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Want of High Moral Interest—His Tragedies.

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heroic virtue. Perhaps a deficiency of deep feeling was the cause of both; but in this respect also he stands almost alone among his contemporaries. Not only do we find nothing approaching to a hero among his characters, but heroic self-denial, patient self-negation, virtues which often invest the homely characters of Heywood especially, but also of Dekker and Chapman, with a kindly interest, never illumine the dark scenes of trickery and coarse vice which he almost exclusively presents. It may, however, be said, why seek for these? Jonson was not a painter of the high and heroic, of the pure and the good, he was the dramatic satirist of the evils of his age, the stern exhibitor of knavery, vice, and folly. Be it so; but then never let the names of Shakespere and Jonson be conjoined again, the one making all human nature his own, the other only a portion, and that too often the vicious and the degraded. Be it so, that Jonson's characters are thus repulsive, still, even from among such, his fellow-dramatists could raise up a human interest. Ford's Witch, repulsive as she is, still excites our compassion by her desolate wretchedness; while Massinger's Sir Giles Overreach, in the wild abandonment of his horror when he sees the obliterated parchments, rises into tragic grandeur, and we forget the cruel usurer in the crushed wretch before us. Now, in Volpone and the Alchemist, and Jonson's other plays, none of the ruined knaves and dupes awaken even the faintest pity.

Of Jonson's two tragedies, Sejanus and Catiline, we need scarcely remark that they are too coldly classical to be tragedies in anything beside the name. Whole pages of stately declamation adapted from the Latin classics, and interminable speechesespecially in the latter, where Cicero actually goes on for eight octavo pages, with only two short interruptions-might meet the approval of Jonson's learned friends, but we cannot be surprised that the crowds who flocked to the Globe and the Fortune turned coldly from such tragedies, although they welcomed the Julius Cæsar of Shakespere. Would that a copy of Jonson's Richard Crookback-for which, and the 'addycions' to Jeronymo, Henslowe paid him the ten pounds-could be discovered; for then we might see whether he always wore his 'learned sock,' or whether, in earlier days, he was content to write naturally, and, therefore, with feeling. We are half inclined to think this was the case, for, singularly enough, his 'addycions to Jeronymocalled subsequently the Spanish Tragedy-display far more pathos, and even power, than anything to be met with in his plays. The finest scene, which is a long one, is where the bereft

father gives his wild directions to the painter to paint the whole progress of the story to his cutting down the dead body of his son, and then you may show a passion ;'

'Make me rave, make me cry, make me mad,

Make me well again. In the end leave me
In a trance, and so forth.'

And when the painter asks, 'And is this the end?' the heartbroken reply,

'O no, there is no end, the end is madness,—

And I am never better than when I am mad;
Then, methinks, I am a brave fellow, aye,

Then I do wonders, but reason abuseth me,'

reminds us of Lear in its wild incoherence.

But Jonson, whether from natural disinclination, or whether from a determination to strike out in a different path from that of his associates whom he so loftily despised, soon chose out another walk, and became, as Gifford truly says, 'the painter of humours, not of passions.' From thenceforth his failure as a popular dramatist was inevitable; for men engaged in everyday life demanded scenes drawn from actual, if not from everyday life, and characters that felt and spoke-kings and great men though they might be as they themselves had felt and spoken in the depths of their grief, or the overflowings of their joy. The plays of the greatest poet the world ever saw were intelligible enough to them; but these careful studies of mere peculiarities of character, however accurately delineated, what were they but pieces of curious mechanism, not so interesting as a puppet-show. But with a very different feeling did Jonson's learned friends view these studies. The study of humours' was to them a classical pastime, while the very distaste for these plays evinced by the profanum vulgus was sufficient to ensure for them a favourable reception by scholars.

We think it very likely that Jonson soon discovered that his taste lay in a different direction to dramatic writing. Surely the poet who, in the midst of the dull inanities of Cynthia's Revels, burst forth into those two exquisite lyrics, Echo's song, with its delicious dying cadence, and that stately invocation,—

'Queen, and huntress, chaste as fair,'

must have felt that his true calling was song. And we think it was the strong impulse of his genius, no less than his feuds with Marston and Dekker, that led him to desire so anxiously to 'leave the loathed stage.' Still, he did not leave it until he left off all other writing; and curious is it to find the arrogant poet

Skilful Construction of his Plays.

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abusing the actors, abusing the public taste, openly expressing his disgust at his task, and yet producing his finest plays. Many of these-much as we may wish that Jonson had chosen more interesting characters-are undoubtedly very fine. There is much skill in their construction, and much fine writing. Very skilfully, too, are the characters contrasted and balanced; indeed, among our second class of dramatic writers we should place Jonson very high. What variety of character do his pictures of the lower classes exhibit, what vivid painting and grouping of the rude and too often disreputable men among whom Jonson often mingled, joining in their boisterous merriment and pledging them from the ale-can as heartily as he pledged his courtly friends from the silver wine-cup or the tall Venice glass! How are these painted with the spirit and minuteness of Hogarth!-only he, endowed with finer feeling, would have given some touch of nature, some redeeming trait, even amidst a scene of low profligacy. And then, what enamel-like pictures we have of vain and silly court ladies, and dainty court gentlemen-the Brummels of their dayin all their bravery of carnation doublet and embroidered cloak, Italian cut-work band, and ruffled boots; tasting' their tobacco during each pause of their infinitesimal small-talk; and then those minute varieties of fools and gulls,' too, with which James the First's age especially abounded!

