i

THE WAY OF BEN JONSON'S DRAMATIC WORLD

by

PAT H. FREDEMAN B.A., University of Oklahoma, 1956

A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF

MASTER OF ARTS

i n the Department of

English

.We accept t h i s thesis as conforming to the required standard

THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA

September, 1963

I n p r e s e n t i n g t h i s t h e s i s i n p a r t i a l f u l f i l m e n t of

the requirements f o r an advanced degree at the U n i v e r s i t y of

B r i t i s h Columbia, I agree that the L i b r a r y s h a l l make i t f r e e l y

a v a i l a b l e f o r reference and study. I f u r t h e r agree that per­

m i s s i o n f o r extensive copying of t h i s t h e s i s f o r s c h o l a r l y

purposes may be granted by the Head of my Department or by

h i s representatives., I t i s understood that copying, or p u b l i ­

c a t i o n of t h i s t h e s i s f o r f i n a n c i a l gain s h a l l not be allowed

without my w r i t t e n p e r m i s s i o n .

Department of

The U n i v e r s i t y of B r i t i s h Columbia,. Vancouver 8, Canada.

Date

i i

ABSTRACT

The Way of Ben Jonson's

Dramatic World

This thesis i s a study of Ben Jonson's point of view. It attempts to

determine that point of view by evaluating two of his c r i t i c a l theories,

that of the humours and c l a s s i c a l unity of action, and by examining t h e i r

r e l a t i o n s h i p to a selected number of h i s plays - The Case Is Altered. The

Alchemist. Every Man In His Humour. Every Man Out Of His Humour, and Volpone.

Just as h i s plays are a r e f l e c t i o n of the times through his eyes, so too

are these two c r i t i c a l theories h i s r e f l e c t i o n of general ideas current i n '

the age. The theory of humours derives from an Elizabethan concept of

order in the universe and i n man, and unity of action from a c l a s s i c a l idea

of unity and coherence. No attempt i s made to re-examine the 'Elizabethan

World P i c t u r e ' or the c l a s s i c a l world view except.in so far as they r e l a t e

to Jonson's p a r t i c u l a r views.

Chapter I, " H i s t o r i c a l and Philosophical P e r s p e c t i v e d e a l s with

some of the main influences of Jonson's own time which appear most pertinent

to his point of view. Chapter II discusses relevant, l i t e r a r y and c r i t i c a l

t heories, both Elizabethan and c l a s s i c a l . Chapter III explores the imagina­

t i v e connection made by Jonson between the theory of humours and unity of

actionj also i t attempts to show how t h i s connection enables Jortson to

recreate interdependent character and action i n spite of a loss to the

i i i

imagination of a s p i r i t u a l l y u n i f i e d cosmos. The remaining chapters use

the humour theory to examine Jonson's characters as i l l u s t r a t i v e of h i s

point of view and considers unity of action as a guide to h i s developing

technique. Although Jonson achieves f i n e s t t e c h n ical expression i n The

Alchemist, i t i s i n Volpone that one finds the f u l l e s t r e a l i z a t i o n of his

point of view, and for t h i s reason Volpone i s the play most clo s e l y studied.

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

I wish to express my thanks to Dr. R. W. Ingram,

my d i r e c t o r , for h i s patient and careful reading of t h i s

t h e s i s , to Dr. W. R. Robbins for h i s w i l l i n g assistance

as Head of the Graduate Committee, and to others who may

have aided me without my knowledge.

Deepest gratitude I owe to Dr. Roger L. Clubb,

whose untimely death prevented the completion of t h i s

work under his supervision, and whose unwearied kindness

would "teach us a l l to have aspiring minds."

i v

C O N T E N T S

Introduction Page . 1

Chapter I H i s t o r i c a l and Philosophical Perspective 4

II L i t e r a r y Perspective 18

II I The Marriage of Two L i t e r a r y Theories: the Theory of Humours and C l a s s i c a l Unity of Action 36

IV The Case Is Altered and The Alchemist 47

V Every Man In His Humour 59

VI Every Man Out Of His Humour 76

VII Volpone 93

A Selected Bibliography 114

INTRODUCTION

This thesis i s a study of how Jonson's point of view influences h i s

art form: i n p a r t i c u l a r i t t r i e s to understand t h i s point of view by

examining his idea of unity of action and the theory of humours and t h e i r

e f f e c t on c e r t a i n of his plays - The Case Is Altered, The Alchemist. Every

Man In His Humour. Every Man Out Of His Humour, and Volpone. Jonson's

d e f i n i t i o n of these two c r i t i c a l theories are in turn derived from general

ideas current i n the age. These general ideas are those summed up in the

phrase, 'the Elizabethan world p i c t u r e ' . An e f f o r t i s made to r e l a t e

Jonson's p a r t i c u l a r ideas to these general ones, but the concept of the

'Elizabethan World P i c t u r e ' i t s e l f w i l l not be re-examined here.

Chapter I, " H i s t o r i c a l and Philosophical Perspective", deals with

some of the main influences of Jonson's time which appear most relevant

to his point of view. In Chapter II pertinent l i t e r a r y and c r i t i c a l - i n ­

fluences, both Elizabethan and c l a s s i c a l , are discussed. Chapter III

attempts to examine more c l o s e l y the imaginative l i n k made by Jonson between

the theory of humours and unity of action and i n the following chapters,

concerning the plays themselves, the humour theory i s suggested as the

barometer of h i s developing point of view, unity of action as the guide to

his developing technique. As Jonson's art transcends hi s theories, i t

becomes increasingly d i f f i c u l t sharply to d i s t i n g u i s h these two theories.

Although the f u l l e s t technical expression i s achieved i n The Alchemist,

i t i s i n Volpone. that the ultimate and l o g i c a l r e a l i z a t i o n of the world

2

which he chooses as h i s representation of r e a l i t y i s found, and for t h i s

reason that play i s most c l o s e l y studied.

Every age has c e r t a i n b e l i e f s about the nature of man and his universe;

these b e l i e f s are the support of the s p i r i t u a l s e l f , that s e l f which often

seeks realization-through poetry. Although the f u l l implications of these

b e l i e f s are to varying degrees denied to characters within the plays, they

nevertheless e x i s t as a penumbra within which the play as a whole has i t s

being. An examination of the characters as embodiments of the humour

theory and t h e i r actions as expressions of the unity of action theory w i l l

help to demonstrate the nature of these b e l i e f s . It i s possible to do so,

for j u s t as these b e l i e f s are ways of looking.at the universe, so' too these

plays and the theories which help to form them are imaginative and c r i t i c a l

expressions of a point of view about the world. Jonson's ideas must be

considered in r e l a t i o n to those of the age.

In the age man's place was d e f i n i t e and assured and his portion was

neither small nor i s o l a t e d . The humour theory i s Jonson's view of man's

portion or share of the world, but i t i s a small plot of earth upon which

the humour character stands. Man's portion had always been less than the

whole, but i t had not been dissociated from the whole, and when he c u l t i v a t e d

his own garden he was c u l t i v a t i n g the world's garden. His character was

s t i l l his destiny, and t h i s meaning of character r e l a t e d him to the gods and

ca r r i e d him through the f u l l cycle of human existence from b i r t h to death

to b i r t h again. But the humour character stands i s o l a t e d and d i s s o c i a t e d ,

3

not only from the I n v i s i b l e world of the s p i r i t but from his fellow man as

w e l l . Often i t seems that he f a i l s to stimulate or respond with any f e e l i n g

and when he acts he does so as a p a r t i a l human being.

Jonson's age was deciding that i t should discover the f a c t s ; i n so

deciding, i t began to give i t s e l f over to a purely quantitative universe

and to lose i t s sense of the "mystery of things". Jonson himself does not

r e j e c t universals or the idea of the "mystery of things"; the mystery,

however, comes to e x i s t as an idea only, an abstraction disconnected from

i n t u i t i v e roots. The sense of a s p i r i t u a l r e a l i t y enveloping the universe

wavers before the developing image of r a t i o n a l i s m . Jonson attempts to r e t a i n

t h i s r e a l i t y , yet he cannot allow i t to constitute the major theme of h i s

own world view: instead i t i s heard as a. troubled, recurring echo, suggesting

a harmony no longer f u l l y r e a l i z e d .

4

CHAPTER I

H i s t o r i c a l and Philosophical Perspective

Una Ellis-Fermor in The Jacobean Drama points out that most dramatists

of any stature succeed in making for themselves a form which mirrors t h e i r

thoughts. With some reservations, Miss Ellis-Fermor grants Jonson t h i s

accomplishment,"'' as does T. S. E l i o t when he says "... he not unnaturally 2

l a i d down i n abstract theory what i s i n r e a l i t y a personal point of view."

For Jonson, however, ce r t a i n important elements of thought remain always

i n the realm of abstract theory and never enter f u l l y into the imaginative

l i f e of h i s plays.

The dramatist's point of view i s important in determining the boundaries

of the world which he creates, and t h i s world reveals h i s commitments to

the nature of r e a l i t y . One f e e l s that Johnson, i n making his commitment

to c e r t a i n ideals and ideologies, has l e f t one part of his emotional -equip­

ment, his more susceptible f e e l i n g s , safely encased i n t r a d i t i o n ' s tomb.-

The remainer, although concerned only with man the s o c i a l creature, are

^Una E l l i s - F e r m o r , The Jacobean Drama. An Interpretation. 4th ed. (London: Methuen &. Co. Ltd., 1958), p. 117. Her assessment i s that Jonson probably c r i p p l e s himself as an a r t i s t by his moral imposition. " C e r t a i n l y , " she says, "one of the r e s u l t s i s a deeply divided mind; though i t i s h a l f concealed by the u n i f i e d surface of purpose that he presents to us, i t i s t h i s fundamental d i v i s i o n that i s responsible for our i n a b i l i t y to conceive of h i s work as a whole."

2 T. S. E l i o t , The Sacred Wood. Essays on Poetry and C r i t i c i s m .

(London: Methuen & Co. Ltd., 1920), p. 107.

5

s t i l l powerful despite c e r t a i n l i m i t a t i o n s . C e r t a i n l y , his characters are

r e s t r i c t e d i n t h e i r natures; nevertheless, they are a r t i s t i c a l l y conceived.

Jonson d e l i b e r a t e l y chooses to harness h i s i n s p i r a t i o n to expressing

only that to which he can give perfect t e c h n i c a l expression. His conscious

a r t i s t r y r e c a l l s the controlled and exclusive tone achieved by the

c l a s s i c a l dramatists of a n t i q u i t y . Usually, he does not pursue the mys­

terious forces of l i f e and not u n t i l Volpone does he create a world.of magi­

c a l l y interdependent r e a l i t i e s . In general i t i s the business of the

a r t i s t to tear away the v e i l that hides the essence of things; Jonson tears

away one of the fa l s e faces which hide man from a knowledge of himself.

His a r t i s t i c endeavor i s one of i n t e g r i t y ; i t i s not a f a c i l e use of

roo t l e s s emotions, but a strong, tough-fibered growth, rooted i n the r i c h

earth of Elizabethan and c l a s s i c a l t r a d i t i o n , and firmly c ontrolled by an

unwavering i n t e l l e c t . This i n t e l l e c t compensates for h i s i n a b i l i t y to move

fr e e l y i n two worlds at once, h i s f a i l u r e to rec o n c i l e the world of the

s p i r i t with that of the external and the ma t e r i a l .

The drama of the Elizabethan age proper, of Kyd, Peele, Marlowe, Greene,

and the early Shakespeare, i s characterized by i t s f a i t h i n the glorious

p o t e n t i a l i t i e s of man, i n the security of h i s p o s i t i o n i n the universe,

and i n the richness and rightness of h i s prosperous, expanding society.

There i s no s p i r i t u a l uncertainty, and the dramatists encompass with con­

fidence and with e x h i l a r a t i o n the bloodshed, murder and mutilation of war

on the one hand, and, on the other, the romantic land of f a i r y t a l e adventure,

.6 of myth, of legend, and of love. And i t i s not j u s t a l i t e r a t u r e of

escape; i t i s a l i t e r a t u r e which demonstrates a sincere b e l i e f in the

v i t a l r e l a t i o n s h i p between things seen and things unseen, a b e l i e f in the

intimate connection between s p i r i t u a l s i g n i f i c a n c e and the world of

actual fact and event.

Towards the end of Elizabeth's r e i g n , however, the mood of the age

begins to change, and the drama soon r e f l e c t s t h i s change. The size of

i t s universe shrinks* man the s o c i a l , sophisticated, n o n - s p i r i t u a l

creature takes the center of the stage, and the c r i t i c a l , s a t i r i c a l temper

p r e v a i l s . The Elizabethan age proper i s passing, an age when " a l l the

Muses s t i l l were i n t h e i r prime," an age which r e f l e c t s in i t s external

world of everyday occurrence more nearly the aspirations of mankind than

does the age which i s to follow.

Drama had reached a stage where c r i t i c i s m and s e l f assessment were

almost i n e v i t a b l e ; t h i s state, however, coincides with one wherein the

world i t r e f l e c t s i s also undergoing a period of questioning and d i s ­

illusionment. The unity of medieval C h r i s t i a n i t y made possible by

Aquinas' r e c o n c i l i a t i o n of Platonic and A r i s t o t e l i a n thought was perhaps

best expressed for the Renaissance by Hooker's Laws of E c c l e s i a s t i c a l

P o l i t y . But t h i s unity was beginning to disappear, and despite the

retention for a time of i t s cosmic e t h i c a l wealth, i t was not long before

there appeared a r e l i a n c e on r a t i o n a l i s m and empiricism and an a b s o l u t i s t

ordering of society. In addition to the d i s s o l u t i o n of medieval C h r i s ­

t i a n i t y , the p o l i t i c a l future of England i n the nineties was another

7

source of fear and uncertainty. Despite the successes of Elizabeth's

r e i g n , such as the vi c t o r y over the Armada i n 1588, the order dependent

on her person was endangered by the absence of a d e f i n i t e h e i r to the

throne. There was the ever present threat of upri s i n g s , such as that

led by Essex i n 1601, and a crowd of claimants to the throne foreshadowed

c i v i l war on her death. Yet when she did die i n 1603, James VI of Scotland

succeeded q u i e t l y . A period of r e l i e f followed, but James' personal

c h a r a c t e r i s t i c s and clumsy p o l i t i c a l machinations soon displeased. His

e f f o r t s to reduce the Spanish threat were often construed as a merely

dangerous placation of the Spaniards. Indeed h i s attitude towards

Catholicism and r e l i g i o u s matters generally was ambiguous and managed

to offend both r e l i g i o u s groups. His insistence upon divine r i g h t received

some support, but t h i s insistence contributed to the i d e a l of order no

longer being invested so completely i n the r u l i n g monarch. Somehow the•

Tudors had f i t t e d quite e a s i l y into the medieval concept of order, but

the authoritarian reign of James hastened a disillusionment with t h i s

concept. The idea of the r u l e r as divine delegate continued to lose f o r c e .

Natural law ceased to be clo s e l y a l l i e d with divine law and became

pri m a r i l y a truth of science made knowable by the reason. In Bacon

r e v e l a t i o n and i n t u i t i o n were disengaged from the f a b r i c of nature; by

the time of John Locke i n the lat e seventeenth century, they had become

purely r a t i o n a l concepts; and l a t e r i n the eighteenth century reason

became the r u l e r of r e a l i t y .

8

Jonson could not, of course, l i v e i n London and remain unaffected by

these matters. Nor could his temperament and po s i t i o n allow him to be unin-

volved. He served i n the army for a time and i n matters of r e l i g i o n he

accepted "on t r u s t " i n 1598 Roman Catholicism, only to abjure i t twelve 3

years l a t e r "on conviction". Generally he moved i n l o y a l i s t c i r c l e s .

Providing courtly entertainments, c h i e f l y masques, drew him ever closer into

court c i r c l e s and earned him the o f f e r of a knighthood, which he declined.

As a leading playwright, c r i t i c , and c o n t r o v e r s i a l i s t i n London he was at

the center of i n t e l l e c t u a l a c t i v i t i e s , holding h i s own high court in- the

Apollo Room of the Devil Tavern. He l i v e d l i f e f u l l y , remaining mentally

a l e r t even during h i s l a s t years when p a r a l y s i s confined him to his bed.

T i l l y a r d judges the eminence of Elizabethan writers by the passion

with "which they surveyed the range of the universe." He judges the most

eminent to be Spenser, Sidney, Raleigh, Hooker, Shakespeare, and Jonson,

and finds that " a l l these are united i n holding with earnestness, passion 4

and assurance to the main outlines of the medieval world picture

Jonson does hold to the main outlines of the medieval world picture but

with dogmatic tenacity rather than passion and assurance. For him i t

3 Arthur T. Sh i l l i n g l a w , "New Light on Ben Jonson's Discoveries,"

Englishche Studien /LXXl(l937), 356-359.

4 E. M. W. T i l l y a r d , The Elizabethan World Picture (London? Chatto

& Windus, 1943), p. 100.

9

no longer affords a body of s p i r i t u a l and imaginative t r u t h . His attitude

i s closer to the aut h o r i t a r i a n one assumed by James for his protection when

he discovers the authority i s no longer there.

Jonson discovers t h i s loss of a s p i r i t u a l imperative i n other l e v e l s

of society. In Every Man In His Humour Knowell complains to Brainworm:

But, now we a l l are f a l l ' n ; youth, from t h e i r feare: And age, from that, which bred i t , good example. Nay, would our selues were not the f i r s t , eueh parents, That did destroy the hopes, in our owne children*

When i t vice i s gone into the bone alreadie. No, no: This die goes deeper then the coate, Or s h i r t , or skin. It staines, vnto the l i u e r , And heart, i n some.

( I I , v, 12-15; 28-31)

In Every Man Out Of His Humour, the r e a l i z a t i o n of man's loss of d i v i n i t y

and h i s ' i n e v i t a b l e degradation i s a b i t t e r l y imaginative one, far less •

o b j e c t i v e l y set f o r t h than Knowell's complaint to Brainworm. Carlo Buffone

addresses Macilente:

Now nothing i n f l e s h , and e n t r a i l e s , assimulates or resembles man more, then a hog, or swine —

Mary, I say, nothing resembling man more then a swine, i t followes, nothing can be more nourishing: for indeed (but that i t abhorres from our nice nature) i f we fed one vpon another, we should shoot vp a great deale f a s t e r , and thriue much better: I r e f e r r e mee to your vsurous Cannibals, or such like.: but since i t i s so contrary, porke, porke, i s your only feed.

10

Macilente makes the f a l l complete and points the morals

I take i t , your d e u i l l be of the same diet;'he

would ne're ha' desir'd to beene incorporated into swine els e .

(V, v, 62-64; 69-77).

Jonson stands a monument to h i s age - the s p i r i t u a l ravages of the

times deeply engraved on his morosely impressive i n t e l l e c t and a r t . Despite

the strength of t h i s i n t e l l e c t , the firm realism of h i s a r t , and h i s

resolute concern with the immediate, his r e f l e c t i n g c r i t i c a l eye i s

troubled s t i l l by the unseen world of the s p i r i t . One can speak of h i s

moral seriousness, h i s o b j e c t i v i t y , h i s s c i e n t i f i c realism, but what of

the emotional convictions of the man himself? The importance of h i s moral

seriousness, so often alluded to, l i e s not so much i n h i s humility before

his God, the strength of h i s character, the firmness with which he held and

expounded c e r t a i n i d e a l s , but i n the brooding and t r a g i c awareness of a

world which he can only t e n t a t i v e l y explore. No c l a s s i c a l doctrine, no

moral dictum can disguise h i s imagination's grasp of his fellow men and of

the age i n general. In the theory of humours i s h i s i n t u i t i v e assessment,

i n a l l the r e s t h i s conscious a r t .

The humour i n Jonson's work i s not a flaw i n character but character

i t s e l f . It i s the inner structure of man and not something which rains down

upon his head from the heavens, as i t does upon the humorous characters in

Chapman's plays. Jonson's humorous man i s a negative creature struggling

s t i l l i n the form and shape of a man, or what man i n the past has conceived

.11 himself to be - and what Jonson's moral seriousness demands but w i l l not -

allow that he be. Now his i s the emptiness which the collapse of the

Elizabethan world picture has l e f t as man's s p i r i t u a l heritage.

As man's s p i r i t u a l world shrinks, he shrinks, and h i s emotional range

becomes l i m i t e d to what he can see d i r e c t l y before him. For a while he holds

with i n t e l l e c t u a l tenacity to a code which has had a s p i r i t u a l b i r t h , and

he wonders why knowing c e r t a i n things to be so, he cannot act as i f they

were so; but he no longer believes them to be so. The reason, to which

Jonson p a r t i a l l y commits himself, cannot always motivate the s p i r i t . The.

new r a t i o n a l i s m which proposes to free man from s u p e r s t i t i o n and fear and

to control the forces of nature does not free him from the destructiveness

of his own nature. As the s p i r i t u a l bases for an e t h i c a l code vanish, the

code i t s e l f weakens, and in Jonson's own world Volpone bursts upon the stage

with an intense poetic r e a l i t y unwitnessed heretofore i n Jonson's work. In

the realm of comedy Volpone stands a strange and impressive creation, with

a stature of almost t r a g i c proportions. Some c r i t i c s ' ; have judged h i s

punishment to be incompatible with the necessary happy conclusion of comedy,

but t h i s i s no longer a comic world; i t i s rather a satanic one. And for

once Jonson i s not c r i t i c a l l y detached. One perceives i n t h i s play an

admiration for the i n t e n s i t y of Volpone's desire to l i v e . Jonson's

imagination has transcended absolute moral imperatives. He withdraws from

t h i s v i s i o n of e v i l which looms at the edge of the t r a g i c chasm, and, aft e r

Volpone. the s p i r i t which animates h i s plays i s more t r u l y i n the nature of

comic. In The Alchemist and Bartholomew F a i r there i s a less troubled

12

acceptance and a genuine l i k i n g for the rogues of h i s worldly g a l l e r y . .

Beneath the polished surface of Jonson's early comedy flows a t r a g i c

undercurrent, of which Volpone i s a product. Both tragedy and-comedy are art

forms descended from r i t u a l , a r i t u a l marking off man's progress through

the whole cycle of l i f e . That one begins in the cycle where the other

leaves off does not ensure echoes of one w i l l not be heard i n the other. It

i s not surp r i s i n g then, to f i n d the t r a g i c presence on a comic stage, but

i t i s su r p r i s i n g to f i n d i t on Jonson's whose avowed purpose was to "sport

with f o l l i e s , not with crimes." The f o l l i e s , however, too often " s t a i n ,

unto the l i v e r " and assume more serious proportions. His plays reveal an

i n t e l l i g e n c e whose deeper animating s p i r i t stops short t h i s side of the

t r a g i c chasm and whose reason escapes into c r i t i c a l theory, moral serious­

ness, and vigorous humor.

Jonsonian characters r a r e l y move f r e e l y on a l l planes of the E l i z a ­

bethan s p i r i t u a l hierarchy. The phantom shapes of t h i s hierarchy never­

theless stalk the outer boundaries of Jonson's worlds t h e i r one-time

presence i s remembered In t h e i r absence, although they are not always denied

entrance. But they enter not with the same f l e x i b i l i t y and ease as i n -

Elizabethan days; instead they make t h e i r entrance l i k e the abstractions

of the old morality plays - s t a t e l y , with d i g n i t y , but more s t i f f l y .

Something within them speaks of a faded glory, and they enrich, ennoble, and

elevate, but they have become creations of the reason not r e a l i t i e s of

the imagination.

13

The appearances of the Queen i n Cynthia's Revels and Every Man Out Of

His Humour, though e p i l o g a l , demonstrate the nature of these abstract

r e a l i t i e s . Rather s i m i l a r in function i s another symbol of authority and

order, J u s t i c e Clement, of Every Man In His Humour, who, although he has

had l i t t l e to do with the action heretofore, helps to disperse the humours

and bring the characters to t h e i r happy r e s o l u t i o n . It i s noteworthy that,

the "Queenes I u s t i c e , " who on the one hand bears an a f f i n i t y with the rogue

Brainworm and on the other i s the crown's dispenser of j u s t i c e , has h i s

existence i n the play by means of a few b r i e f appearances ( I I I , v i i ; V, i )

and by dint of hints and a l l u s i o n s from the other characters. Generally

he appears when he can act primarily i n h i s o f f i c i a l capacity. That -pale

t r i b u n a l of j u s t i c e , the Avocatori of Volpone, plays a s i m i l a r r o l e i n

helping to disentangle the knotted thread of actions and t h e i r engendering

humours.

In other respects Jonson often approaches those vaster realms of the

imagination associated with the "great chain of being." In his dramatic 5

language he achieves both "gravity and height of e l o c u t i o n , " and nowhere

i s i t more formal and more elevated than i n Volpone and The Alchemist. It

i s , however, a formal elegance, not c o n s t i t u t i n g a natural extension of

l o f t i n e s s of character but drained of f u l l n e s s and v a r i e t y of f e e l i n g , so

that " A l l his e f f e c t s , his s p i r i t s , and h i s powers,/ In t h e i r c o n f l u c t i o n s , "

Alexander H. Sackton, Rhetoric As A Dramatic Language i n Ben Jonson (New York: Columbia University Press, 1948), pp. 75, 146.

