COUNTERPOINT:
ITS USE IN BEN JONSON'S
"THE ALCHEMIST"
by
GARY NORED, B.A.
A THESIS^
IN
ENGLISH
Submitted to the Graduate Faculty
of Texas Tech University in
Partial Fulfillment of
the Requirements for
the Degree of
MASTER OF ARTS
Approved
December, 1970
FOREWORD
The purpose of this paper is to examine, from a new
viewpoint, the structural techniques Ben Jonson employed in
creating his comedy, and to illustrate, in brief, the
universality of their applications to all the arts in
Renaissance England.
This new viewpoint will be obtained
from the application of musical analytical tools to the
material of literary scholarship, and it is hoped that a more
cogent rationale may be obtained, through these means, of
Jonson's structural techniques.
A great deal of material has been written that
concerns itself with the structure of the various comedies of
Ben Jonson, and with good justification.
One need merely
glance at the "Discoveries" to see hov7 Jonson was occupied
with ideas of structure, form and content, stylistic appropriateness, virtuous intent, and decorum.
Moreover, although
many penetrating analyses of these matters exist, none is yet
completely satisfactory.
With this information in mind, it
seems not inappropriate to insist that the need for additional studies of the subject remains.
This paper, while not
pretending to present any ultimate analysis of Jonsonian
structure, does undertake to offer fresh alternatives to the
presently existing scholarship.
iii
CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGEI^NTS
11
FOREWORD
iii
Chapter
I.
II.
III.
IV.
V.
T H E BACKGROUND
1
"EPICOENE" A S MONOPHONY
13
COUNTERPOINT DEFINED
24
"THE A L C H E M I S T " A S COUNTERPOINT
30
CONCLUSIONS
47
NOTES
CHAPTER I
52
CHAPTER II
54
CHAPTER III
55
CHAPTER IV
56
LIST OF WORKS CITED
59
APPENDIX
62
IV
CHAPTER I
THE BACKGROUND
Ben Jonson, the man to whom "to bee able to convert
the substance, or Riches of an other Poet, to his owne use,"
was a great virtue, felt little disinclination to convert the
substance of Roman comic plot, structure, and character to
the new environment of his com.edy.
To read through Jonson's
plays is to see a kaleidescope of comic schemes, situations,
and characters mirrored from the classical past with as much
fidelity as the Renaissance single perspective would permit.
Jonson's borrowing power seems at times unlimited.
The list
of his "thefts" covers the complete gamut of classical
comedy.
Jonson borrowed indulgent fathers, overly strict
fathers, ridiculous lovers, young suitors, scheming servants,
parasites, gallants, gulls, braggart soldiers, pedants, rustics and even some classical ideas of women from the Greek
and Roman stages.
He borrowed, too, from classical plots and
situations as well as from classical criticism.
Structurally,
he modeled his comedies after the then-believed-to-be classical five acts plan, and seemed to display little or no
influences from the French fabliaux.
He was said to have
practiced a "learned plagiary of all the others; you track
him everywhere in their snow:
if Horace, Lucan, Petronius
Arbiter, Seneca, and Juvenal, had their own from him, there
2
are few serious thoughts which are new in him."
Jonson's devotion to the ancients and the general
level of his scholarly achievement were truly amazing, but
more amazing still was his ability to borrow from the past
and convert his borrowings into usable material for the present.
In the essay "Of Dramatic Poesy" Dryden wrote that
Jonson "was deeply conversant in the Ancients, both Greek and
Latin, and he borrowed boldly from them:
there is scarce a
poet or historian among the Roman authors of those times whom
he has not translated in 'Sejanus' and 'Catiline.'
But he
has done his robberies so openly, that one may see he fears
not to be taxed by any law.
He invades authors like a mon-
arch; and what would be theft in other poets is only victory
in him.
With the spoils of these writers he so represents
old Rome to us, in its rites, ceremonies, and customs, that
if one of their poets had written either of his tragedies, we
3
had seen less of it than in him."
But Jonson did not merely plagiarize from the past. .
The resemblance of his new works to the originals from which
they were taken lies primarily in the spirit in which they
evolved, not in the minute details of their construction.
Jonson was, of course, concerned with the details of literary
construction, but I feel confident in saying that he surely
never engaged in a serious argument concerning the exact
moments of the day that Aristotle might have had in mind when
he discussed the unity of time in the drama.
Rather, Jonson
was concerned that too vast an action not oppress the eyes
and exceed the memory, or that too little scarce admit
either.
Although he held a high reverence for classical works
and ideals, Jonson did not slavishly devote himself to the
classical forms of comedy handed down to him, but rather
deviated from these forms as his art demanded, and as he felt
such deviations were consistent with good taste, classical
ideals, and his own moral and didactic purposes.
Jonson
realized that the mere translation of classical comedy, and
the presentation thereof (timely reverence for the ancients
not withstanding) could not assure the success of the work.
The threads of that comedy came from the tapestry of Greek
experience, v/ere open to the enjoyment and analysis of the
Romans, but had been irrevocably lost long before the cathedral at Salisbury was ever contemplated.
If Greek drama was
to survive on the Elizabethan stage, assistance would have to
be brought to bear.
The assistance that was brought to Elizabethan comedy
came in the guise of realism.
Successful comedy of this sort
almost invariably brought in elements of "hometown" England-characterizations belonging strictly to the English:
women, chimney sweeps, costardmongers.
washer-
The characterizations
were perhaps universal, but were drawn with an English pen
and seasoned with an English flavor as distinctive as Mutton
soup.
The character types must have had dealings with almost
every social strata visiting Cheapside theaters, and in the
observation and recreation of these characters, Jonson has no
parallel.
His experiences had brought him into contact with
almost every conceivable straca of society, from bricklayers
to the king.
The experiences, neatly transformed through the
comic vision of a categorizing and vivacious mind, and
injected into the materials he took from Rome, made his work
unique and appealing.
His observations led him to an interest
in the "humors," and this interest ultimately led to the
creation of the "comedy of humors."
The humor play is unique, and this uniqueness has
been observed by several scholars.
P.V. Krieder concludes
that "the comedy of humors is distinguished in part by its
episodic structure.
Around the singular character or char-
acters, the dramatist groups a number of either related or
disjoined incidents, the purpose of which seems to be not the
advancement of a continuous narrative, but the examination of
5
peculiarities under varied circumstances."
Indeed, the comedy of humors attempts to demonstrate
the activities of a man dominated by a single motivational
passion, or humor.
This was not the first, or the last time
that such a dramatic experiment would be conducted, but it
was one of the most effective.
Medieval dramatists had
utilized the technique to illustrate the fall of a man
y
dominated by a single passion, and the romantic dramatist
attempted it some two hundred years later.
It was not a
particularly novel idea in Jonson's time, nor was it so when
Wordsworth conceived the "Preface to the Lyrical Ballads."
Joanna Baillie wrote an entire series of plays illustrating
each of the important passions, feeling that she was fulfilling a role peculiarly belonging to tragedy.
She states in
the discourse introductory to the Plays on the Passions that
the "task . . . belonging peculiarly to tragedy,—unveiling
the human mind under the dominion of those strong and fixed
passions, which, seemJngly unprovoked by outward circumstances, will from small beginnings brood within the breast,
till all the better dispositions, all the fair gifts of
nature, are born down before them,--her poets in general have
entirely neglected."
What Joanna Baillie failed to under-
stand, and what Jonson most certainly did understand (whether
intuitively or otherwise), was that to write in such a manner,
and to abstract one's characters in such a way, one robbed
them of their complexity, and hence, their humanity.
In 179 8 Wordsworth proclaimed that in his poetry the
"feeling therein developed gives importance to the action and
7
situation, not the action and situation to the feeling."
Herein the great weakness of most Romantic drama can be seen,
and the great strength of Jonson's revealed.
For in a world
of abstracted characters, any motivation displayed must be
singly explainable within the contents of the dominating
passion; in Jonson's world, the situations yield their own
minor motivations for action, and the drama assumes the role
of displaying the guiding passions as they must of necessity
cope with a world not so oriented.
Thus, in Jonson's work we
.see the constant interplay of humors and the world, in
Baillie's, the constant obsession.
In the comic struggle of
Jonson's stage, characters react to contrived situations;
situations "arranged" to illustrate the ludicrous hilarity
of such humors.
In placing his emphasis upon the action or
comic situation rather than on the characters themselves,
Jonson allows his characters to come into full conflict with
the world and to display their humors at their best.
Thus,
despite Sir Morose's somewhat improbable (but funny nevertheless) distaste for noise (his own excepted), he is realistic.
