Ben Jonson
Benjamin Johnson (1572 - 1637) never knew his father,
who may have had some kind of position in the Church, for he died before his
son's birth. His mother quickly remarried, and he grew up with a step-father
who was a master bricklayer (builder) in Westminster. His mother's name is unknown; later, he claimed to be
descended from a Scottish family of some standing, the Johnsons of Annandale,
saying that his immediate ancestors had fallen on hard times and moved to
London. The Johnsons (the change in spelling to Jonson was his own decision in
adulthood) lived near Charing Cross, to the west of the City of London. Ben was
able to be educated thanks to an anonymous benefactor who paid for him to
attend Westminster School for several years, where he studied while William
Camden, a famous classical scholar and historian, was headmaster. Later he
included a poem dedicated to him in the Epigrams:
Camden, most reverend
head, to whom I owe
All that I am in arts, all that I know
(How nothing's that!), to
whom my country owes
The great renown and name wherewith she
goes;
Than thee the age sees
not that thing more grave,
More high, more holy, that she more would
crave.
Camden's great Latin
study of Roman Britain, Britannia (1586) and the English translation, Remains
of a Greater Work Concerning Britain (1605) were important in creating the
myths that nourished late Elizabethan and Jacobean nationalism, deriving the
English monarchy, church, and parliamentary system, from pre-medieval, imperial
Roman tradition.
Jonson must have been
deeply hurt when the money for his studies was stopped before he was old enough
to take the scholarship exams for university entrance. His family clearly hoped
he would follow his step-father, and he was registered as an apprentice
bricklayer. In 1591, for unknown reasons, he joined the volunteer Protestant
army fighting against the Catholic Spaniards in Flanders; later he claimed to
have fought in single combat against a Spanish soldier, killing him. He soon
returned
to London, though, and
married in late 1594. This was not usual, since he had not completed his 7-year
apprenticeship as a builder, and as a married man he could not continue it.
At about this time,
Jonson became part of a company of actors, the Earl of Pembroke's Men, and
acted Hieronimo in The Spanish Tragedy on tour. By 1597 the company
known as Pembroke's Men, where Jonson was an actor, was acting at the Swan
theatre. He was not very successful as an actor, and in 1597 he turned to
play-writing. His Westminster classical education had given him an exalted view
of 'art' and he surely felt that Shakespeare, his obvious rival, lacked it. By
this time, university graduates had stopped writing for the commercial players,
and Jonson stepped in with his first play, The Case Is Altered, in early
1597. This is a play strongly influenced by Plautus; the main characters are
stiff and lifeless, but the farcical subplot, involving a wicked miser and his
lovely step-daughter, is strikingly vigorous.
Every Man in His Humour
Almost at the start of
his career, Jonson nearly ruined his chances by collaborating in writing a
play, The Isle of Dogs, in which it seems the court was ridiculed (the
text is lost). He and other actors were imprisoned for a few months, and
Pembroke's Men were absorbed into Henslowe's Admiral's Men, who acted at the
Rose Theatre. When he came out of prison, Jonson began to write for them. Yet
oddly, his first truly original play, Every Man in His Humour, was acted
by the Lord Chamberlain's Men, Shakespeare among them, in 1598.
This play was suggested
by George Chapman's very popular comedy Humorous Day's Mirth of 1597,
but Jonson used the psycholog¡©ical theory of 'humours' taken from the Greek
medical writer Galen; according to this, eccentric behaviour comes from the
excess of one of the 'humours' (bile, phlegm, choler, blood). Jonson took only
two of these, choler and blood; choler gives rise to anger, blood to sexual
lust. In Elizabethan times, the word 'humour' had also taken on the sense of
'affectation' and several of Jonson's characters only ape the behaviour
associated with the humours.
The framework of the
play is given by a debate between the
unemployed young
poet-lover Lorenzo (with his friend Prospero) and Lorenzo's anti-poetic father,
old Lorenzo, about the nature and value of poetry. The plot is largely an
exhibition of various types of folly arranged by Lorenzo and Prospero in the
house of Thorello, whose blood-humour renders him intensely jealous. Thorello
and old Lorenzo both believe that young Lorenzo is trying to seduce Thorello's
wife; finally he is able to elope with Hesperida, the wife's sister, whom he
loves. Around them crowd such characters as Captain Bobadilla, a violent
braggart of an ex-soldier, the love-poet Matheo whose poetry is all
plagiarized, and Prospero's choleric brother Giuliano. While the foolish
'humorous' characters all manifest extremely odd behaviour, and are
dramatically very effective, the self-controlled model characters are
completely uninteresting.
In the last act a wise
soldier-poet, Doctor Clement, analyzes all that has happened in a trial at
which young Lorenzo (who is Jonson's 'alter ego') is able to plead a vision of
'poesy' that must have been Jonson's own: 'Attired in the majesty of art, Set
high in spirit with the precious taste Of sweet philosophy.' This elitist view of
the poet's craft, of the need for an educated, discerning audience, and the
criticism of the common citizens' vulgarity, Jonson had got from the university
writers, and from Sidney's Defense, as well as George Puttenham's The
Art of English Poesy (1589). It remained his own guiding rule throughout
his life and helps explain his complex response to Shakespeare, whose attitudes
are so very different.