14

are drawn " a l l to runne one way." S i r Epicure Mammon's wooing of Doll

Common i s f i l l e d with an Elizabethan richness of imagery*

Wee'11 therefore goe with a l l , my g i r l e , and l i u e In a free statej where we w i l l eate our mullets, Sous'd i n high-countrey wines, sup phesants egges, And haue our cockles, b o i l d i n s i l u e r s h e l l s , Our shrimps to swim againe, as when they l i u ' d , In a rare butter, made of dolphins milke, Whose creame do's looke l i k e o p a l l s : and, with these Delicate meats, set our selues high for pleasure, And take vs downe againe, and then renew Our youth, and strength, with drinking the e l i x i r , Of l i f e , and l u s t .

(IV, i , 155-166)

Here i s passion, but a mean passion which, when i t i s contained i n such

l o f t y speech, points i t s own i r o n i c contrast, and i t i s intended that i t

should do so. It betrays him to the audience, not only because of the

dramatic s i t u a t i o n i t s e l f , that i s , the fact that the "lady" i s simply

Dol l Common, but also because he would disrupt nature and invert the system

of order and of values, he would adorn her with jewels whose l i g h t should

s t r i k e out the stars, he would place l u s t - h i s "high-countrey wines" and

"phesants egges" - above l i f e , l i f e above Nature, and Nature above Art:

And, thou s a l t ha' thy wardrobe, Richer than Natures, s t i l l to change thy s e l f e , And vary oftener, for thy pride, then shee: Or Art, her wise, and almost-equall seruant.

(IV, i , 166-169)

Like Volpone, who longs for "vertue, fame, honour," to be "noble,

v a l i a n t , honest, wise," Mammon would aspire to a high seriousness, but i t

i s a seriousness based on an inversion of the moral order. The language

15

which he uses in his f l i g h t s serves to indulge and feed his humour so that

eventually i t exceeds i t s boundaries; i n running a l l one way, i t begins to

"smell of sinne" and swells to a b o i l of excess which must be pricked. He

would aspire, but i t i s aspiration-turned in upon i t s e l f , and there instead

grows a humour. One i s l e f t only with man's i n f i n i t e s i m a l lowliness. His

l u s t for d i v i n i t y and his appetite for l i f e have become objects of s a t i r e

and condemnation.

Jonson focuses on one-half of man's nature - the dark, the•perverse,

the unenlightened, an emphasis not out of keeping with his own time. E l i z a ­

bethan moral philosophy had long been concerned with the "passions," the

"perturbations" of the human soul. "They are the 'motions of the mind',

not necessarily e v i l i n themselves, which may produce disorder in man's

s p i r i t u a l c o n s t i t u t i o n , and they are often conceived to have a connection

with the humours of the body, so that t h e i r consideration may be medical as

well as m o r a l . T h e s e passions are conceived of as e x i s t i n g in p a i r s , such

as love and hatred, desire and aversion, joy and sadness, hope and despair,

courage and fears the members of each pair balance one another. In Jonson's

conception of the humours there i s no balance. The humour i s not j u s t a

perversion of p o t e n t i a l wherein a l l powers are drawn "to runne one way,"

but of the basic s e l f . One f e e l s that his characters could never be other­

wise, although both reason and d i v i n i t y are appealed to as guides. The

W i l l a r d Farnham, The Medieval Heritage of Elizabethan Tragedy (Berkeleys University of C a l i f o r n i a Press, 1936), p. 349.

16

humour i n Jonson's work i s not a flaw which grows through an error i n

judgment i n a s i t u a t i o n demanding action and thus making the flaw c r u c i a l

at a p a r t i c u l a r moment. It i s already exaggerated at the soul's core.

The humour assumes even graver proportions when one r e a l i z e s there i s

no redemptive god present as there was in comic r i t u a l , nor i s there the

lightness of a genuinely sophisticated detachment. As Jonson continues

to write, and Volpone draws closer, the comic tone of his plays becomes

consistently more Impaired.- In Every Man In His Humour and Every Man Out

Of His Humour, Jonson i s a f o r c e f u l writer, i n Volpone he i s a powerful

wr i t e r . The redemptive god of r i t u a l , preserved i n both tragedy and comedy,

has retreated far"beyond man's grasp, but the humour character i s reminded

always of that god's presence. In c l a s s i c a l times his presence within the

framework of tragedy and comedy had made genuine p a r t i c i p a t i o n possible.

Many thinkers had r e a l i z e d i t s importance. Pythagoras, i n h i s search for

i n t e l l e c t u a l truth as opposed to r e l i g i o u s doctrine, retains the mystical

content of t h e o r i a T or p a r t i c i p a t i o n . Plato r e l a t e s the One to the Many

by means of methexis. or p a r t i c i p a t i o n , and A r i s t o t l e equates methexis with

mimesis. In much of Elizabethan drama t h i s p a r t i c i p a t i o n i s likewise

possible, but i t becomes less so as the age draws to a close. In Jonson's

time the humour theory s t i l l has currency, and i n h i s plays i t i s the w e l l -

spring of l i f e or "passion"; i t re t a i n s i t s imaginative l i f e i n h i s work

p a r t i a l l y because of the s p i r i t of the times and p a r t i a l l y because he i s

a poet capable of expressing the s p i r i t which s t i l l e x i s t s .

17

Although Elizabethan moral philosophy shows a great variety of

opinion, r a t i o n a l i s m continues to grow stronger among the Elizabethans,

and a greater emphasis i s put upon the c l a s s i c a l golden mean. The Renaissance

encourages greater v e r s a t i l i t y and autonomy in a r t , and the c l a s s i c s provide

both subjects and rules for the writers of the period. Jonson, the

Elizabethan and medieval moralist, already confirmed i n his convictions

concerning men and manners, turns to the c l a s s i c s as the conscious i n ­

t e l l e c t u a l for general guidance i n the p r i n c i p l e s of art and s p e c i f i c

i n s i g h t to the construction of action.

J

CHAPTER II

L i t e r a r y Perspective

18

The a r t i s t ' s point of view, which i s his own peculiar possession i n

intimate r e l a t i o n s h i p with his times, generally escapes the formulae which

anyone, including the a r t i s t himself, can propose. Certain elements of form,

such as recurring dramatic devices and conventions turned to the a r t i s t ' s

personal use, do, however, proceed from more e a s i l y recognizable'; sources

and can be more r e a d i l y traced. Jonson, perhaps more than others of the

age, i s conscious of form and l i t e r a r y precedent. In addition, the drama,

whose growth heretofore had been l a r g e l y spontaneous and u n r e f l e c t i n g , begins,

by Jonson's day, to a t t a i n to a c e r t a i n . s o p h i s t i c a t i o n and to acquire a

more d e f i n i t e shape. Form and the formal now begins to be considered more

seri o u s l y i n general practice as well as i n theory. Jonson i s the heir of

.the drama's period of u n r e f l e c t i n g growth and from i t he takes many elements

of h i s form; he turns then to concentrate upon technical and aesthetic per­

f e c t i o n , upon giving more perfect a r t i s t i c expression to elements which

already f a l l within the general category of form.

The p r i n c i p a l l i n e s of influence are, of course, c l a s s i c a l and E l i z a ­

bethan, the second of which extends back into medieval times. Jonson's

connection with t h i s l a t t e r t r a d i t i o n i s evidenced by the kinship of his

characters to the abstract vices and v i r t u e s of the old morality plays. In

depicting the vices he i s most competent and can always imbue them with

earthy realism. Most of the v i t a l i t y i n his plays, however, springs d i r e c t l y

from the Elizabethan t r a d i t i o n , and i t i s from t h i s source that the element

•19

of character receives i t s p r i n c i p a l impetus and ultimate r e s o l u t i o n i n the

theory of the humours. From the c l a s s i c a l t r a d i t i o n Jonson abstracts most

of hi s ideas about the purpose of art, the form of drama, the mechanics of

construction. It i s here that he discovers f i n a l l y a key to the creation

of action, action which i s not always constructed i n intimate r e l a t i o n s h i p

with his characters.

Despite Jonson's c l a s s i c a l learning, i t seems unreasonable to assume

that he was unaffected by a native t r a d i t i o n to which he was closer i n time.

From the early drama of his own country come echoes of a host of abstract

v i r t u e s and v i c e s . Among these, i t i s the vices which f i n d , through farce

and burlesque, the most l i f e l i k e expression i n the v i v a c i t y of rogues and

knaves. It i s often through broad f a r c i c a l treatment that Jonson succeeds

in drawing most adeptly characters from the lower strata of society. His

a b i l i t y to do so i s one which l a t e r strengthens both his conception and

presentation of the humour character. Juniper and Onion of The Case Is

Altered r e t a i n a sense of earthy j o l l i t y . Brainworm of Every Man In His

Humour, i n addition to his c l a s s i c a l s o p h i s t i c a t i o n , r e c a l l s the untrammelled

v e r s a t i l i t y of the medieval v i c e . Most of Jonson's credible women are

drawn with a bold and in d e l i c a t e stroke - Tib of Every Man In His Humour.

Ursula of Bartholomew F a i r . Lady P o l i t i c k Would-Be of Volpone, a l l r e c a l l

the coarse and natural v i t a l i t y of medieval realism. Jonson's virtuous

characters also remain close to t h e i r medieval heritage but i n a rather

d i f f e r e n t way. They r e t a i n t h e i r abstract nature, but, unlike her roguish

counterpart, a virtuous woman, such as Rachel i n The Case Is Altered, i s

usually a shallow, f a i n t l y drawn, and i n e f f e c t u a l human character. If she

23:

i s to be a more e f f e c t i v e dramatic agent, she may become the apotheosis

of v i r t u e l i k e the Queen i n Cynthia's Revels, who moves about i n the manner

of an ever-present dea ex machina"*" resolving the problems created by her

subjects. Virtuous characters who do possess r e a l i s t i c q u a l i t i e s , l i k e

J u s t i c e Clement of Every Man In His Humour and Bonario of Volpone, :

may assume t h e i r r o l e s only for a b r i e f moment in the play's l i f e when

they f r u s t r a t e an e v i l i n t e n t i o n or resolve a f o o l i s h action, but they do

l i t t l e acting themselves. These characters are not generally l a b e l l e d as

abstractions, but frequently they remain such. A character, on the other

hand, who i s l a b e l l e d as a v i c e , such as Macilente i n Every Man Out Of His

Humour. may emerge as the prime mover of the play's world and seethe with

a l i f e which cannot f i n d i t s own boundaries.

From the medieval t r a d i t i o n Jonson also i n h e r i t s a serious moral tone.

A serious concern with moral values pervaded the-entire sixteenth century

and continued well beyond i t . It was the legacy of early C h r i s t i a n i t y ,

l a t e r r e i n f o r c e d by c l a s s i c a l authors and c r i t i c s , and by the English 2

l i t e r a r y c r i t i c s as w e l l . From t h i s t r a d i t i o n likewise comes Jonson's

Jonson himself deprecates the undisguised use of the deus ex machina. In the Prologue to Every Man In His Humour he l i s t s the " i l l customs of the age," and points to his own play as one such "as other plays should be,"

Where neither Chorus wafts you ore the seas; Nor creaking throne comes downe, the boyes to please;"

(11. 15-16)

2 L i l y B. Campbell, Shakespeare's Tragic Heroes. Slaves of Passion

(New York. Barnes 8, Noble, Inc., 1952), pp. 24, 30-38.

2L

tendency to a l l e g o r i z e , and to u t i l i z e action on a symbolical l e v e l (the

allegory of money i n Cynthia's Revels and The Staple of News, the compass of

The Magnetic Lady, and the Prodigal Son motif of Eastward Hoe I ). In

Cynthia's Revels one finds a bold mixture of mythological and a l l e g o r i c a l

characters as well as characters from r e a l l i f e , a mixture which was not

new to the Elizabethan mind, for Lyly's mythological play had already

succeeded the a l l e g o r i c a l play.

In t r y i n g to measure the influence of the Elizabethan t r a d i t i o n oh

Jonson's drama, i t i s d i f f i c u l t to d i s s o c i a t e i t from the c l a s s i c a l t r a d i t i o n ,

a t r a d i t i o n with which Jonson i s perhaps more f a m i l i a r than others. In

addition to Jonson's own l i t e r a r y acquaintance with the c l a s s i c a l t r a d i t i o n ,

there i s , of course, the evident s i m i l a r i t y i n the o r i g i n s and development

of English drama and c l a s s i c a l drama. Both sprang from r e l i g i o u s r i t u a l s

intimately connected with the l i f e and b e l i e f s of the populace; both i n

successive stages attempted to make more and more e x p l i c i t an interchange

which at the beginning had been only i m p l i c i t , to r a i s e emotional p a r t i ­

c i p a t i o n to a high l e v e l of conscious awareness. What had been secret in 4

r i t u a l must in the drama be explained. When Jonson makes a move i n t h i s

d i r e c t i o n , he i s attempting what the c l a s s i c a l drama had succeeded i n doing

and what the Elizabethan drama was i n the process of doing.

Jonson shared the authorship of t h i s play with Chapman and Marston. Without attempting to assign s p e c i f i c parts to s p e c i f i c authors, one can consider the play i n i t s t o t a l i t y as r e s u l t i n g from the collaboration of three men, each one of whom i s responsible, d i r e c t l y or i n d i r e c t l y , for the entire l i f e of the play. Jonson himself must have considered i t so when he i n s i s t e d on j o i n i n g his fellow authors in prison.

4 For a discussion of the evolution of t h i s conscious awareness in the

Greek drama, see Gertrude R. Levy, The Gate of Horn (London: Faber & Faber Ltd., 1948), p. 316.

£2 In the Greek drama the chorus was drawn from the c i t i z e n s or audience,

not from the actors. This practice meant the continuation of a popular

involvement in r i t u a l which marked the beginnings of the drama. It was

a s t r u c t u r a l means by which the c l a s s i c a l dramatists acknowledged and

evoked conscious p a r t i c i p a t i o n i n an a c t i v i t y which was becoming less a

r e s u l t of the popular w i l l and more the product of an i n d i v i d u a l e f f o r t .

In the beginnings of English r e l i g i o u s drama and i n folk dramatic a c t i v i t y ,

there had likewise been a more d i r e c t audience p a r t i c i p a t i o n . Elizabethan

drama also r e t a i n s formal means of keeping i t s audience involved. An

active involvement becomes a more purely empathetic one; with Jonson i t

becomes primarily a c r i t i c a l one. The chorus, the c r i t i c - c h a r a c t e r , the

prologue, the induction, are formal means by which the spectators are

expected to p a r t i c i p a t e i n Jonson's plays. But they must respond c r i t i c a l l y

as well as emotionally, a demand which Jonson makes because he wants h i s

audience to accept the thought of his art as though i t were r e a l i t y , to

f e e l action d i r e c t l y i n the realm of thought and to know quickly the thought

of the .action. To accomplish t h i s , he i s forced to cut out a great deal of

the world that i s usually the province of drama and of art generally where

comprehension needs to be i n t u i t i v e . Because he allows l i t t l e i n t u i t i v e

comprehension of the r e a l i t y which he creates, i t s boundaries can be more

pr e c i s e l y marked by the l i m i t s he imposes on his form. S p i r i t u a l r e a l i t i e s

are i m p l i c i t i n t h i s form, but they have become i n t e l l e c t u a l i z e d abstrac­

tions not v i t a l l y available to his characters.

The humour theory i s a good example of a development i n which both

indigenous and c l a s s i c a l influences became intertwined. The Renaissance

evaluation of the passions, t h e i r r e l a t i o n s h i p to s i n , and t h e i r proper

control attempted to combine the teachings of Plato, A r i s t o t l e , C h r i s t ,

Galen, and Hippocrates. The r e s u l t was a curious mingling of a l l , with

many d e r i v a t i v e s . The Stoic attitude towards passion was that of complete

r e j e c t i o n . The P e r i p a t e t i c s taught that passions were e v i l i f they were

not governed by reason. Since the Scriptures a t t r i b u t e d certain passions

to Chr i s t and to God himself, C h r i s t i a n authority usually upheld the

P e r i p a t e t i c doctrine. Although the c l e a r l y u n i f i e d thinking of Thomas

Aquinas was gone, his summary of the problem was s t i l l generally accepted:

The passions of the soul, i n so far as they are contrary to the order of reason, i n c l i n e us to s i n : but i n so f a r as they are controlled by reason, they pertain to v i r t u e . ^

On the surface Jonson's theory of the humours would seem i n accord

with t h i s generally accepted t h e o r e t i c a l evaluation by Aquinas. It i s

the hard, polished surface of h i s plays which Jonson intends h i s audience

to heed. Below t h i s l e v e l , however, there i s an emotional source, and

at t h i s emotional source a l l passions would appear to be destructive and

the reason i n e f f e c t u a l . In Every Man In His Humour K i t e l y describes h i s

brain as an "hour-glass for the running sands of barren suspicion" and he

laments h i s loss of "the mindes ere c t i o n " . The r e a l question, rather

than any concern with the passions or the reason, seems to be, "Is i t

possible for anything to redeem man from himself?" The answer seems to be,

"No". Both God and the-reason prove powerless and i n e f f e c t i v e . In Jonson

there i s not r e a l l y a Stoic contempt of the world, nor does the P e r i p a t e t i c

Summa Theologica. v o l . VI, p. 296, i n Campbell, p. 97.

idea of balance seem important. His theory of the humours i s closer to

the C h r i s t i a n concept of o r i g i n a l s i n , unbalanced by other C h r i s t i a n

teachings, a tendency not unknown i n the annals of C h r i s t i a n i t y . O r i g i n a l

s i n i s i n f u l l bloom, a voracious plant i n control of man and h i s world.

The d i f f i c u l t y which Jonson has i n coordinating character and action,

p a r t i c u l a r l y i n h i s early plays, t e s t i f i e s to t h i s p a r t i c u l a r view of

mankind. An i n d i v i d u a l who i s a mixture of "good" and "bad" i s much more

e a s i l y and convincingly imitated i n action than an i n d i v i d u a l who possesses

only one-half of l i f e ' s portion.

In addition to the varying moral philosophies which helped to mold

the humour theory, there were d i f f e r e n t types of l i t e r a t u r e which likewise

contributed to i t s development. The humours had made t h e i r appearance i n

the drama of Lyly, i n prose f i c t i o n , i n s a t i r e , and in the character sketch

the l a s t of which C. R. B a s k e r v i l l , i n his analysis of Jonson's early

comedy, sees as a p r i n c i p a l ingredient of Jonson's own theory of the

humours.^ Closely r e l a t e d to and a f f e c t i n g the character sketch and the

theory of humours was the Renaissance theory of decorum, an idea which

helped to draw more d e f i n i t e outlines of character and to regulate the s t y l

i n which that character f u l f i l l e d h i s l i m i t s . This further development of

form owed much to examples from c l a s s i c a l l i t e r a t u r e . In both the

Theophrastan character sketch and i n L a t i n comedy there were types which

Charles R. B a s k e r v i l l , English Elements in Jonson's Early Comedy. B u l l e t i n of the University of Texas,. No. 178, Humanistic Series, No. 12, Studies i n English, No. 1 (Austin: University of Texas, 1911), p. 27.

2§ 7

i l l u s t r a t e d one peculiar q u a l i t y . Its contribution, however, was not

simply i n the realm of aesthetic theory; i t was a law of moral philosophy

as w e l l , and a popular concern of the age. Many works treated i t as a

matter of great moral s i g n i f i c a n c e . Perhaps the best known was Cicero's

De O f f i c i i s . In one passage on the subject of decorum, the author asserted

that " i t i s inseparable from moral goodness; for what i s proper i s morally

r i g h t , and what i s morally r i g h t i s proper". He continued with a discussion

of propriety as i t was concerned with duty and the i n d i v i d u a l ; f i n a l l y g

and most important, he r e l a t e d i t to the temperament.

The conception of the humours also owed a debt to the abstractions

of early E n g l i s h a l l e g o r i c a l drama and l i t e r a t u r e . C. R. B a s k e r v i l l

sees these abstractions as d i r e c t l y antecedent to Jonson's theory of the

humours: . . . before the conception of humour became prevalent, the closer approach of these abstractions of allegory, and e s p e c i a l l y of the morality, to r e a l l i f e had been leading d i r e c t l y toward a treatment of character that was s u b s t a n t i a l l y the same thing as Jonson's treatment of humour.9

For a discussion of Q u i n t i l i a n ' s idea of ethos, or the "set d e f i n i t i o n of a fixed p e r s o n a l i t y , " and Its influence on the conception of the nature of comedy, see Muriel C. Bradbrook, The Growth and Structure of Elizabethan Comedy (London: Chatto &. Windus, 1955), p. 42.

g Cicero, De O f f i c i i s . trans. Professor Walter M i l l e r , Loeb C l a s s i c a l

L i b r a r y , Bk. 1, x x v i i f f . , in Campbell, p. 98.

9 B a s k e r v i l l , p. 26.

Some of Jonson's characters, e s p e c i a l l y the virtuous ones or those without

humours, are closer to abstractions than to r e a l characters. The humour

type, however, does not remain an abstraction i n Jonson's hands. The

humour may be organic or inorganic. It may be deeply rooted in the

character's being or i t may f l o a t near the surface in extraneous t r a i t s '

but Jonson brings him to l i f e with the verve and vigor of the E n g l i s h types

which he finds around him. This l i f e l i k e existence of characters owes much

to Jonson's own Elizabethan passion for the spectacle of l i f e , together

with his acute observation of i t , and something to the new desire for

v e r i s i m i l i t u d e , a desire awakened by the new humanism of the Renaissance

and i t s i n t e r e s t in the analysis of i n d i v i d u a l s from L i f e .

The humanists, probably as a r e s u l t of t h e i r studies of V i t r u v i u s ,

were beginning to r e a l i z e that Roman drama had been acted in much the same

manner as the farces and miracle plays. It i s not quite clear when the

knowledge came, but towards the end of the f i f t e e n t h century there were

performances in I t a l y of both c l a s s i c a l plays and neo-Latin imitations.

The practice soon spread to other countries, and in theoearly part of the

sixteenth century there was an outburst of dramatic a c t i v i t y i n the English

schools. In 1527 and 1528 there were performances at Wolsey's house of

the Menaechmi and the Phormio by the boys of St. Pauls. Others followed

and soon there began a long series of English translations of c l a s s i c a l 10

plays.

E. K. Chambers, The Mediaeval Stage (Oxford: University Press, 1903), I I , 214-215.

The drama f l o u r i s h e d , and as the Elizabethan age progressed, there

was more and more interplay between native and c l a s s i c a l forces. One trend

interacted with another. Popular demand and the popular drama influenced

and were influenced by the academic and the c l a s s i c a l . The playwrights

succeeded i n t r a i n i n g public taste to a ce r t a i n extent, but the audience

forced upon i t s writers more l i b e r a l a p p l i c a t i o n of the rules which the

writers themselves not too un w i l l i n g l y abjured.

To the observation of successful dramatic practices over the years

and to the r e l a t i v e silence of the ancients concerning comedy, Jonson may

owe in some measure the l i b e r a l and independent nature of h i s precepts and

p r a c t i c e . Even concerning art in general Jonson accepts the d i c t a of the

ancients in a rather broad ways he adopts the guiding p r i n c i p l e that form

i s important as a concept and that to proceed towards form one should use

" e l e c t i o n and a meane." For "men, who alwaies seeks to doe more then

inough, may some time happen on something that i s good, and great; but

very seldome: And when i t comes i t doth not recompence the rest of t h e i r

i l l . " ' 1 " " ' ' Beyond t h i s p r i n c i p l e of exercizing the c r i t i c a l f a c u l t y sensibly

Jonson does not proceed to evolve a c a r e f u l , precise, and o r i g i n a l theory

of the drama, or more s p e c i f i c a l l y of comedy: h i s 'Discoveries made

upon men and matter' are mostly t r a n s l a t i o n s from the works of others:

S c a l i g e r , Q u i n t i l i a n , Cicero, Horace, A r i s t o t l e , Seneca, Plato, M a r t i a l ,

Juvenal, P a t r i c i u s , Possevino, V e l l e i u s Paterculus, Heinsius, J . L. Vives,

The Alchemist. "To The Reade'r", 11. 21-24. This i s perhaps no more than another aspect of the old struggle between the c l a s s i c a l and the romantic points of view. In each case, the proponents of the two methods or attitudes may t h e o r e t i c a l l y emphasize one method to the excl usion of the other, yet in practice combine the two.

' 2 8 12 Bacon, Sidney, and many others. He c o l l e c t s , rearranges and adopts what

he thinks best for p r a c t i c a l guidance. From his c o l l e c t i o n he takes

c e r t a i n s p e c i f i c signposts for the construction of good drama. When he

finds them d i f f i c u l t or impossible of a p p l i c a t i o n , he makes a momentary

withdrawal but never a permanent renunciation. His c r i t i c a l i n t e l l i g e n c e .

always finds i t necessary to j u s t i f y h i s deviation and re-emphasize the r u l e .

