him, when he says that "a dwarfish thought dressed up in gigantic words is his characteristic.” There are the gigantic words, but the thought is rarely dwarfish. Had he become a dramatist ten years earlier, as he well might from the period in which he was born, we should have found more extravagance and less poetical fire. Shakspere rendered the drama not so easy of approach by inferior men, as it was in the early days of the Greenes and Peeles. Chapman with his undramatic mind has done wonders in his own way. JOHN FLETCHER was born in 1576. His father, the Bishop of London—he who poured into the ears of the unhappy Mary of Scots on the scaffold that verbosam orationem, as Camden has it, which had more regard to his own preferment than the Queen's conversion-he who, marrying a second time, fell under his royal mistress's displeasure, and died of grief and excessive tobacco, in 1596, "seeking to lose his sorrow in a mist of smoke, "*-he left his son John to carry his "sail of phantasy" into the dangerous waters of the theatre. The union of real talent with fashionable pretension, which in time made him one of the most popular * Fuller's Worthies.' |