The reception of Every
Man In His Humour was not remarkably enthusiastic, even if it was acted
several times. Jonson's hostile attitude to his audience and over-theoretical
approach to drama meant that the play was more a manifesto than an
entertainment. His awareness of the need for a systematic set of rules
governing drama makes him the first truly classical dramatist in England, and
he repeated the form in all his later plays. Basically, he chose to represent
character types, and rejected complex plot structures of the romance kind that
made Shakespeare's dramas so popular. Jonson's plays are full of episodes that
are an end in themselves, and the close of the play is treated as an obviously
artificial and unreal feature arranged by the dramatist so that the audience
can go home. Some of Jonson's grotesque characters, such as Thorello and Bobadilla,
directly influenced the development of the novel of character, begun by
Fielding and culminating in Charles Dickens (who often recited
speeches by Bobadilla).
Prison and after
On September 22, 1598,
soon after the play had been first acted at the north London Curtain Theatre,
Jonson met one of his former companions from Pembroke's Men in a nearby street.
This Gabriel Spencer was a violent fellow, who had killed a young man a
couple of years before; a fight began for some reason and Jonson killed him. He
was able to escape execution by showing that he could translate from a Latin
Bible (benefit of clergy: a medieval privilege for the educated that
could only be claimed for a first crime), but the court confiscated all his
property.
Jonson was imprisoned
for a few days in Newgate prison, where he seems to have shared a cell with a
Catholic priest whose assurance of eternal salvation made such an impression on
him that he became a Catholic there and then, hoping to gain an equal
assurance. He did not return to the national English Church until about ten
years later.
After his trial, Jonson
thought of becoming a bricklayer again, but also began to frequent the satiric
wits of the Inns of Court, to study the works of the Augustan satirists, and to
write a sequel to his previous play, Every Man Out of His Humour, that
was acted in 1599 and showed how many new classical authors Jonson had
mastered. The Induction to the play is a remarkable piece of self-conscious
theatre, in which Jonson presents a defence of satire (which the bishops of
London and Canter¡©bury had recently forbidden), that continues throughout the
play in eleven scenes involving a 'chorus of critics' who comment on the action,
and show how similar scenes can be found in Plautus, Terence, and many other
reputed writers. This play was even acted before the queen, but its violent
attack on the vices of worldly people cannot have pleased her.
After this, Jonson
stopped writing for the public stage for some years, and began to fashion his
image as a man of letters, looking for powerful patrons, writing elegant
comedies for the children's theatre at Blackfriars where the Children of the
Chapel Royal acted (Hamlet refers to them). He also published a scholarly
quarto edition of Every Man Out of His Humour in 1600 that sold very
well among educated readers, going through three editions in the year. An
edition of Every Man in His Humour soon followed. He also began to write
poems for powerful patrons: Lucy Countess of Bedford and Sir Philip Sidney's
daughter the Countess of Rutland among them. Both of these women's husbands had
been close to Essex and were suffering disgrace at the time.
That same autumn,
Jonson's Cynthia's Revels was acted by the children at Blackfriars
before their usual elite, refined audience of courtiers. Jonson was hoping that
the play would be performed before the queen, its plot is self-reflective:
Criticus, a poor but well-educated poet, laments that he cannot get a job at
Cynthia's court because so many bad writers crowd there. He is advised to write
a masque, which is performed, and Criticus is at once brought into Cynthia's
closest circle.
The play was indeed
acted at court, early in 1601, and dis¡©pleased because in it Jonson attacks the
'pride and ignorance' of the courtiers who were supposed to be acting it and
who were in fact its audience.
Some of Jonson's
earliest poems, from this period, seem to have been inspired by the work of the
musician-poets, like the skillful lament for Narcissus sung by Echo in Cynthia's
Revels:
Slow, slow, fresh fount,
keep time with my salt tears;
Yet slower, yet, O
faintly, gentle springs!
List to the heavy part
the music bears,
Woe weeps out her
division, when she sings.
Droop herbs and flowers
Fall grief in showers;
Our beauties are not
ours.
O, I could still,
Like melting snow upon
some craggy hill,
Drop, drop, drop, drop,
Since Nature's pride is
now a withered daffodil.
At this time Jonson had
been attacking such writers as the dramatist John Marston. In 1601 Marston
wrote What You Will for a children's company as a response, modelling
the play on Every Man Out of His Humour. This developed into the
"Poets' Quarrel" into which Thomas Dekker also came, and there are
reasons for thinking that Malvolio in Shakespeare's Twelfth Night
(1601-2, it has the significant subtitle What You Will) is a parody of
Jonson's ambitions; like Malvolio, Jonson did not like his social position and
despised humble writers who might look on him as one of themselves. Jonson
decided to adopt Horace as the
model for his own poetic
career, recalling that Ovid had ended his life in disgrace and exile, and wrote
about this in his Poetaster, written while Dekker was working on his Satiromastix.
Jonson's first daughter
Mary died at an unknown date, perhaps in late 1601, aged only six months and he
wrote a touching poem about her:
Here lies, to each her
parents' ruth,
Mary, the daughter of
their youth;
Yet all heaven's gifts
being heaven's due,
It makes the father less
to rue.