Jonson's preoccupation with r u l e s , with finding a r i g h t way of doing

things, t e s t i f i e s to his serious attitude towards the drama. He i s equally

i n s i s t e n t upon the moral nature of art and i s i n c l i n e d towards the b e l i e f

that there i s a r i g h t way of making i t moral. In d i r e c t i n g h i s e f f o r t s

p r i m a r i l y towards comedy, he must have been aware of one of the common

dilemmas of the day; how does one reconcile high moral purpose with a

form which imitates the common " e v i l s " of humanity? In his exploration

of the c l a s s i c s , he finds that tragedy, by im p l i c a t i o n , i s allowed to be

the superior muse: i t possesses a more d e f i n i t e form and i t has attained

to a higher morality.

The basis for t h i s higher morality and t h i s more d e f i n i t e form seemed

to rest upon some kind of l i t e r a l t r u t h . J. S. Sc a l i g e r , whose Poetice

Sidney used so f r e e l y , was one of the most i n f l u e n t i a l c r i t i c s of the

Renaissance. One of his pronouncements on the subject was "We are pleased

with j e s t s as i n comedy, or with things serious, i f r i g h t l y ordered.

For a l i s t i n g of researches made on Jonson's sources for t h i s work, see Herford. and Simpson, XI, 212.

Disregard of truth i s hateful to any man." . Implicit i n t h i s statement i s

the b e l i e f that things " r i g h t l y ordered" are the r e q u i s i t e of tragedy but

not of comedy. For Sc a l i g e r , tragedy was most l i k e l y to be r i g h t l y ordered

i f i t possessed "truth of argument", that i s an h i s t o r i c a l argument capable

of being presented with v e r i s i m i l i t u d e . He i s echoed by many of Jonson's

fellow countrymen, by Sidney and by S i r William Alexander, who thought

that tragedy, because of i t s gravity, should be founded on true h i s t o r y ,

"when the Greatness of a Known person, urging Regard, doth work the more 14

powerfully upon the A f f e c t i o n . " Samual Daniel i n h i s "Apology" to

Philotas says, "I thought so true a History, in the ancient forme of a

Tragedy, could not but have had an unreproveable passage with the time,

and the better sort of men, seeing with what i d e l f i c t i o n and grosse f o l l i e s 15

the Stage at t h i s day abused mens recreations." These men a l l equate

tragedy with things " r i g h t l y ordered" and with h i s t o r i c a l t r u t h . The danger

lay i n regarding something which was h i s t o r i c a l l y true as something which

was r i g h t l y ordered - a d i s t o r t i o n of A r i s t o t l e ' s idea of the known fable

forming the core of the t r a g i c t a l e . This danger was perhaps i n t e n s i f i e d

by the desire of the age for a new kind of r e a l i t y , a r e a l i t y based on accurate

knowledge and productive of concrete r e s u l t s .

Quoted from'and discussed in Joseph Allen Bryant, J r . , "The S i g n i ­ficance of Ben Jonson's F i r s t Requirement for Tragedy: 'Truth of Argument'," Studies i n Philology. XLIX ( A p r i l 1952), 199.

1 4 B r y a n t , p. 200.

Bryant, p. 200.

30

Tragedy might e a s i l y become hi s t o r y accurately reproduced and not as

Bacon evaluated the drama, l i k e h i s t o r y made v i s i b l e . Comedy, on the

other hand, might be denied d i g n i t y and order, since i t was not clo s e l y

linked with history and with things serious. Jonson f a l l s h e i r to the

f i r s t mistake but not to the second. If tragedy could be equated with

h i s t o r y , i t would approach closer to that Baconian palace of the mind i n

which reason and h i s t o r y , by bowing and buckling man's mind to the nature

of things, helped to restore his sovereignty i n the universe. But as

Jonson i s to discover with Seianus, i t could e a s i l y lose that touch of

d i v i n i t y , which Bacon by implication sets outside the bounds of hist o r y

and reason. In the creation of Sei anus, "truth of argument" becomes an

" h i s t o r i c a l l y v e r i f i a b l e argument", and Jonson, forgetting that the play­

wright does not look for truth based upon fact alone, produces a play that

gives no i n d i c a t i o n of the poet's imagination having penetrated the v e i l

of the past."^

There are of course other reasons for i t s f a i l u r e to "preserve popular d e l i g h t . " One, posited by Herford and Simpson, i s Jonson's neglect of the unity of time and thus the lack of a concentrated action. Another i s h i s own emotional makeup, which despite h i s protestations of

Leaue me. There's something come into my thought, That must, and s h a l l be sung, high, and aloofe, Safe from the wolues black iaw, and the d u l l asses hoofe,

(The P o e t a s t e T , "Apologetical Dialogue," 236-239)

could not iallow him, because of h i s adopted point of view, to give himself up completely to the t r a g i c a l dramatic world. For further comment on the f a i l u r e of Seianus. see Herford and Simpson, II, 27.

Although le s s had been said about comedy than about tragedy, p a r t i c u ­

l a r l y by A r i s t o t l e , there was a general attitude towards i t and some attempt

had been made to define i t . But i t was defined in terms a n t i t h e t i c a l to

those of tragedy and i t was granted only a negative morality. Despite the

current "Ciceronian" d e f i n i t i o n of comedy, as "an imitation of l i f e , a

mirror of manners and an image of t r u t h , " comedy was generally construed

,to be something which by implication i t should not be. Even Sidney i n h i s

Ao.dl-oqle f:or -jEe:d±Faa.echoes t h i s same strains

Comedy i s an i m i t a t i o n of the common errors of our l i f e , which he representeth i n the most r i d i c u l o u s and most sc o r n e f u l l sort that may be; so that i t i s impossible that any beholder can be content to be such a one. Now, as in Geometry, the oblique must bee knowne as wel as the r i g h t , and i n Arithmetick the odde as well as the euen, so i n the actions of our l i f e who seeth not the f i l t h i n e s of e u i l wanteth a great f o i l e to perceiue the beauty of vertue. 1?

Comedy should teach the moral nature of things, but i t can do so i n an

oblique and negative way only. It lacks an inherent morality because i t

casts an image of a truth which should not be.

Jonson i s c l o s e l y a l l i e d with t h i s t r a d i t i o n of moral c r i t i c i s m and

he so declares himself i n the dedicatory e p i s t l e to Volpones

For, i f men w i l l i m p a r t i a l l y , and not a-squint, looke toward t h e . o f f i c e s , and function of a Poet, they w i l l e a s i l y conclude to themselves, the i m p o s s i b i l i t y of any mans being the good Poet, without f i r s t being a good man.

(Vol. V, p. 17, 11. 20-23)

S i r P h i l i p Sidney, An Apologie for Poetrie. Henry Olney e d i t i o n (1595), i n Elizabethan C r i t i c a l Essays, ed. G. Gregory Smith (Oxfords University Press, 1904), I I , 176-177.

'32

In the same e p i s t l e there i s a recognition of a c o n f l i c t between the

" s t r i c t rigour of comick law", that i s , the t r a n q u i l l a ultima r e q u i s i t e

for comedy, and the f i n a l catastrophe of h i s own play. It i s an ultimate

morality which emerges as triumphant:

. . . my s p e c i a l l ayme being to put the snaf f l e i n t h e i r mouths, that c r i e out, we neuer punish vice i n our enterludes, & c. I tooke the more l i b e r t y ; though not without some l i n e s of example, drawne euen i n the ancients themselues, the goings out of whose comoedies are not alwaies i o y f u l l , but oft-times, the bawdes, the seruants, the r i u a l s , yea, and the masters are mulcted: and f i t l y , i t being the o f f i c e of-a-comick-Poet, to imitate i u s t i c e , and i n s t r u c t to l i f e , as well as p u r i t i e of language, or s t i r r e up gentle a f f e c t i o n s .

(Vol. V., p. 20, 11. 115-123)

Jonson asserts the morality and d i v i n i t y of poetry i n general. He

thereby reasserts the dignity of comedy, and i t i s to comedy that he

devotes h i s p r a c t i c a l e f f o r t s . For him the comic poet has as high and

po s i t i v e a purpose as does the t r a g i c : h i s aim i s to "imitate i u s t i c e and

i n s t r u c t to l i f e . " He i s not to give the populace the " r i b a l d r y , profanation,

blasphemy, a l l licence of offence" and "such foule, and unwash'd b'audr'y,

as i s now made the foode of the scene," a l l of which the popular taste

demanded but had much d i f f i c u l t y i n j u s t i f y i n g ; he i s to s t i r up gentle

a f f e c t i o n s as w e l l . When he proposes to s t r i p Poesie of those base rags

with which the times have clothed her for so long, i t i s again i n preface

to a comedy that he i s speaking.

33

. . . I s h a l l r a i s e the despis'd head of poetrie againe, and stripping her out of those rotten and base rags, wherwith the Times have adulterated her form, restore her to her primitiue habit, feature, and maiesty, and render her worthy to be imbraced, and k i s t , of a l l the great and masterspirits of our world.

(Volpone. V o l . V, p. 21, 11. 129-134)

Jonson i s keenly aware of c l a s s i c a l precept, but he always boldly

asserts his r i g h t to independent p r a c t i c e :

I see not then, but we should enioy the same l i c e n c e , or free power, to i l l u s t r a t e and heighten our inuentions as they Qthe ancients] did; and not bee tyed to those s t r i c t and regular formes which the nicenesse of a few (who are nothing but forme) would thrust vpon vs.

(EMOH, 2nd Sounding, 266-270)

The speech by Cordatus which immediately precedes the above conclusion

concerning the freedom of the a r t i s t outlines the development of Greek

comic form. In i t Jonson shows an acute and v i v i d sense of the evolution

of comedy. He not only r e a l i z e s that t h i s was i n another time and i n

another place, but that these "lawes were not delivered ab i n i t i o " . Even

when he proposes the so-called "Ciceronian" d e f i n i t i o n of comedy, the one

which i s so often c i t e d as the basis of Jonson's dramatic theory, he allows

himself again wide l a t i t u d e i n the rather negative nature of i t s presentation.

It i s offered to those who have not proposed a better.

You say w e l l , but I would faine heare one of these autumne-judgements define once, Quid s i t Comoedia? i f he cannot, l e t him content himselfe with CICEROS d e f i n i t i o n ( t i l l hee haue strength to propose to himselfe a better) who would have a Comoedie to be Imitatio v i t a e . Speculum consuetudinis. Imago v e r i t a t i s ; a thing, throughout pleasant, and r i d i c u l o u s , and accommodated to the correction of manners: . . . .

(EMOH. I l l , v i , 202-210)

Jonson, however, remains a respector of rules of form and standards

of morality. With comedy Jonson finds a sphere i n which rules and

precepts are less operative: comedy has been allowed abasic immorality

and i t has been les s subject to an accumulation of c l a s s i c a l dogma. It .

i s not surprising that Jonson, with h i s respect for c l a s s i c a l i n j u n c t i o n ,

should attempt to apply to comedy ce r t a i n standards of dramatic construction

which had been more d i r e c t l y r e l a t e d to tragedy. He cannot apply to comedy

the p r i n c i p l e of "truth of argument" and, as i t s c o r o l l a r y , the treatment

of the l i v e s of great men; he can i n s i s t that i t tr e a t of things " r i g h t l y

ordered" and he can make of i t a serious business, a way of looking at l i f e

This conception of the drama as a mirror was c e r t a i n l y not uncommon to the day, and one may compare the above statement by Jonson with Hamibet's advice to the players:

the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the f i r s t and now, was and i s , to hold, as 'twere 1

the mirror up to nature; to.show v i r t u e her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time h i s form and pressure.

( I l l , i i . 24-29)

• 3.5

with a legitimate claim to t r u t h , a claim reinforced by the perfection of

i t s form. He can give i t an honorable s t y l e , i f not a l o f t y one, he can

declare i t s r i g h t to imitate j u s t i c e and l i f e , he can reduce the absurdities

which bedevil i t s production, and he can assert i t s nature of s t i r r i n g

the gentle a f f e c t i o n s to p r o f i t and d e l i g h t . He can divide a comic play

into the r e q u i s i t e number of scenes and acts "according to the Terentian

manner", he can on occasion provide i t with a Chorus, and he can apply the

u n i t i e s of time and place. For unity of action he has h i s own i n t e r p r e t a ­

t i o n : a Jonsonian play i s not a plot i n imitat i o n of one action u n i f i e d

in a l l i t s parts, but the imitat i o n of many actions, each created in

accordance with an i n d i v i d u a l character and shaped with i n t e l l e c t u a l

tenacity into an a e s t h e t i c a l l y pleasing whole.

436

CHAPTER III

The Marriage of Two L i t e r a r y Theories: the Theory

of Humours and C l a s s i c a l Unity of Action

Jonson stands at the peak of his age, at a time when the growth of

the greater Elizabethan and Jacobean comedies i s dependent on conditions

e s s e n t i a l l y t r a n s i e n t , on the fusion of converging t r a d i t i o n s which are not

permanently compatible. Muriel Bradbrook characterizes t h i s fusion concisely

i n her study of Elizabethan comedy:

Cut of t h i s tension, the greater E l i z a ­bethan and Jacobean comedies were bred. Th e a t r i c a l and r h e t o r i c a l , organized and spontaneous, a r t i ­f i c i a l and natural, they r e f l e c t e d a way of l i f e and of speech which were likewise of the hour. Formal manners and vi o l e n t passions, gravity and b r u t a l i t y , j e s t and dig n i t y might be exem­p l i f i e d i n the l i v e s of the great from S i r Thomas More to S i r Walter Ralegh; these vi r t u e s did not equally belong to the generation of St r a f f o r d and Laud, Pym and Milton.1

It i s t h i s peculiar s p i r i t u a l moment of the times which Jonson

succeeds i n arresting i n a seemingly u n i f i e d and polished form. He weds

native l i t e r a r y growth to c l a s s i c a l i d e a l s . He pushes .his inheritance to

the point where technique i s exactly l e v e l with the thought.expressed and

brings i t to i t s f u l l e s t technical expression. After him comes the decadence.

"The 'Chinese w a l l ' which he b u i l t against barbarism remained to divide

Elizabethan from a l l subsequent drama; after Jonson nothing was quite the

• ..2 same again.

Bradbrook, Elizabethan Comedy, p. 7.

Bradbrook, p. 6.

• :37

One of the s p e c i f i c ways i n which he marries the native t r a d i t i o n to

the c l a s s i c a l one, and which r e f l e c t s the tension of disparate elements

held i n solution, i s the subject of the following chapters. It shows him

again crossing the boundaries between tragedy and comedy, of applying to

comedy those rules intended for'the construction of tragedy.

In comedy the inner being of a character i s less important than his

outer mode of being. Man the s o c i a l creature i s generally more important,

and there i s less e f f o r t to discern and depict his inner structure. Action 3

takes precedence: what matters most i s what he does, not what he i s .

Jonson's comedy d i f f e r s , for his i s not simply a comedy of manners, a vehicle

f o r expressing witty, i n c i s i v e views on s o c i a l men and manners. Despite

the i r o n i c detachment which he forces upon his audience and the delight

which t h i s detachment enables them to experience, h i s more earnest concern

i s with man and his character. This concern brings him close to the s p i r i t

Action, of course, i s most important to the dramatic mode i n general. A r i s t o t l e , i n his Poetics, points up the importance of action to tragedy:

The most important of these i s the putting together <5f. the separate actions, for tragedy i s an imitati o n not of men but of actions and l i f e . And happiness and unhappiness reside i n action, and the end i s some sort of action, not a q u a l i t y , f o r according to t h e i r actions they are happy or the reverse. They do not, then, act i n order to represent character, but i n the course of t h e i r actions they show what t h e i r characters are; so in the actions and the plot i s found the end of tragedy, and the end i s more important than anything e l s e . A l l a n H. G i l b e r t , ed. L i t e r a r y C r i t i c i s m . Plato to Dryden (New York: American Book Co., 1940), p. 77.

3£ of tragedy and to the t r a g i c mode as w e l l . In tragedy the protagonist

must have a strongly r e a l i z e d character, for he himself aids in the subtle

alchemy of his own misery. In contrast to the more accidental world of

comedy, there e x i s t s between character and action a strong causal r e l a t i o n ­

ship. Jonson, i n his drama, likewise works to e s t a b l i s h a strong character-

action nexus.

Jonson, along with other Renaissance c r i t i c s and with the neo-

c l a s s i c i s t s , has been accused of e n t i r e l y neglecting the most e s s e n t i a l

and most important unity of a l l s the unity of action, p r i m a r i l y , i t i s said,

because i t i s the one most d i f f i c u l t to understand and to apply, coming only

to those nat u r a l l y endowed as dramatists. But Jonson does in f a c t comprehend

A r i s t o t l e ' s notion of the unity of a c t i o n . In h i s Discoveries the section

on action i s among the most lengthy and the most l u c i d l y written. More

important s t i l l he see's the organic nature of i t s r e l a t i o n s h i p to h i s

theory of humours. A passage from the Discoveries w i l l i l l u s t r a t e the

way i n which he makes the connection. From the fourth chapter of the Dutch

scholar Daniel Heinsius' De traqoedioe constitutione. published in Leyden

i n 1611, Jonson takes the whole of his f i n a l essay "Of the Magnitude and

Compass of Any F a b l e . " 4 In the section on "What [is meant] by one and

e n t i r e " concerning the madness of Sophocles' Aiax. Heinsius' text reads

thus:

J . E. Spingarn, "The Sources of Ben Jonson's 'Discoveries'", Modern Philology II ( A p r i l 1905), 451-462.

Exempli g r a t i a , Sophoclis Aiacem videamus: Aiax armis priuatus, indignatur, & s i c erat contumaliae impatiens, r a b i t ac f u r i t . Ergo, quod pro t a l i est, haud pauca sine mente ag i t , & postramo pro Ulysse pecudes insanus mactat.

Jonson tr a n s l a t e s t h i s passage i n the following Manner:

For example, i n a tragedy, look upon Sophocles his Ajax: Ajax, deprived of A c h i l l e s ' armor, which he hoped from suffrage of the Greeks, disdains, and growing impatient of the i n j u r y , rageth, and turns mad. In that humor he doth many senseless things, and at l a s t f a l l s upon the Grecian flock and k i l l s a great ram for Ulysses:^ 1

He sees the necessary c o r r e l a t i o n between the humour, as a key to

character, and the humour as an organizing source of action. He under­

stands A r i s t o t l e ' s observation on the nature of t r a g i c action and the way

i n which i t grows out of a flaw i n the nature of a man e s s e n t i a l l y good.

What A r i s t o t l e lays out in formal analysis, and what Jonson rediscovers,

i s rather aptly i l l u s t r a t e d by a work of l i t e r a t u r e which helped to mold

Greek drama and which, l i k e the Elizabethan drama, had connections with

popular t r a d i t i o n and with legend - the I l i a d , the subject of which i s

rather e x p l i c i t l y stated as "the wrath of A c h i l l e s . " It not only deals

with one action, i t deals primarily with one mood, one emotion, whose source

i s a t tributed to an "unknown" quantity - ate - and which engenders a central

l i n e of action. ^The I l i a d , i n contrast to the Odvssev. has the refinement

of an art growing out of the personal and oral bardic t r a d i t i o n and develop­

ing beyond i t i n s o p h i s t i c a t i o n of form. The Cdyssev. on the other hand,

i s more clo s e l y a l l i e d to the older t r a d i t i o n i n possessing a loose, informal

Spingarn, p. 458.

40.

narrative thread whose winding path of action i s s i m i l a r to the organization

a bard might aadopifc in s i t t i n g down to his harp. To i t belongs the search

motif, involving many moods and many incidents that comprise the making

of a better man, the shaping of a better character^

The character of A c h i l l e s i s already formed at the beginning of the

I l i a d . The problem i s to f i n d within the character a mood or emotion of

s u f f i c i e n t momentum to carry i t into action. Jonson faces t h i s same problem,

and i t i s a problem more c r u c i a l to the drama than to the epic. A c h i l l e s '

one dominant emotion makes him stand out on the vast stage set for the

Trojan War. In order to appear l i f e l i k e , he must loom larger than l i f e .

An image of man i s caught from the f a s t , swift-flowing stream of l i f e .

Jonson, i n r e s t r i c t i n g h i s imagination, cannot allow his characters, save

for one, to flow with great passion, but they are not mere r i p p l e s i n a

stream. They do stand o.ut with vigor and with force. Often they have been

l a b e l l e d as mere car i c a t u r e s . A better word, perhaps, considering the

derogatory connotations which have been attached to the former, i s conceits,

elaborate conceits imbued with t h e i r own p e c u l i a r l i f e . Jonson's reason and

" s c i e n t i f i c " realism do not thwart h i s poetic g i f t .

A c h i l l e s , however^ i s not j u s t a man with a flaw, or with one mood.

He also acts i n other ways. Hamartia in Greek tragedy was an "error in

See discussion by Ray L. Heffner, J r . , "Unifying Symbols in the Comedy of Ben Jonson," Ben Jonson. A C o l l e c t i o n of C r i t i c a l Essays, ed. Jonas A. Barish (New Jerseys P r e n t i c e - H a l l , Inc., 1963), p. 146.

41;

judgment", a kind of catalyst between character and a c t i o n . C o n f l i c t ,

the interplay between good and bad, p o s i t i v e and negative, love and hate, i s ,

i n terms of character d e l i n e a t i o n , a l i f e l i k e source of action. For Jonson

one-half of t h i s c o n f l i c t i s relegated to a t h e o r e t i c a l realm, and t h i s

t h e o r e t i c a l realm, even though not dramatized, s t i l l plays a prominent

part i n the l i f e of his characters and the structure of h i s plays. This

omission from the l i f e of h i s stage makes i t more d i f f i c u l t for him to

achieve the strong character-action r e l a t i o n s h i p which he seeks. He has

some d i f f i c u l t y in defining the l i m i t s of his characters. Too often i n h i s

early plays he simply displays character, but one sees him working towards

a general conception of character. After Every Man Out Of His Humour,

he has thought and written enough about his theory of humours to accept i t

i n theory without too much further contention. Once he has accepted the

humour i n theory and grafted i t to the unity of action, a growth does take

place.

A r i s t o t l e defines plot as the imitation of an action and states that

i t "should be concerned with one thing and that a whole." .Plot, however,

i s something more than the imitation of an action; i t i s a synthesis-of

i n d i v i d u a l acts and i t i s given a separate and d i s t i n c t designation when

he further says the thing imitated consists of plot,.character, and action.

During the Renaissance, c e r t a i n elements were abstracted from A r i s t o t l e ' s

Poetics and made c r i t i c a l e n t i t i e s i n themselves. The u n i t i e s of time and

place and, to a l e s s e r extent, that of action, p a r t i a l l y created and greatly

emphasized by the I t a l i a n c r i t i c s , soon found t h e i r way into English

l i t e r a t u r e . Although Jonson's t r a n s l a t i o n of Heinsius preserves the idea

42j

of the p l o t , or fab l e , as something more than an im i t a t i o n of action, i t

would appear from his ap p l i c a t i o n of "truth of argument" to Seianus. d i s ­

cussed i n the preceding chapter, that he f a i l s to grasp the t o t a l s i g n i f i c a n c e

of each part of the i m i t a t i o n .

Imitation, as A r i s t o t l e and the Greeks understood i t , was an organic

conception, and i t was a process during which natural growth occurred;

once t h i s growth had occurred, no one part could be disentangled from

another without there being damage to the whole. Action was but one of

these parts. This was not to say that the process involved no conscious

c o n t r o l :

. . . for i t i s necessary that poems produce not any pleasure they happen to but such as I have spoken of.'

A poem must have beauty, and beauty consisted of both magnitude and order.

A poem must be well-ordered and i t must imitate l i f e .

The Greeks perceived, or had perceived, order in the universe. This

order was continually reaffirmed through r e l i g i o u s r i t u a l and imbedded

i t s e l f i n both legend and myth, on which A r i s t o t l e observed the best

tragedies to have been based. The r i t u a l embodied an universal experience

with an order not that of h i s t o r i c a l time. The existence of r i t u a l , both

i n Greek and i n Elizabethan times, proved important to the b i r t h of the

drama as s i g n i f i c a n t art form. When i t l o s t i t s force, eventually the

G i l b e r t , L i t e r a r y C r i t i c i s m , p". 115.

43

drama died as w e l l . Now, A r i s t o t l e says, the poet need not use the

t r a d i t i o n a l myths, though they "please everybody". He may make his own

p l o t s ; indeed he must be a maker of p l o t s , rather than meters. The i n d i ­

vidual poet i s now the creator and i n t e r p r e t e r .

Heretofore, t h i s perception of a fourth dimension, embodied i n r i t u a l ,

myth, and legend, had been created, not feigned^ from out of the being and

experience of the people. The dream, as some would choose to c a l l i t ,

was r e a l . That dream, a l i v i n g force, now elusive, now intensely present,

could never be l o g i c a l l y formulated and defined by the discriminating

i n t e l l e c t . It was expressible only i n the metaphor of poetry or the abstract

language of philosophy; and Plato, the f i r s t to formulate the problem of

i t s existence, resorts f i n a l l y to a metaphor to convey the fu l l n e s s of his

meaning. It was through a continual pursuit of t h i s dream that man, the

Greeks i n p a r t i c u l a r , emerged into f u l l e r awareness on the plot of earth

which he did occupy. Through i t there came into being thought or reason,

science, mathematics, philosophy, and r e l i g i o n as a mode of thought.