He is duped and duped royally, but his actions and self
defense are understandable.
than a fool.
He is a fool, but he is more
His personality is more rounded than the
personalities of classical drama.
His humanity is credible
but becomes so only because we have the opportunity to
observe him react.
His reactions are not completely one-
sided, but are cunning and intelligent (within bounds) and
to be expected from a man possessed of his particular malady.
He is a perfect comic character.
The comedy of humors, however, requires some special
control of jargon if it is to be successful; and, realizing
the necessities of such a dramatic form, Jonson turned to
the use of various structural techniques, some of which may
be discussed here without benefit of explanatory material,
but many of which must be termed "contrapuntal," and hence
must receive more elaborate introduction.
One of the most obvious necessities of the comedy of
humors is that the humors them.selves must be identified.
Many of the techniques Jonson used had been used by other
dramatists for the purpose of identifying characters (many
of whom might first be seen traveling "incognito" as it were)
or for filling in details of their characters before the
audience had actually the chance to observe them in action.
But Jonson used them for purposes of exposing the humors of
his characters, and thus of preparing his audience for what
was to follow, knowing full well that the anticipated humor
was the best enjoyed.
One of the simplest techniques was that of selfcharacterization.
Although not very realistic, the technique
is simple and expedient.
The character simply exposes,
either in dialogue or soliloquy, the humor that possesses
him.
Perhaps one of the clearest examples of Jonson's use
of this technique may be seen in "Volpone."
Here Volpone,
in a discussion with his parasite, Mosca, discloses the means
he has used to achieve financial success:
I haue no wife, no parent, child, allie.
To giue my substance to; but whom I make,
Must be my heire:
and this makes men obserue me.
8
This drawes new clients, daily, to my house.
Women, and men, of euery sexe, and age.
That bring me presents, send me plate, coyne, iewels,
»
With hope, that when I die, (which they expect
Each greedy minute) it shall then returne.
Ten-fold, vpon them; whil'st some, couetous
Aboue the rest, seeke to engrosse me, whole.
And counter-worke, the one, vnto the other.
Contend in gifts, as they would seeme, in loue:
All which I suffer, playing with their hopes.
And am content to coyne 'hem into profit.
And looke vpon their kindnesse, and take more.
And looke on that; still bearing them in hand.
Letting the cherry knock against their lips,
p
And, draw it, by their mouths, and back againe.
Thus within the first hundred lines, we have learned, from
the mouth of the guller himself, of his schemes, and means
of succor.
Moreover, we have been eased, perhaps, in our
condemnation of him by his descriptions of the gulls.
It
would not do, obviously, for the audience to take an immediate disliking to old Volpone, for he would then become the
villain, and the comic effect would be lost.
If this type
of comedy is to be successful, our laughter must be controlled,
The comic characters must be so portrayed that our laughter
is not derisive but rather, good-humored.
If Volpone is a
criminal (as many critics would have us to believe), the
subjects of his criminality must be more so.
If our laugh-
ter is not controlled, we become "involved" with the characters and aesthetic distance is destroyed.
Our laughter
becomes vindictive, and the comic muse is smothered in our
emotional activity.
But as the play is written, his gulls
are also criminal, and something of justice is done.
More
importantly, however, the vision of a villain duping villains
overcomes the moral judgments we bring to the play, and our
minds are freed to enjoy the comic in the situation.
Another technique of exposing these humors to the
audience is that of allowing other characters in the play
make the disclosure in the dialogue.
Morose's malady is
exposed by this technique:
Dayp.
more.
Mary, that he will dis-inherit me, no
Hee thinks, I, and my companie are authors
of all the ridiculous acts, and moniments are told
of him.
Try.
S'lid, I would be the author of more, to
vexe him, that purpose deserues it:
law of plaguing him.
doe.
it giues thee
I'll tell thee what I would
I would make a false almanack; get it printed:
and then ha' him drawne out on a coronation day to
the tower-wharfe, and kill him with the noise of the
ordinance.
Dis-inherit thee!
hee cannot, man.
not thou next of bloud, and his sisters sonne?
Art
10
Davp.
I, but he will thrust me out of it, he
vowes, and marry.
Try.
Howl
that's a more portent.
Can he endure
no noise, and will venter on a wife?
Cle.
Yes: why, thou art a stranger, it seemes,
to his best trick, yet.
He has imploid a fellow this
halfe yeere, all ouer England, to harken him out a
dumbe woman; bee shee of any forme, or any qualitie,
so shee bee able to beare children:
her silence is
dowrie enough, he sales.
In "The Alchemist," each of the succeeding gulls is
described immediately prior to his entry by either Face,
Subtle, or Doll.
The trick here is that each of the gulls
is supposed to have been discovered at some time prior by one
or another of the gullers.
This previous recognition gives
them the chance to explain the malady of the gulls to their
compatriots in villainy.
It is a nice trick, and is accom-
plished so neatly, that we are scarcely aware of the artifice.
In "Bartholomew Fair," the same sort of technique is
used, but the pretense here is a dislike of one character
for each of the others.
He is therefore excused to rant and
rave about some flaw in another, and we are thus acquainted
with the flaws of nearly every major character before we ever
see him.
In a play so thoroughly devoted to the humors, the
need for "humor disclosure" was critical, and Jonson has
handled the oroblem with the skill of the master he was.
I ^11(1
yy
11
Another technique, frequently used by Elizabethan
dramatists to expose the personalities of a character, was
that of narrative characterization.
Shakespeare frequently
employed this technique, but Jonson made very little use of
it.
In one case, hovzever, he does, and a good revelation of
the character of Kno'well is the result:
Kno.
How happie, yet, should I esteeme my selfe
Could I (by any practise) weane the boy
From one vaine course of studie, he affects.
He is a scholler, if a man may trust
The liberall voice of fame, in her report
Of good accompt, in both our vniuersities,
Either of which hath fauour'd him with graces;
But their indulgence, must not spring in me
A fond opinion, that he cannot erre.
My selfe was once a student; and, indeed.
Fed with the selfe-same humour, he is now.
Dreaming on nought but idle poetrie.
That fruitlesse, and vnprofitable art.
Good vnto none, but least to the professors.
Which, then, I thought the mistresse of all knowledge :
But since, time, and the truth haue wak'd my iudgement.
And reason taught me better to distinguish,
10
The vaine, from th'vsefull learnings.
'£*?'
'•^'''.
12
What an excellent picture we see of an old man, and indulgent father, who learned in some respects, has nevertheless
yielded his mind to the more practical aspects of living.
The above-mentioned techniques were solutions to
problems long understood by Elizabethan playwrites, and long
used.
Jonson's use of them was neither original nor out-
standing, but the approach taken to problems strictly associated with the humor play are another matter.
Before proceeding further with the discussion of
these original techniques, however, it will be necessary to
explain something of counterpoint and its operation in
western music.
CHAPTER II
"EPICOENE" AS MONOPHONY
Western music may be rudimentarily divided into two
categories:
that music which stresses the emphasis and
development of a single theme, or monophony; and that which
uses two or more themes comJDined, or polyphony.
Most Eng-
lish drama may be said to concern itself with a conflict of
interests, which, of course, necessarily implies the development of at least two individual themes.
However, in
literature, the developmental interest centers around the
conflict itself rather than the elements which compose that
conflict.
In music, the situation is reversed.
Therefore,
in the most basic terms, most English literature is monophonic.
Classical comedy is almost purely monophonic; its
interest almost invariably centers around a single conflict
and its resolution.
"Epicoene" is perhaps Jonson's most
purely classical comedy, and is therefore, one of the most
completely m.onophonic compositions of his work.
As such, it
provides an excellent foil against which the structural
singularity of "The Alchemist" may be illustrated.
The structure of "Epicoene" is strikingly similar to
the structure of Torelli's Allegro movements, which in turn,
13
14
foreshadowed the later structure of the sonata allegro forms
that were so important in the development of Western monophonic music.
That form is roughly as follows:
Ritornello I:
Theme, C minor (10 measures) with
sequential extension and cadence in the dominant minor (6
m.easures) .
Solo I:
9 1/2 measures with prominent
sequential patterns, beginning in the dominant minor and
modulating to the relative major.
Ritornello II:
8 measures, similar to Ritornello I,
in the relative major, modulating to the subdominant.
Solo II:
12 measures, m.odulating to the tonic
and concluding with four non-thematic measures of dominant
preparation for:
Ritornello III:
same as Ritornello I but cadencing
in the tonic and v/ith the last four measures repeated piano
by way of coda."
"Epicoene" is built around the single conflict that
exists between Dauphine and Morose.
All the detciils of the
play are carefully designed to emphasize that conflict, and
the play is designed very much like the above-outlined
Torelli Allegro movement.