In the next year Kyd's The
Spanish Tragedy was re-published with texts added that expand those
passages in which parents who have lost children express their grief. There is
no certain proof, but critics think the new texts were written by Jonson.
At about the same time,
he seems to have separated from his wife and family, perhaps because of his
Catholicism, and to have gone to live in the homes of rich patrons. In early
1603 he left London for the country home of Robert Cotton. On March 24 Queen
Elizabeth died; King James was proclaimed, and started to march south, but in
early May, as James was nearing London, a serious outbreak of the plague began.
All the richer people left the city, Jonson with them, but Jonson's family
remained there.
Soon after arriving in
the country, Jonson dreamed of his eldest son, Benjamin, seeing him as a grown
man with a red cross on his brow; it was near his seventh birthday. His old
school-master, Camden, who was staying in the same house, tried to show him
that dreams were nothing. A little later a letter came announcing the boy's
death from the plague:
Farewell, thou child of
my right hand, and joy;
My sin was too much hope
of thee, loved boy:
Seven years thou wert
lent to me, and I thee pay,
Exacted by thy Fate, on
the just day.
The fact that Jonson
gave both this son and a later one his own name (which in the Old Testament is
explained as meaning "child of the right hand") shows something of
what he looked for (but never found)
in the father-son
relationship.
Jonson was now very well
placed, though. Cotton had been working for king James, and was knighted by him
in May. Other close friends were in similar positions of influence. At
Christmas 1603, his Sejanus, a stiff Roman tragedy, was performed for
the king at Hampton Court by Shakespeare and his company. It was not very
successful, and when it was acted in the Globe, in 1604, it was hissed from the
stage.
Because of the plague,
James had postponed his solemn entry into London until the following year. As
he passed through the gates and along the city streets, a series of symbolic
pageants had been prepared to welcome him. The texts spoken in most of them
were written in the heavy emblematic style that the Elizabethans had inherited
from medieval romance; the first and last, though, written by Jonson, were in a
new, simpler classical style that certainly pleased James. The new king had
written books himself and was open to a style closer to classical French
elegance, less mannered than before. Besides, his vision of kingship was much
more imperial Roman, less medieval than Eliza¡©beth's, and this Jonson could
work with. It was at this moment that he began to write his name as Jonson.
More than Donne's, even,
Jonson's life was a battle. Unlike Donne, though, he never aimed higher than to
be recognized as a worthy poet. To gain that reputation was not easy for a man
of his humble origins and he was always dependant on the help of influential
patrons. Yet he did everything he could to create his own public image as a
serious professional writer; in editing his early plays he did not follow the
quite simple presentation of the Shakespearean quartos, but imitated the
scholarly editions of classical texts, with elaborate prefaces and notes.
King James's French
queen, too, brought new expectations, a new interest in masques especially.
After one year, Jonson replaced Samuel Daniel as the principle maker of court
masques, being given the job of preparing the masque for Twelfth Night, 1605,
probably thanks to the support of the Countess of Bedford. It was a difficult
challenge, for the queen decided that all the ladies would play the role of
Africans, wearing black make-up. The Masque of Blackness was a triumph
for Jonson.
Then once again, Jonson
almost destroyed himself. In early 1605, he collaborated with Chapman and
Marston on a comedy, Eastward Ho. In it, they repeatedly mocked the
Scots, the king himself, and his selling
of knighthoods for
thirty pounds. This was perhaps done in sympathy with the queen, who by this
time despised her husband and enjoyed hearing jokes against him. But a Scottish
courtier had Jonson and Chapman put in prison without any trial or examination
of the evidence. Jonson quickly wrote letters to his most powerful patrons and
was lucky to find supporters who got him his freedom.
The Gunpowder Plot of
November 1605 represents a turning-point in Jonson's life. The Catholic Guido
(Guy) Fawkes, with other Catholic conspirators, had placed huge quantities of
gunpowder in the cellars of the Palace of Westminster where the king was due to
open Parliament a few days later. If the bomb had exploded, it would have
killed not only the king, but all the lords, bishops, and leading citizens of
the country. The plot was uncovered on November 5th. During the enquiry, Jonson
was found to have been drinking with some of the main conspirators a month
before. He cleared himself of suspicion by collaborating completely with the
authorities, helping in their inquiries. He seems to have come back to the
state church at this time, and to have been reconciled with his wife too.
Volpone
During his time in
prison Jonson was reading Erasmus's Praise of Folly, and he also had a
copy of Erasmus's translations of Lucian's Dialogues. These two works
are a main inspiration for Volpone, which he wrote in the winter 1605-6.
They offer models of a completely new mode of indirect and highly effective
satire. Lucianic satire taught Erasmus, and Jonson, the art of the mock
encomium in which speakers praise what is not praise-worthy. In Lucian's 9th
Dialogue Jonson found the story of rich old Polystratus who, having no
children, enjoys himself collecting gifts from people who hope they will
inherit his fortune. When he dies they find he has left everything to a pretty
boy from Phrygia. Polystratus exposes his trickery and boasts of his
activities, without Lucian ever attacking or criticizing him. The reader is
left to reflect on the correct level of response to what is in any case a
brazen case of fraud. This story gave Jonson the plot for his next comedy, Volpone
(1606).