Without i t thought would have found no s p a t i a l and temporal rhythm i n which

i t could move, and without i t science today would have no idea upon which

to base a " f a c t u a l " or "objective" pursuit of the atom.

Greek r i t u a l , and the r i t u a l of preceding c i v i l i z a t i o n s , aligned man

with a l l forces of the universe, i n an horizontal and c y c l i c a l movement

within the order of nature and i n a v e r t i c a l and transcendent movement

towards an absolute. The mythos of medieval C h r i s t i a n i t y , with i t s

correspondences seeking to penetrate and incorporate every corner of the

universe, did likewise. The Greeks' f i r s t philosophical statement of order

had been a statement of moral order as w e l l . The medieval world picture

also r e f l e c t e d a moral order, and t h i s morality was one aspect of nature,

but not a substitute for nature i t s e l f . Morality was primarily the function

of the reason, that a t t r i b u t e of man which set him apart from h i s fellow

creatures, making him less perfect than they and at the same time d i v i n e l y

p e r f e c t i b l e above them. The reason was opposed neither to nature nor to

f a i t h , and e v i l was not the god of nature. As the Renaissance progressed,

however, and man walked farther away from his s p i r i t u a l heritage, there

grew a narrow and c o n s t r i c t i n g i n t e r p r e t a t i o n of nature, p a r t i c u l a r l y

man's s p i r i t u a l nature, of god and morality, of good and e v i l , and of s i n .

As man achieved greater freedom in s c i e n t i f i c thought, i n p o l i t i c s , and i n

society, he became the greater bondsman i n s p i r i t . Everything contains

within i t s e l f the seeds of i t s own destruction, as well as the seeds of

r e b i r t h , and C h r i s t i a n i t y grew s t e a d i l y towards a harvest of weeds.

That Elizabethan world picture from which Jonson abstracts the

t e l e o l o g i c a l implications of i t s frame of reference leads one to expect a

f u l l e r representation of what was possible within t h i s frame. That morality

towards which man might aspire with the f u l l n e s s of his senses becomes,

however, only something which he should obey. Between morality and reason,

the senses lose t h e i r r i g h t f u l place i n the scheme of things. Knowledge

and awareness of the senses are keenly present in Jonson's plays, but they

have become that which leads man only to the r i d i c u l o u s or the depraved.

And so the dream i s l o s t too. When his characters seek to abide by or

aspire to an absolute, as he impels them to do, they are doomed to f a i l u r e ,

not because man i s an imperfect, earthbound, creature, but because man i s

b l i n d , and that blindness in Jonson's world view i s e v i l . Jonson gives

them t h i s blindness. He chastises, and castigates, them for not being

able to see, but he shows them no p o s i t i v e world that i s p o e t i c a l l y v i s i b l e .

T. S. E l i o t says of Jonson that "he employs immense dramatic constructive

s k i l l : i t i s not so much s k i l l i n plot as s k i l l i n doing without a p l o t . "

With reference to the i n d i v i d u a l plots of Volpone. The S i l e n t Woman, and Q

The Alchemist, he says " i t i s rather an 'action' than a p l o t . " Generally,

the action i n Jonson's plays does not comprise d i s t i n c t i v e l y d i f f e r e n t and

i n d i v i d u a l actions which add up to one body of action or p l o t . It i s

rather an i n f i n i t e number of v a r i a t i o n s on the same, or a s i m i l a r , action.

Instead of a plot or fable, one finds a magnificently ordered and highly

wrought design i n which each scrap of material i s made to f i t and cohere

in a d e f i n i t e way.

In the r i c h l y colored tapestry of Jonson's work there i s no network

of universal experience. The characters have no threads of i n f i n i t y to

help sustain them. Nor do they have assistance from the concept, "A man's

character i s h i s destiny," a philosophical statement not born of a c o n s t r i c t ­

ing world view. In Jonson, a man's humour i s h i s destiny, and that humour

has only one plane of existence. The nature of that 'humour, which i s

likewise a world view, disallows any r e a l "change" or transformation for

hi s characters, for a l l i s firmly predetermined before the play begins.

E l i o t , Sacred Wood, p. 105.

46

It also l i m i t s the nature and the extent of the acti o n : the action does not

grow as the character unfolds; i t s p i r a l s with masterly inventiveness i n

accordance with the organizing p r i n c i p l e of the humour. By a per s i s t e n t

narrowing and l i m i t i n g of the humour character Jonson finds a suitable

channel for h i s p a r t i c u l a r poetic i n s p i r a t i o n and thereby s u f f i c i e n t energy

to infuse h i s characters with the emotional i n t e n s i t y required f o r acti o n .

After The Case Is Altered, Jonson abandons the borrowing, refurbishing

and re-organization of old p l o t s . He diverges to experiment and finds i n

Volpone and The Alchemist a more completely i n d i v i d u a l i s t i c synthesis. The

following chapters make an attempt to discover the nature of h i s point of

view as i t grows out of h i s plays and to show the careful and conscious

a r t i s t r y with which he weaves into his work the two strands of the humour

theory and unity of action, the former symptomatic of h i s point of view,

the l a t t e r i n d i c a t i v e of his deliberate a r t .

CHAPTER IV

The Case Is Altered and The Alchemist

The Case Is Altered, f i r s t published i n 1609, i s dated by Herford and

Simpson at 1597-98."'' It i s Jonson's only known attempt at using the double

p l o t so much i n vogue in the Elizabethan drama and at borrowing readymade

plots to t a i l o r to h i s own uses. Jonson takes his s t o r i e s from two con­

t r a s t i n g plays of Plautus, the Captives and the A u l u l a r i a - the one a serious

romance with comic r e l i e f , the other a s a t i r i c a l comic treatment of avarice

with serious moments. Although both lend themselves to the Elizabethan

love of mingling grave and gay, neither s a t i s f i e s the same taste for a

plot f i l l e d with incidents and crowded with persons. In addition, both,

more or less s t r i c t l y , adhere to the c l a s s i c a l u n i t i e s of time and place.

Jonson attempts, with no great success, to s a t i s f y both his Elizabethan

taste and h i s regard for c l a s s i c a l s t r i c t u r e s . He m u l t i p l i e s the characters,

adds abundance of d e t a i l , and makes v a r i a t i o n s on the theme; he maintains

the unity of place and to a lesser extent the unity of time; he does not

yet have control of his characters nor does he achieve unity of action.

Herford and Simpson state i n t h e i r introduction to t h i s work that

Jonson m u l t i p l i e s the motives as he never does i n his mature plays, wherein 2

he uses a fundamental motive and m u l t i p l i e s the circumstances. Of The

Case Is Altered i t would perhaps be truer to say that Jonson has

Herford and Simpson, I, 305-306.

Herford and Simpson, I, 307.

4.8

not decided whether to depict men as acting from base motives or from pure

motives; he has not r e a l l y determined what the motives are to be, at least

not i n strong enough l i n e s for him to manipulate dramatically; and, i n the

early phases of his career, Jonson does need strongly outlined boundaries

before he can see how to move within them. His f a i l u r e to fi n d these

boundaries may r e s u l t from the borrowed double p l o t . At any r a t e , i t

remains a borrowed one, even af t e r i t has passed through his hands. Jonson,

due to h i s inexperience i n handling and his uncertainty at viewing the

mater i a l , f a i l s to make of i t a creation p e c u l i a r l y his own. Since he has

already before him the main l i n e s of h i s two p l o t s , he i s not forced to

develop the strong character, strong, that i s , i n terms of one t r a i t or

one motive, which, when i t becomes a humour, can express i t s e l f with

passion - a passion of s u f f i c i e n t strength to give momentum to a fe a s i b l e

l i n e of acti o n .

In t h i s play Jonson experiments with the passion of love, but one

fee l s t h i s i s e n t i r e l y a l i e n ground for him, because he imbues i t with

l i t t l e sentiment, and with less passion. It i s a theme, s h i f t i n g and

s u p e r f i c i a l , anchored only i n i t s concentration on the one person of

Rachel de P r i e . It i s used to multiply action, but i t never possesses

s u f f i c i e n t motivation i n any terms, ei t h e r l o g i c a l or i l l o g i c a l , to produce

a coherent p l o t . Onion who would, to s a t i s f y h i s love, have a "prety

Paradox or some A l i q o r y " made, i s e a s i l y turned aside from his wooing by the

discovery of Jaques 1 treasure. One does not learn of Christophero 1s love

u n t i l Onion has sought his help i n wooing Rachel. His prime consideration

i n the matter seems to be only the p o s s i b i l i t y of an altered r e l a t i o n s h i p

with his master the Count who, immediately upon hearing of h i s servant's

49

s u i t , expresses his own desire for the beggar maid:

I spide her, l a t e l y , at her fathers doore, And i f I did not see in her sweet face Gentry and nobleness, nere trust me more: But t h i s perswasion, fancie wrought in me, That f a c i e being created with her lookes, For where loue i s he thinke[s] his basest obiect Gentle and noble: I am farre i n loue.

(II, v i , 37-43)

He analyses the basis of his emotion and then coolly discards i t . If the

involvement of Onion and Christophero in the c i r c l e of love can, to some

extent, be explained, but not so e a s i l y j u s t i f i e d , on the s t r u c t u r a l bases

of comic parody and p a r a l l e l i s m of scene, the action of Count Ferneze i s

not so e a s i l y accounted f o r . If i t i s only, as Herford and Simpson suggest,

for the purpose of feeding Jaques' fear, the e f f e c t , revealed i n the actions

of Jaques, may be dramatic, but the cause, contained i n the actions of

the Count, i s neither dramatic or belie v a b l e .

If one, on the other hand, sees love-betrayal, and the r e s u l t i n g

entanglements, as the true comic motive, one can only say that the betrayals

are committed most casually and without any r e a l conviction. Angelo,

perhaps because his treachery i s greater, seems to make a better case for

his b e t r a y a l :

He*'is an asse that w i l l keepe promise s t r i c k t l y In any thing that checkes h i s priuate pleasure; C h i e f l y i n loue. S'bloud am not I a man? Haue I not eyes that are as free to looke? And bloud to be enflam'd as well as hi s ?

( I l l , i , 9-13)

S t i l l , i n his vehemence, he can o f f e r no better motive than "am not I a

man?" and the nature of his character i s only t h i n l y prepared for by Paulo's

wondering h e s i t a t i o n at t r u s t i n g his fr i e n d and the Count's a l l u s i o n to

Angelo's fourteen mistresses.

The passions of love for these characters do not e x i s t . It i s love

by every other name save that of love. Paulo would seem to be representa­

t i v e of the passion i n i t s p u r i t y , but the importance of his r e l a t i o n s h i p

with Rachel i s usurped on the stage, in his absence, by the rather more

base connivings of his fellows. The love between him and Rachel provides

the touchstone by which that of others i s judged, judged e i t h e r as black

or white. Again, the choice for Jonson seems to be, "Do men act from base

motives or pure ones?" He does not seem able to draw the character capable

of encompassing both convincingly. When he does make the choice, he

attacks the problem with more certainty, with more verve, and i t i s always

the rogues who act most convincingly.

Since the character motivation and delineation are d i f f u s e , one would

expect the action to be likewise. Perhaps because of the already e x i s t i n g

l i n e s of action Erom the borrowed plots and the symmetry achieved i n the

p a r a l l e l i s m of the m u l t i p l i e d scenes, the r e s u l t i s not the same. Instead,

as J . J . Enck describes i t i n his a r t i c l e on t h i s play,

The plot and language both have a thorough­going s t r a t i f i c a t i o n which includes almost a l l the p r i n c i p a l characters and, furthermore, f u r ­nishes them t h e i r main motivation. These e l e ­ments r a r e l y infuse one another; rather they are p a r a l l e l l i n e s . Such perpendicularity con­t r i b u t e s something to the e f f e c t of puppets which i t i s claimed Jonson's characters often convey. They respond less to each other than to t h e i r own natures, which happen to be stimu­lated by other presences on the stage or j u s t off i t . At the same time the cause of t h e i r problems i s an incompleteness as human -beings, a deficiency either of knowledge or of the w i l l to determine i t : a lack either of the

information to round out s e n s i t i v i t y or of the s e n s i t i v i t y to give meaning to i n f o r ­mation. In The Case Is'' Altered, as i n a l l early Jonsonian drama, the c o n f l i c t s arise from a lack (a negative) which with practice breaks into a p o s i t i v e excess.^'

This s t r a t i f i c a t i o n a r i s e s , as suggested above, from the incomplete

fusion of the two p l o t l i n e s , which i n turn arises from his f a i l u r e to

move his characters convincingly across these l i n e s .

The perpendicular motion which the action describes in t h i s play i s

an imposed one, for i t does not proceed e a s i l y or s t r a i g h t l y from the

characters. Too often, character and action are sustained separately. In

l a t e r plays the action proceeds more l o g i c a l l y from character, but i t

s t i l l r e t a i n s the nature of the perpendicular: the characters are s t i l l

responding more to t h e i r own natures than to each other, they are speaking

s t i l l at cross purposes, they are yet acting from an incompleteness, a

lack, an i n s u f f i c i e n c y of s e n s i t i v i t y and information. Now, however, they

act upon these negatives i n a more p o s i t i v e way, and i n The Alchemist,

when Jonson frees them completely from the abstract spectre of j u s t i c e

and morality, they act with the gay abandon and the complete control of

t h e i r negatively conceived (that i s , based on i n s u f f i c i e n t knowledge, wrong

-assumptions, and i n s e n s i t i v i t y ) , but p o s i t i v e l y f u l f i l l e d convictions.

Miss Una Ellis-Fermo apparently discerns a s i m i l a r perpendicularity

i n The Alchemist and she likewise a t t r i b u t e s to t h i s play a s t r a t i f i c a t i o n

^ J . J . Enck, "The Case Is Altered: I n i t i a l Comedy of Humours," Studies in Philology. L ( A p r i l 1953), 209.

52

of action and character. She describes the c h a r a c t e r i s t i c s of the

structure of The Alchemist i n terms of a modernistic, non-representational

p a i n t i n g :

If we choose as our starting-point a picture that consists of s p i r a l s and related curves forming one design and underlying them or superimposed, two-dimensional blocks of colour forming another and apparently indepen­dent design-(as i n the manner of Picasso), we have a convenient starting-point for describing some of the c h a r a c t e r i s t i c s of the structure of the 4

Alchemist

She sees the inte r a c t i o n s of the p l o t , the " s p i r a l s and related curves",

as something e x i s t i n g quite separately from the characters and t h e i r moods,

the "two-dimensional blocks of colour". The reason for t h i s e f f e c t she

determines to be the occurrence of passages, such as the dialogue of

Subtle and Face, the speeches of S i r Epicure Mammon, and the ravings of

Dol (Act IV), which are " l i k e slabs of pure colour standing apart from and P.

independent of the l i n e pattern i n a p i c t u r e . " '

The g l o r i o u s l y sensual speeches of Mammon may stand out i n massive

color blacks, but they are not wholly i s o l a t e d from the action to form a

completely separate design. When Mammon, i n a n t i c i p a t i o n of acquiring the

wonder-working philosopher's stone, feeds h i s passion u n t i l i f flows with

poetic e x a l t a t i o n through perfumed mists, gossamer and roses, to o s t r i c h

fans and dishes of agate, emerald, .sapphire, to pheasants' eggs and cockles

bo i l e d i n s i l v e r s h e l l s , he i s at one and the same time pouring out the

'Ellis-Fermor, p. 44.

''Ellis-Fermor, pp 47-48.

substance of one of the "slabs of pure colour"; that i s , he i s f u l f i l l i n g

h i s mood and feeding his humour in the realm of poetic language, and he

i s also o u t l i n i n g graphic action in words, he i s conveying the f e e l i n g of

action on another l e v e l - a l e v e l that, e x i s t s i n the mind alone.

This action, although i t takes place i n the mind alone, does not

do so i n the manner of Shakespeare and other dramatists, by carrying the

c o n f l i c t to another l e v e l - the realm of c o n f l i c t i n g ideas, for example

- so that t h i s realm in turn gives added dimension to the primary l i n e of

action (that a c t u a l l y taking place before the eyes of the audience on the

stage). Instead, i t uses action of the f i r s t kind (from the primary l e v e l )

to form a l a t t i c e work on which the humour grows upward to excess. When

Mammon can construct a l i t t l e drama i n which he sees himself walking naked

between his succubae to lose himself in rooms vapored and perfumed, to

f a l l into baths of the enormity of p i t s , to emerge thence to dry in gossamer

and roses, and a l l t h i s action m u l t i p l i e d by glasses cut in subtle angles,

he i s o u t l i n i n g and feeding i n projected action the abnormality which,

when fed in t h i s manner, w i l l r e s u l t in an act on the primary l e v e l of

action.

The lack of c o n f l i c t i n the realm of ideas i s the r e s u l t of the

framework which Jonson sets himself. There does ex i s t a c o n f l i c t between

the true and the f a l s e , but for the characters themselves there i s l i t t l e

c o n f l i c t between the two. For them the f a l s e affords t h e i r p r i n c i p a l

r e a l i t y , but the moral imposition of Jonson's frame of reference would suggest

that the true i s the r e a l i t y . Within the frame, however, there i s no equal

e x t e r n a l i z a t i o n of the two ideas; instead the true stalks the outer boundaries

54

l i k e a waiting actor deprived of his part. When an awareness of the two

opposing ideas does occur in a character, the action seems to s u f f e r .

Although K i t e l y , i n Every Man In His Humour, has reasonably strong motivation,

he i s somewhat i n h i b i t e d by an awareness which transcends h i s humour and he

cannot act with the ease of Subtle or Face or Volpone. Macilente usurps

most of the action i n Every Man Out Of His Humour, and h i s motivation,

af t e r h i s entry into the play, must take the name of humourous envy,

rather than pure hatred. The frame of reference i s important i n that i t

provides something against which to measure the humour. But the characters

may only move from one side of the frame to the other, being thrown from

t h e i r course by the impact of having h i t the opposite boundary of the con­

s t r i c t i n g frame. In between these two points there has been no growth,

no change, no development; there has been only acceleration along an already

determined path. That which ex i s t s outside t h i s frame i s denied the

characters; there i s no place to which they can aspire and so they.turn

inward to feed upon themselves.

Speeches such as those r e f e r r e d to above (p. 52) help then to f o r e ­

shadow and promote the action, or rather they help to bring the action into

existence; S i r Epicure Mammon's speech outlines and indulges the abnormality

and i n indulging the abnormality i t gives i t added impetus. Thus the

ac c e l e r a t i o n becomes greater, u n t i l only a head-on c o l l i s i o n can meet

the thrust with s u f f i c i e n t force to throw i t off i t s ironbound track.

The s p i r a l s of the l i n e design then, to return to Miss Fermor's terms,

are not independent of the slabs of c o l o r : they move with greater

force because of them - with greater force and with a residue of t h e i r

c o l o r i n g . The action may not seem to grow out of the character, but

35

i t does proceed in l o g i c a l agreement with the terms of that character's

existence.

The upward s p i r a l l i n g movement of action i n The Alchemist i s the

f u l l e s t r e a l i z a t i o n of t h i s aspect of Jonson^'s a r t . Each i n d i v i d u a l

character, because of the nature of his being, can never break out of t h i s

s p i r a l l i n g movement in the i n t e r a c t i o n with other characters which one

o r d i n a r i l y expects in the p l o t ; he can only come back down to earth. In

the meantime they can a l l ascend together as invention follows invention.

Face almost always finds a way out. One may not be prepared for t h i s in

the l o g i c of the p l o t , but i t does conform to the l o g i c of Face's character.

The s t r i c t channelling of the humour within l i m i t s sharply defined permits

Jonson to achieve t h i s i n t e n s i t y of action which allows invention upon new

invention i n the turns of the action.

In The Alchemist the humours do not figure prominently, but Jonson

has perfected a rhythm of action, hitherto generally a pattern of movement,

most suitable to his type of character. In Volpone he taps the true depths

of his stream of i n s p i r a t i o n and he finds s u f f i c i e n t momentum for v i r i l e

and r e l a t e d action. In The Alchemist, i f there i s not much t a l k of humours,

there i s much t a l k i n humour. With the exception of Volpone, such richness

of language i s found nowhere else in Jonson.

During the f i r s t half of Jonson's career, up to and including Volpone.

one can see him evolving strong, " l o g i c a l " action in d i r e c t proportion to

the strength with which he molds his characters, both of these a r t i s t i c

ingredients depending in turn on the firmness with which he holds a point

of view and being the means by which he r e a l i z e s that view i n an a r t i s t i c

56

creation. The. point i s not that the theory of humours affords a f a c i l e

explanation of his technique but that he i s only able to mold strong

character i n terms of one concentrated t r a i t or motive.

In The Case Is Altered one can perceive the growth of the humour

character and i t s enlivening e f f e c t on the action. The tempo of t h i s play

increases to a more sp r i g h t l y and natural pace when a more strongly delineated

character takes the center of the stage. When Count Ferneze enters for the

f i r s t time, he does so in an impatient peremptory manner, i l l u s t r a t i n g h i s

son's (Paulo's) d e s c r i p t i o n of him which precedes his entry:

You know my father's wayward and his humour Must not receiue a check, f or then a l l obiects, Feede both his g r i e f e and h i s impatience, And those a f f e c t i o n s i n him, are l i k e powder, Apt to enflame with euery l i t t l e sparke, And blow vp reason, therefore Anqelo. peace.

(I , v i , 85-90)

He f i r e s a short quick dialogue and sends the servants f l y i n g about i n search of his son Paulo, upon which he concludes,

Patience? a Saint would loose h i s patience to be crost, As I am with a sort of motly braines See, see, how l i k e a nest of Rookes they stand, Gaping on one another.'

( I , v i i , 17-20)

At t h i s point there enters another character to whom there has also

been at t r i b u t e d a humour: 0 he i s one as r i g h t of thy humour as may be,

a plaine simple Rascal, a true dunce, marry he hath bene a notable v i l a i n e i n his time: he i s i n loue, s i r r a h , with a wench, & I have preferd thee to him, . . .

(Juniper to Antony Balladino of Onion; I, i i , 11-14)

Onion also possesses something of the Count's i r a s c i b l e nature and i s

capable of f a l l i n g into a "prejudicate humour" which he does at t h i s

moment. After having t r i e d to d e l i v e r a message to the Count, only to be

fr u s t r a t e d into speaking at cross purposes by the Count's humour, he exclaims,

Mary I say your Lordship were best to set me to schoole againe, to learne how to d e l i v e r a message.

(I, v i i , 34-35)

Correct him [himself, Onion] ? S'bloud come you and correct him

and you have a minde to i t . Correct him, that's a good i e s t I faith,the Steward and you both, come and correct him.

( I , v i i , 45-47")

Whereupon. Onion's threat i s met and he i s ejected from the scene.

In Act II another strongly outlined character from the second plot

(of the Aulular-ia) makes his appearance. Having spied Paulo and Angelo

haunting h i s abode, Jaques immediately delineates his moving passion, i t s

e f f e c t s upon him, and the object to which i t i s attached. He i s presented

boldly from the f i r s t : What a could sweat

Flow'd on my browes, and over a l l my bosome! Had I not reason? to behold my dore Beset with v n t h r i f t s , . . . .

That I might l i u e alone once with my gold. 0 ' t i s a sweet companion! kind & true.' A man may t r u s t i t when his father cheats himj Brother, or f r i e n d , or wife! o wondrous p e l f e ,

..That which makes a l l men f a l s e , i s true i t s e l f e .

( I I , i , 2-5, 27-31)

In considering the possible motives for h i s two v i s i t a t i o n s he also outlines

possible convolutions of the action. F i n a l l y he decides that lechery i s

t h e i r motive, rather than gain, both of which motives are couched i n

pejorative terms, and that i t i s h i s daughter Rachel they seek. Immediately

following t h i s excessive fear i s a v i v i d b i t of dialogue i n which Jaques

outlines Rachel's actions for her during h i s absence:

Rachel I must abroad. Lock thy selfe In, but yet take out the key, That whosoeuer peepes i n at the key-hole, May yet imagine there i s none at home.

I w i l l s i r .

But harke thee Rachels say a theefe should come, And misse the key, he would resolue indeede None.were at home, and so breake in the rather: Ope the doore Rachel. set i t open daughter; But s i t in i t ibhy s e l f e : and talke alowd, As i f there were some more in house with thee: Put out the f i r e , k i l l the chimnies hart, That i t may breath no more then a dead man. The more we spare my c h i l d , the more we gaine.