The conflict itself is simple:
Morose plans to disinherit Dauphine by marrying, and Dauphine
plans not to be disinherited.
The main (mechanical) theme
(or Ritornello) of the play consists of the scheming of
Dauphine.
The accompaniment, or solo, is the sufferings of
y
15
the victim.
Dauphine's schemes center around Morose's most
chronic weakness—his phobic aversion to noise:
Try.
Sicke o' the vncle?
is hee?
I met that
stiffe peece of formalitie, his vncle, yesterday,
with a huge turbant of night-caps on his head,
buckled ouer his eares.
Cle.
abroad.
Trv.
O, that's his custome when he walkes
Hee can endure no noise, man.
So I haue heard.
But is the disease so
ridiculous in him, as it is made?
they say, hee has
beene vpon diuers treaties with the Fish-wiues, and
Orenge-women; and articles propounded betweene them:
mary, the Chimneysweepers will not be drawne in.
Cle.
stiffely.
No, nor the Broome-men:
they stand out
He cannot endure a Costard-monger he
swounes if he heare one.
Trv.
Me thinkes, a Smith should be ominous.
Cle.
Or any Hammer-man.
A Braiser is not suf-
fer 'd to dwel in the parish, nor an Armorer.
He
would haue hang'd a Pewterers 'prentice once vpon a
shroue-tuesdaies riot, for being o' that trade, when
the rest were quit.
Trv.
A Trumpet should fright him terribly, or
the Hau'-boyes?
Cle.
Out of his senses.
The Waights of the
citie haue a pension of him, not to come neere that
16
ward.
This youth practis'd on him, one night, like
the Bell-man; and neuer left till hee had brought him
downe to the doore, with a long-sword:
and there
left him flourishing with the aire.
Boy.
Why, sir!
hee hath chosen a street to lie
in, so narrow at both ends, that it will receiue no
coaches, nor carts, nor any of these common noises:
and therefore, we that loue him, deuise to bring him
in such as we may, now and then, for his exercise,
2
to breath him.
So it has been disclosed that Morose has an Achilles' heel,
and the basis for Dauphine's success is disclosed early in
the play.
As Dauphine begins to set the stages of his plan into
operation. Morose's phobic aversion to noise is emphasized.
By so doing, Jonson makes Morose's torture in the following
scenes all the more delightful.
The scene describing
Morose's quest for silence in the home is humor at its best:
Cannot I, yet, find out a more compendious
method, then by this trunke, to saue my seruants the
labour of speech, and mine eares, the discord of
sounds?
Let mee see:
all discourses, but mine owne,
afflict mee, they seeme harsh, impertinent, and irk3
some.
Morose takes elaborate steps to preclude the possibility of noise being created, and these drastic actions
KMM_
ra
*S
17
seem the more humorous when we realize that they are to no
avail in the attacks of Dauphine and Truewit.
You haue taken the ring, off from the street
dore, as I bad you?
answere me not, by speech, but
by silence; vnlesse, it be otherwise (
good.
) very
And, you haue fastened on a thicke quilt, or
flock-bed, on the out-side of the dore; that if they
knocke with their daggers, or with bricke-bats, they
can make no noise?
So the very mainspring of the plot to influence Morose
towards a more liberal attitude toward Dauphine is exposed.
Dauphine plans to surround him with as much noise as possible
to work out of him some concessions.
"Ritornello I" in "Epicoene" or the mechanical mainspring of the play, occurs prior to tiie opening of the
staged action.
We are told of Dauphine's plans to catch the
old one only after the success of the venture has been
threatened by Truewit's helpful gestures:
Davp.
Fore heau'n, you haue vndone me.
That,
which I haue plotted for, and beene maturing now
these foure m.oneths, you haue blasted in a minute:
now I am lost, I may speake.
This gentlewoman was
lodg'd here by me o' purpose, and, to be put vpon my
vncle, hath profest this obstinate silence for my
sake, being my entire friend; and one, that for the
requitall of such a fortune, as to marry him, would
18
haue made mee very ample conditions:
where now, all
my hopes are vtterly miscarried by this vnlucky
accident.
Thus we learn that the girl has been planted by Dauphine and
that the work has been long in progress.
Truewit has not
been informed as to the plot since that "franke nature of
his / is not for secrets."
But perhaps the fickle nature
of the audience was not for secrets either, since the true
nature of Dauphine's plot is not disclosed until the final
scene of the drama.
This sort of bold lie concealed in the
cloak of a disclosure was unusual on the Elizabethan stage
and must have led to a great deal of consternation and
suspense when the activity of the lawyers seems to take on a
more serious vein of investigation in Act V, Scene 1. Nevertheless, the action validates the supposed plot of the
planted woman until the disclosure offers a better solution,
and the course of events is returned to normal.
In a Torelli Allegro, the introduction of the main
theme is rapidly follov;ed by the counter-themes and complications.
Here the harmonic background of the composition comes
to the fore, and the melodic importance previously given to
the ritornello is lost in the harmonic activity of the section.
The tone of the work may at this point become darker
(transitions to the relative, dominant, and subdominant
minors being frequent) and the general technical pace of the
work more intense.
Much is the same in "Epicoene."
-i
»i«i'ii«iBiiin"ng
19
Immediately following tlie disclosure by Dauphine of the
plot, we are allowed to watch Morose "taking the bait" as it
were.
The most important moments of the play are contained
in these scenes.
If Morose v/ere to fail to be interested in
Epicoene, then all would be for nought, and perhaps no
character is more aware of the situation than is Dauphine.
Tension mounts with each trial Morose places before her,
until the time he finally acquiesces, and success becomes
practically guaranteed.
When Morose marries Epicoene, the
plot to gull him has virtually succeeded, and there remain
but a few important details to complete the scheme.
Morose considers his marriage to Epicoene a triumph
over Dauphine; of course, the marriage is actually suicide.
While he decides, and until he is married, however. Morose
unwittingly holds the upper hand; after the marriage has
been performed, he is lost.
Dauphine is aware of his posi-
tion and when Truewit suggests that they " . . . get one o'
the silenc'd ministers, a zealous brother would torment him
7
purely," Dauphine replies, "O, by no meanes, let's doe
nothing to hinder it now; when 'tis done and finished, I am
o
for you:
for any deuise of vexation."
But with the mar-
riage, complete control is returned to the hands of Dauphine
who begins to assume the initiative and take full advantage
of his position.
He schemes to supply his uncle with a wed-
ding feast, music, good company, and whatever else might be
noisily brought to the house:
20
Davp.
Well, there be guests, & meat now; how
shal we do for musique?
Cle.
The smell of the venison, going through
the street, will inuite one noyse of fidlers, or
other.
Davp.
I would it would call the trumpeters
thether.
Cle.
Faith, there is hope, they haue intel-
ligence of all feasts.
There's good correspondence
betwixt them, and the London-cookes.
'Tis twenty to
one but we haue 'hem.
Davp.
'Twill be a most solemne day for my
9
vncle, and an excellent fit of mirth for vs.
This section (Act III, Scene 4 through Act IV, Scene 3 ) ,
roughly equitable to the second ritornello of a Torellian
Allegro, is perhaps the most delightful of the entire play.
It is slapstick, and Morose's agonies are not only exquisite,
but functionally useful as v/ell. The torture motivates him
to his last desperate attempt to escape the trap into which
he has fallen (Solo II), which, in turn, leads to his
ultimate defeat (Ritornello III) .
Morose, who is so possessed of his single humor, and
so distressed by the singular violation thereof, soon
becomes frantic over the outlook of a noisy life ahead.
He
seems ready to do almost anything to be rid of the pestilence, and in commenting on the situation, he displays the
21
selfishness that makes him such a fit subject for comedy
by comparing (presumably) the value of an eyelash with that
of a relative:
Mor.
O my cursed angell, that instructed me to
this fate!
Day.
Why, sir?
Mor.
That I should bee seduc'd by so foolish a
deuill, as a barber v;ill make!
Would I could redeeme it with the losse of an eye
(nephew) a hand, or any other member.
Day.
Mary, god forbid, sir, that you should
geld your selfe, to anger your wife.
Mor.
So it would rid me of her!
Upon hearing that she snores and talks all night while
asleep, the distracted Morose decides upon divorce.
With
Otter and Cutbeard disguised as a divine and as a lawyer,
respectively. Morose attempts to work his way out of his
unfortunate marriage.
Each possible solution is examined
and rejected, until Morose is feeling worse than when he
started.
He fails in each attempt, even that of proclaiming
impotence.