In his earlier plays,
Jonson had made characters speak bitterly,
expressing direct and
dangerous attacks on the social manners of the higher classes. In Volpone
that never happens. The Prologue boasts that it was written in five weeks
(Jonson was usually a slow writer), all by Jonson himself. Then the play is
compared with the more vulgar kind of play where there is horseplay and
clowning.
The play begins as
Volpone (the Fox) and his close servant Mosca (the Fly) celebrate Volpone's
morning worship of his gold. After this blasphemous adoration, Mosca flatters
Volpone, stressing that his fortune was not made by oppressing the poor. Then
in a soliloquy, Volpone exposes his method:
I have no wife, no
parent, child, ally,
To give my substance to,
but whom I make
Must be my heir; and this
makes men observe me.
Shakespeare, in Richard
III and other plays, had already exploited the fact that, in theatre, all
the world loves a villain. Volpone is a shameless villain, quite open about his
deceptions, inviting the audience to admire his skills at manipulating human
greed. They deceive Voltore (the Vulture), Corbaccio (the Raven), and Corvino
(the Crow) in various ways, playing them off against one another and all the
time getting more wealth from each of them. During the play, which is well
constructed, Volpone and Mosca grow increasingly ambitious, especially after
Volpone turns his interest from wealth to Celia, the beautiful wife of Corvino.
In the end, they fall victim to their own cleverness and greed and everything
comes to light.
In an unrealistic
ending, where Jonson tries to please the most puritan among his audience, Mosca
is condemned to be a perpetual prisoner in the galleys, where no one survived
long. All Volpone's fortune is confiscated to help the sick, and he is to stay
in prison until he is "sick and lame indeed". His victims, who all
acted out of greed, are also severely punished.
Volpone was acted at
Oxford and Cambridge, then was printed in 1607. It was very well received. In
1608 Jonson's wife had a second son, who was also given the name Benjamin.
Epicoene
While he continued to
write court masques, Jonson may have been resenting the power of women over
him, and in 1609 he completed the misogynist play Epicoene; or, The Silent
Woman which was acted by the Children of the Queen's Revels early in 1610.
Here Morose, a misanthrope who dreams of living in total silence and hates the
noise of society, hopes to marry Epicoene (the pronunciation is 'Epi-see-nee'),
who seems to be a truly silent woman. By doing this he hopes to punish his
nephew, Dauphine, who he believes has brought noisy people around his house. As
soon as he marries her, though, she begins to scold him in loud tones, and the
house is invaded by a group of men and women led by Truewit, who torment him.
Morose consults learned
experts (his tormentors disguised) about the possibility of divorce; he tries
to plead sexual impotence, but Epicoene says she does not mind a sexless
marriage. At last Dauphine promises to find a solution, if only Morose agrees
to sign a document giving him a good allowance, and making him his heir. As
soon as Morose signs, Dauphine removes Epicoene's wig and shows that 'she' is a
boy actor trained for the part.
A female cousin of the
king's claimed that she was mentioned in the play, and it was not published
until the 1616 folio. This play, witty and worldly, was always popular. It was
one of the first to be acted when the theatres were re-opened in 1660, and it
remained an often-acted play until the mid-18th century.
The Alchemist
Jonson had been
frequenting a circle of "wits" in the years before 1609: the dramatists
Beaumont and Fletcher, and John Donne, were among the leaders of the group,
that met at the Mermaid Tavern to make clever conversation. By 1609, Jonson had
begun to write for a new patron, the king's eldest son, Prince Henry. Henry,
though only sixteen, lived for other values than his father. He looked back to
Elizabethan Protestant ideals, hated Spain that the king favoured, and longed
to fight battles while the king pursued peace. While he was writing fervent
speeches
in favour of the
prince's nationalistic ideals for an entertainment designed for Twelfth Night
(January 6) 1610, The Speeches at Prince Henry's Barriers, Jonson was
working on a new, not so idealistic comedy, The Alchemist.
This play is set in
London during an outbreak of the plague, when those with money would escape to
the country, leaving their houses in the care of servants. In the year 1610,
the plague was active in London; the plot shows a team of cunning tricksters
who take over an empty house and use it to cheat a variety of foolish dupes who
come flocking there. Only this house is supposed to stand exactly on the site
of the Blackfriars Theatre, and the action is set in the autumn of 1610, when
Jonson hoped the play would be acted there. Moreover, the action on the stage
follows precisely the real time, unity of place is respected, so that the
audience becomes part of the action, the house of illusions being at the same
time the theatre itself.
The structure is that of
a morality play, with Face (the world), Dol Common (the flesh) and Subtle (the
devil) offering fantasies of satisfaction to the vain dreams of a variety of
ordinary people. Subtle claims to be a magician (alchemist), and he exploits
the hopes of the clerk Dapper, the tobacco-man Drugger, as well as the knight
Epicure Mammon and the deacon Ananias. Over them all hangs the threat of death
from the plague, as over the audience who came to the theatre. At the end of
the play, Lovewit, the master of the house, suddenly returns. We expect that he
will reveal the trickery of these false magicians, but instead he decides to
take over their show, marrying a young widow they have attracted to the house.
Jonson here varies his strategy, suggesting that profit from falsehood has its
advantages in a world of fools.