( I I , i , .53-66) He takes h i s leave, and the e x c i t a t i o n of his humour has recreated l i f e ,

of a peculiar brand, upon the stage: he has been moved to an almost poetic

e x a l t a t i o n i n protecting his gold and he has added measurably in a concen­

trated moment to the f e e l i n g that here i s action being Imitated and not

merely character alone. Jaques has for a moment begun to describe that

upward, h e l i c a l s p i r a l , but i t i s not sustained and he f a l l s back into

the s t r a t i f i e d l i m i t s of his own p l o t .

Jaques.

Rachel.

Jaque s.

CHAPTER V

Every Man In His Humour

This play, f i r s t acted i n 1598, was not printed u n t i l 1601 and was

not again issued u n t i l the F o l i o e d i t i o n of 1616, at which time, before

being placed f i r s t i n the e d i t i o n of Jonson's works, i t had undergone an

elaborate r e v i s i o n . The r e v i s i o n , which probably took place about 1608-

10, embraces an advance i n technical and s t y l i s t i c maturity; the general

dramatic substance of plot and character, however, remains e s s e n t i a l l y the

same. The most important change i s made in a p r a c t i c a l bow to the precept

Truth to L i f e ; the se t t i n g , formerly I t a l y , i s now transferred to London.

In r e l a t i o n to The Case Is Altered, some elements of Plautine comedy are

s t i l l retained: "the pair of e l d e r l y c i t i z e n s , deceived and outwitted by

a pair of l i v e l y young men; the shrewd serving-man who plays t h e i r game -

i n the i n t e r v a l s of playing h i s own; and the bragging soldier.""'' Other

l i t e r a r y influences, more d i s t i n c t l y Elizabethan, may have contributed to

the nature of t h i s play, which, nevertheless, owes l i t t l e to the stimulus

of previous l i t e r a t u r e . Chapman's Humourous Day's Mirth may have supplied

some hints for the c i r c l e of g u l l s which Jonson introduces i n h i s play.

The g u l l i s already a common l i t e r a r y type depicted often with the coarse-2

ness and cruelty of Roman s a t i r e . Chapman's Labesha, however, although

Herford & Simpson, I I , 345. 2 See B a s k e r v i l l , pp. 108 f f . ; and Harold V. Routh, "London and the

Development of popular L i t e r a t u r e , " Cambridge History of English L i t e r a t u r e , ed. A. W. Ward and A. R. Waller (New York: G. P. Putnam's Sons, 1907-17), IV, 362-415.

60

Possessing most of the t r a i t s of the witless pretender, i s not yet touched

by the a c r i d i t y of the moral s a t i r i s t , which f i r s t entered the drama with

the Stage Quarrel at the end of the decade. In l i k e manner, neither are

Jonson's Stephen and Matthew of Every Man In His Humour i n h i b i t e d by the

harshness of the moral censor; both move f r e e l y i n a purely comic world.'

Influences aside, however, the important .considerations i n t h i s play

are the advances Jonson makes in character development, l a b e l l e d by himself

"the theory of humours," i n the s k i l f u l manipulation of plot i n t r i g u e , and

i n the extent to which he brings the one into organic r e l a t i o n s h i p with

the other. Jonson sees humanity i n broad, sharply defined o u t l i n e s ; for

him the s u b t l e t i e s of human nature coalesce to form one animating t r a i t

or humour. While t h i s attitude may simplify characterization by the mere

fa c t of el i m i n a t i o n , i t nevertheless presents a problem of s e l e c t i o n .

That i t constitutes a problem for Jonson i s , I think, r e f l e c t e d i n the

imperfectly defined characters of h i s early plays. This ambiguity of being

and the uncertainty of action r e s u l t from Jonson's indecisive view of man's

nature and his d e f i c i e n t technique imperfectly r e f l e c t i n g t h i s blurred

image. He has d i f f i c u l t y i n developing an action which w i l l appear organic

and natural and at the same time reveal only what he wishes to r e v e a l .

Jonson must r e a l i z e the deficiency, for in the early phases of h i s drama

he continually explicates character by frequent r e p e t i t i o n and elaboration

of the humours. He has not only to develop i n dramatically l o g i c a l terms

a theory i n h e r i t e d from medieval physiology and already enjoying considerable

vogue, but he must also, despite the theory's vogue, gain acceptance for

i t i n the dramatic context. For t h i s he does not r e l y on h i s dramatic

power; instead he buttresses himself uncertainly with the apparatus of

the c r i t i c a l t h e o r i s t and the c l a s s i c a l scholar.

In t h i s play Jonson makes simultaneous advances i n both the delinea­

t i o n of character and the manipulation of i n t r i g u e ; the advances are not

always intimately r e l a t e d . In the character of K i t e l y , however, one can

see an intimate r e l a t i o n s h i p between a humour and the growth of action.

K i t e l y i s the single dominating image on the stage; he i s the character

best i l l u s t r a t i n g the state wherein

. . . some one peculiar q u a l i t y Doth so possesse a man, that i t doth draw A l l his a f f e c t s , h i s s p i r i t s , and his powers, In t h e i r confluctions, a l l to runne one way;

(EMOH, 2nd Sounding, 105-108)

Although he sometimes does so with d i f f i c u l t y , K i t e l y does originate h i s

own action. That action which swirls arourid him, from the machinations of

Brainworm and 1/fellbred, although s k i l f u l l y handled and f r e e l y moving,

approaches closer to mere intrigue than to strongly motivated action.

K i t e l y embodies the dominant t r a i t which controls the d i r e c t action and

foreshadows the dominant character which, i n Jonson's l a t e r plays, provides

a focus for synthesizing actions into an a r t i c u l a t e d p l o t .

Others in the play do of course possess humours, but t h e i r s i l l u s t r a t e

"the popular usage of the word" for the mere "apish, or phantasticke

s t r a i n e " which leads a coxcomb to don "a pyed feather" or a "three p i l d

r u f f . " Their humours are of an evanescent q u a l i t y . An exception to both

these humour types i s B o b a d i l l , the braggart s o l d i e r , who stands caught

somewhere between the strong, d i s t i n c t i v e l y dressed humour character and

the s u p e r f i c i a l l y beribboned g u l l . His i s a more complex character, f o r ,

while his nature as a fraud and braggart leads him into r i d i c u l o u s and

revealing action, Jonson at the same time allows him long set speeches

i n which he builds an image of himself which threatens that revealed i n

his actions. His self- p r o j e c t e d image gains credence by the r e a l i s t i c a l l y

d e t a i l e d way i n which he approaches i t s construction and by the feigned

h e s i t a t i o n of his re v e l a t i o n of prowess - a h e s i t a t i o n overcome by the

i r o n i c queries of Edward Knowell and Wellbred. Bobadill does not quite

f i t i n t h i s play; he i s not quite firmly imbedded i n the s a t i r i c r a t i o n a l e

or the comic mode. In him there i s an element of aspi r a t i o n which i n the

long set speeches unaccompanied by contradictory action almost escapes

r i d i c u l e . The ambiguity of his being i s not to be found in l a t e r characters,

such as S i r Epicure Mammon of The Alchemist, where condemnation i s inherent

i n each l i n e of S i r Epicure's r i c h l y exotic and asp i r i n g speeches.

The dominant t r a i t which might for a Tamburlaine l i f t him towards

d i v i n i t y with a single-souled ardour i s in Jonson p a r a l l e l e d and supplanted

by the c h a r a c t e r i s t i c f o l l y . One sees now, as the Elizabethans were them­

selves seeing, the other side of the coin, and the odor of cynicism d r i f t s

to the f o r e f r o n t . The same problem which arose in The Case Is Altered

here presents i t s e l f again: do men act from base motives or good motives?

• Can men enjoy the fu l l n e s s of t h e i r natures and act s t i l l i n a morally

sound way? In Every Man In His Humour there i s s t i l l present the implication

that i f men but would, they could act i n accordance with nature and seem

as "perfect, proper, and possest/ As breath, with l i f e . " Knowell gives

good advice and so does K i t e l y ; Knowell would have Stephen be wise and

contain himself and to make not a false "blaze of g e n t r i e " extinguishable

by a " l i t t l e puffe of scorne;" K i t e l y can see i n Wellbred a course so

7@

i r r e g u l a r , so loose, so affected that nothing he now does becomes "him

as h i s owne." Both are displaying f o l l i e s , which "by loving s t i l l " when

they "know th'are i l l " can become crimes.

Some of the characters then r e a l i z e t h e i r own f o l l i e s and they have

s u f f i c i e n t insight to delineate the humours of others; they even have

s u f f i c i e n t insight to delineate t h e i r own humours.: Knowell can say that

too much a f f e c t i o n makes a father a fool and K i t e l y knows that his

jealousy has turned his brain to a mere "houre-glasse" for the running

sands of barren suspicion." But both seem unable to act upon t h i s knowledge

i n a way which w i l l change the course of action. Knowell Senior's "too

much a f f e c t i o n " leads him in suspicious pursuit of his son, and K i t e l y ' s

jealousy continues to suspect and to scheme. Immediately after his wise

advice to Stephen, Knowell i s revealed as a " c a r e f u l l Costar'monger" who

"numbers his greene apricots, euening, and morning." K i t e l y , a f t e r his

knowing de l i n e a t i o n of Wellbred's "loss of grace," succeeds only i n f i r i n g

another humour as Downright explodes in "'Sdeath, he L Wellbred ] mads me

. . .;" and he then proceeds to reveal a knowledge of his own humour.

That humour nevertheless reasserts i t s e l f . There i s present in the play

the wisdom of words, but i t i s to no e f f e c t , and the capacity for e n l i g h t ­

enment which can lead to the attainment of wisdom and grace seems not to

e x i s t i n the nature of the characters' being, and so not i n the nature

of t h e i r world. If wisdom or grace comes, i t comes as a "miracle," as

i t does for Sordido in Every Man Out Of His Humour; i t i s an outside force

having no p a r t i c l e of i t s existence i n the nature of things or men and

i t shortly vanishes.

64 K i t e l y ' s d e s c r i p t i o n of his brain as an "houre-glasse,/ Wherein

my' imaginations runne, l i k e sands," i s a testament to the d i s i n t e g r a t i o n

of w i l l and purpose. The humour growing and feeding on i t s e l f has brought

about a destruction of moral f i b e r , and of reason, but the humour i t s e l f

e x i s t s as the r e s u l t of a sharply divided nature. Measured against the

dogmatic frame of Jonson's dramatic p i c t u r e , that nature has become a

negative one, negative because the frame, but not the canvas, includes

the p o s i t i v e elements of man's nature. In the Elizabethan world view

these elements had been part of an organic whole - God and law and j u s t i c e

had existed i n nature, in society, and in men. No matter how imperfectly

r e a l i z e d , there had been r e c i p r o c i t y between man and the correspondences

of his world as he conceived i t . Whereas Tamburlaine's single-souled

ardours are " l i f t upward and di v i n e " , K i t e l y lacks the mind's erection

to simply "shake the feauer o f f " and act:

Ah, but what miserie' i s i t , to know th i s ? Or, knowing i t , to want the mindes erection, In such extremes?

(II, i i i , 70-72)

If K i t e l y cannot aspire i n the same way as Tamburlaine, he i s going to

spend his passion on something, and he spends i t on a c a n n i b a l i s t i c d i s s i ­

pation which leads him to the verge of collapse. That collapse i s brought

about simply by a " l i t t l e puffe of scorne" administered from without.

The attitude exemplified by K i t e l y , and pervading the play in general,

i s negative i n another way: i f one disallows man his capacity for a s p i r a ­

t i o n towards d i v i n i t y , one may too e a s i l y deny him his capacity for good

as well as bad. The tendency i s to assume and to allow only the worst in

-;6i5

man, and the mind gives i t s e l f over to base thoughts and suspicions. In

his speech in Act I, scene i , K i t e l y assumes that once the opportunity

presents i t s e l f h i s wife w i l l cuckold him and he would therefore be a fool

to give her that opportunity. But he makes himself the greater fool by

giving his jealousy the opportunity to construct an action which does not

e x i s t . The action does not exi s t i n the world about him; i t exi s t s more

i n t o l e r a b l y i n his mind.

In the scene with Cash (Act I I I , sc. i i i ) K i t e l y attempts to i n i t i a t e

a p a r t i c u l a r action. He wishes to have h i s wife watched, but he i s torn

between his jealous suspicions of his wife and h i s fear of Cash's b e t r a y a l ,

with the consequent loss of "fame" in the ta l k of "th* Exchange." His

jealousy and h i s fear are i n d i c a t i v e of a fundamental assumption about

human nature. These two motives are the bases for his action, and i f

they are not "base", they are negative, negative when measured against

p o s i t i v e values which have by the advent of t h i s play retreated farther

into the shadowy distance. In The Case Is Altered there was s t i l l a

choice and the choice was a f a i r l y evident one; now i t occurs that a choice

has been made, but a consciousness of the nature of that choice s t i l l

remains. As a r e s u l t , K i t e l y has d i f f i c u l t y i n acting upon h i s negatively

conceived p r i n c i p l e s . Both he and Knowell can s t i l l give seasonable, wise

advice on " r i g h t " behavior and put some f a i t h s t i l l i n "the wit of

humanitie." The accused characters are not g u i l t y of t h e i r imagined

s i n s , and the comic tone remains p e r f e c t l y i n t a c t as the worldly-wise

judge administers h i s shrewd, but humane j u s t i c e .

The humour then i s the r e s u l t of a cer t a i n fundamental assumption

about human nature. That assumption reveals i t s e l f i n a p a r t i c u l a r way,

that i s , the humour, which i s dramatically embodied i n character and

dramatically implemented through a s p e c i f i c o u t l e t . The s p e c i f i c o u t l e t ,

such as jealousy, fear, or avarice, generates action and language revealing

the nature of the humour to the audience. The cl e a r e r , the stronger, and

the more u n i f i e d the motive, or humour, the more d i r e c t , the more emphatic,

and the more cer t a i n i s the l i n e of action.

It i s notable i n t h i s play that the general plot l i n e s are s t i l l

not intimately connected with or controlled by the f o r c e f u l humour character.

Unlike Volpone and Mosca, K i t e l y and Brainworm are not partners i n mischief

or i n crime. They do not make of e v i l a po s i t i v e good and imbue t h e i r

cozening with the importance of an art or profession. K i t e l y and Brainworm

do not occupy within the play the same c i r c l e from which radiate the spokes

of a c t i o n : K i t e l y gives b i r t h to action i n close r e l a t i o n s h i p to his

humour, but i t i s Brainworm who, from the sheer love of mischief, sustains,

as did Juniper and Onion i n a more d i f f u s e way for the previous play, the

general strands of the p l o t . It i s Brainworm who i s the o f f i c i a l and

self-appointed stage manager of the dance of l i f e that whirls about him.

At the beginning of scene iv i n Act II Brainworm appears to hold

the center of the stage i n giving a summary of the action thus f ar and

i n announcing the progress of future action:

Well, the troth i s , my old master intends to follow my yong, drie foot, ouer More-Fields, to London, t h i s morning: now I, knowing, of t h i s hunting-match, or rather conspiracie, and to insinuate with myyyong master (for so must we that are blew-waiters, and men of hope and seruice doe, or perhaps wee may weare motley at the yeeres end, and who weares motley, you know) haue got me afore, i n t h i s desguise, determining here to lye i n ambuscade. and intercept him, i n the mid-way.

(II , i v , 8-16)

67;.

He reveals h i s function i n the play as one, who, having been transformed

from "a poore creature," a created character acted upon rather than acting,

i s now become a creator. But i t i s Brainworm who transforms himself into

t h i s r o l e to insinuate himself with h i s young master. He, unlike K i t e l y ,

i s r e l a t i v e l y free of the magnetic f i e l d of humours and can act without

a deeply engrained humour motivation. As a r e s u l t , there i s not the

intimate connection between humour (or motivation) and action that i s found

i n K i t e l y . Brainworm enjoys the role of creator, for he could well have

chosen his old master i n whose services to insinuate himself. He simply

acts from a rather general love of mischief. Like the vices of the morality

plays, who likewise act from a pure love of mischief, he i s useful i n

getting the plot going with a minimum of motivation. In t h i s sense he i s

a stage convention. Unlike K i t e l y , h i s character does not grow from the

thought of. the play, but he i s a suitable and e f f e c t i v e agent for comedy.

His performance does i n fact conform to the nature which he ascribes to

himself: he does d r i f t , anchorless and disembodied, about the p l o t , no

longer "a poore creature", to materialize suddenly as"a poore souldier",

as Formal1, and as an arresting o f f i c e r . The nature of Brainworm's s e l f -

assumed role does not, however, require that he move in harmony with

c e r t a i n pre-determining or self-determining motives, as does K i t e l y . His

whims, his fancies, allow him reasonably " f r e e " movement. His i s the

necessary counterpoint to K i t e l y * s s p i r a l l i n g , somewhat s t i l t e d , action.

Jonson has not yet succeeded i n combining motivated character begetting

u n i f i e d action with an o v e r a l l synthesis of these actions. In other words

Jonson has not achieved a completely coherent p l o t , a plot in which a l l

points touch on a l l - other points either l o g i c a l l y or i n t e l l i g i b l y or 3

n a t u r a l l y . Brainworm then holds up the general l i n e s of the p l o t ; he

keeps the "unrelated" strands of action going when they threaten to collapse

from lack of motivation. Through him, many of the characters are taken

to where they must go; rather l i k e the pawns in chess they are picked up,

transported, and guided by the manipulator's i n t e l l e c t , an i n t e l l e c t which

knows where they should be placed, but does not communicate to them the

knowledge of why they should be placed there. As a r e s u l t , they cannot

possibly move there by themselves. Brainworm 1s p o s i t i o n as detached

manipulator of the plot makes him appear twice removed from the creative

force. Through him other characters are moved i n ways which seem three

times removed from the informing power of t h e i r source. For instance,

through Brainworm, Knowell, B o b a d i l l , Matthew, and Downright a l l eventually

f i n d themselves before the J u s t i c e . Edmund Wilson describes transactions

of t h i s kind in a most u n f l a t t e r i n g manner: Jonson also lacks natural invention, and

his theatre has l i t t l e organic l i f e . His plots are incoherent and clumsy; his juxtapositions of elements are too often l i k e the mechanical mixtures of chemistry that produce no molecular reactions. His chief a r t i f i c e s for making something happen are to introduce his characters in impossible disguises and to have them play in c r e d i b l e p r a c t i c a l jokes

One may r e f e r here to A r i s t o t l e ' s d e f i n i t i o n of the p l o t : "the plot i s the i m i t a t i o n of the action. By plot I mean the synthesis of the i n d i v i d u a l actions . . . ." G i l b e r t , p. 76.

^Edmund Wilson, "Morose Ben Jonson", The T r i p l e Thinkers. Twelve Essays on L i t e r a r y Subjects (London: John Lehmann, .1952), p. 205.

K i t e l y , however, moves himself along, no matter how uncertainly,

up u n t i l Act IV, scene v i i i , when he begins to be acted upon. Brainworm,

i n the disguise of Clement's man, lures K i t e l y away from his ( K i t e l y ' s )

house with a f a l s e message. Upon returning, he discovers his wife's absence.

He i s informed by Wellbred of her whereabouts; as a r e s u l t of h i s previous

attitudes and past actions and because of the f a l s e message, he goes to

Cob's house with the preconceived certitude of his wife's g u i l t . Once

there, despite the fact that the r e f u t a t i o n of his fears i s beginning to

manifest i t s e l f , he s t i l l possesses enough of his b l i n d humour to i n i t i a t e

the next ac t i o n :

Well, good-wife BA'D, COBS wife; and you, That make your husband such a hoddie-doddie; And you, yong apple-squire; and old cuckold-maker; l i e ha' you euery one before a I u s t i c e : Nay, you s h a l l answere i t , I charge you goe.

(IV, x, 55-59)

Here towards the end of the play, Wellbred assumes part of Brainworm's

function and manipulates the movement of t h i s portion of the p l o t . It

i s he who sends Dame K i t e l y off to Cob's and he again who i s responsible

for hurrying K i t e l y thence. He, together with Edward Knowell, has assisted

i n displaying for the audience the humours of Matthew, Stephen, and

B o b a d i l l . In' c.doing so, he s a t i s f i e s his own humour f o r a sport which

sets off i n opposition to the foppish humours of the three g u l l s h i s own

fancied s o p h i s t i c a t i o n , a s o p h i s t i c a t i o n as false i n i t s pretensions as

those to which i t opposes i t s e l f . At^the beginning of the play he sets

the stage for t h i s movement by marshalling together his characters and by

i n v i t i n g a select audience - Edward Knowell, who brings with him another

member of the dramatis personnae (Stephen) to a s s i s t his f r i e n d and s o c i a l

mentor in the play business at hand.

70

The two p r i n c i p a l manipulators, Wellbred and Brainworm, and as a

r e s u l t , the two movements, c r i s s - c r o s s at certain points. Although

Brainworm himself decides to assume the r o l e of a "creator" and to follow

Knowell, i t i s Wellbred who t e l l s him where Knowell i s to go (Cob's house)

and i t i s Wellbred again who is responsible for Brainworm's l u r i n g K i t e l y

from his home. On the other hand, although Wellbred and Edward Knowell

have assisted at the coursing of the humours of Bobadill and Matthew,

i t i s Brainworm who causes t h e i r appearance at Clement's. He does so

unwittingly, i t seems, for by his physical presence alone and his sheer

love of disguise, by his appearance to Matthew and Bobadill at no one's

i n s t i g a t i o n , dressed as Formal1, without reason or provocation, he f i r e s

o f f a series of actions which brings Matthew, Boba d i l l , and Downright to

the court of J u s t i c e .

K i t e l y remains the most strongly and sharply defined character,

He alone originates most exclus i v e l y his own action, a l b e i t he does so

with severe b i r t h pangs. Others, Matthew, Stephen, and B o b a d i l l , also

suffer from humours, but t h e i r s are of the surface, l i g h t and s h i f t i n g ;

they can be e a s i l y played upon, and consequently displayed, by the s l i g h t e s t

prompting. Of these three g u l l s i t i s Bobadill who i s the most subtly

and the most winningly drawn. Herford and Simpson in t h e i r introduction

to t h i s play attempt to describe the nature of h i s a t t r a c t i o n :

. . . Bobadill i s not the g u l l of pure breed any more than he i s the bragging s o l d i e r of t r a d i t i o n . The g u l l was a witless pretender to accomplish­ments and valour. B o b a d i l l , however empty his pretensions to valour, i s not without a c e r t a i n

order of accomplishment . . . . The're i s talent in the design and handling of his camouflage.^

He approaches two or three conventional types, but i t i s to Jonson's

c r e d i t that he f a l l s not within- any one of them; instead, he stands unique

an independent and d i s t i n c t i v e creation. Of him, one might say, as Well-

bred and Edward Knowell say of Brainworm, he i s an ar c h i t e c t rather than

a mere a r t i f i c e r :

Wellbred.' Why, BRAYNE-WORME, who would haue thought thou hadst beene such an a r t i f i c e r ?

E. Knowell. An a r t i f i c e r ! An a r c h i t e c t !

( I l l , v, 24-26)

He constructs his own character, "the camouflage" of his character, with

some o v e r a l l design; he erects an e d i f i c e : he does not on the one hand

suspend himself i n mere f i l i g r e e , nor does he on the other simply stack br i c k upon b r i c k . Edward Knowell says again of Brainworm,

He had so writhen himselfe, into the habit of one of your poore Infanterie. . . . .

Into the likenesse of one of these Reformado's had he moulded himselfe so p e r f e c t l y , obseruing euery t r i c k e of t h e i r action, as varying the accent, swearing with an emphasis, indeed a l l , with so s p e c i a l l , and exquisite a grace, that (hadst thou seene him) thou would'st haue sworne, he might haue beene Serieant-Maior, i f not Lieutenant-Coronell to the Regiment.

( I l l , v, 10-11, 17-23)

But t h i s praise might more aptly be applied to B o b a d i l l , for i t i s he who

succeeds i n the actual language and action of the play i n constructing

a many-faceted character for himself. One does not see Brainworm perform

Herford & Simpson, I, 352.

a s i m i l a r feat, and there i s only Edward Knowell's word for i t that he has

done so. In the scene where Brainworm, in his newly-donned disguise,

accosts Edward and Stephen, i t i s not by means of language or "varying

the accent" but by a change in the habit of dress only. Brainworm i s an

a r c h i t e c t of the p l o t , a contriver weaving the strands of action into

something of an o v e r a l l design, but he i s only an a r t i f i c e r of character.

Bobadill i s an a r c h i t e c t of character but only an a r t i f i c e r in action.

He does not manipulate himself; he i s only manipulated. The moment he

moves into action the e d i f i c e of his being collapses and he i s easy prey

to Downright's bastinado and Brainworm's t r i c k s .

Bobadill creates the image of himself, not as Brainworm does, i n

terms of action to be performed In the plot (see Act I I , scs. Iv-v), but

i n terms of f a n d i f u l past action and projected future action standing

completely outside the regular plot l i n e s and having no p o s s i b i l i t y of

consummation within the plays

Bobadill to Edward -Knowell.