He becomes entrenched in despair, but the shal-
lowness of that despair is brilliantly displayed in the following line:
"0 my heart!
wilt thou breake?,"
which
irresistibly reminds one of the lines from Marlowe's "Doctor
Faustus":
"Breake heart, drop bloud, and mingle it with
22
teares, / Teares falling from repentent heauinesse. . . . " 12
It seems improbable that one's heart would break over a
noisy wife, and the familiarity of the line is jarringly
funny.
The despair, though shallow, was calculated (by the
joint efforts of Dauphine and Truewit), and hence is the
point upon which Dauphine makes his final coup.
He offers
total escape (Ritornello III) upon his conditions.
The
distracted Morose is ready to meet the terms:
Davp.
If I free you of this vnhappy match
absolutely, and instantly after all this trouble, and
almost in your despaire, now
Mor.
Davp.
(It cannot be.)
Shall I haue your fauour perfect to me,
and loue hereafter?
Mor.
That, and any thing beside.
owne conditions.
Make thine
My whole estate is thine.
13
Manage
it, I will become thy Ward.
Having received these conditions (in writing), Dauphine proceeds to reveal that Morose's wife is indeed a boy, and that
the marriage was void to begin with.
The closing of the play is significant for a variety
of reasons.
Most importantly, order is restored.
Elizabethan family ties are restored.
Rightful
The confidence and
comfort of the upper classes are restored to Dauphine by his
23
release from financial embarrassment.
Truth is restored by
the exposure of Daw and Sir La-Foole.
The theme of the
play has been exploited and carried to its natural fruition,
and the dramatic energy generated in the excitement has
returned to normal.
The key, as it were, of the play, has
returned to the tonic.
CHAPTER III
COUNTERPOINT DEFINED
Counterpoint is strictly a musical term, and refers
to a particular style of composition.
It is, perhaps.
Western Music's oldest single compositional technique, and
certainly its most persistent.
The style is primarily
European in origin, although it has been suggested that
there may be some slight evidence of two-part music in
ancient Greece.
The first definite evidences of the use of
polyphony (forerunner to counterpoint, and the basis from
which counterpoint grew) occur as early as the latter part
of the ninth century in the treatl-se, "Musica Enchiriadis."
In this v/ork, the practices of singing in two voices are
described, and the inference is clear that these practices
had already been long established.
Current musicologists
date the European beginnings of counterpoint to as early as
850 A.D.
The art of singing and composing in contrapuntal
styles gained in popularity, and by the seventeenth century
had become a passion with most composers.
It sav/, perhaps,
its ultimate development in the works of J.S. Bach, and may
be heard in the music of the Modern Jazz Quartet and the
Beatles today.
In its most elemental terms, counterpoint is
24
25
the name given to the art of combining melodies, or (more
strictly) to the art of combining melody to melody.^
To use the technical terms of one discipline and
apply them to another is usually considered non-appropriate
for an analysis of this sort.
One rarely reads sociological
treatises that discuss mass behavior in terms of sine wave
patterns, nor does one frequently encounter engineering
papers that discuss wave propagation in terms of mass behavior.
Matrixes and costardmongers are generally considered
to be immiscible.
However, for the purpose of this paper,
it would seem that a few terms of the musicologist might be
profitably employed in an analysis of Jonsonian comedy.
To
the reader generally aware of the comedy of Jonson, a brief
description of the fundamental techniques of contrapuntal
composition should make immediately apparent the value of
such a discussion.
Counterpoint, in its simplest guise, consists of two
essential categories of material; the principal theme called
the cantus firmus, and another theme(s) called the counterpoint.
In contrapuntal composition, the melodies, or
themes, are played simultaneously; however, they maintain,
at all times, their individualities.
The development of
these themes, and the interplay of their relationships,
moves along steadily (much as in the drama), according to a
defined pattern or formula.
The formula, as in the drama,
prescribes the use of techniques both relevant to and
26
required by the mechanics of the work itself, and the use of
techniques that have come down to the artist out of custom.
The cantus firmus is, of course, the foundation of
any contrapuntal composition.
It is the over-riding theme,
the substance as it were, of the composition.
But of no
lesser importance to the work as a whole stands the counterpoint, the foil against which the cantus firmus is displayed.
The composition and character of the counterpoint is critical
and can in large measure, determine the success or failure
of the entire composition.
The counterpoint must be pos-
sessed of many virtues if success is to be guaranteed.
It
must be related to the cantus firmus, but at the same time,
must be a contrast to it.
It must possess an individuality
of its own, but must work harmoniously with the cantus
firmus, and never overshadow it.
The tones of the counter-
point must usually move linearly, but if melodic jumps are
allowed, the intervals these jumps describe must follow
definite guidelines.
The tonal sequence must compose mel-
odies of good contour, a gentle rise and subsequent fall
being best.
Every melody should have a high note and a low
note in the contour which is not repeated.
These notes in
music are called the climax and anti-climax notes.
Finally,
the rhythmic structure of the counterpoint must be good, or
the musical progress will be retarded.
The basic structural outline of a two voice contrapuntal composition is simple.
The two part invention.
._
^/
27
perhaps the clearest example of this type of composition,
usually opens with a statement of the motive or subject in
the upper voice.
After the upper voice has completed the
motive or subject, the answer appears in the lower voice at
the octave or fifth.
The first section of the two-voice
invention is composed of the statement of the motive or subject followed by its imitation in the lov/er voice.
section is called the exposition.
This
The portion of the inven-
tion between the exposition and the next statement of the
motive or subject is called the episode.
The implied har-
monic movement of the episode is toward the key in which the
next statement of the motive or subject happens to appear.
The second statement of the motive or subject is followed by
an episode which links the second statement to the third
statement.
The key of the third statement is a related key
of the exposition.
The third statement of the motive or
subject is followed by a third episode which links the third
statement to the fourth or final statement.
ment is in the key of the exposition.
The final state-
At the close of the
final statement a short coda is usually added.
The coda
will contain a final miodulation to the original key of the
3
composition.
In other words, the composition begins with a
statement of a theme, adds another, and explores the material of these themes through a variety of episodes.
The
last episodes harmonically imply the nature of the final
matters to come, and the forecast is carried out in the final
28
episode and the coda.
This fundamental outline is basically
the same as that used by Jonson in "The Alchemist."
In almost any contrapuntal composition, a variety
of compositional techniques may be observed that are peculiar to the genre.
But of all the characteristics these
techniques generate, that of themes being constantly repeated
within the context of a linear structure, may be most frequently observed.
This technique is known to composers as
imitation and is not to be confused with the Aristotelian
use of the term.
Imitation in the contrapuntal composition may occur
as two different types:
strict and free.
In strict imita-
tion, the imitation occurs as one would expect and repeats
its model exactly.
Free imitation (sometimes referred to
as tonal imitation) allows for some variation in the intervals between the notes of the original.
In either case, the
imitation is used to restate, or emphasize a theme, or to
set it off by acting as a foil to the original.
Tonal imita-
tion is most frequently employed for the latter purpose
while the strict imitation is most suited for the former.
Sometimes (especially if the imitation is to be used as a
foil), the intervalic integrity of the original melody is
preserved, but the relations betv7een the notes is inverted.
If the melody is inverted, the imitation is said to be that
of imitation by inversion, contrary motion, or that which is
mirrored.
29
Imitation is the most constantly and iiiuiiedlately
observable phenomenon of contrapuntal composition.
One need
merely glance at the scores of Bach's "Brandenburg Concerti"
(number three in particular), or better yet, listen to them,
to observe the immense stock composers of the age placed in
4
the technique.
Not only was it important to composers of
the seventeenth century, but it remained of paramount interest to virtually every composer from that time to the twentieth century.
It still lingers in the electronic composi-
tions of Badings and Stockhausen, and its absence in acutely
felt in the works of Cage.
most Western music together.
It is the adhesive that cements
In music we have come to ex-
pect it--dramatists have usually neglected it.
Jonson
realized the inherent values of thematic repetition and
utilized the technique to give to us some of the most carefully organized drama of the English stage.
CHAPTER IV
"THE ALCHEMIST" AS COUNTERPOINT
If "Epicoene" is Jonson's most thoroughly classical
play, "The Alchemist" is his most original.
When the bril-
liance of "Bartholomew Fair," "Epicoene," and "Volpone" are
considered, the enormous amount of scholarship and interest
that "The Alchemist" has attracted is indeed amazing.
This
effect is perhaps due to the uniqueness of the play and the
excellent craftsmanship that vzent into its making.
The uniqueness of "The Alchemist" lies primarily in
its structure.
The themes of the guller and the gulled have
always been favorites of the English comic stage, and the
characters that visit the house of Lovevjit are neither
unique nor original in the annals of English literary history.