This play was Jonson's
most successful, being acted regularly in the Restoration and 18th century, and
into the 19th.
The Middle Years
In contrast, the
classical political tragedy Cataline he completed in 1611 had a splendid
villain in Cataline, but a boringly pedantic hero in Cicero. The play is in
fact a study in the value of pragmatism in politics; it never found acceptance
in the theatre, but was widely read
and much quoted during
the 17th century for its political thought.
At this time, king James
began to lack money, tensions grew between him and the people. Court masques
had to be made less elaborate and it was probably at this time that Jonson
wrote the poem "To Pens¡©hurst" with its praise of moderation and
simple values. The greatest blow to Jonson and many others came on November 6,
1612, when Prince Henry suddenly died.
Jonson had gone
travelling in Europe as tutor to Walter Raleigh's son Wat, they arrived in
Paris in early 1612 and stayed there until 1613. On returning to London, he
went to live with a rich patron, Aubigny, leaving his wife alone. His drinking
increased, and he was a regular member of a coterie that met once a month at
the Mermaid.
By late 1614 Jonson had
finished Bartholomew Fair, based on an incident that really happened to
him in Paris: a tutor drinks too much at a carnival and is made a fool of by
his pupil, who makes him a public spectacle. The carnival setting exposes human
frailties through multiple plots, involving a large cast. The play has many
parodic features inspired by the Bible, including a kitchen similar to Hell run
by Ursula, and a presiding mock-heroic figure Adam Overdo, who seems to be a
carnival form of Christ. It was acted once in public and once before the king,
and never again until the Restoration; it was only printed in 1631.
Jonson's masques for
early 1615 and 1616 were part of a power struggle in court, during which the
king's favourite, the earl of Somerset, was replaced by George Villiers, duke
of Buckingham, and Jonson's patrons rose to great influence. Early in 1616, the
king granted Jonson a life pension for his various services; he began to
consider himself as the Poet Laureate, although the title itself did not exist.
In early 1616, he was
preparing the publication of his collected works, published under the title The
Works of Benjamin Jonson in an impressive folio volume. The volume
contained carefully revised texts of nine plays, a collection of mostly short
poems he called Epigrams, a few carefully selected poems under the title
The Forest, and some masques. No living writer, in England at least, had
ever produced "Works", the word was reserved for the great writers of
the classical period, and the book was laughed at, yet it established Jonson's
reputation as a writer. He had begun with comedy, moved on to tragedy, and had
then turned to the composition of skillful poetry inspired by the best
classical models.
Final glory, he
suggests, came with the masques written for the king and designed to include
him.
The 133 Epigrams
are mainly of two kinds. Many of them are satires mocking some aspect of human
folly in general terms, the subject of the poem being an unidentified character
such as "Sir Voluptuous Beast" or "Groom Idiot". In
opposition to these as the collection progresses are an increasing number of
poems celebrating the praises of named individuals, mostly high courtiers
addressed in familiar terms by an admiring poet. This is a common form of
satire, pinpointing a folly by praising some rare individual who is free of it.
The first poem in the
collection is an introduction to the poems that follow. In Martial and other
classical writers, the epigram had become an exercise in wit, sharply attacking
the faults of named individuals. Jonson claims to be too kind-hearted for such
unkind activities, although in reality he enjoyed attacking people:
To My Book
It will be looked for,
book, when some but see
Thy title, Epigrams, and named
of me,
Thou should'st be bold,
licentious, full of gall,
Wormwood, and sulphur, sharp and
toothed withal,
Become a petulant thing,
hurl ink and wit
As madmen stones, not caring whom they
hit.
Deceive their malice who
could wish it so,
And by their wiser temper let men know
Thou art not covetous of
least self-fame
Made from the hazard of another's
shame--
Much less with lewd,
profane, and beastly phrase
To catch the world's loose laughter or
vain gaze.
He that departs with his
own honesty
For vulgar praise, doth it too dearly
buy.
The last couplet, a
moral epigram in itself, is so high-minded that is seems unkind to point out
that Jonson probably spent much of his life departing with his own honesty,
writing what he hoped would be praised. It is his skill in creating a detached,
morally superior voice in these epigrams that made him a major forerunner of
the Augustans, of Pope especially.
Jonson found difficulty
in praising other poets, it seems. In poem 23, in praise of John Donne, he mentions
in eight lines his poems and aspects of his life, saying they are all
incomparable, but concludes:
All which I meant to
praise, and yet I would,
But leave, because I
cannot as I should.
He was glad to boast
that he had helped Donne by introducing him to one of his main patrons. Lucy,
Countess of Bedford, was very powerful at court, and Donne later wrote poems
for her. Jonson's poem to her "with Mr. Donne's Satires" suggests
that Jonson began the relationship by sending her a manuscript copy of Donne's
Satires, after she had asked to see them; for if they had already met, she
could have asked Donne directly:
Lucy, you brightness of
our sphere, who are
Life of the Muses' day, their morning star!
If works, not th'authors,
their own grace should look,
Whose poems would not wish to be your
book?
But these, desired by
you, the maker's ends
Crown with their own. Rare poems ask
rare friends.
This poem is elegant in
its compliment, suggesting that anyone who can read satires with pleasure must
be morally without reproach.