Why thus, s i r . I would select nineteene, more, to my s e l f e , throughout the land; gentlemen they should bee of good s p i r i t , strong, and able c o n s t i t u t i o n , I would choose them by an i n s t i n c t , a character, that I haue: and I would teach these nineteene, the s p e c i a l l r u l e s , as your Punto, your Reuerso, your Stoccata, your Imbroccata. your Passada. your Montanto; t i l l they could a l l play very neare, or altogether as well as my s e l f e . This done, say the enemie were f o r t i e thousand strong, we twentie would come into the f i e l d , the tenth of March, or thereabouts; and wee would challenge twentie of the enemie; they could not, i n t h e i r honour, refuse vs, w e l l , wee would k i l l them: challenge twentie more, k i l l them; twentie more, k i l l them; twentie more, k i l l them too: and thus, would we k i l l , euery man, his twentie a day, that's twentie score; twentie score, that's two hundreth; two hundreth a day, flue dayes a thousand; f o r t i e thousand; f o r t i e times f i u e , fiue times

f o r t i e , two hundreth dayes k i l l s them a l l vp, by computation. And t h i s , w i l l I venture my poore gentleman-like caracasse, to performe (prouided, there bee no treason p r a c t i s ' d vpon us) by f a i r e , and d i s c r e e t manhood, that i s c i u i l l y by the sword.

(IV, v i i , 73-94)

This speech cannot be described as simply pathetic, i n the sense of the

merely t r a n s i t o r y or f l e e t i n g emotion, for i t adds strength to those

permanent lineaments which make up h i s ethos.^ His i s not a f a n c i f u l dream,

transplanted from the s o i l of Elizabethan heroics, mounting "upward and

sublime" without considering the concrete steps on which i t must mount.

He w i l l ask how as w e l l . He begins with an ingredient proper to Elizabethan

h e r o i c s : he would choose his men by "an i n s t i n c t , a character, that I

have;" but he s h i f t s i n midstream to another method which in i t s presentation

seems a l i e n to the f i r s t : he w i l l not spur his men into b a t t l e with un­

thinking, emotional E x c e l s i o r s ; he w i l l t r a i n them with s c i e n t i f i c

accuracy and t h e i r feats of bravery w i l l be performed with a s i m i l a r pre­

c i s i o n and c o n t r o l . For a moment he aspires and he does so not i n f u l l -

bodied emotionalism but i n a severely factual manner - a manner which

underlines the extent of his own b e l i e f and makes him look a l l the more

r i d i c u l o u s when untwoard events l a t e r reveal him a coward. With Bobadill's

speeches, however, an actor can momentarily usurp the stage, and the action

which follows does not measurably reduce the image which he,can create.

^The words pathos and ethos would seem, l i k e so many other words, to possess t h e i r meanings in opposition one to the other. Pathos means the q u a l i t y of the transient or emotional, whereas ethos ref e r s to something of more permanence, that i s , a person's character or c h a r a c t e r i s t i c s p i r i t , h i s nature or d i s p o s i t i o n .

87j*

To sum up, at t h i s early stage i n the development of Jonson's drama,

the r e l a t i v e l y strong humour character s t i l l acts, but h a l t i n g l y so,

upon negatively conceived values. His action i s h a l t i n g because a conscious­

ness of t h e i r p o s i t i v e counterparts s t i l l remains in the background;

yet his actions, unlike the e v e r - s h i f t i n g f r i v o l i t i e s of the g u l l s , are

more p e c u l i a r l y h i s own. The g u l l s display t h e i r wares at the hint of an

outside stimulus, but K i t e l y , although he too i s acted upon, has an

opportunity in the f i r s t part of the play to e s t a b l i s h his own action,

and he i s acted upon primarily by his humour. In t h i s play the strong

humourist i s not yet his own stage manager; Brainworm, who acts simply

from the general love of mischief, i s the " o f f i c i a l " manipulator of the ,

p l o t .

Later, with Volpone, the strong dominating character assumes d i r e c t i o n

of the play, although he possesses a more than competent " a s s i s t a n t " i n

the person of Mosca. There i s no h e s i t a t i o n here and -no uncertainty;

Volpone, and l a t e r Mosca, can p u l l the strings of the p l o t with the complete

r e l i s h of a man who has decided the way of the world. Negative values,

negative when measured against p o s i t i v e ones, have here, in Volpone.

become p o s i t i v e , p o s i t i v e when the p r i o r set of p o s i t i v e s has been f o r ­

gotten - and the Fox has no d i f f i c u l t y i n acting. Jonson cannot, however,

l e t him escape, despite the fact that he has endowed him with the strength

to do so. The abstract spectre of Justice i s again introduced to d e r a i l

the miscreant. In The Alchemist Jonson sets h i s rogues completely free.

The s i n s i t e r f l a v o r of tragedy i s not as strong here, as i n Volpone. and

the spectre of Justice has completely disappeared. In Every Man In His

Humour the comic tone i s p e r f e c t l y preserved: t h i s i s not yet a stricken

society or an e v i l universe in which v i c e , animating the soul of things,

can "Put motion in a stone, s t r i k e f i r e from i c e ; " the inhabitants are

healthy and robust, f u l l of zest, merriment, and hearty good fun - and

w i t h a l l quite harmless.

CHAPTER VI

Every Man Out Of His Humour

This play, f i r s t entered in the Stationer's Register on A p r i l 8, 1600,

and published i n that same year, was probably finis h e d towards the end of

1599. With the advent of t h i s play one witnesses i n Jonson's dramatic world

a development of the s a t i r i c s p i r i t , a s o l i d i f i c a t i o n of the dramatist's

point of view, and a d i s i n t e g r a t i o n of dramatic form. Jonson i s experiment­

ing, but in traversing the t r a d i t i o n a l Elizabethan comic forms he does not,

here at l e a s t , evolve a product s u f f i c i e n t l y dramatic. In the experiment

one sees him attempting to f i n d a form adequate and appropriate to a point

of view now becoming, as i t discards insoluble and alien': elements, tougher

and stronger in i t s being, more passionate i n i t s implementation.

The s a t i r i s t i s supposedly one who c r i t i c i z e s i n hopes of bringing

about a reformation; he therefore believes a reformation i s possible. The

mere fact of the creation of art would seem a testament to t h i s b e l i e f . In

the Prologue to Every Man In His Humour Jonson states that his purpose i s

to "sport with humane f o l l i e s , not with crimes;" again i n the Prologue to

The Alchemist he reaffirms h i s purpose:

Though t h i s pen Did never aim to grieve, but better men

They are so natural f o l l i e s , but so shown, As even the doers may see, and yet not own.

(11-12, 23-24)

His stated purpose echoes the "Ciceronian" d e f i n i t i o n of comedy given by

Cordatus i n Every Man Out Of His Humour as being "a thing throughout pleasant,

and.ridiculous and accommodated to the correction of manners."

•So It would seem then that Jonson proposes to s a t i r i z e those s u p e r f i c i a l ,

evanescent derangements which are r e l a t i v e l y harmless and can be e a s i l y

discarded, bad habits which arise when " a l l are f a l l ' n 1 , youth from t h e i r

f e a r : / And age, from that, which bred i t , good example."''" In Every Man In

His Humour the humours are s u p e r f i c i a l . Generally, they are not yet deeper

"than the coate, or s h i r t , or skin;"'they have not yet gone into the bone

or stained unto the l i v e r and heart. This may have happened, but i t has

done so only " i n some" and i t i s s t i l l a "learn'd" thing. Youth learns

i t s vices from the bad example of old age; in the cradle i t sucks i n with

the mother's milk the " i l l customs" of i t s inadequate moral mentors. In

Knowell's analysis of the time's f o l l i e s the burden of the blame rests with

surrounding circumstances, with environment, but when he says "the die goes

deeper then the coate" and "staines, unto the l i v e r , and heart" he comes

dangerously close to saying i t i s born i n the heart and bred.in the bone.

In t h i s play, however, the humour i s s t i l l a f o l l y which can be discarded

l i k e a coat or s h i r t befouled by i l l use. In t h i s sense a permanent change,

in character i s neither necessary nor possible. With the character of

K i t e l y , the humour begins to assume a new i n t e n s i t y , but in general the

f o l l i e s remain s u p e r f i c i a l and permanent change i s of l i t t l e consequence.

The comic world, with i t s comic r e s o l u t i o n , emerges i n t a c t , i t s tone unim­

paired by serious s a t i r e .

In Every Man Out Of His Humour, however, Asper condemns the s u p e r f i c i a l

or affected f o l l y ; again the imagery i s drawn from a r t i c l e s of c l o t h i n g :

Every Man In His Humour. II, v, 12-13.

This may be t r u l y said to be a Humour. But that a rooke, i n wearing a pyed feather, The cable hat-band, or the t h r e e - p i l d r u f f e , A yard of shooetye, or the Switzers knot On h i s French garters, should a f f e c t a Humour! 0, ' t i s more then most r i d i c u l o u s .

(2nd Sounding, 109-114)

Heretofore, characters have described the humour i n terms analagous to

the p h y s i c a l , but i n t h i s play, the humour i s given for the f i r s t time <an

e s s e n t i a l physical basis, and an analogy i s then drawn between the physical

and the s p i r i t u a l . The humour now begins to "smell of sinne", and Macilente'

" s t r i c t hand" i s "made to ceaze on v i c e " and "crimes". He inveighs against

. . . such, whose faces are a l l zeale, And with the words of HERCVLES invade Such crimes as these! that w i l l not smell of sinne, But seeme as they were made of s a n c t i t i e ! Religion i n t h e i r garments, and t h e i r haire Cut shorter then t h e i r eye-browes!

(2nd Sounding, 38-43) Cordatus t e l l s him the way of the world:

Vnlesse your breath had power To melt the world, and mould i t new againe, It i s i n vaine, to spend i t in these moods.

(2nd Sounding, 47-50)

If he would have a change, there must be a new creation. In the meantime,

there i s l i t t l e which can o f f e r assistance, except perhaps Poesy. Philosophy

may be true, but its.s theories are impractical guides i n the actual world:

V i r i est, fortunae caecitatem f a c i l e f e r r e . Ti s true; but, Stoique, where ( i n the vast world) Doth that man breathe, that can so much command His bloud, and his a f f e c t i o n ?

There i s no taste i n t h i s Philosophie,

I looke into the world, and there I meet With obiects, that doe s t r i k e my bloud-shot eyes Into my braine:

( I , i , 1-4, 8, 16-18)

.Macilente must s a t i s f y himself with being a scourgea of the times,

but he cannot give vent to the reforming s p i r i t i n purity of motive. He

must partake of the corruption of the times and enter the dramatic world

under the a f f l i c t i o n of the "new disease".

When I see these [the fortunate ones] (I say) and view my s e l f e ,

I wish the organs of my sight were crackt; And that the engine of my gr i e f e could cast Mine eye-balls, l i k e two globes of w i l d - f i r e f o r t h , To melt t h i s vnproportion'd frame of nature.

( I , i , 24-28)

The point i s re-emphasized by the Grex i n i t s d i s t i n c t i o n between envy and

hate. The transformation of Asper, a member of the chorus, into Macilente,

a member of the humour characters, makes i t possible for Jonson to greatly

i n t e n s i f y the s a t i r e and yet remain within the comic mode. Macilente !s

exclaims against his fellows cannot be taken too seri o u s l y , for he shares

t h e i r humourous world. In addition, h i s condemnations, uttered with great

passion, seem supported not by the r e a l i t y of the humour characterization

but rather by the discussions of humour i n the choral interludes, p a r t i c u ­

l a r l y at the beginning of the play. When Macilente utters h i s imprecations,

one does not see a j u s t i f i a b l e reaction to an outrageous humour; one i s

instead reminded of sim i l a r remarks by Asper and the t h e o r e t i c a l discussions

of humour. As a r e s u l t of t h i s f a i l u r e of integration the scourge seems

not i n the nature of things; no moral order appears to pervade t h i s universe.

O r i g i n a l l y , t h i s play ended with the appearance of the Queen, the

sight of whom causes Macilente to exclaim,

Neuer t i l l now did obiect greet mine eyes With any l i g h t content: but in her graces, A l l my malicious powers haue l o s t t h e i r s t i n g s .

Enuie i s f l e d my soule, at sight of her, And shee hath chac'd a l l black thoughts from my bosome, Like as the sunne doth darkenesse from the world.

(V, x i , 1-5)

The representative of the moral order stands outside the play proper,

and Jonson must have sensed i t s a r t i f i c i a l i t y i n removing i t from the

f i n a l version. The disappearance of Sordido's humour e a r l i e r i n the play'

( i l l , v i i i ) seems likewise to depend on some kind of moral framework not

inherent to the play. Echoes of the medieval scheme of divine redemption

are heard i n Sordido's speech of repentance, and the r u s t i c s exclaim, "0

miracle! see when a man ha's grace!" The conversion remains, however, an

inorganic f i x t u r e i n the play. The "knowledge" which leads to Sordido's

repentance i s not that of a divine law and a divine plan of the universe.

Even though Sordido concludes that "No l i f e , i s b l e s t , that i s not grac't

with loue," there i s no preparation for t h i s enlightenment. The moment

when love might have entered humanly or natu r a l l y immediately precedes t h i s

speech. Sordido receives a l e t t e r from his son. After having read i t , he

swears that "my son and daughter s h a l l starue ere they touch i t [ h i s gold].

This scene of Sordido's conversion does not emerge then with i t s suggested

theological.framework i n t a c t , nor i s there s u f f i c i e n t motivation i n the

human acti o n . His repentance i s brought about by a few curses from those

he has j u s t c a l l e d " l i c e n t i o u s rogues," "poor wormes," and "Thred-bare

horse-bread-eating r a s c a l s " :

What curses breathe these men! how haue my deeds Made my lookes d i f f e r from another mans, That they should thus detest, and lothe my l i f e ! Out on my wretched humour. . .

I'le make f a i r e amends For my foule errors past, . . .

( I l l , v i i i , 36-40, 42-43)

81

A "state of grace" i s something which descends from above upon one,

who, within the play, has not been adequately prepared to receive i t . Its

advent may be preceded by an uncomplimentary r e f l e c t i o n i n the eyes of

others, but i t i s only a r e f l e c t i o n and the r e f l e c t i o n i s temporary. It

does not lead to a permanent comprehension of the human part i n the miracl

of grace, and no self-knowledge i s achieved. The "miracle" appears as

something outside and a l i e n to the nature of the characters of t h i s dramat

world.

By implication the r e a l salvation remains outside the play i t s e l f .

At the end of the play, when Macilente has been purged of h i s humour and h

soul i s at peace, Jonson reaffirms through Macilente that he has indeed

shown an image of the times*

I am so farre from malicing t h e i r states That I begin to p i t t y them. It grieues me To thinke they haue a being. I could wish They might turne wise vpon i t , and be sau'd now, So heauen were pleas'd: but l e t them vanish, vapors. Gentlemen, how l i k e you i t ? has't not beene tedious?

(V,xi, 61-66)

Macilente reasserts that these vapors "have a being". He reaffirms the

nature of the world he has had a part i n depicting. For the present t h i s

world i s terminated, but he wishes that his fellows could now turn wise

upon t h e i r lessons and be saved. The whole tenor of the play, including

the ambiguity of Macilente's concluding "So heau'n were pleased", seems

to imply that t h i s p o s s i b i l i t y has retreated beyond man's grasp and depend

too e n t i r e l y on heaven's being pleased to grant a r b i t r a r i l y a state of

humanly incomprehensible and humanly undeserved grace.

82

In Every Man In His Humour the f o l l i e s were of a s u p e r f i c i a l q u a l i t y ,

and many characters in the present play possess only s u p e r f i c i a l humours,

but the tone of t h i s play, transmitted by the Grex and Macilente, indicates

now a more serious and more permanent source. The reformation s t i l l touches

only the t r a n s i t o r y manifestation of that permanent source of derangement.

According to the humour theory in vogue, morality depended on a balancing

of the humours. If no balance i s either p o t e n t i a l or possible, and i f the

humour becomes i n i t s e l f a vice or s i n , and i f there i s no good a f f i x e d to

t h i s negative state, then change i s both more important and more impossible.

Jonson must r e a l i z e his predicament. In Volpone the characters themselves

embody that which i s simply t h e o r e t i c a l discussion i n Every Man Out Of His

Humour. Volpone and Mosca remain absolutely- true to t h e i r negatives, and

a strong, coherent dramatic world emerges.

This play flows with a new i n t e n s i t y of f e e l i n g , unwitnessed heretofore

i n Jonson's drama: Asper's f i e r c e indignation and Macilente's seething 2

envy are almost pure and undefiled, But in allowing these passions to flow

so f r e e l y and strongly, Jonson has not made a commensurate adjustment i n

form that w i l l give them adequate dramatic control and expression. The

f i r s t two-thirds of the play i s occupied almost completely with character

sketches, with providing a series of r e f l e c t e d images in a s t e r i l e glass of

form. It i s not u n t i l the fourth act of the play that Macilente begins to

E l i o t , i n his analysis of the s p i r i t of envy i n the Induction to the Poetaster, says, "It i s not human l i f e that informs envy and S y l l a ' s ghost, but i t i s energy of which human l i f e i s only another v a r i e t y . " E l i o t , The Sacred Wood, p. 100.

p u l l the strings of action. In the "calme of h i s humour" he p l o t s , and

hee i s so f u l l with 'hem [ malicious thoughts] that you s h a l l see the very torrent of h i s enuie breake forth l i k e a land-floud: and, against the course o f . a l l t h e i r a f f e c t i o n s oppose i t selfe so v i o l e n t l y , that, you w i l l almost have wonder to thinke, how 't i s , possible the current of t h e i r d i s p o s i t i o n s s h a l l receiue so quick, and strong an a l t e r a t i o n .

(IV, v i i i , 154-159)

It i s Macilente, the strongest humour i n the play, who i s c h i e f l y responsible,

with the aid of his admiring implement, Buffone, for the name of action

(with the exception of Sordido's purgation). He does not bring forth h i s

own action In the way that K i t e l y does; instead he pushes others into

actions which bring about his own purging. He combines in his function

something of both K i t e l y and Brainworm, but i s not, l i k e Volpone, intimately

involved i n the action which he implements. In the f i r s t . p a r t of the play

when his envy burns with a self-consuming force, h i s energies are devoted

ta standing on the s i d e - l i n e s and counterpointing the deformities of the

other characters. He does t h i s with a wrath which would indeed seem to

make his eye-balls crack and burst f o r t h into two globes of w i l d - f i r e .

This v i o l e n t emotion, however, helps to maintain the. l i f e of t h i s portion

of the play.

The business of the chorus i s also to aid i n character building and

to substitute for adequate dramatic structure and action an explanation by

means of an appeal to c l a s s i c a l model and d e f i n i t i o n . In the opening scenes,

when Carlo Buffone and Macilente are introduced, the Grex provides further

sketches to round out what the characters have already revealed of themselves.

,Carlo i n his introductory speech has devoted his a b i l i t y as j e s t e r primarily

to j i b i n g at the author rather than programming his own humour. Cordatus '

then supplies for M i t i s and for the audience a s t r i n g of epigrammatic

t r a i t s i n which to clothe Carlos

He i s one, the Author c a l l s him CARLO BUFFONE, an impudent, common i e s t e r , a v i o l e n t r a y l e r , and an incomprehensible Epicure; one, whose company i s desir'd of a l l men, but belov'd of none; hee w i l l sooner lose his soule then a i e s t , and prophane euen the most holy things, to excite laughters no honorable or reuerend per­sonage whatsoeuer, can come within the reach of h i s eye, but i s turn'd into a l l manner of v a r i e t i e , by h i s adult'rate s i m i l e ' s .

(Prologue, 3rd Sounding, 356-364)

Macilente, on the other hand, concentrates upon his s e l f - d e l i n e a t i o n , and

the Grex merely announces "t h i s i s your enuious man". After the two

p r i n c i p a l characters have made t h e i r debut, the Grex continues to control

the play's movement and introduces them again, i n scene two, now i n

company with Sogliardo who reveals the great a s p i r a t i o n of his l i f e -

to be a gentleman at any cost. Both the Grex and Macilente then comment

on the scene, Macilente with a fury which does not seem d i r e c t l y propor­

t i o n a l to the f o l l y revealed: . 0, I could eate my e n t r a i l e s ,

And sinke my soule into the earth with sorrow.

(I, i i , 35-36)

Macilente now assumes control from the Chorus and makes the next i n t r o ­

duction - Sordido, who in turn introduces his own humour of avarice. A

scream of pain i s wrung from Macilente, who, for the benefit of the,

audience, outlines in indignation the f u l l e r implications of Sordido's

a f f l i c t i o n : Is'-'t possible that such a spacious v i l l a i n e Should l i u e , and not be plagy'd? or l i e s he hid Within the wrinckled bosome of the world, Where heauen cannot see him? Sbloud (me thinkes)

85r

'Tis rare, and strange, that he should breathe, and walke,

Feede with digestion, sleepe, enjoy his health, And ( l i k e a boist'rous whale, swallowing the poore) S t i l l swimme in wealth, and pleasure'.

(I, i i i , 67-74)

The Chorus takes the opportunity of t h i s fulsome expression by Macilente

to explain the nature of envy as opposed to hate. Then they return to

introducing - bringing forth again Buffone and a new "bright-shining

g a l l a n t " Fastidious Briske. By the time Briske has indulged his humour

in t a l k i n g of excellent hobby horses, the Chorus echoes the opinion of the

auditors concerning the whole substance of the play thus f a r :

Why, t h i s fellowes discourse were nothing, but for the word Humour.

(I I , i , 56-57)

Jonson's c r i t i c a l faculty t e l l s him how his play i s being received

by his audience, and by the middle of the Third Act he f e e l s the necessity

of o f f e r i n g , by his own admission for lack of a better, a " c l a s s i c a l "

d e f i n i t i o n of comedy:

You say w e l l , but I would faine heare one of these au_tumne-judgements define once, Quid s i t Comoedia? i f he cannot, l e t him content himself with CICEROS d e f i n i t i o n . ( t i l l hee haue strength to. propose to himself a better) who would haue a Comoedie to be Imitatio v i t a e . Speculum consuetudinis. Imago v e r i t a t i s : a thing throughout pleasant, and r i d i c u l o u s , and accommodated to the correction of manners: -if the maker haue f a i l ' d i n any p a r t i c l e of t h i s , they may worthily taxe him, but i f not, why - be you (that are for them) s i l e n t , as I w i l l bee for him; and giue way to the actors.

( I l l , v i , 202-216)

The author i s attempting an image of the times, but i t i s a rather roughly

d i s t o r t e d image: his mirror f l i c k e r s with tongues of flame, trembling

and threatening to burst into a conflagration; i t does not pulsate with

the l i f e l i k e image of nature, nor show "the very age and body of the time

h i s form and pressure."

Jonson's "image of the times" r a r e l y lacks form, but frequently i t

does want "body" and "pressure". Indeed, much of i t i s form, form

rather than i m i t a t i o n or creation. It i s not form simply for the purposes

of construction and technique; i t i s form as the substance of his art as

well - a perversion of the creative process. Two c r i t i c a l terms often

used in connection with the discussion of l i t e r a r y modes are essence, the

"form-giving cause," and idea, the "form of a form-giving cause". Less

abstract terms better applied to art i t s e l f might be generating idea and

shape. The f i r s t has only a s p i r i t u a l b i r t h i n the a r t i s t . In the

creation of art i t i s the intangible, s p i r i t u a l imperative and becomes

an i n e x t r i c a b l e part of the shape, the r e s u l t or f u l f i l l m e n t of which i t

controls. The shape i s the f i n a l outcome of i m i t a t i o n .

Chartres. Venus de Milo. Madonna of the Rocks, each of these possesses

a shape as the r e s u l t of a generating idea conceived by someone capable

of conceiving. The most obvious part of that shape i s i t s physical mani­

f e s t a t i o n , that phenomenal q u a l i t y which i s f i r s t to s t r i k e the eye. This

physical manifestation can be copied-for instance, something may be r e ­

produced exactly according to certain physical proportions - but only

the shape can be imitated. If art i s to be an i m i t a t i o n of l i f e , the

generating idea must be caught from the shape of l i f e - a shape whose

i n f i n i t y pervades l i f e ' s every physical manifestation. The kind of outlet

i t chooses for expression does not matter, for the channels to l i f e ' s

Truth are numberless. Though one may say no Truth i s there, one may yet

87

perceive the Truth, and s t i l l i t w i l l be there. And one may say Truth i s

there, but not perceive the Truth, and yet i t w i l l be there.

For Jonson the generating idea i s much constrained i n the early

phases of h i s work. With Volpone i t f i n a l l y bursts f o r t h , only to be

brought under the r i g i d control of h i s form again l a t e r . The "form of the

form-giving cause" continually intrudes upon the "form-giving cause."

As a r e s u l t , many of h i s characters emerge as amorphous in the f u l l

a r t i s t i c sense. They possess the form but not the shape of l i f e . Jonson

sees hi s fellow men assuming and personating empty forms, but he also

chooses to see them thus. Empty forms do not e a s i l y generate action

which can reveal character. Two examples from Every Man Cut Of His Humour

w i l l i l l u s t r a t e how h i s excursions into characters, subtle as they may

be, too often remain s t a t i c images for the mind's contemplation.

