JONSON AND DECKER.

BEN JONSON appears to have carried his military spirit into

the literary republic--his gross convivialities, with anecdotes

of the prevalent taste in that age for drinking-bouts--his

"Poetaster" a sort of _Dunciad_, besides a personal attack on the

frequenters of the theatres, with anecdotes--his Apologetical

Dialogue, which was not allowed to be repeated--characters of

DECKER and of MARSTON--DECKER'S Satiromastix, a parody on JONSON'S

"Poetaster"--BEN exhibited under the character of "Horace

Junior"--specimens of that literary satire; its dignified

remonstrance, and the honourable applause bestowed on the great

bard--some foibles in the literary habits of BEN, alluded to by

DECKER--JONSON'S noble reply to his detractors and rivals.

This quarrel is a splendid instance how genius of the first order,

lavishing its satirical powers on a number of contemporaries, may

discover, among the crowd, some individual who may return with a right

aim the weapon he has himself used, and who will not want for

encouragement to attack the common assailant: the greater genius is

thus mortified by a victory conceded to the inferior, which he himself

had taught the meaner one to obtain over him.

JONSON, in his earliest productions, "Every Man in his Humour," and

"Every Man out of his Humour," usurped that dictatorship, in the

Literary Republic, which he so sturdily and invariably maintained,

though long and hardily disputed. No bard has more courageously

foretold that posterity would be interested in his labours; and often

with very dignified feelings he casts this declaration into the teeth

of his adversaries: but a bitter contempt for his brothers and his

contemporaries was not less vehement than his affections for those who

crowded under his wing. To his "sons" and his admirers he was warmly

attached, and no poet has left behind him, in MS., so many testimonies

of personal fondness, in the inscriptions and addresses, in the copies

of his works which he presented to friends: of these I have seen more

than one fervent and impressive.

DRUMMOND of Hawthornden, who perhaps carelessly and imperfectly

minuted down the heads of their literary conference on the chief

authors of the age, exposes the severity of criticism which Ben

exercised on some spirits as noble as his own. The genius of Jonson

was rough, hardy, and invincible, of which the frequent excess

degenerated into ferocity; and by some traditional tales, this

ferocity was still inflamed by large potations: for Drummond informs

us, "Drink was the element in which he lived."[388] Old Ben had

given, on two occasions, some remarkable proofs of his personal

intrepidity. When a soldier, in the face of both armies, he had

fought single-handed with his antagonist, had slain him, and carried

off his arms as trophies. Another time he killed his man in a duel.

Jonson appears to have carried the same military spirit into the

Literary Republic.

Such a genius would become more tyrannical by success, and naturally

provoked opposition, from the proneness of mankind to mortify usurped

greatness, when they can securely do it. The man who hissed the poet's

play had no idea that he might himself become one of the dramatic

personages. Ben then produced his "Poetaster," which has been called

the _Dunciad_ of those times; but it is a _Dunciad_ without notes.

The personages themselves are now only known by their general

resemblance to nature, with the exception of two characters, those of

_Crispinus and Demetrius_.[389]

In "The Poetaster," Ben, with flames too long smothered, burst over

the heads of all rivals and detractors. His enemies seem to have been

among all classes; personages recognised on the scene as soon as

viewed; poetical, military, legal, and histrionic. It raised a host in

arms. Jonson wrote an apologetical epilogue, breathing a firm spirit,

worthy of himself; but its dignity was too haughty to be endured by

contemporaries, whom genius must soothe by equality. This apologetical

dialogue was never allowed to be repeated; now we may do it with

pleasure. Writings, like pictures, require a particular light and

distance to be correctly judged and inspected, without any personal

inconvenience.

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