Jonson perhaps found
close personal attachments very threaten¡©ing, if only because of the fear of
loss overshadowing them. Yet Jonson also hated solitude. The well-known poem 101
talks of "inviting a friend for supper"; to understand it, we need to
recall that the word "friend" was used to refer to an older person of
equal or superior social standing, who might prove helpful in furthering a
career. The poem is strangely unclear about what the menu will really be:
Tonight, grave sir, both
my poor house and I
Do equally desire your company:
Not that we think us
worthy such a guest,
But that your worth will dignify our
feast
With those that come;
whose grace may make that seem
Something, which else could hope for no
esteem.
It is the fair
acceptance, Sir, creates
The entertainment perfect: not the
cates.
The poem goes on to
suggest they will listen to readings from famous Latin poems, not Jonson's, and
drink Canary wine:
Of this we will sup free
but moderately,
And we will have no Pooly or Parrot by;
Nor shall our cups make
any guilty men,
But at our parting we will be as when
We innocently met. No
simple word
That shall be uttered at our mirthful board 40
Shall make us sad next
morning; or affright
The liberty that we'll enjoy tonight.
The ending of the poem
is strange; Pooly and Parrot were agents who spied on Catholics, of whom Jonson
was probably one at the time he wrote. This suggests a climate of suspicion and
conspiracy that casts its shadow over the simple pleasures the poem evokes.
The Epigrams end,
perhaps not so unexpectedly, with a disgusting poem On the Famous Voyage
describing a journey through the sewers of London where all the filth comes
pouring down from above. The voice speaking the Epigrams is aggressively that
of Ben Jonson, the blunt poet moralist who hates depravity and has the insight
it takes to recognize the few good and great courtiers who form rare exceptions
from the rule.
The 15 poems of The
Forest speak in a different kind of voice and are arranged in a more formal
manner, beginning with "Why I write not of love" and ending with a
religious poem "To Heaven". There is a clear structure to the
collection. The second poem is the famous "poem of place" "To
Penshurst" celebrating the birthplace of Sir Philip Sidney where the poet
and the king both find hospitality. It is a very complex poem since Jonson
suggests that in Penshurst the poet and the king are somehow equal, when
obviously they are not; the praise of Penshurst's modest style is also
ambiguous:
Thou art not, Penshurst,
built to envious show,
Of touch or marble; nor canst thou
boast a row
Of polished pillars, or a
roof of gold;
Thou hast no lantern whereof tales are
told,
Or stair, or courts; but
standst an ancient pile,
And, these grudged at, art reverenced
the while.
The knowing reader recalls that the
Sidneys were far from wealthy. Moreover, the house Penshurst was mostly built
in the Middle Ages for another family. The Sidneys found its venerable age
useful to make people forget that their family was not of ancient noble origin.
Jonson praises Nature for providing the fine food served in the hall:
The blushing apricot and
woolly peach
Hang on thy walls, that every child may
reach.
And though thy walls be
of the country stone,
They are reared with no man's ruin, no
man's groan;
There's none that dwell
about them wish them down;
This may not have been
true, since the estate had recently been expanded by a process of enclosure
that local people had opposed in vain. Jonson chooses to ignore an aspect of
the historical reality he claims to be dealing with, and paints an idealized
picture of grateful tenants flocking in with gifts:
But all come in, the farmer and the
clown,
And no one empty-handed,
to salute
Thy lord and lady, though they have no
suit.
(request) 50
Some bring a capon, some
a rural cake,
Some nuts, some apples; some that think
they make
The better cheeses bring
them, or else send
By their ripe daughters, whom they
would commend
This way to husbands, and
whose baskets bear
An emblem of themselves in plum or
pear.
This leads to an
evocation of the poet retiring to a comfortable bedroom after a good meal.
Suddenly he recalls an occasion when the king and his son, hunting in the
region, arrived without warning and were admirably received. He is as welcome
as the king, he suggests. He praises the Christian piety practiced especially
by the women of the Sidney family, and ends by stressing the value of having a
lord who lives on his lands, a political issue in itself.
Moving in from the end,
the 14th poem is addressed to "Sir William Sidney, on his Birthday".
The son of Sir Robert Sidney was not particularly noted for any positive
qualities. The implied contrast with Sir Philip Sidney suggests that Ben Jonson
has inherited some of the great poet's rights. The third and thirteenth poems
are advice on wise living addressed to noble recipients, Sir Robert Wroth and
Katherine, Lady Aubigny.
The fourth poem "To
the World" is a dramatic monologue spoken by "a gentlewoman, virtuous
and noble". Jonson has withdrawn from his poems which here speak with
other voices. The 12th is another poem of wise advice from the poet, addressed
to Elizabeth, Countess of Rutland. This poem ends with an elaborate review of
the poet's work: "high and noble matter, such as flies / From brains
entranced and filled with ecstasies; / Moods which the godlike Sidney oft did
prove..." (lines 89-91).
Poems 5 and 6 are songs
"to Celia" from Volpone, where the speaker is not Ben Jonson
and the poems express passionate feelings of erotic love far removed from the
values of wisdom. Poems 7 "That Women are But Men's Shadows" and 8
"To Sickness" are hostile to women. Poem 9 is the famous "Song:
to Celia" beginning "Drink to me only with thine eyes" which is
beautifully crafted, Platonic, but not at all spoken by Jonson's voice.