In Act IV, scene v, Sogliardo appears with his newly bought tutor,

Cavalier S h i f t , the man of many faces and many names, who swears that

he i s , but i s not what he swears. Sogliardo begs his good Pylades to

"discourse a robberie, or two,/ to s a t i s f i e these gentlemen of thy worth,"

and S h i f t completes the conceit by addressing his employer as "my deare

Orestes." The other characters pick up the pattern and f i l l i t out with

further examples:

Carlo.. 0, i t ' s an old stale enterlude deuice* No, I'le giue you names my s e l f e , looke you, he s h a l l be your IVDAS, and you s h a l l bee h i s Elder tree, to hang on.

Macilente. Nay, rather, l e t him be captaine POD, and t h i s his Motion: for he does nothing but shew him.

Carlo. E x c e l l e n t : or thus, you s h a l l bee HOLDEN, and hee your Camel.

8&r

S h i f t . You doe not meane to r i d e , gentlemen?

Puntarvolo. F a i t h , l e t me end i t for you, g a l l a n t s : you s h a l l be his Countenance, and he your Resolution.

Sogliardo. Troth, that's p r e t t y : how say you, Caualier, shalt be so?

Carlo. I, I, most voices.

S h i f t . F a i t h , I am e a s i l y yeelding to any good im­pressions .

Sogliardo. Then giue hands, good Resolution.

(IV, v, 59-74)

Herein i s revealed something not only of Jonson's dramatic technique

but also of the world's r e f l e c t i o n i n his eyes. The r e l a t i o n s h i p , i n

c l a s s i c a l myth, legend, and l i t e r a t u r e , of Orestes to Pylades, l i k e that of

Horatio to Hamelt, was a v i t a l and organic, a l b e i t a quiet, one. In the

Choephoroe of Aeschylus, based both on c l a s s i c a l legend and early r i t u a l ,

Pylades, though he i s present throughout the play, speaks only three

l i n e s . When Orestes i s carrying out the terms of his oath, sworn at Delphi,

to avenge King Agamemnon's murder, and having s l a i n Aegisthus i s about

to send his mother to the embrace of her dead lover, he pauses, he

v a c i l l a t e s with misgivings:

Orestes. Dare I to shrink and spare? speak, Pylades. Pylades. Where then would f a l l the hest at Delphi

given, Yet u n f u l f i l l e d ? where then thine oath,

sworn true? Choose thou the hate of a l l men, not of

Gods.

Pylades serves as Orestes's divine conscience and maintains for him In the

face of the human p i t y of t h i s human agent h i s commitment to a higher

design. Pylades i s not a man of action, he i s not even a man of words,

but he i s Orestes's r e s o l u t i o n , the keeper of the s p i r i t u a l gates of

r89 3 horn and ivory. He allows passage only to the true dreams, and i n allowing

them issuance through the Gate of Horn, he helps Orestes r e t a i n his

connection.with the Gods. Orestes then f u l f i l l s h i s oath, and i n doing

so, i n imitating the gods rather than men, he reasserts the d i v i n i t y

within him (that divine h a l f of h i s daimon or semi-divine nature), and 4

c a r r i e s out his Destiny.

Shift,, i s Sogliardo's r e s o l u t i o n , but he, as h i s name implies,

does not provide Sogliardo with a focus on which to f i x his countenance;

he, Resolution, forms not for Sogliardo a countenance, an impression,

a character, but rather e a s i l y y i e l d s himself to any good "impressions".

Sogliardo seeks for his image or character, the passing face and show

of a gentleman, from a s h i f t i n g phantom composed only of "shreds and

patches".

In personating such a phantom Sogliardo pursues a course as empty and

senseless as that of Buffone, when he pledges himself into drunkenness

at the Miter. The r e v e l a t i o n of character made here, however, i s done

The name Pylades i s dervied from p u l o ( s i n g u l a r ^ meaning one wing of a pair of double gates. The s u f f i x means "man of".

•I do not say that Jonson necessarily intended t h i s p a r a l l e l , at l e a s t not to the extent that I have drawn i t , but i t i s c e r t a i n l y well placed.

^In the Greek the word daimon means " s p i r i t u a l or semi-divine, being i n f e r i o r to the Gods," but It also means Destiny, and would i l l u s ­t r a t e the H e r a c l e i t i a n concept of "A man's character i s h i s destiny."

c9Q

i n an action rather than in a conceit or image. The action i s an i s o l a t e d

one, a scene constructed within a scene. Buffone, i t seems, imitates

only the shadow of himself? he sets two cups apart, and f i r s t drinks

with the one and pledges with the other:

1. The count FRVGALES health s i r ? I-'le pledge i t on my knees, by t h i s l i g h t .

2. W i l l you, s i r ? I'le drinke i t on my knee, then, by the l i g h t .

2. Nay, doe me r i g h t , s i r .

1. So I doe, i n good f a i t h .

2. Good f a i t h you doe not; mine was f u l l e r .

1. Why, beleeue me, i t was not.

2. Beleeue me, i t was: and you doe l i e .

1. .Lie, s i r ?

2. I, s i r .

1. S'wounds.'

2. 0, come, stab i f you haue a mind to i t .

1. Stab? dost thou thinke I dare not?

Carlo. Nay, I beseech you, gentlemen, what meanes t h i s ? nay, looke, for shame respect your reputations.

(V, i v , 73-76, 79-90)

And Buffone i s the man who c a l l s no man his f r i e n d and can s t r i k e a f a l s e

face which makes friendship no matter. He too has no countenance and no

r e s o l u t i o n .

These Jonsonian characters imitate for l i f e a shadow of things which

are not (an eidolon) rather than the shadow of things which are (skia.).

:91;

Their characters are b u i l t for them of r i c h l y embroidered cloaks., but

within the cloak i s often no more than swirling vapours. Jonson's

imitations are the shades of l i f e , because those he imitated were shades,

and while such e x i s t , they were also thus because he saw them thus. He

saw them i n uncomprehending subjection to only a small portion of t h e i r

being, a being u n a l l i e d to any higher conception of i t s e l f . Missing

i s the spark of d i v i n i t y . By the time of t h i s play's composition, the

gay temper surrounding Bridget, B o b a d i l l , and Clement has hardened to the

lean bitterness of Macilente and the f o o l i s h pretentiousness of Sa v i o l i n a .

And Carlo Buffone can f i n d nothing resembling man so much as a hog or

s,wine:

Carlo. 'Tis an Axiome i n n a t u r a l l philosophie, What comes neerest the nature of that i t feeds, conuerts quicker to nourishment, and doth sooner essentiate. Now nothing i n f l e s h , and e n t r a i l e s , assimulates or resembles man more, than a hog, or swine -

Macilente.- True; and hee (to requite t h e i r courtesie) often times d'offeth h i s owne nature, and puts on t h e i r s ; as when hee becomes as c h u r l i s h as a hog, or as drunke as a sow: but to your conclusion.

(V, v, 60-68)

Devoting so much of the play to t h i s v e r t i c a l movement of character

delin e a t i o n makes i t d i f f i c u l t for Jonson to push such a s t o l i d structure

into motion with any semblance of f l u i d i t y . There must be a momentary

pause during which the movement- s h i f t s i t s d i r e c t i o n onto a hori z o n t a l

plane. This change i s not accomplished by an overflow of Macilente's

teeming humour. Instead, q u i e t l y and c o o l l y , i n the "calm of h i s humour,"

he draws the l i n e s of action: he sends Puntarvolo and Briske to prepare at

Saviolina's court the scene of her purgation; he arrives himself with

the country clown Sogliardo to preside over i t s enactment; he poisons

Puntarvolo's dog and d i r e c t s the discovery of the c u l p r i t to S h i f t

who, i n his own r e v e l a t i o n , d i s i l l u s i o n s Sogliardo of h i s gentlemanly

pretensions; he d i r e c t s the cast, despite t h e i r lagging melancholy, to

Buffone, waiting at the Miter, whom he then a s s i s t s i n administering

his own coup de grace,} with a quickening step he dispenses Fungoso and

leads D e l i r o , F a l l a c e , and Fastidious Briske through the paces of t h e i r

motion, u n t i l he too, l i k e Sordido, can exclaim i n wonder:

Why, here's a change! 'Now i s my soule at peace. I am as emptie of a l l enuie now, As they of merit to be enuied at.

(V, x i , 54-56)

. - mt

CHAPTER VII.

Volpone

In the plays discussed e a r l i e r the flaw or humour made i t s appearance

as ian aberration which was, i n f a c t , the equivalent of character. It

appeared thus because of i t s deviation from a p o s i t i v e scale of values '

against which i t was continually measured. These p o s i t i v e values did not

grow out of the l i f e of the plays but were instead morally imposed upon the

characters. This imposition i n h i b i t e d free, natural movement on the basis

of those negative values from which the characters were impelled to draw

l i f e . A seemingly mechanical or s t i l t e d action was often the r e s u l t . In

Volpone the characters are allowed the absolute truth of t h e i r deformities.

E v i l i s the dominating force. It e x i s t s now i n the nature of things rather

than i n the somewhat a r t i f i c i a l d e l i n e a t i o n of a humour. Powerful, natural

action i s the r e s u l t .

The good characters are i n s i p i d and t h e i r existence would seem to imply

that good i s an accident of nature, a miracle of nature rather l i k e Sordido's

state of grace, a state which, i n order for i t to e x i s t , must remain com­

p l e t e l y secluded from the world around i t . There i s l i t t l e i n t e r a c t i o n

between i t and the surrounding world: i t combats e v i l simply by shutting

i t s e l f up i n a cocoon and appealing to "god and his good angels" for a

miracle. Good, i t would seem, is. some men's "several"; i t would seem not

to be a p o t e n t i a l in the nature of a l l things, towards which men can aspire

by s t r i v i n g to know the f u l l n e s s of i t s nature. It i s an unalterable state

which, i n order to preserve i t s e l f , constructs a wall of innocence. C e l i a

and Volpone are good examples of two characters created from a dichotomous

943

world view. C e l i a descends from an abstract sphere of v i r t u e ; Volpone

springs from the v i t a l i t y of e v i l . They e x i s t i n two completely d i f f e r e n t

worlds: within two separate c i r c l e s each one closed to the other. It i s

Volpone'.s speeches (in Act I I I . scene v i i ) which contain the beauty of

l i f e and C e l i a ' s which contain the beauty of heaven. The world of man

and the other heavenly one are completely d i s t i n c t and unrelated.

In the exchange between Ce l i a and Volpone i t i s evident that there

e x i s t no terms i n which C e l i a i s either capable of answering or which he i s

capable of comprehending. Their fundamental assumptions are d i f f e r e n t ,

and neither character r e f l e c t s a genuine understanding of the other.

That which i s a "cause of L i f e " for C e l i a , her honour, and for whose

protection she pleads to "god and his good angels" i s to Volpone "the

beggers vertue" lacking iri'Wisdome". Since t h e i r respective worlds, points

of view, and languages neither overlap nor touch on the l e v e l of the mind

or s p i r i t , Celia turns to a defense based on the purely p h y s i c a l , with

regard to h e r s e l f as well as to Volpone:

If you haue eares that w i l l be pierc'd; or eyes, That can be open'd; a heart-, may be touch'd; Or any part, that yet sounds man, about you: If you haue touch of holy saints, or heauen, Do me the grace, to l e t me scape. If not, Be b o u n t i f u l l , and k i l l me.

Yet feed your wrath, s i r , rather than your l u s t ; . ( I t i s a v i c e , comes neerer manlinesse) And punish that vnhappy crime of nature, Which you miscal my beauty: f l a y my face, Or poison i t , with oyntments, for seducing Your bloud to t h i s r e b e l l i o n . Rub these hands, With what may cause an eating l e p r o s i e , E'ene to my bones, and marrow: any thing, That may disfauour me, saue i n my honour.

( I l l , v i i , 240-245, 249-257)

If he w i l l do so small a thing, she w i l l kneel and pray for him and

"pay downe/ A thousand hourely vowes" for his health. She has no perception

of his world, nor he.of hers. Volpone, however,' assumes the worst - an

assumption which both protects and betrays him:

Thinke me cold, Fro.sen, and impotent, and so report me? That I had NESTOR'S hernia, thou wouldst thinke. I doe degenerate, and abuse my nation, To play with oportunity, thus long: I should haue done the act, and then haue parlee'd. Yeeld, or l i e force thee.

( I l l , v i i , 260-266)

Here he reveals that a l l arguments and persuasions we're superfluous to h i s

o r i g i n a l intent and he judges one who l i v e s outside his world by the

assumptions on which h i s own r e s t s . His judgment betrays him, but h i s

momentary r e t r i b u t i o n i s brought about with the rather a r t i f i c i a l appearance

of a deus ex machina - Bonario, who leaps at th i s moment from behind the

cur t a i n . His repentance does not, however, equal that of Sordido after

the descent of grace: he fears only that he w i l l be betrayed to beggary

and infamy. In Volpone's own world the assumption of the worst intent

protects him from others of h i s kind. Later, his downfall i s brought

about p a r t i a l l y by the betrayal of t h i s assumption: i n not assuming the

worst of Mosca, he f a i l s to l i v e by one of the fundamental assumptions

of his world.

In t h i s scene then i s a s p e c i f i c moment in which the two worlds are

juxtaposed: good, i n the person of C e l i a , i s protected i n Volpone's

world, but i t i s done i n a mechanical way. Celia h e r s e l f f e e l s that she

has no personal c o n t r o l , nor does she a c t i v e l y attempt to exercise c o n t r o l .

She c a l l s to the heavens for her protection and f e e l s that a l l she has to

lose i s her innocence, beyond that nothing els e . Her rescue passes to the

hands of someone e l s e , but again i n a mechanical fashion. Knowledge of a

wrong act, as well as p a r t i c i p a t i o n i n that act, would shatter the cocoon

of innocence, and i t i s on the basis of the formal, rather than the organic,

existence of innocence and honor that she makes her appeal. The appeal i s

for a personal and physical a n n i h i l a t i o n or for a divine transformation.

Never do her b e l i e f s partake of a v i t a l i t y which would enable her to act

with the same effectiveness as do Volpone and Mosca.

Later Volpone and Mosca meet t h e i r f i n a l r e t r i b u t i o n i n C e l i a and

Bonario's world. That r e t r i b u t i o n does not r e s u l t from a p o s i t i v e force

working within t h e i r world or outside i t , but from t h e i r betrayal of t h i s

sphere i n which both have t h e i r being. They are summoned before a wraith­

l i k e t r i b u n a l that does, in i t s o f f i c i a l decrees, l i t t l e to dissipate the

pervasive odor of e v i l .

Since Jonson generally presents characters who are either e n t i r e l y

"good" or completely " e v i l " , and since he can present the " e v i l " ones with

great effectiveness, one may r a i s e the question of why i t should be so

d i f f i c u l t for him to present.good people acting from good motives. His

s p i r i t u a l l y opposed characters seem caught on the horns of an old theological

dilemma. In attempting to explain the nature of man, the theologians had

abstracted from the subtle complexity of l i f e the r e l a t e d ideas of good and

e v i l as the basic components. In so doing they did not d i f f e r greatly

from e a r l i e r Greek thinkers who had endeavored to explain the e s s e n t i a l

nature of the universe i n terms of love and hate, c r e a t i v i t y and d e s t r u c t i v e -

ness. These terms had meaning in themselves, but because they were abstract-

tions from l i f e observed they had f u l l e r meaning i n r e l a t i o n to t h e i r

opposites. And in l i f e i t s e l f i t was recognized that the interplay of

these opposites held the world in balance. In Jonson there i s no interplay

of opposites. When e v i l occurs, i t does not appear as the p r i v a t i o n of good,

as a negative, joined to a c e r t a i n good or p o s i t i v e . His r e s o l u t i o n of one-

half of the puzzle remains forever in a t h e o r e t i c a l sphere, when i t should

for the sake of h i s drama be of a more v i t a l c o n s t i t u t i o n .

Jonson i s the h e i r of the s c h o l a s t i c philosophical t r a d i t i o n which

defined e v i l as the absence of good, as a lack, as a negative, as the

existence of a vacuum. The idea of being was p r i o r to the idea of goodness.

No being was e v i l except i n so far as i t lacked being. If i t lacked being

or form, i t could not therefore act, except by virt u e of some good

attached to i t . Good possessed a due end by which i t was moved. The absence

of a due end did not in i t s e l f constitute e v i l unless that absence was

attached to an undue end. If then e v i l i s negative, a thing without being,

i t should be d i f f i c u l t to present i n a dramatically e f f e c t i v e way an e v i l

character acting p o s i t i v e l y . Those e v i l characters who are presented as

acting, and with l e a s t d i f f i c u l t y , ' a r e those l i k e Iago who can say " E v i l

be thou my good". A negative becomes a p o s i t i v e , and aspires within the

r e l a t i v e l y free state of non-being beyond to an ultimate cause or end

where i t would change the nature of i t s source.

Volpone aspires and he has made of e v i l a p o s i t i v e good. He has

decided that a l l i s baseness and has made of that a p o s i t i v e so that hee

has no d i f f i c u l t y i n acting. He has created his own good to which he can

aspire - the "son of S o l " , his gold. He i s completely devoted to hi's i d o l ,

: 9,8

to his uncaused cause, which makes a l l men f a l s e but remains always true

to i t s e l f . It i s t h i s god that animates Volpone's world and controls the

nature of the actions performed therein. But i t i s a man-made god, formed

from the dross of h i s heart and created by an unnatural inversion of the

nature of things, and i n the end i t plays a foo l of Volpone himself.

Volpone not only worships i t but he also aspires to an a r t i s t r y i n worships

he creates, but he creates mountebanks, eunuchs, hermaphrodities, f o o l s , he

constructs a l i t u r g y of worship, he and his fellow celebrant, but i t i s a

l i t u r g y p a r t i c i p a t e d i n by vultures, crows, and ravens. He aspires to

create h i s own heaven and creates instead, l i k e L u c i f e r in h i s f a l l from

the presence of God, his own h e l l - h i s creation i s not a mixture of good

and e v i l , but pure e v i l only."'' But Volpone i s not overtaken by a Nemesis

growing out of a world where there i s an interplay of opposites; he i s

str i c k e n by the excesses of h i s own manipulations and by the desertion of

his chosen god for h i s own unrestrained pleasure.

The f e e l i n g concerning the previous plays that there i s no organic

i n t e r a c t i o n between character and event i s i n Volpone far le s s evident. The

l i n e of action seems less mechanical and less pre-determined and e x i s t s

more i n the nature of things. For once a character i s carried away by a

zest for l i f e , a l b e i t a perverted one, by a determination to action which

"'"For a s i m i l a r consideration of t h i s element of perverted r e l i g i o u s worship on a symbolic l e v e l , see C. G. Thayer, Ben Jonson. Studies i n the Piavs (Norman, Oklahomas The University of Oklahoma Press, 1963), pp. 50-111. At the writing of t h i s chapter, I had not read Mr. Thayer's book.

;9.?;

springs from the f u l l n e s s , corrupt as i t i s , of his own being. Like Boba-

dilL, Volpone aspires to a better l i f e , to a f u l l e r l i f e , but for him that

better l i f e i s intimately connected with and dependent on material gain

and success. For the early Elizabethans of a prosperous and expanding

so:ciety, t h i s connection was perhaps i n e v i t a b l e , but with Volpone the s t r a i n

of disillusionment and cynicism introduced into the drama with Marlowe's

Machiavellian hero has come to f u l l f r u i t i o n , and now only the obverse

side of the coin i s in view.

Volpone seems for a time to be master of h i s w i l l , to i n fact possess

free w i l l , but the moment he turns to take i t into his own hands, the

moment at which his personal enjoyment of the thing becomes more important

than the thing i t s e l f , that i s , h i s god, then at that moment does he run

hi s head into a noose of his own making and a l l i s l o s t . The Spectre of

Ju s t i c e materializes and the impotence to which he pretended "by faining

lame, gout, palsey, and such diseases" becomes the impending r e a l i t y . The

Venetian representatives of j u s t i c e are not, however, untouched by the moral

disease and the t o t a l impression of vice i s not perceptibly a l l e v i a t e d by

the assertion that "there i s force in the decrees of Venice" to punish even

these e v i l - d o e r s . Volpone's image s t i l l rules the stage; C e l i a , Bonario,

the Avocatori, remain i n s u b s t a n t i a l shadows that quickly f a l l i n darkness.

With the advent of The Alchemist Jonson frees his characters e n t i r e l y from

the abstract menace of r e t r i b u t i o n . In a sense Jonson here w i l f u l l y allows

the strings of the puppets to s l i p from his hands and gives them for the

f i r s t time free w i l l . They possess i t and they are masters of i t and they

have no desire to go against t h e i r me'ros or portion; indeed they manage

i t and maintain i t ; they themselves work out a l l the subtleties of shade

and form to f i l l the canvas on which they have t h e i r being.

Herford and Simpson r e f e r to the hi s t o r y of Se.ianus as the source for

"the fundamental s i t u a t i o n of Jonson's two greatest comedies, the league

of two able v i l l a i n s , master and servant, ending i n a deadly struggle 2

between them," and i t i s i n the partnership of Volpone and Mosca that

the nexus of motivation and action e x i s t s . The d i f f i c u l t y of presenting

i n a dramatically e f f e c t i v e way characters acting so l e l y and purely from

e i t h e r good motives or bad motives was discussed e a r l i e r . In t h i s play

Jonson i s faced with an even greater d i f f i c u l t y : when one omits from an

intimate connection the i n t e r a c t i v e elements of good and bad, when one

removes from the center of the stage the passive, but e s s e n t i a l l y good man,

and retains only the active but bad man, there can be a s t i l l greater

d i f f i c u l t y i n producing an organic i n t e r a c t i o n . It was also stated e a r l i e r

that i n t h i s play motivation and action seem to e x i s t more in the nature

of things and as a r e s u l t spring more natur a l l y into being, but with regard

to the characters alone, i t i s necessary to attempt the assigning of

s p e c i f i c motivation, and s p e c i f i c action, a l b e i t t h i s may involve an over­

s i m p l i f i c a t i o n .

In addition to Volpone's god, the "world's soule" and his own, Volpone

himself may be said to provide the e s s e n t i a l motivation; his part i s the

"Resolution" and Mosca's i s h i s "Countenance". His greed and h i s love of

Herford & Simpson, I, 60.

seeing others sweat under the.same feverish torment from which he suffers

provide the immediate moving force for Mosca's actions. Rather, they are

the seeming primary motivation for Mosca's actions i n the f i r s t part of

the play. Mosca, however, desires h i s own r e s o l u t i o n , and i t i s Volpone'*s

god, "the world's soule" and h i s , which i s also to Mosca "vi r t u e , fame,/

Honour, and a l l things e l s e " . It i s th i s which provides Mosca with his

primary motivation and nurtures i n the f i r s t part of the play both the most

apparent actions of a servant attempting to please h i s master and the

embryonic action which i n the l a t t e r part of the play comes, to the forefront

as Mosca parades i n a magnifico's a t t i r e .

In Act I, scene i i , there i s a subtle hint of Mosca*s r e a l i n t e r e s t s

and a preparation for his l a t e r treachery. After Voltore's departure,

the following dialogue takes place:

Volpone. I long to haue possession Of my new present.

Mosca. That, and thousands more, I hope, to see you lor d of.

Volpone. Thankes, kind MOSCA.

Mosca. And that, when I am l o s t i n blended dust, And hundred such, as I am, i n succession -

Volpone. Nay, that were too much, MOSCA.

(I, i i , 116-121)

Mo.sca i s st r a i n i n g so far to f l a t t e r Volpone that even Volpone recognizes

"that were too.much." By saying to Volpone that he, Mosca, w i l l be blended

dust, along with Corbaccio, Corvino,. and Voltore, while Volpone yet l i v e s

to enjoy thousands of new possessions, he i s f i l l i n g out the pattern i n

Volpone's mind with respect to himself. He i s including himself i n the

iO£

succession of legacy-hunters on two d i f f e r e n t l e v e l s : ( l ) he implies

that Volpone does not have to worry about him as a legacy-hunter and so can

t r u s t him, and (2) he i s including himself i n a c t u a l i t y as a legacy-hunter.

This one scene contains in a microcosmic way the essence of the r e l a t i o n s h i p

between Volpone and Mosca and at the same time illuminates the nature of

a l l the other r e l a t i o n s h i p s within the play. One of the central themes of

the play i s Volpone's desire to o u t l i v e a l l the r e s t and he attempts to

prolong l i f e by feeding on his gold and on the base desires and f r u s t r a t i o n s

of others. In Jonson's hands t h i s theme becomes more than a mere l i t e r a r y

borrowing from c l a s s i c a l authors? i t achieves an imaginative l i f e which

imposes a truth of i t s own. Volpone's desire to p r o l o n g . l i f e becomes one

of the manifestations of the i n t e n s i t y of his e v i l , and of his god's e v i l ,

for he i s perverting nature. He perverts nature on a purely physical l e v e l

by attempting to enjoy the f u l l n e s s of l i f e from within a "tombed sepulchre"

and he perverts i t on another l e v e l by worshipping a f a l s e god. Mosca too

wants from Volpone what Volpone wants from his worshippers. He i s using

Volpone as his instrument j u s t as Volpone uses him. He i s " i n the succession"

of legacy-hunters and he hopes to be " i n the succession" of Volpone's

wealth. Mosca i s feigning impending death to Volpone as Volpone feigns

impending death to his legacy-hunters. It should be obvious to Volpone

that Mosca w i l l o u t l i v e him, but he, l i k e the r e s t , l e t s his desires perplex

h i s judgment, and so, l i k e Corbaccio, his ears have grown stale with age.

