My silver feet, like roots, are wreath'd Of all there seems a second birth; And Jove is present here. This, this, and only such as this, [Here they dance the Galliards and Corantos. Pallas ascending, and 'Tis now enough; behold you here, What Jove hath built to be your sphere, You hither must retire. And as his bounty gives you cause, To show the world your fire. Like lights about Astræa's throne, That by your union she may grow, Who vows, against or heat or cold, To write your names in some new flower, Cho. To Jove, to Jove, be all the honours given. That thankful hearts can raise from earth to heaven. Beaumont and Fletcher, in the order of our dramatic investigations, next require our attention. The literary partnerships of the drama which we have had occasion, in the course of our remarks, to notice, were generally brief and incidental, being confined to a few scenes, or a single play. In Beaumont and Fletcher, however, we have the interesting spectacle of two young men of exalted genius, of good birth and connections, living together for ten years, and writing in union a series of dramas, passionate, romantic, and comic, thus blending together their genius and their fame in indissoluble connection. Shakspeare was, beyond a doubt, the inspirer of these kindred spirits. They appeared when his genius was in its meridian splendor, and they were completely subdued by its overpowering influence. They reflected its leading characteristics, not as slavish copyists, but as men of high powers and attainments, proud of borrowing inspiration from a source which they could so well appreciate, and which was at once ennobling and inexhaustible. FRANCIS BEAUMONT was descended from the ancient family of Beaumont of Grace-Dieu, in Leicestershire, and was born in 1586. His grandfather, John Beaumont, was master of the rolls, and his father, Francis, one of the judges of the common pleas. Having completed his collegiate studies at Cambridge, young Beaumont entered the Inner Temple, London, as a student of law; but his passion for the muses prevented him from making any great proficiency in his legal studies. He married the daughter and coheiress of Sir Henry Isley, of Kent, by whom he had two daughters. The tenor of his brief life was even and uninterrupted, and his death occurred on the sixth of March, 1615, before he had attained the thirtieth year of age. He was buried on the ninth of the same month, at the entrance of St. Benedict's chapel, Westminster Abbey. Thus, in the beautiful language of Hazlitt, was youth, genius, aspiring hope and growing reputation, cut off like a flower in its summer pride, or like the 'lily in its stalk green,' which inclines us to repine at fortune, and almost at nature, that seem to set so little store by their greatest favorites. The life of poets is, or ought to be, if we judge of it from the light it lends to others, a golden drama, full of brightness and sweetness, rapt in Elysium; and it gives one a reluctant pang to see the splendid vision, by which they are attended in their path of glory, fade like a vapor, and their sacred heads laid low in ashes, before the sand of common mortals has half run out. his JOHN FLETCHER was of equally distinguished parentage with Beaumont, being the son of Dr. Richard Fletcher, bishop of Bristol, and afterward of Worcester. He was born in Northamptonshire, in 1576, and educated at Bennet College, Cambridge. Though he was ten years older than Beaumont, yet comparatively nothing is known of him from the time at which he left the university, until the thirtieth year of his age, when he seems to have commenced his career of dramatic authorship, conjointly with his youthful and gifted associate. His life was as quiet and as unmarked by striking incidents, as was that of his partner in his early literary labors; and he died of the great plague in 1625, in the fiftieth year of his age. For some reason, not now known, his remains were not honored with a resting-place in Westminster Abbey, but were buried in St. Mary Overy's church, Southwark. The dramas of Beaumont and Fletcher were fifty-two in number; but as the greater part of them were not published till 1647, it is impossible to ascertain the dates at which they were respectively produced. Dryden remarks that Philaster was the first play that brought them into esteem with the public, though they had previously written two or three others. It is improbable in plot, but highly interesting in character and situations. The jealousy of Philaster is forced and unnatural; the character of Euphrasia, disguised as Bellario, the page, is a copy from Viola, yet there is something peculiarly delicate in the following account of her hopeless attachment to Philaster: My father oft would speak Your worth and virtue; and, as I did grow Yet far from lust; for could I but have lived My birth no match for you, I was past hope By all the most religious things a maid Whilst there was hope to hide me from men's eyes, For other than I seem'd, that I might ever Abide with you: Then sat I by the fount Where first you took me up. Philaster had previously described the circumstances under which he found the disguised maiden by the fount, and the description is highly poetical and picturesque : Hunting the buck, I found him sitting by a fountain-side, Of which he borrow'd some to quench his thirst, And paid the nymph again as much in