Ere passing from Jonson's plays, we may remark on the credit bestowed upon him by every critic down to Gifford, of being emphatically a moral writer. Now although, as compared with the dramatists of the Restoration, Jonson unquestionably stands high, if compared with his contemporaries we cannot see that he stands a whit higher than they. In that moral teaching which based its principles upon Holy Writ, he certainly occupies a lower place; for, while allusions to Christian doctrine and to Christian duties are frequent with these old dramatists, and passages of solemn beauty, involving direct reference to the great truths of the Gospel, will often be found, such passages in Jonson are only used to deepen the hypocrisy of Ananias and Tribulation, or to add more zest to the ravings of Zeal-of-the-land Busy. Perhaps it was Jonson's violent detestation of Puritanism, after all, that won for him the praise of high morality from Gifford, who viewed every seceder from episcopacy as a wanderer on the downward road; but in his old age, and when drawing near his end, thus did not the repentant poet view them; he felt that to barb a sarcasm, or to provoke a sneer, he had trifled with solemn realities. For the rest, who shall say that any one of Jonson's plays teaches a moral lesson? Where are the virtuous characters for our imitation, where the just and fitting punish

ment that should follow the evildoer? In the long run the knaves seem to have the best fortune; the bold, cunning schemer generally gains the money, and the most swaggering bully the lady. There is certainly an occasional speechifying about morality, brought in 'chorus-wise,' or through the usual medium of a prosy old gentleman; but the generality of the characters get on exceedingly well with a very commonplace and scanty share. We fully agree with Mr. Bell, that if nothing remained of Jonson but 'his plays, we should arrive at very imperfect and erroneous con'clusions respecting him.'

Let us turn to Jonson's masques, and how marvellous is the change! Here, no longer trammelled by humours,' no longer seeking characters among crafty projectors and their gulls,-the deceivers and the deceived,-all the wide realm of fancy was opened before him. Classic fable, ancient tradition, faery folklore, all were at the command of the deeply-read poet; and how gracefully has he made use of them all! We can well imagine Jonson's pleasure when, instead of an order for a play from Henslowe or Alleyn, he received the commission from Sir Robert Spencer to prepare the entertainment at Althorpe-to take for his stage that beautiful park, for his performers the fair and noble youth of the county, and the Satyr and Queen Mab and her faery train for his characters. Jonson has often hinted at the labour his plays cost him; there was little labour here, we think, or, if any, a veritable labour of love.'

The Satyr, peeping out of the wood

Look, see! beshrew this tree!

What may all this wonder be?

Pipe it who that list for me,

I'll fly out abroad and see.'

'Here he leaped down, and gazed the queen and the prince in the face.

That is Cyparissus' face!

And the dame hath Syrinx' grace!
O! that Pan were now in place-
Sure they are of heavenly race!'

'Here he ran into the wood again, and hid himself, whilst to the sound of excellent soft music there came tripping a bevy of faeries attending on Mab, their queen, who speaks thus!

Mab.

'Hail and welcome, worthiest queen!
Joy had never perfect been

To the nymphs that haunt this green,
Had they not this evening seen.
Now they print it on the ground
With their feet in figures round;

'The Satyr-The Hue and Cry after Cupid.'

Marks that ever will be found

To remember this glad stound.' (season.)

Satyr, peeping from the bush

Mab.

Satyr.

1st Faery.

Satyr.

2nd Faery. Satyr.

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Trust her not, fair bonibell,
She will forty leasings tell;

I do know her pranks right well.'
Satyr we must have a spell,
For your tongue, it runs too fleet.'
'Not so nimbly as your feet,

When about the cream-bowls sweet,
You, and all your elves do meet.
This is Mab, the mistress faery,
That doth nightly rob the dairy,
And can help or hurt the churning,
As she please, without discerning.'
'Pug, you will anon take warning.'
'She that pinches country wenches,

If they make not clean their benches
And with sharper nails remembers
When they rake not up their embers.
But if so they chance to feast her,
In their shoe she drops a tester.'
Shall strip the skipping jester.'
This is she that empties cradles,

Takes out children, puts in ladles.'

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And on, through the enumeration of all Mab's frolicsome pranks, the merry Satyr proceeds, until the faery train, losing all patience, 'pinch him black, and pinch him blue,' and he is fain to take shelter in his wood again. But while so thoroughly at home among our English faeries, rare Ben' could wear his 'learned sock' most gracefully. Witness his exquisite adaptation from Moschus, in the Hue and Cry after Cupid :

1st Grace.

'Beauties, have you seen this toy,

Called Love, a little boy,

Almost naked, wanton, blind,
Cruel now, and then as kind?
If he be amongst you, say-
He is Venus' runaway.'

2nd Grace. She that will but now discover

Where the winged wag doth hover,

Shall to-night receive a kiss
How, or where herself may wish,
But, who brings him to his mother,

Shall have that kiss, and another.'

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