But h i s point of deafness i s far removed beyond that of Corbaccio or

Voltore or Corvino.

; I ; Q 3

His point of deafness comes with the personal l i m i t a t i o n of an ego

that believes i t s e l f invulnerable, that cannot conceive of that happening

to i t s e l f which he sees happening to the others. Of these Mosca says

True, they w i l l not see't the d u p l i c i t y . Too much l i g h t blinds 'hem, I thinke. Each of 'hem Is so possest, and st u f t with his owne hopes, That any thing, vnto the contrary, Neuer so true, or neuer so apparent, Neuer-so palpable, they w i l l r e s i s t i t -

Volpone. Like a temptation of the d i u e l l .

(V, i i , 22-28}

It i s Mosca who not only provides for Volpone h i s f i n a l temptation bringing

about h i s downfall but who also a r t i c u l a t e s what Volpone's response to

that temptation should be. E a r l i e r , i n Act I, Mosca has likewise provided,

i n h i s d e s c r i p t i o n of Corvino's wife, the essence of the temptation, i n

a vocabularly suited to Volpone's understanding. The wily contriver describes

C e l i a i n terms measured against Volpone's gold and against a f l e s h l y

sensuality which promises the e t e r n i t y Volpone desires; a soft l i p ,

Would tempt you to e t e r n i t i e s of k i s s i n g 1 And f l e s h , that melteth, i n the touch to bloud! Bright as your gold! and louely, as your gold!

( I , v, 111-114)

But i t i s Volpone here who a r t i c u l a t e s his own reaction when he says he

must see her and that "I w i l l goe see her, though but at her windore."

In Act V, sc. i i , however, immediately following the court scene

when Voltore has performed so b e a u t i f u l l y for Volpone's sake, the r o l e s

begin to s h i f t subtly. Mosca gives to the advocate high praises

He' [ V o l t o r e ] has taken paines, i n faith,, s i r , & deseru'd,

(In my poore iudgement, I speake i t , vnder vauour, Not to contrary you, s i r ) very r i c h l y -Well - to be cosen'd.

(V, i i , 44-47)

This he speaks, even af t e r his advice to the contrary:

Why, now you speake, s i r . We must, here, be f i x t ; Here, we must r e s t j t h i s i s our master-peece:

(V, i i , 12-13)

And Volpone follows the lure to cozen:

'Tis r i g h t . I cannot answer him, MOSCA, as I would, Not yet; but for thy sake, at thy intreaty, I w i l l beginne, eu'n now, to vexe 'hem a l l :

(V, i i , 53-56)

As pointed out above, i t i s Mosca who not only suggests the fa c t of action

but who also provides Volpone with the intent. Volpone f a l l s to the

temptation and abrogates h i s w i l l . For Mosca's sake,, and not for h i s

"world's soule" and his own, he w i l l "vexe 'hem a l l . "

This may seem a fine point of subtlety, but i t i s at t h i s point that

t h e i r r o l e s s h i f t i n action as well as in dialogue, and i t prepares the

way for Volpone's eventual downfall. Volpone s t i l l remains the dominating

genius of the- play, the f u l l e s t r e a l i z a t i o n of the s p i r i t of e v i l , and i t s

source. As pointed out e a r l i e r , he provides the basic motivation, a

monumental desire, godlike i n i t s proportions, for godlike mastery. The

motivations::"; of the other characters are but shadows or extensions of his

own. He approaches t h i s mastery with an h i s t r i o n i c genius for deception

and a mirth both cosmic and satanic. He i s f f a r too cunning for the victims

of h i s t r i c k e r y to bring about his f a l l . In addition to his own excesses

and his hubris, he i s undone by one who has observed from behind the scenes

and has had for teacher the master of them a l l .

Volpone now begins, as Mosca has formerly done, to implement the

action; he outlines the s p e c i f i c s of the proceedings by t e l l i n g Nano and

Castrone to advertize that he i s dead and by t e l l i n g Mosca to present

himself as the newly-made h e i r . The.spider's l a i r i s deserted and Volpone

doffs h i s magnifico's a t t i r e to descend into the s t r e e t s , where Mosca

once had worked h i s master's w i l l . Volpone plays h i s god f a l s e by giving

l i p service to a natural rhythm which he had sought to pervert, that i s ,

his death. He deserts his s o c i a l p o s i t i o n and h i s shrine to gain his

pleasure i n a "common way" upon the s t r e e t s . No longe'r does he aspire to

and for his god i n i t s addition and possession; instead he taunts others

i n t h e i r lack for h i s own personal s a t i s f a c t i o n .

He has i n e f f e c t committed the crime of hubris* he has deserted his

portion, he has trespassed h i s bounds, and exceeded his fate. When the

legacy-hunters hear of h i s death and the death of t h e i r hopes, the s p e l l

of e v i l and the hope of gain, which Volpone has helped to cast, i s broken.

Volpone does i n e f f e c t become dead; h i s misfortune i s i n l i v i n g beyond

his time, into a realm which i s r e a l i t y for his victims but i l l u s i o n for

him. The i l l u s i o n i s his death, for he i s no longer i n a p o s i t i o n to

impose his w i l l ; what i s r e a l i t y for the others becomes, because he has

abrogated his w i l l and his power, likewise a r e a l i t y for him.

The s h i f t i n Volpone*s r o l e and h i s subsequent downfall are fore­

shadowed in several scenes: i n the mountebank scene when, aft e r assuming

a disguise and mounting his bank, he i s drubbed by Gorvino; and j u s t a f t e r

the court scene when Mosca points out, "'T seem'd to mee, you sweat, s i r

. . . . Were you not daunted?" Volpone admits "In good f a i t h , I was/ A

l i t t l e i n the mist" but swears "not deiected:/ Neuer, but s t i l l my s e l f e . "

Immediately preceding t h i s avowal, however, i t has taken considerable drink

to restore h i s v i t a l i t y , and h i s discourse has revealed more profound mis-

g i v i n g s :

1(56

We'll, I am here; and a l l . t h i s brunt i s past: I ne're was i n d i s l i k e with my d i s g u i s e / T i l l t h i s f l e d moment; here, 'twas good, i n priuate, But, in your publike, Caue. whil'st I breathe. 'Fore god,- my l e f t legge 'gan to haue the crampe; And I apprehended, s t r a i g h t , some power had strooke me With a dead palsey: w e l l , I must be merry, And shake i t o f f . A many of these feares Would put me into some vill a n p u s disease, Should they come thick vpon me: I'le preuent 'hem. Giue me a boule of l u s t i e wine, to f r i g h t This humor from my heart;

(V, i , 1-12) .

In the public market place Volpone i s out of h i s element and there he

does not breathe so e a s i l y . The camouflage which aids preservation i n h i s

natural habitat provokes i n public those ailments held i n abeyance at his

private haunts. This habitat in which Volpone f l o u r i s h e s i s for him a

natural one, but measured against a wider frame of reference - that frame

constituted by the values of the Elizabethan world picture - i t i s an

unnatural, perverted, and a r t i f i c i a l l y created one. Tn V o l p o n e the humour

has completely embraced Volpone's character and i t has grown beyond that to

an organic v i s i o n of e v i l , f l o u r i s h i n g in a world of i t s own. It i s when

Volpone begins to lose his adhesion to t h i s world that he f e e l s himself

shake with a "dead palsey" and a deadly humour s t r i k e h i s heart with f r i g h t .

The "thousand natural shocks that f l e s h i s heir t o " creeps back into r e a l i t y

only when he deserts the "wholeness" of h i s chosen world. His f a l l comes

about then not only by his commitment to that world in the f i r s t place, as

i n medieval tragedy, but-by his unfaithfulness to that world. The world

of j u s t i c e and r i g h t cannot i n f e c t his..world by Its presence there, j u s t

as a l l of Celiac's pleas f a l l on deaf ears. His world can i n f e c t a h e a l t h i e r

one with disease and sickness, j u s t as the fourth Avocatori can think of

his personal gain i n having Mosca as a son-in-law.

107

The foreshadowing of Mosca's defection has already been discussed

above. As for the flaw which brings about his f a l l , i t consists, l i k e

that of Volpone, i n a personal point of deafness, which for Mosca r e s u l t s

i n over-confidence, and in the perversion of a higher devotion for personal

ends. By the commencement of Act III Mosca has begun to grow i n love with

himself:

I Feare, I s h a l l begin to grow in loue With my deare s e l f e , and my most prosp'rous parts, They doe so spring, and burgeon; I can feele A whimsey i ' my bloud: (I know not how) Successe hath made me wanton. I could skip Out of my skin, now, l i k e a s u b t i l l snake, I am so.limber. 0! Your Parasite Is a most precious thing, dropt from aboue, Not bred 'mong'st clods, and clot-poules, here on earth. I muse, the myst.erie was not made a science, It i s so l i b e r a l l y p rofest! almost A l l the wise world i s l i t t l e else, in' nature, But Parasites, or Sub-parasites.

( I l l , i , 1-13)

Like K i t e l y and other humour characters he begins to feed upon himself,

to batten upon the tumour of s e l f - l o v e instead of, in allegiance to his

character of Parasite, fattening s o l e l y upon the hopes and fears of others

• and upon-his patron and h i s patron's god. He too f a l l s short of the

worship and turns toward becoming his own god, a "precious thing, dropt

from above." The mystery of the universe has come to t h i s poor pass, to

a world where the most precious creation i s a parasite, and a l l the world

i s l i t t l e else save parasite and sub-parasite. E a r l i e r i n Act I, scene i i ,

man's previous conceptions of the mystery of things have been parodied by

Volpone's zanies, the eunuch, the f o o l , and the hermaphrodite: the soul of

Pythagoras "that juggler d i v i n e " has come from Apollo, has transmigrated

through Pyrrhus and the sophists of Greece, and i s now i n t h i s age incarnate

108

in the body of an hermaphrodite. Mysteries of the universe have shrunk

to the perversion of an hermaphrodite or the b r i l l i a n t cunning of a

parasite or they have become the common trade of science. The spark of

creation and i t s a r t i s t i c growth i n the nature of things i s reserved for

the " f i n e , elegant r a s c a l l " :

This Is the creature, had the art borne with him; Tories not to learne i t , but doth practise i t Out of most excellent natures and such sparkes, Are the true Parasites, others but t h e i r Zani's.

( I l l , i , 30-33)

Yet i n the next moment, confronted with the accusations of Bonario, he

pleads the excuse of h i s environment and of "strong necessity." On his

environment rests h i s seeming sins but on his natural s e l f rests h i s s e l f -

love. He intends to change that environment .and does i n fact skip out of

his skin l i k e a " s u b t i l l snake" to don the robes of a magnifico. When,

however, he and Volpone exchange t h e i r r o l e s , know d i v i s i o n one from the

other i n personal diversion from t h e i r common purpose, and f a l l away from

t h e i r higher goal, both f a l l together. Their respective rol e s slip-back

into the o r i g i n a l positions of the r e l a t i o n s h i p ; Volpone i s punished i n

accordance with h i s po s i t i o n and not' i n s t r i c t accordance with his crime;

Mosca i s punished not only for being "chiefest m i n i s t e r " of the treachery

but. also f o r , although being a fellow of no b i r t h and no blood, having

abused the "habit of a gentleman."

In Volpone the tension e x i s t i n g between a humour and a scale of

po s i t i v e values, which gives to that humour i t s d e f i n i t i o n as a flaw or

an aberration, -is no longer evident. Morality i s no longer imposed from

without;, instead i t i s incorporated i n the structure of the play. Deviates

from the f u l l implications of i t s tenets are embodied in the persons of the

play, and the epitome of i t s perversion i s found in Volpone himself. In

t h i s play one finds the l o g i c a l culmination of a dogmatic b e l i e f i n a

morality which has l o s t i t s s p i r i t u a l force. Its emotional r e a l i t y i s

the obverse of i t s r a t i o n a l d i c t a t e s , and i t i s perhaps i r o n i c that Jonson

depicts so powerfully and so p o e t i c a l l y a r e a l i t y which he appears to

condemn. The age was becoming increasingly cynical of the aspiring

i n d ividualism of the early Elizabethans, but the dynamism of Volpone's

a s p i r a t i o n makes one suspect i n Jonson both bitterness and sadness at

the dream's disappearance. That which might shape man so l i k e a god might

likewise twist him to deformity.

Actually, Jonson's characters do not become less human by attempting

to soar beyond t h e i r humanity. This humanity they never possess. Volpone

begins i n error and ends i n error; error i s repeated again and again, and

each r e p e t i t i o n adds to the enormity of the whole. In speaking of the

s a t i r i c elements i n Shakespeare's T r o i l u s and Cressida and Timon of Athens.

A l v i n Kernan points out that,

There i s , as Shakespeare saw, a form of death wish lurking i n s a t i r e , a compulsive urge to destruction and nothingness. He also saw that the t i t a n i c fury of a great s a t i r i s t i s not innate but rather the perversion, the twisting, of a desire for goodness and for love.3

A l v i n Kernan, The Cankered Muse. Satire of the English Renaissance. Yale Studies In English, Vol.. 142 (New Haven:. Yale University Press, 1959), p. 204.

In Volpone. however, there i s no explanation on the human l e v e l for Volpone's

e v i l . Unlike Timon, he i s not a d i s i l l u s i o n e d man whose cynicism i s

based on a knowledge of man's p o t e n t i a l i t y for both good and e v i l . He

seems to have sprung full-grown from the womb of nature, her f u l l e s t

expression of baseness. Aspiration i s inherent in man; i t i s natural for

him to reach towards an affirmation of l i f e . Because Volpone seems an

unaccountable growth of nature, because he seems t o t a l l y e v i l , and because

he i s imbued with such v i t a l i t y , i t would appear that the creative force i s

i t s e l f being characterized as e v i l or perverted.

If there i s i n Volpone a defect i n vice c a l l e d v i r t u e , at l e a s t an

affirmation of something p o s i t i v e , i t i s h i s t r u s t of Mosca. Volpone,

walking the streets disguised as a"Commandadore'j learns from Nano that

Mosca has taken the keys:

Did master MOSCA take the keyes? wy, sol I am farder, In. These are my fine conceipts! I must be merry, with a mischiefe to me! What a v i l e wretch was I, that could not beare My fortune soberly? I must ha' my crotchets! And my conundrums! w e l l , goe you, and seeke him: His meaning may be truer, then my feare. Bid him, he s t r e i g h t come to me, to the court; . Thither w i l l I, and, i f 't be possible, Vn-screw my aduocate, vpon new hopes: When I prouok'd him, then I l o s t my s e l f e .

(V, x i , 12-22)

Volpone so often depends upon Mosca to save him. When Lady P o l i t i q u e

Would-Be i s wordily prescribing her own physic for the r e s t o r a t i o n of

Volpone's health, which she further impairs, Volpone utters a cry of r e l i e f

as Mosca enters:

Mosca? welcom, Welcome to my redemption.

( I l l , v, 2-3)

Eventually, i t i s h i s own downfall, p a r t i a l l y p r e c i p i t a t e d and confirmed

by Mosca, which Volpone must welcome. If the irony i s a double one and i f

there i s here a moral echo, i t i s abortive and grimly humorous, for

Volpone at the end of the play i s sent to the I n c u r a b i l i with his disease

unremedied.

Northrop Frye r e f e r s to t h i s play, as a "comic imita t i o n of tragedy," 4

but i t does not have the r e c o n c i l i a t i o n of either comedy or tragedy. Often

i t s structure p a r a l l e l s that of tragedy, but Volpone does not culminate

in a deeper perception of the world. There i s no growth in a f u l l e r

conception of human nature which incorporates i n i t s e l f something of

p o s i t i v e values. There i s growth, but i t i s the humour which grows and

expands into an organic world of e v i l . It i s against the backdrop of

t h i s world that Volpone and Mosca move, and t h e i r primary humour consists

i n t h e i r a f f i n i t y with and allegiance to t h i s world. In t h i s context,

t h e i r flaw, or secondary humour, becomes a decline from,the f u l l n e s s of

t h i s world to a humour of a purely personal nature, a s u b s t i t u t i o n of the

microcosmic for the macrocosmic without any i n c l u s i o n of the greater

within the l e s s e r . Neither Mosca nor Volpone, i n the l a t t e r part of the

play, i s adding to the dimensions of the "son of S o l . " Volpone i s no •

longer glorying in the glad possession of his gold nor i n i t s cunning

purchase; he i s rather tormenting others for t h e i r having f a i l e d i n t h e i r

i n t r i g u e s to obtain what i s h i s . Mosca now seeks only to add to himself

a greater dimension by acquiring Volpone's wealth. This degeneration on

both t h e i r parts c a r r i e s them, as pointed out in some d e t a i l above, out

into an a l i e n world, where ce r t a i n natural•rhythms reassert themselves

and where other values p r e v a i l . The natural rhythms that e x i s t i n t h i s world

are not, however, depicted as flowing f r e e l y nor do the values appear to

Northrop Frye, Anatomy of C r i t i c i s m . Four Essays (Princeton: University Press, 1957), p. 165.

1.1.2.

possess much force. It i s the other world, that of Volpone and Mosca, which

i s the more powerful one, powerful enough to hold a l l natural rhythms i n

abeyance and to dispossess any values of a p o s i t i v e nature. Volpone's

world., the world of e v i l , emerges as the organic, p o s i t i v e one. E v i l i s

the p o s i t i v e and good i s the negative; good consists simply of the absence

of e v i l .

The Elizabethan world view had provided a moral framework within

which man might aspire beyond himself and need not f a l l into destructive

s e l f - l o a t h i n g or escape into quiescent acceptance. Perhaps the age's

growing materialism, i t s s p i r i t u a l weariness, and h i s own rati o n a l i s m

b l i n d Jonson to that mysterious force that moved the e a r l i e r Elizabethans

to look u n f l i n c h i n g l y through the f i r e of l i f e into the face of death.

Jonson cannot probe that mystery; generally f o r him the mystery i s not

allowed. He i s concerned with the so-called "purely human condition" and

he stops short of any extended questioning or broad i n v e s t i g a t i o n :

For to utter truth of God, but as he [the servant of humility ] thinks only, may be dangerous, who i s best known by our not knowing. Some things of Him, so much as He hath revealed or commanded, i t i s not only lawful but necessary f o r us to know, for therein our ignorance was the f i r s t cause of our wickedness.'^

Man must neither soar too high, nor sink too low. In t h i s p o e t i c a l l y

r e s t r i c t i v e attitude he symbolizes the new temper of the times and he

foreshadows Pope's advice to a l a t e r age:

% e n Jonson, Timber or Discoveries Made Upon Men and Matter, ed. F e l i x E. Schelling (Boston: Ginn & Company, 1892), p. 19.

Know then t h y s e l f , presume not God to scan,. The proper study of mankind i s man.

For a l l Jonson's self-imposed r e s t r i c t i o n s , h i s humour characters do

spring into l i f e , l i f e of a peculiar brand. They survive h i s theorizing

c r i t i c s and they survive more e a s i l y i n his plays when he himself begins

to f e e l some sympathy for h i s creations. His lack, as well as h i s i n c l i n a t i o n ,

leads him to r e l y heavily on form. Through form he maintains the vigor of

his characters by an action continual, i n t r i c a t e , complicated, and confined.

Once he has found the l i m i t s of h i s world picture and has decided the nature

of i t s canvas, h i s weakness becomes his strength, and he paints with an

i n d e l i b l e stroke.

A SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY

A r t i c l e s and P e r i o d i c a l s

Adams, J . Q. "The Sources of Ben Jonson's Volpone." Modern Philology. II (1904), 289-299.

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Blanshard, Rufus A. "Carew and Jonson," Studies i n Philology. LII ( A p r i l 1955), 195-211.

Briggs, W. D. "Source Material for Ben Jonson's 'Underwoods' e t c . , " Modern Philology. XV (September 1917), 277-312.

"Source Material f o r Jonson's Plays," Modern Language Notes. XXXI, i v , pt. 1 ( A p r i l 1916), 193-205; XXXI, v i , pt. 2 (June 1916), 321-333.

"Sources of Jonson's Discoveries,".Modern Language Notes. XXIII (February 1908), 43-46.

Brown, Huntington. "Ben Jonson and Rabelais," Modern Language Notes, XXXI ( A p r i l 1916), 6-13. "

Bryant J r . , Joseph A l l e n . "The Significance of Ben Jonson's F i r s t Re­quirement for Tragedy: 'Truth of Argument'," Studies i n Philology. XLIX ( A p r i l 1952), 195-213.

Campbell, Oscar James. "The Dramatic Construction of Poetaster." The Huntington Library B u l l e t i n . No. 9 ( A p r i l 1936), 37-62.

Draper, John W. "Theory of Comic in Eighteenth-Century England," Journal of English and Germanic Philology, XXXVII ( A p r i l 1938), 207-223.

Enck, J . J . "The Case Is Altered: I n i t i a l Comedy of Humours," Studies i n Philology. L ( A p r i l 1953), 195-214.

Friedland, Louis Sigmund. "Dramatic Unities i n England." Journal of English and Germanic Philology. X (January 1911), 56-89.

K a l l i c h , Martin. "Unity of Time i n Every Man In His Humour and Cynthia's Revels," Modern Language Notes. LVII (June 1942), 445-449.

Knowlton, Edgar C. "The Plots of Ben Jonson," Modern Language Notes. XLIV (February 1929), 77-86.

Levin, Harry. "Jonson's Metempsychosis," P h i l o l o g i c a l Quarterly. XXII (1943), 231-239.

McCullen, J r . , Joseph T. . "Conference with the Queen of F a i r i e s : A Study of Jonson's Workmanship in The Alchemist," Studia Neophiloloqica. XXII (1949), 87-95.

Marckwardt, A. H. "A Fashionable Expression; i t s Status i n Poetaster and Satiromastix." Modern Language Notes. XLIV (February 1929), 93-96.

Potts, L. J . "Ben Jonson and The Seventeenth Century," English Studies. N. S. II of Essays and Studies (1949), 7-25.

Shillinglaw,' Arthur T. "New Light on Ben Jonson's Discoveries," Englische Studien. LXXI (1937), 356-359.

Simpson, Percy. "Tanquam explorator: Ben Jonson's Method i n the Discoveries.^ Modern Language Review. II ( A p r i l 1907) 201-210.

Snuggs, H. D. "The Comic Humours," Publications of the Modern Language Association. LXII (March 1947), 114-122.

. "The Source of Jonson's D e f i n i t i o n of Comedy," Modern Language Notes. LXV (June 1950), 543-44.

Spingarn, J . E. "The Sources of Ben Jonson's 'Discoveries'," Modern Philology. II ( A p r i l 1905), 451-462.

Talbert, E. W. "New Light on Ben Jonson's Workmanship," Studies i n Philology. XL ( A p r i l 1943), 154-185.

• . "The C l a s s i c a l Mythology and the Structure of 'Cynthia's Revels'," P h i l o l o g i c a l Quarterly. XXII (July 1943), 193-210.

. "The Purpose and Technique of 'The Poetaster'," Studies -i n Philology. XLII ( A p r i l 1945), 225-252.

Walker, Ralph S. "Ben Jonson's Discoveries: A New An a l y s i s , " Essays and Studies. N. S. V (1952), 32-51.

. "Li t e r a r y C r i t i c i s m i n Jonson's Conversations with Drummond," English. VIII, 222-27.

Warren, Austin. "Pope and Ben Jonson," Modern Language Notes. XLV (Feb­ruary 1930), 86-88.

Weld, John S. "Ch r i s t i a n Comedy: Volpone," Studies i n Philology. LI ( A p r i l 1954), 172-193.

Books

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Bibliographies

Tannenbaum, Samuel A. Ben Jonson. A Concise Bibliography. New York; Scholars' Facsimiles and Reprints, 1938.

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Biographical and C r i t i c a l Studies

Aquinas, Saint Thomas. ' Basic Writings of Saint Thomas Aquinas, ed. Anton C. Pegis. 2 v o l s . New Yorks Random House, 1945.

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Coleridge, S. T. Coleridge's Miscellaneous C r i t i c i s m , ed. Thomas Middleton Raysor. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1936.

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1TB

F i g g i s , John N. The Divine Right of Kings. 2nd ed. with 3 additional essays. Cambridge: University Press, 1914.

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H a z l i t t , William.' Lectures on the English Poets, and .the English Comic Writers, ed. William Carew H a z l i t t . London: B e l l & Daldy, 1870.

Hollander, John. . Ben Jonson. The Laurel Poetry Series. New York: Dell Publishing Co., 1961.

Johnson, G. B. Ben Jonson.: Poet. New York: Columbia University, 1945.

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