tears. A garland lay him by, made by himself, Dwell in his face, I ask'd him all his story. Express'd his grief: and to my thoughts did read That could be wish'd; so that methought I could Who was as glad to follow. The Maid's Tragedy, supposed to have been written soon after 'Philaster' was produced, is a powerful, but unpleasing drama. The purity of female virtue in Amintor and Aspatia, is well contrasted with the guilty boldness of Evadne; and the rough soldier-like bearing and manly feeling of Melantius, render the selfish sensuality of the king, more hateful and disgusting. Unfortunately, there is much licentiousness in this fine play-whole scenes and dialogues are disfigured by this master vice of these authors. Their dramas are a rank unweeded garden,' which grew only the more disorderly and vicious as it advanced to maturity. Besides the plays already mentioned, these writers had produced before Beaumont's death, three tragedies, King and no King, Bonduca, and The Laws of Candy; also five comedies, The Woman Hater, The Knight of the Burning Pestle, The Honest Man's Fortune, The Coxcomb, and The Captain. Fletcher afterwards wrote three tragic dramas and nine comedies, the best of which are The Chances, The Spanish Curate, The Beggar's Bush, and Rule a Wife, and Have a Wife. He also wrote an exquisite pastoral drama, The Faithful Shepherdess, which Milton followed pretty closely in the design, and partly in the language and imagery, in his Comus. In The Two Noble Kinsmen, another dramatic production of these joint authors, they are represented to have had the aid of Shakspeare; but as the play is not superior to many other of their performances, the statement is, certainly, not sustained by internal evidence. To the dramas which Beaumont and Fletcher wrote conjointly, it is impossible to determine what share each took in contriving the plots, and filling up the scenes; but the general impression is, that Beaumont had the greater judgment and the severer taste, and was chiefly employed in retrenching and correcting the luxuriances of Fletcher's wit and fancy. The genius of the former is also said to have leaned more to tragedy than that of the latter. The later works of Fletcher are chiefly of a comic character; and in these the plots are often inartificial and loosely connected, though he is always lively and entertaining. The incidents rapidly succeed each other, and the dialogue is witty, elegant, and amusing. Dryden considered that Fletcher understood and imitated the conversation of gentlemen much better than Shakspeare, and it was, therefore, that he was much more frequently on the stage; and with regard to this, Hallam remarks, 'We can not deny that the depths of Shakspeare's mind were often unfathomable by an audience; the bow was drawn by a matchless hand, but the shaft went out of sight. All might listen to Fletcher's pleasing, though not profound or vigorous language. His thoughts are noble and tinged with the ideality of romance; his metaphors vivid, though sometimes too forced; he possesses the idiom of English without much pedantry, though in many passages he strains it beyond common use; his versification, though studiously irregular, is often rythmical and sweet; yet we are seldom arrested by striking beauties. Good lines occur on every page, fine ones, rarely. We lay down the volume with a sense of admiration of what we have read, but little of it remains distinctly in the memory.' But notwithstanding this may be a correct view of the subject, still the dramas of Beaumont and Fletcher impress us with a high idea of their powers as poets and dramatists. The vast va riety and luxuriance of their genius seem to elevate them above Jonson, though they were destitute of his regularity and solidity, and to place them on the borders of the 'magic circle' of Shakspeare. The confidence and buoyancy of youth are visible in all their productions. They had not, like Jonson, tasted of adversity; and they had not the profoundly meditative spirit of their great master, who was cognizant of all human feelings and sympathies. They did not aspire to his more elevated creations, but took as models for their tragedies such of his comedies as the 'Twelfth Night' and 'Winter's Tale.' Life was to them a scene of enjoyment and pleasure, and the exercise of their genius a source of refined delight and ambition. They were gentlemen who wrote for the stage, as gentlemen-had never done before, and have rarely since. Beaumont and Fletcher 'are,' as Hallam remarks, not much quoted, and do not even afford copious materials to those who cull the beauties of ancient lore.' Their dramas are remarkable for the continuous interest they excite, and pleasure they afford, rather than for startling passages, or isolated beauties. Our extracts, therefore, will be few and comparatively limited : GRIEF OF ASPATIA FOR THE MARRIAGE OF AMINTOR AND EVADNE. [Evadne, Aspatia, Dula, and other Ladies.] Evadne. Would thou could'st instill Some of thy mirth into Aspatia. Asp. It were a timeless smile should prove my cheek; It were a fitter hour for me to laugh, When at the altar the religious priest Were pacifying the offended powers With sacrifice, than now. This should have been My night, and all your hands have been employ'd In giving me a spotless offering To young Amintor's bed, as we are now For you; pardon, Evadne; would my worth [To Dula.] |