The variety of persons
speaking in The Forest suggests the complexity of the poet's roles; the
mingling of male and female personae and addressees also suggests
complex relationships. Jonson writes all the poems, but does not
"speak" them all. At the heart of the collection is the 10th,
"And must I sing? What subject shall I choose?" where the poet
confronts this central challenge. It is followed by the 11th "Epode"
which constitutes the reply to the question. It is a stately poem of calm
wisdom, beginning "Not to know vice at all, and keep true state, / Is
virtue, and not Fate".
While Jonson wanted to
be honoured as the author of tragedies and poems, he still needed to write
comedies in order to earn money. In this same year of 1616 Jonson began to
write The Devil is an Ass in which he exploits features familiar
from his previous successful comedies, in a form of self-parody. Again, he
follows the morality play structure, the play begins in Hell; a foolish devil,
Pug, asks to spend a day in London but Satan warns him that now vice and virtue
cannot be distinguished there, and the humans are more devilish than he.
Pug tries to tempt
Frances Fitzdotterel, the wife of the man he is serving, and gets beaten. Yet
she is willing to accept the wooing of a gallant, Wittipol, who sings for her
and flatters her sensibilities. In the climax, Wittipol has acquired all power
over the body, the affections,
and the belongings of
Frances, but he then declares that he will not take advantage of her, for
"I can love goodness in you, more Than I did Beauty".
Yet the end is still morally ambivalent, with a group of scoundrels going
unpunished. The play was marred by Jonson's mocking reference to some business
interests of a royal favourite. As a result, the play remained unpublished and
unacted for many years, and Jonson stopped writing for the public theatre.
Instead, Jonson put all
his energy into the production of the Twelfth Night masques and other
entertainments. In early 1618, prince Charles was named Prince of Wales, and
Jonson wrote the masque Pleasure Reconciled to Virtue for him.
Charles seemed opposed to the rather fun-loving court of his father, and
Jonson's text criticizes the court's interest in food and drink. Hercules is
shown triumphing over drunken Comus and Anger-worshipping pygmies. Then a
hillside opens, showing Charles and his companions, and Daedalus, who is poet,
educator, and priest, leads Charles down into the court. The texts are very
long and there is little spectacle. The king was bored and demanded lively
dances. The masque was a failure, perhaps because the message was too clear.
Jonson rewrote much of it, to please the court, introducing a first section
(antimasque) of Welsh rustics.
Perhaps as a result of
all this, Jonson left London and walked to Scotland, imitating something Camden
had done forty years before. He planned to write a poem celebrating Scotland.
He met many people, and was welcomed with great honours in Edinburgh. In the
winter of 1618-19, Jonson spent several weeks with the Scottish writer William
Drummond of Hawthornden and Drummond has left a famous series of notes of the
things Jonson told him; Drummond was an educated man, but out of touch with
London; Jonson seems to have told him a lot of rather sharp gossip. Some of the
most famous passages in these notes:
That Shakespeare wanted (lacked)
art.
That Donne, for not
keeping of accent, deserved hanging.
He esteemeth Donne the
first poet in the world, in some things.
He hath consumed a whole
night in lying looking to his great toe, about which he hath seen Tartars and
Turks, Romans and Carthaginians, fight in his imagination.
He mentions several
poets who died in poverty, and has almost nothing to say about the theatre. A
great many of the remarks he makes
about his contemporaries
are hostile.
After returning to
London, Jonson went to live, and perhaps to teach, at Gresham College. The move
away from the court and its values had begun, but Jonson never found a
satisfactory alternative, so that from 1620 it is possible to speak of a
decline in his career. James was weakening, his queen had died in 1619, money
was in short supply, and the plan to marry Charles to a Spanish princess was
not popular in England. The events leading to the Civil War were beginning.
Jonson was obliged to
write an entertainment in honour of the king's lover, Buckingham, The
Gypsies Metamorphosed (1621) that was a tremendous success, but his pension
was not paid because the king had no money and in later masques Jonson refers
to this problem openly. In 1623 he had to face another problem; Shakespeare's
former colleagues of The King's Men had decided to publish his collected plays
in a folio edition, and Jonson was among those asked to write a poem in tribute
to the man he had always been in competition with as a dramatist. The result
was the poem "To the Memory of My Beloved, The Author, Mr. William
Shakespeare, and What He Hath Left Us" that became the first critical analysis
of Shakespeare's art, although Jonson may not have meant it to be taken so
seriously.
Jonson refuses to
compare Shakespeare with Kyd or Marlowe and instead turns to the classical
dramatists that he so admired, although it is not sure that Shakespeare always
felt the same affinity:
And though thou hadst
small Latin and less Greek, 31
From thence to honor thee
I would not seek
For names, but call forth
thundr'ing Aeschylus,
Euripides, and Sophocles
to us,
Pacuvius, Accius, him of
Cordova dead,
To life again, to hear
thy buskin (for tragedy) tread
And shake a stage; or,
when thy socks (for comedy) were on,
Leave thee alone for the
comparison
Of all that insolent
Greece or haughty Rome
Sent forth, or since did
from their ashes come. 40
Triumph, my Britain; thou
hast one to show
To whom all scenes of
Europe homage owe.