But their disposition and the comic intercourse they
display to the audience mark "The Alchemist" as innovative.
The new design of "The Alchemist," partly and less
successfully repeated in "Bartholomew Fair," was the direct
outgrowth of Jonson's interest in the humors.
The desire
to display the humors and their interplay with the world
rather than dramatic development or the grov/th of character,
allowed Jonson to seek out and develop new dramatic
30
iiiwiiii i r -
Imiiiuft
31
structures not necessarily based on classical models.
Com-
posers had long dealt with similar problems, and it is not
unusual that Jonson's efforts resulted in a play whose
structure v/as peculiarly musical.
The general outlines of two voice counterpoint have
already been sketched.
Unfortunately, similar outlines of
multi-voiced polyphony cannot be so easily drawn.
The tech-
nical considerations of such composition usually involve
approaches quite indigenous to the medium.
Nevertheless,
the basic outlines of such composition remains clear--statement of thematic material, addition of counter-material,
exploration of the relationships, and harmonic resolution of
the venture.
The basic structural outline of "The Alchemist"
is very much similar to this pattern.
The first two acts of "The Alchemist" are devoted to
disclosing the humors, or in musical jargon, the themes of
the composition.
D.J. Enright has examined the theme of
crime and punishment in the plays of Jonson and has presented an excellent case for the centrality of this theme in
most of the major comedies.
Considering the fact that crime
is most frequently motivated by greed, it would not be amiss
to state that the overriding problem with which Jonson is
concerned in "The Alchemist" is that of greed.
It is,
therefore, of most immediate iinportance that the action of
the play expose the central function of the trio. Face, Dol,
and Subtle, as they provide a focal point for the play's
32
action.
Face, Subtle, and Dol are the mechanical main-
spring of the plot.
They represent the cantus firmus, or
nucleus, of the play—the central "melody" against which
other characters are to perform.
The play opens as Face and Subtle are quarreling.
The reasons for the quarrel are not immediately obvious, as
the accusations on both sides have long since ceased to be
professional and are now strictly composed of personal
abuse.
The fact that there is some sort of alliance exist-
ing between the two is first suggested by Dol when she asks
"will you haue / the neighbours heare you?
all?"
Will you betray
The suggestion is strengthened when she asks if they
would undo themselves by civil war, and finally offers to
the audience a suggestion of what has been going on:
S'death, you abominable paire of stinkards,
Leaue off your barking, and grow one againe.
Or, by the light that shines, I'll cut your throats.
Ha' you together cossen'd all this while.
And all the world, and shall it now be said
Yo'haue made most courteous sliift, to cosen your
selues?^2
So the union is exposed and the general purpose of that
union made clear:
that the trio has formed in an effort to
cozen the world, and that the union is necessary if the
effort is to be successful.
r..
Success has obviously b«=:en
33
theirs, as each can lay some claim to benefiting the other.
Face claims to have virtually saved Subtle's life and art
for:
Fac.
When all your alchemy, and your algebra.
Your mineralls, vegetalls, and animalls.
Your coniuring, coshing, and your dosen of trades.
Could not relieue your corps, with so much linnen
Would make you tinder, but to see a fire;
I ga' you count'nance, credit for your coales.
Your stills, your glasses, your materialls.
Built you a fornace, drew you customers,
Aduanc'd all your black arts; lent you, beside,
A house to practise in
Fac.
Svb.
Your masters house?
Where you haue studied the more thriuing
skill
3
Of bawdrie, since.
And Subtle claims to have taken Face out of dung:
So poore, so wretched, v/hen no lining thing
V\Ould keepe thee companie, but a spider, or worse?
Rais'd thee from broomes, and dust, and watring
pots?
Sublim'd thee, and exalted thee, and fix'd thee
I' the third region, call'd our state of grace?
Wrought thee to spirit, to quintessence, with paines
Would twise haue won me the philosophers worke?
34
Put thee in words, and fashion?
made thee fit
For more then ordinarie fellowships?^
But the three reunite at the insistence of Dol and reaffirm
their intentions to make "a sort of sober, sciruy, precise
neighbours, / a feast of laughter, at our follies?"^
Thus,
the central characters and Llieir theme of greed have been
exposed; they are the mechanical center or vehicle as it
were of the play.
All other characters revolve around these
three and make manifest, in the inter-relationships they
develop, the theme, or tenor, of the material.
Indeed, the
i
inter-relational activities of the satellite characters as
they relate to the central trio are the structural foundation of the play.
The first customer is Dapper, a lawyer's clerk with
a penchant for gambling.
He, like Drugger, Dame Pliant, and
Kastrill possesses a vice which seems almost insignificant
when viewed with the greater vices of the world, or with the
structurally more important vices of Mammon or Ananias.
But
the implications of his greed, like those of Dame Pliant,
Kastrill, and Drugger, assume a greater significance when
viewed in the light of his association with the cozeners.
For greed corrupts, and that corruption ultimately leads to
the downfall of all those characters similarly tainted, and
to the destruction of the entire scheme of the gullers, and
hence the play.
first innocuous:
»ii;
Dapper's commitment to gambling seems at
miSSSS^
35
No cheating Clim-o'the-Clovghs, or Claribels,
That looke as bigge as fiue-and-fiftie, and flush.
And spit out secrets, like hot custard
Dap.
Captayne.
Fac.
Nor any melancholike vnder-scribe.
Shall tell the Vicai:
but, a speciall gentle.
That is the heire to fortie markes, a yeere.
Consorts V7ith the small poets of the time.
Is the sole hope of his old grand-mother.
That knowes the law, and writes you sixe faire
hands,
Is a fine clarke, and has his cyphring perfect.
Will take his oath, o' the greeke Xenophon,
If need be, in his pocket:
and can court
His mistris, out of Ovid.
He is not purportedly avaricious:
Why, he do's aske one but for cups, and horses,
7
A rifling flye:
none o' your great familiars.
As one is wondering what the really great familiars are.
Dapper immediately shows that he has not been able to v/ithstand his own rampant greed, for he tells Face that he would
have it for all games.
Face replies:
'Slight, that's a new businesse!
I vnderstood you, a tame bird, to file
Twise in a terme, or so; on friday-nights,
•^M«jbyB!E*f:
fW
36
When you had left the office:
for a nagge,
Of fortie, or fiftie shillings.^
Dapper replies:
"I, 'tis true, sir, / but I doe thinke,
now, I shall leaue the law, / and therefore
"
Perhaps
his later stint in the privy is just reward for his growing greed.
Immediately following Dapper's corrupt request,
another client enters to make his own.
Drugger is an important character, although his role
in "The Alchemist" is primarily functional.
He is, of
course, another facet, or imitation as it were, of the central theme.
He is, however, more than a reflection of the
central motive.
He illustrates the dominance that a central
idea (as in counterpoint) exerts over the development of all
material in the composition.
If the name tells us anything,
Abel-Drugger is an able druggist, a businessman.
He seeks
the assistance of Subtle much as a small company seeks the
advice of management specialists today.
Hoping to thrive in
an honest business, he asks such things as where he should
place his door (a matter of import in some industries, even
today), where his shelves, which shelves to allot to boxes,
and which to allot to pots.
Fac.
He is an honest fellow:
This is my friend, Abel, an honest fellow.
He lets me haue good tabacco, and he do's not
Sophisticate it, with sack-lees, or oyle.
Nor washes it in muscadell, and graines.
Nor buries it, in grauell, vnder ground.
37
Wrap'd vp in greasie leather, or piss'd clouts:
But keeps it in fine lilly-pots, that open'd.
Smell like conserue of roses, or french beanes.
But tempted with the prospects of a wealthy and beautiful
wife, he readily succumbs to the pressures of Face, and
willingly pays for the cheating powers of the gullers.
His
vice is small, and the payment he renders is equally small,
a damask suit.
Kastrill, and his sister,-Dame Pliant, have come to
London for less iiTimoral reasons than those of Dapper, but
their arrival is a damning commentary on Elizabethan courtly
life.
Kastrill is a country gentleman,
newly warme in'his land, sir.
. . . and is come vp
To learne to quarrell, and to H u e by his wits.
And will goe downe againe, and dye i'th countrey.
Kastrill, then, has heard in the country, that nothing more
benefits a gentleman than to understand the fine art of
quarreling; and his sister conceives that, to properly fit
the part of her new station in life, she must come to London
"to learne the fashion." 12 Kastrill seems to enjoy the
prospects of his debauchery, for he is:
Sir, not so yong, but I haue heard some speech
Of the angrie Boyes, and seene 'hem take tabacco;
And in his shop:
and I can take it too.