He was not of an age, but
for all time!
Jonson's poem gives
Shakespeare his mythical title: "Sweet swan
of Avon". The stress
that Jonson lays on Shakespeare's natural talents was probably meant to remind
readers of Jonson's superior art; alas for him, the word nature has become a
more and more positive term with the centuries, and the artificiality of
Jonson's art is now a major obstacle to any sympathetic reading.
The Later Years
In the early 1620s,
Jonson began to compile a collection of poems with the title The Underwood,
a sequel to the public poetry of The Forest of the 1616 folio. Most of the
poems it contains seem to have been written for the enjoyment of his close
companions, not courtiers or the general public. The Underwood includes
a cycle of love poems, addressed to Charis, that may reflect a real
relationship; the early poems are marked by sexual expectations, but once these
are fulfilled, the relationship deteriorates.
The circle that Jonson
was writing for now met in the Apollo Room in the Devil and St. Dunstan Tavern;
they included Herrick, and the future Cavalier poets Carew, Lovelace and
Suckling. Jonson wrote rules for their meetings, turning their circle into a
closed group of initiates, "Sons of Ben," superior to popular taste,
rather like initiated worshippers in the temple at Delphi.
As the political tensions grew in the
court, Jonson found it ever harder to write masques. King James died in March
1625, and Charles became king. There was no money in store, so he abolished the
Twelfth Night masques. As a result, Jonson returned to the theatre. His comedy The
Staple of News was acted at the Coronation but it was not well received.
Charles was a disaster
as king; he pursued wars where James had always worked for European peace, and
lost his battles. Jonson could not support him, and early in the reign he fell
sick. After this, his main patron was William Cavendish, the earl of Newcastle,
a patriot and man of action.
In 1629, Jonson wrote
again for the public theatre. The New Inn was not allowed to finish its
first performance, once again Jonson's work had failed to please the audience
it was intended for, although modern
scholars have shown
great interest in its literary complexities. Before the play could be acted,
Jonson suffered a second stroke, and he remained very weak for the rest of his
life. This weakness may help explain the bitter tone of the opening stanza of
the "Ode to Himself" he wrote to mark this failure, and published
with the text of the play in 1631:
Come, leave the loathed
stage,
And the more loathsome
age,
Where pride and
impudence, in faction knit,
Usurp the chair of wit,
Indicting and arraigning
every day
Something they call a
play.
Let their fastidious, vain
Commission of the brain
Run on and rage, sweat,
censure, and condemn:
They were not made for
thee, less thou for them.
Several writers replied
to this poem, friends who regretted the tone, and enemies who mocked it. In the
same year a young man who had been part of Jonson's circle of friends, Sir
Henry Morison, died. His friend, Sir Lucius Cary, was almost mad with grief, and
wrote a number of poems claiming that Morison would have been the greatest
English poet and a wonderful military leader. In order to offer him some
comfort, Jonson wrote a Pindaric Ode, one of his most ambitious poems, the pindaric
ode: "To the Immortal Memory and Friendship of That Noble Pair, Sir
Lucius Cary and Sir H. Morison." In order to raise the tone to the heroic,
Jonson took many ideas about the value of a short life (an idea that appealed
to him) from Seneca's 93rd Epistle. The strict Pindaric form is complex, with
stanzas in groups of three, corresponding to choral dance movements.
The poem begins with
thoughts on the horrors of human life, and the way many people live for a long
time but do no good. Then comes the question of Morrison's short life, resolved
by the declaration that "His life was of humanity the sphere." At the
centre of the poem comes this stanza, one of the best things Jonson ever wrote:
It is not growing like a
tree
In bulk, doth make man
better be,
Or standing long an oak,
three hundred year,
To fall a log at last,
dry, bald, and sere:
A lily of a day
Is fairer far in May
Although it fall and die
that night;
It was the plant and
flower of light.
In small proportions we
just beauties see,
And in short measures
life may perfect be.
Jonson enjoyed lasting
friendship with a number of the thinkers of the age, and he was never reduced
to complete poverty. He continued to write for king Charles, although by now
the king was very unpopular in society at large. The king gave him a bigger
pension, but there was no money, so it was not paid. In 1631 Jonson tried to
prepare a second folio, with his remaining comedies. It never appeared, but the
printed pages became part of the two-volume folio edition of his works published
by Sir Kenelm Digby in 1640-41, after his death, that also contained the poems
of The Underwood.
He wrote two more
comedies, The Magnetic Lady (1632) and A Tale of a Tub (1633).
This last is set in the rural festivities marking St. Valentine's Day. He spent
his last years more or less paralyzed, living close to Westminster Abbey, where
he was buried in August 1637, under a stone inscribed, 'O Rare Benn: Jonson.'
Further Reading
Rosalind Miles, Ben
Jonson: His Life and Work. Routledge & Kegan Paul. 1986.
David Riggs, Ben
Jonson: A Life. Harvard University Press. 1989.
Richard Allen Cave, Ben
Jonson. Macmillan. 1991.
The Cambridge Companion
to English Poetry: Donne to Marvell, edited by Thomas N.
Corns. Cambridge University Press. 1993.