38
And I would faine be one of 'hem, and goe downe
And practise i'the countrey.
Kastrill's and Dame Pliant's vice is minor; they reflect,
however, a larger corruption of the time.
Part of that
corruption was religious.
Ananias is a reminder of gross lapses—of the inability of zeal to act as a substitute for real religious
devotion; his zeal is so absolute that he v/ill venture even
into the den of the profane.
His pseudo-godliness is merely
a cover, concealing his more earnestly sought after goals of
power, goals reprehensibly reinforced by Tribulation Wholesome.
The elder's imagination is easily captured by a sug-
gestion of the possible povzer gains to be acquired through
the stone:
Svb.
What can you not doe.
Against lords spirituall, or temporall.
That shall oppone you?
Tri.
Verily, 'tis true.
14
We may be temporall lords, our selues, I take it.
Tribulation's frank lust for power, and Ananias' conciliatory zeal "constitutes a standard of reference: if gold
rusts, what will iron do?"15 But of even this corruption.
Mammon displays the most degeneracy.
It has been hypothesized that Mammon is the central
character of the play.
correct.
This assumption is very possibly
Certainly, of all the characters of the play.
Mammon demands the most attention.
His voluptuousness and
39
and magnificent rhetoric completely capture the imagination
of the reader.
But he serves a greater purpose in the plot
than that of being merely a character whose humor is exceptionally valuable for exploitation.
Face, Subtle, and Dol
are frequently too involved in the details of their activity
to adequately carry their full thematic loads.
Mammon
assumes that load.
Mammon's primary function, therefore, is both to be,
and to carry through to its logical conclusion, the central
theme of the play.
Mammon is the very symbol of greed.
He
occurs in virtually every major scene, and his actions are
of paramount importance to the development of the plot.
To
the audience of "The Alchemist," he, from the totality of
his corruption, presents a variegated reminder of the wages
of sin.
His grasping desires are so all-encompassing that
they cover the vices of every character who seeks advice
from the alchemist, and more.
Mammon's great panacea is the philosopher's stone.
This stone is the very center of his dreams, the foundation
of his hopes.
Even before possessing the stone. Mammon has
become a prisoner of his dreams.
His speeches, and the
powers he attributes to the stone, yield an accurate index
to the baseness of his mind, and of his humor.
Mammon out-performs Ananias in attributing religious
powers to the stone, for Ananias sees the stone as a means
of financially acquiring wealth sufficient to take a kingdom.
40
To Mammon, the gratification of desire will be sufficient
in itself to rid the world of evil:
. . . No more
Shall thirst of satten, or the couetous hunger
. . . make
The sonnes of sword, and hazzard fall before
The golden calfe, and on their knees, whole nights,
1c
Commit idolatrie with wine, and trumpets.
And by removing covetousness and idolatry from the world.
Mammon has actually become a saviour—saving the world from
sin.
To him, the powers inherent in gold can inspire a
worship of its own in its pursuers.
He has learned the idea
from Subtle, whom he refers to as:
. . . a diuine instructor!
. . . A man, the Emp'rour
Has courted, aboue Kelley
Aboue the art of Aescvlapivs,
That drew the enuy of the Thunderer , 17
but has taken it as his own.
His profanation is therefore
all the more significant: "but I buy it, / my venter brings
18
it me."
"Mammon can buy his god, the elixer. Divinity
and immortality can be bargained for." 19
41
Mammon would gamble except for the fact that the
stone will render such means of earning a living obsolete:
"you shall no more deale with the hollow die, / or the
20
fraile card."
And Abel Drugger's seeking an illicit means
of obtaining a wife is pallidly innocent in comparison to
the business deals of Mammon:
He, honest wretch,
A notable, superstitious, good soule.
Has worne his knees bare, and his slippers bald.
With prayer, and fasting for it:
Do it alone, for me, still. 21
and, sir, let him
Mammon has accepted Subtle's implications concerning the philosopher's stone completely.
Moreover, he has
conducted some research on his own for he happens to have
about him:
. . . a booke, where Moses, and his sister.
And Salomon haue written, of the art;
I, and a treatise penn'd by Adam.
Mam.
Svr.
How!
O' the Philosophers stone, and in high-Dutch. 22
The research, coupled with the promptings of Subtle and an
almost unlim.ited imagination have made his the symbolic
representation of a visionary grandiosity which makes him
the perfect gull.
Mammon's perfect suitability for the role
of the gull, has given him the dubious distinction of being
Subtle's most important client.
Dapper suffers the ignomin-
ious fate of being stashed in the privy when his interests
42
threaten to interfere with the gulling of Mammon:
Svb.
What newes, Dol?
Dol.
Yonder's your
knight, sir Mammon.
Fac.
Gods lid, we neuer thought of him, till
now.
Where is he?
Dol.
Here, hard by.
H'is at the
doore.
Svb.
And, you are not readie, now?
Dol, get
his suit.
23
He must not be sent back.
Fac.
0, by no meanes.
And when Mammon is busily wooing Dol, and the Spaniard
arrives to win his wife. Subtle and Face even include him in
the Dame Pliant lottery to avoid disturbing Mammon declaring
that "Mammon / must not be troubled." 24 Considering Face's
interest in the widow, the concession was great indeed!
The
concession was made because Mammon is an important customer.
But he is more than an important customer.
the very center, the motif of the play.
He is, in fact,
His actions, moods,
and rhetoric dominate the development of the plot.
The development of "The Alchemist" occurs along
essentially linear paths.
The primary technique used in
this development is duplication, or in musical terms, imitation.
Mammon underlines the entire structure.
In each of
the characters, we see a reflection of, or generic similarity to. Mammon.
Mammon's glasses are indeed "cut in more
25
subtil1 angles, to disperse, / and multiply the figures,"
43
as he walks.
In Dapper we see Mammon's knowledge of gam-
bling; in Drugger, his corruption in matters of business; in
Kastrill and Dame Pliant his voluptuous dreams of fashion
and social imminence, and in Ananias and Tribulation Wholesome, his distorted views of religion.
Each character is
related to Mammon's thematic import, but at the same time,
retains his individuality; the individuality which marks
his relationships with other material in the composition,
musical in impact.
Each character, or theme, is introduced, put away
for a time, and allowed to recur at a later time.
Each
character undergoes no development as Shakespeare's characters do, but supplies instead, the driving force that
powers the development of the plot as a whole.
The dupli-
cating stories differ from one another more in intensity
than in complexity.
Each new incident moves a bit faster,
requires a bit quicker thinking on the parts of Subtle,
Face, and Dol, comes on the heels of its predecessors a bit
sooner, and becomes developmentally more important than the
26
one preceeding.
But Mammon remains, ultimately, in con-
trol of the plot.
He has been involved for a long time,
(ten montlis. Act II, Scene 1 ) . He is the most important
customer.
And he is responsible for the destruction of the
entire enterprise.
His role in shattering the plot is
significant in that it is another of the features that mark
this play particularly musical, and unique.
44
A rather typical pattern in a polyphonic invention
might be as follows:
The first statement of the theme(s)
would occur in the tonic, or home key of the composition.
This statement would be followed by an episode, or free
material which would close in a cadence designed to make
perfectly clear the key relationship of the next statement.
The same holds true for the next statement/episode pair
(usually in the dominant, or the most closely related key
to the tonic), and the third pair.
The fourth statement is
usually followed by a coda, or extenuated cadence, which
forcefully brings the key of the composition back to the
tonic. 27 The cadences, therefore, are of immeasurable
significance to the development of the entire composition.
Mammon, in introducing Surly to the plot, and in attempting
to seduce Dol, both literally and figuratively explodes the
plot by introducing these cadence points and changes in
harmonic direction into the action.
Surly is the one antagonistic element in the play
who is not transmuted by the stone. Surly has a humor— he
28
"would not willingly be gull'd."
In bringing along a
heretic, in hope to convert him, Mamm.on has introduced the
harmonic element which will eventually bring the key back to
the tonic, and the plot down in shards.
At the same time he
is introducing the enemy into ally territory, he is foreshadowing the ultimate demise of his own dreams.
Knowing
full well that the slightest profanity, lack of faith, or
/
45
indication of greed before the alchemist will result in the
destruction of the entire works, he nonetheless slips and
almost lets the true nature of his mind be known when he
discovers that Subtle has created Sulpher of Nature, and
that the same has not been destined for his pocket.
Mam.
But 'tis for me?
Svb.
What
need you?
You haue inough, in that is, perfect.
Mam.
O,
but
Svb.
Why, this is couetise!
Mam.
No, I assure
you,
I shall employ it all, in pious vses.
Founding of colledges, and grammar schooles.
Marrying yong virgins, building hospitalls,
29
And now, and then, a church.
But, of course, it is his discovery with Dol, and subsequent
flight before the alchemist, that brings about his final
downfall.
There is but one important developmental factor not
strictly related to Mammon, or the main theme; that is the
unexpected arrival of Lovewit.
A few critics have had some
difficulty with this chance arrival.
Wallace A. Bacon went
so far as to say that "the ending . . . is not determined by
the interaction of character and environment, but by an
accident not strictly relevant to the environment.
No deco-
rum is violated, no unity, but probability is stretched to
^
46
30
the breaking point."
However, if the ending is viewed as
a musical coda, most of the difficulties will be resolved.
In many compositions of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the coda was used to clarify the finality
of the composition.
This coda is usually an elaborate sort
of cadence, in which some very brief, nonessential harmonic
detail might be included.
Nevertheless, the material in
the coda alv/ays leads to the forceful reinstatement of the
tonic key before the composition is concluded.
arrival accomplishes much the same task.
Lovewit's
Arriving at the
time he did, he did not give the gullers time to devise a
suitable explanation for the events he observed outside his
door.
Moreover, as the owner of the house, his arrival
signaled the absolute end to all the gulling activities.
His actions were not necessarily harsh, but his presence
constituted finality.
And therefore, the play ended.
CHAPTER V
CONCLUSIONS
To say that "Epicoene" is constructed exactly as is
Torelli's D minor Concerto Opus 8, No. 7 (from v/hich the
structural outline at the beginning of Chapter II was taken)
or that "The Alchemist" is a model literary example of a
two part polyphonic invention, would be a gross overstatement, and nothing could less express the intent of this
analysis.
To say that Jonson and Torelli, in common with
other artists of the Renaissance utilized certain general
precepts, the application of which was unique to the era,
would be more truthful.
Jonson was using classical dramatic
forms (in "Epicoene" and his own forms in "The Alchemist")—
Torelli and Bach, their own.
Nevertheless, there is evi-
dence that they both made use of certain elements of a
common artistic vocabulary.
For instance, both realized the
value of a cyclical changing of activity, or intensity
within any composition.
Medieval composition was indefatigable.
It moved
onv/ard, steadily, forever, far transcending the concrete
values of human earthliness.
It realized the precarious
balance that must exist between infinity and monotony and
47
ii^imif \,-M^^rpr^,•^
48
tread that road with masterful steps.
Renaissance composi-
tion realized the value of change, of the infinite, of the
closed universe built against a human measuring stick.
Whether Renaissance composition travelled about the eternal
circle, or began at a point, travelled outward, and thence
returned, is a subject of little matter:
what is signifi-
cant is that in either case, space was enclosed and a sense
of the finite was preserved.
And within this finite bound
was protected the human values the Renaissance so cherished.
Another important element in Renaissance art was
that of repetition.
This device's importance in Renaissance
music has already been discussed.
ture is equally defensible.
Its importance in litera-
Jonson used the humors to good
advantage when organizing his comedy, Torelli used an already
well developed musical vocabulary of repetition.
The Renaissance realized, more than any other age,
the value of contrast.
trast was common.
Of course, in the middle ages, con-
There existed in most art the constant
juxtaposition of reality and formality, of infinity and the
finite, of paradise and this veil of tears.
But when the
medieval artist depicted paradise in stained glass, the
walls glowed with a brilliance such as was not of this earth,
and such that required over a thousand years of accumulated
scientific knowledge and technology to equal.
If the colors
contrasted, the contrast v/as coincidence, or if not coincidence, was arranged to enhance an overall effect of infinity.
49
In Renaissance art, contrast exists in its own rights.
In
Renaissance music we are moved mercilessly from major to
minor keys; in Renaissance literature, the dramatist takes
fiendish delight in bouncing the viewer's soul from the
depths of despair to the giddy, hyper-ventilated heights of
hilarity—from the solemn affairs we must maintain with Hal
to the jovial and drunken bawdry of Falstaff.
Even Jonson
could not systematically avoid it and we find notable subplots in "Epicoene" and "Volpone."
Classical comedy did
not provide the precedent for this—it was strictly Elizabethan.
But while the Elizabethans were creating new dramatic forms, they also were expanding their understanding of
the old ones.
In particular, they came to grasp the signi-
ficance of the denouement more than perhaps did the dramatists of any other age.
They did this by associating a
cathartic theory to all endings.
Thus, while a catharsis
can only properly exist at the conclusion of a great tragedy, there is, of sorts, a cathartic effect to be experienced at the close of even some Elizabethan comedy.
"Epicoene" is an excellent example of this phenomenon.
Perhaps, in comedy, through regalery and laughter, rather
than through pity and fear, the emotions may be purged, and
our psychological burdens relaxed.
Nevertheless, the dis-
tinct feeling that something of justice has been done is
almost inescapable at the close of "Epicoene,"
We know
50
that order has been re-established, and that, in fact,
sanity and a better world have resulted from Morose's defeat.
The Elizabethans alone could accomplish this edify-
ing effect within the context of comedy.
No other stage
succeeded, and it is likely, that we will not see such a
comedy again.
The subjects of Elizabethan comedy may re-
main with us.
For gullers we may have our politicians and
the chimneysweeps may be replaced by radioactive clean-room
techniques, but our values are now our own, and this comedy,
although perhaps needed, can scarcely survive in the synthetic soils of the twentieth century.
the past.
This comedy is from.
It speaks to us, however, in the universal lan-
guage of human experience and one can but hope that the work
of this age can so successfully reach the generations of the
future in that same universal language.
jim'iiSLhii:
NOTES
CtiOpt^J^^
CHAPTER I
Ben Jonson, "Timber or Discoveries," The Complete
Works of Ben Jonson, ed. C.H. Hereford and E. Simpson (1947;
rpt. Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1965), VIII, 638.
Hereafter
cited as "Discoveries."
2
John Dryden, "An Essay of Dramatic Poesy," The
Works of John Dryden, ed. George Saintsbury (Edinburg:
W. Patterson, 1892), XV, 300. Hereafter cited as Dryden.
3
Dryden, p. 34 7.
4
"Discoveries," p. 646.
5
Paul V. Kreider, Elizabethan Comic Character Conventions as Revealed in the Comedies of George Chapman (Ann
Arbor:
University of Michigan Press, 1935), p. 146.
Joanna Baillie, "Introductory Discourse to 'Plays
on the Passions,'" The Dramatic and Poetical Works of
Joanna Baillie (London:
1851) , p. 10.
7
Longman, Brown, Green & Longmans,
Wordsworth, "Preface to the Lyrical Ballads,"
Wordsworth Poetical Works, ed. De Salincourt (London:
Oxford University Press, 1936), p. 735.
o
Ben Jonson, "Volpone, of the Fox," I, i, 73-90,
p. 27.
This and all future quotations from "Volpone," are
52
53
taken from the previously cited Hereford and Simpson, The
Complete Works of Ben Jonson, volume V.
9
Ben Jonson, "Epicoene, or The Silent Woman," I, ii,
8-26, pp. 170-1.
Taken from the above cited Hereford and
Simpson, The Complete Works of Ben Jonson, volume V.
Ben Jonson, "Every Man in His Humor," I, i, 6-23,
p. 304.
Taken from the 1616 folio text in the above cited
Hereford and Simpson, The Complete Works of Ben Jonson,
volume III.
J"
CHAPTER II
Donald J. Grout, A History of Western Music (Nev/
York:
W.W. Norton, 1960), p. 365.
2
"Epicoene, or The Silent Woman," I, i, 14 3-59,
p. 169.
Ibid.
II, i, 1-5, p. 177.
Ibid.
II, i, 7-14, p. 177.
Ibid.
II, iv, 37-46, p. 188-89.
Ibid.
I, iii, 4-5, p. 173.
Ibid.
II, iv, 17-18, p. 197.
8
Ibid.
II, iv, 20-23, p. 197.
10
11
Ibid.
III, iii, 83-92, p. 206.
Ibid.
IV, iv, 1-12, p. 229-30.
Ibid.
V, iv, 148, p. 268.
12Christopher Marlowe, "Doctor Faustus," Marlowe's
Doctor Faustus, ed. W.W. Greg (Oxford:
1950).
Clarendon Press,
Quotation is taken from the A Text, 1604 printing,
scene xiii, lines 1306 and 7, p. 276.
No suggestion is
intended that either Jonson or Marlowe were indebted for
the line; such expressions of despair were probably popular
As such, they would be familiar to Jonson's audience, and
hence, "jarring" in this context.
•^^"Epicoene," V, iv, 163-65, 171-75, p. 268.
54
: -" •;*»BE:
CHAPTER III
Donald J. Grout, A History of Western Music (New
York:
W.W. Norton, 1960), p. 6.
2 .
Sir George Grove, Dictionary of Music and Musi-
cians, ed. Eric Bloom (New York:
St. Martin's Press, 1955),
II, 613, s.v. Counterpoint.
3
Percy Goetschius, Counterpoint Applied (Nev/ York:
G. Shirmer, 1915), pp. 96-106. Much of the above material
has been quoted more or less directly.
However, to include
all the scholarly mechanics in the passage would render it
virtually unreadable; hence, it appears as in the paragraph.
The material is, too, generally considered to be
in the body of common knowledge; I quote it becuase it is
well expressed and because this source is authoritative.
An excellent example of this type of composition
is included in the appendix and is accompanied by a chart
detailing, graphically, the parellelism of the four sections
of the composition.
Even a casual comparison with a mono-
phonic composition (a sample of which is also included in
the appendix), will clarify the tremendous differences
existing between the two styles of composition.
55
CHAPTER IV
Ben Jonson, "The Alchemist," I, i, 7-8, p. 295.
This and all future quotations from "The Alchemist," are
taken from the previously cited Hereford and Simpson, The
Complete Works of Ben Jonson, volume V.
2
Ibid
I, i, 117-19, 122-25, p. 299
Ibid.
I, i, 38-49, p. 296.
Ibid.
I, i, 65-73, p. 297.
Ibid.
I, i, 164-66, p. 301.
Ibid.
I, i i , 45-58
p. 304.
Ibid.
8Ibid.
I , i i , 83-84
p. 304.
I, i i , 86-90
p. 305.
Ibid.
I, i i , 90-93
p. 305.
10 Ibid.
I, iii, 22-29, p. 309-10.
11 Ibid
II, vi, 57, 60-63, p. 339.
12
Ibid.
II, vi, 38, p. 338.
Ibid.
III, iv, 21-25, p. 351.
13
14 Ibid.
Ill, ii, 49-53, p. 344.
•'•^Maurice Hussey, "Ananias the Deacon:
A Study of
Religion in Jonson's 'The Alchemist,'" English, 12, No. 72
(Autumn 1953), 209.
-^^"The Alchemist," II, i, 14-15, p. 314.
17 Ibid., IV, i, 85, 89, 90, 92-93, p. 362.
56
iLiMlli
. 57
18
"The A l c h e m i s t , " I I , i i , 1 0 0 - 0 1 , p . 320.
19
Edward B. Partridge, The Broken Compass (London:
Chatto and Windus, 1958), p. 144.
20
"The Alchemist," II, i, 9-10, p. 314.
21
Ibid., II, ii, 101-05, p. 320-21.
^^Ibid., II, i, 81-83, p. 317.
^^Ibid., Ill, V, 49-54, p. 357-58.
^"^Ibid., IV, iii, 58-59, p. 370.
26
^^Ibid., II, ii, 45-46, p. 319.
I It
Robert E. Knoll, "How to Read 'The Alchemist,
CE, 12 (May 1960) , 456.
27
This four part arrangement is followed exactly in
the example included in the appendix.
Note especially the
chart describing the structural outline of the fugue.
Each
section closes with a cadence to the new key.
^^"The Alchemist," II, i, 78, p. 316.
^^Ibid., II, iii, 46-52, p. 322.
30
Wallace A. Bacon, "The Magnetic Field:
The Struc-
ture of Jonson's Comedies," HLQ, 12, No. 2 (February 1956),
145.
LIST OF WORKS CITED
ts^
LIST OF WORKS CITED
Bacon, Wallace A.
"The Magnetic Field:
The Structure of
Jonson's Comedies." HLQ, 19, No. 2 (February 1956),
121-153.
Baillie, Joanna.
The Dramatic and Poetical Works of
Joanna Baillie.
London:
Longman, Brown, Green &
Longmans, 1851.
Dryden, John.
"An Essay of Dramatic Poesy." The Works of
John Dryden.
Ed. George Saintsbury.
Edinburg:
W. Patterson, 1882. XV, 297-678.
Goetschius, Percy.
Counterpoint Applied.
New York:
W.W.
Norton, 1960.
Grove, Sir George.
Dictionary of Music & Musicians.
Eric Bloom.
New York:
Ed.
St. Martin's Press, 1955.
II, 737-742.
Hussey, Maurice.
"Ananias the Deacon:
A Study of Religion
in Jonson's 'The Alchemist,'" English, 12, No. 72
(Autumn 1953), 208-215.
Jonson, Ben.
The Complete Works of Ben Jonson.
Hereford and E. Simpson.
Ed. C.H.
11 vols, 1947; rpt. Oxford
Clarendon Press, 1965.
Knoll, Robert E.
"How to Read 'The Alchemist.'"
.(May 1960), 456-460.
c9
CE, 12
60
Kreider, Paul V.
Elizabethan Comic Character Conventions
as Revealed in the Comedies of George Chapman.
Arbor:
Marlowe.
Ann
University of Michigan Press, 19 35.
"Doctor Faustus."
Ed. W.W. Greg.
Partridge, Edward B.
Marlowe's Doctor Faustus.
Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1950.
The Broken Compass.
London:
Chatto
and Windus, 19 58.
Wordsworth.
"Preface to the Lyrical Ballads."
Poetical Works.
Ed. De Salincourt.
Wordsworth
London:
Oxford University Press, 1936. pp. 735-41.
I-•ar-.S..
• y... •
^
APPENDIX
APPENDIX
Two selections from the Well Tempered Clavier by
J.S. Bach are included here to assist the reader in visualizing the parallels that exist between music and the drama.
The first, "Praeludium V," is included as a sample of monophony, and the second, "Fuga X," as one of polyphony.
Al-
though it should be remembered that virtually all of Bach's
output can be analyzed as counterpoint (indeed, "Praeludium
V" is excellent counterpoint), the simple bass which underlines the harmonic movement in this prelude and the rich
harmonic activity of the piece make it a good example.
The novice should find little difficulty in following this music.
However, it is assumed that some knowledge
of music theory is available if the reader wishes to understand the markings on the prelude.
Chord names, type and
number designations are standard; however, many measures
that, in fact, are not built around single chords, or that
may have no definite or stable tonal center at all, are
marked with a single designation.
Such markings merely
indicate that, in my opinion, the chord listed is the principle one of the measure, or that it is the final one, or
that the measure is moving toward or hovering around that
62
63
center.
A wavy line under the bar indicates rapid modula-
tion aimed at some specific end (such as cadence material).
Chord names proceeded by an asterisk indicate clearly
established keys; chord numbers without names, indicate
harmonic movement of little specific interest.
Other mark-
ings should be self-explanatory.
The fugue is marked somewhat differently to permit
proper emphasis to be placed on thematic relationships.
To
avoid cluttering this score with notes, I have employed
several abbreviations; S with number indicates subject and
number, CS indicates counter-subject, DBL CPT indicates
double counterpoint, cm indicates cadence material.
The
chart following is provided to give the reader some idea of
the enormous craftsmanship that went into the making of this
fugue.
Important bar numbers are indicated and the four
sections of the composition labeled A,, A', A^, and A^ are
arranged vertically.
Dashed and waved lines, without labels
are used to indicate specific theme fragments' positions in
the bar.
Abbreviations are used, as with the scores, and
important key changes are indicated with standard notation.
Several performances of the Well Tempered Clavier are
available on long-playing phonograph discs.
Glen Gould's
eccentric, but highly listenable performance on the pianoforte is available on Columbia records (Book I, D3S-733;
Book II, MS-7409).
Wanda Landowska's consummate artistry
and impeccable scholarship have made her recordings long the
64
standard.
This RCA Victor recording (Books I and II, LM-
6801) is therefore highly recommended despite its mediocre
sound quality.
Ralph Kirpatrick's outstanding performance is
exceeded only by Landowska's and Deutche Grammaphone's excellent engineering has made this recording the most popular, despite its comparatively high price.
It is available
in mono or stereo (Book I, DGG 138844/5; Book II, 139146/8).
Rosalyn Tureck's creditable performance on the pianoforte is
available on Decca records, and since these are frequently
found on sale, they are a good buy for the economy-minded.
Gould's work is also available on separate discs for those
not wishing to purchase the entire set.
Scores were reproduced from G. Shirmer and Sons'
edition; hov/ever, in keeping with that company's practice of
using many pirated sources, they have offered no publication
information with the printing.
however, from any music store.
Copies are readily available,
65
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