THE POPULAE EDUCATOR. 



persons connected on one side or the other with the perse- 

 cution. But the real subject of the play is the conflict of good 

 ar d evil, and the triumph of good, not in the world, but over it. 

 The real leaders of the conflict in Caesarea are Angelo (an angol 

 passing as the page of Dorothea) and Harpax (a demon disguised 

 as the servant of Theophilus). The stage is crowded with 

 murders, tortures, and every form of physical cruelty, to an 

 extent that would be simply revolting if we missed the key-note 

 of the whole. That key-note is the victory of Christian faith 

 in and through pain and death, and virtue finding as its reward 

 suffering in this world, happiness in another. Miracles aro 

 ordinary incidents of the play. Theophilus himself is at its 

 close converted by the visit of an angelic messenger, bearing 

 him a basket of fruits and flowers from the gardens of Paradise. 

 It is difficult to conceive anything more entirely out of harmony 

 with the whole tone of thought and feeling in England under 

 James I. than the "Virgin Martyr." The play is as powerful 

 as it is strange, and there is no doubt that it was a popular piece . 

 Of tragedies, in the strictest sense of the term, there are a 

 considerable number among Massinger's plays. The finest of 

 these are probably " The Duke of Milan," " The Unnatural 

 Combat," and " The Fatal Dowry ; " and we can hardly recom- 

 mend to the student a better example of Massinger's powers in 

 tragedy than the last-mentioned of these plays. It opens with 

 several very powerful scenes, in which the hero, Charalois, is 

 introduced in extreme distress, sacrificing his own liberty to 

 save his father's corpse from his exacting creditors, and secure 

 for it the common decencies of burial. He is rescued from his 

 calamities, and his debts are paid by the noble and wealthy 

 Rochfort, who crowns his favours by giving his daughter in 

 marriage to Charalois. The infidelity of Beaumelle, the vengeance 

 of her husband upon herself and her paramour, Novall, and the 

 death of Charalois at the hands of Novall's friend, form the 

 story of the play. Painful as that story is, the mode in which 

 it is conducted is characteristic of Massinger. There is no 

 tampering with the bounds of right and wrong ; none even of 

 that gross and animal character about the heroine's fall which 

 we so often find in Fletcher's plays. The husband whom 

 Beaumelle wrongs is not the husband of her choice, but a 

 stranger imposed upon her by her father's will. The man for 

 whom she sacrifices her honour is the man whom she had loved 

 before marriage. Her repentance and her punishment are 

 rapid and thorough. Nor is hers the only character in which 

 similar principles are to be traced ; the moral lessons of the 

 play are in all casss clear and true. The following lines from 

 the speech of Charalois to his judges, when arraigned before 

 them for the death of his wife and her paramour, afford a good 

 example of Massinger's style : 



"Then I confess, my lords, that I stood bound, 

 When, with my friends, even hope itself had left me, 

 To this man's charity for my liberty. 

 Nor did his bounty end there, but began ; 

 For, after my enlargement, cherishing 

 The good he did, ho made me master of 

 His only daughter and his wiole estate- 

 Great tics of thankfulness, I must acknowledge. 

 Could any one fee'd by you press this further ? 

 But yet consider, my most honoured lords, 

 If to receive a favour make a servant, 

 And benefits are bonds to tie the taker 

 To the imperious will of him that gives, 

 There's none but slaves will receive courtesies, 

 Since they must fetter us to our dishonours. 

 Can it be called magnificence in a prince 

 To pour clown riches with a liberal hand 

 Upon a poor man's wants, if that must bind him 

 To play the soothing parasite to his vices ? 

 Or any man, because ho saved my hand, 

 Presume my head and heart are at his service ? 

 Or did I stand engaged to buy my freedom 

 (When my captivity was honourable) 

 By making myself here, and fame hereafter, 

 Bond-slaves to men's scorn and calumnious tongues ? 

 Had his fair daughter's mind been like her feature, 

 Or, for some little blemish, I had sought 

 For my content elsewhere, wasting on others 

 My body and her dower, my forehead then 

 Deserved the brand of base ingratitude ; 

 But if obsequious usage, and fair warning 

 To keep her worth my love, could not preserve her 

 From being a whore and yet no cunning one, 



So to offend, and yet the fault kept from me 



What could I do ? Let any free-born spirit 



Determine truly, if that thankfulness, 



Choice form, with the whole world given for a dowry, 



Could strengthen so an honest man with patience, 



As with a willing neck to undergo 



The insupportable yoke of slave or wittol." 



Of the death of his guilty rival he says : 



" For the last, as of 



The former, I confess it ; but with what 

 Base wrongs I was unwillingly drawn to it, 

 To my few words there are some other proofs 

 To witness thus for truth. When I was married 

 For there I must begin the slain Novall 

 Was to my wife, in way of our French courtship, 

 A most devoted servant; but yet aimed at 

 Nothing but means to quench his wanton heat, 

 His heart being never warmed by lawful fires, 

 As mine was, lords ; and though, on these presumptions, 

 Joined to the hate between his house and mine, 

 I might, with opportunity and ease, 

 Have found a way for my revenge ; I did not. 

 But still ho had the freedom as before, 

 When all was mine. And, told that he abused it 

 With some unseemly licence, by my friend 

 My approved friend, Eomont I gave no credit 

 To the reporter, but reproved him for it, 

 As one uucourtly and malicious to him. 

 What could I more, my lords ? Yet, after this, 

 He did continue in his first pursuit, 

 Hotter than ever, and at length obtained it. 

 But how it came to my most certain knowledge, 

 For the dignity of the court, and mine own honour, 

 I dare not say." 



Somewhat similar to Massinger in the character of his genius 

 was his contemporary, John Ford. He was born in 1586, of a 

 respectable Devonshire family. In 1602 he became a member 

 of the Middle Temple, but it does not appear that he ever 

 actually joined the bar. It is clear, from the dedications pre- 

 fixed by Ford to his various plays, that literature was not his 

 sole pursuit in life, though what his other employments were 

 cannot bo certainly ascertained ; and as he had wealthy and 

 influential connections, being the grandson on his mother's side 

 of Popham, the Chief Justice of England, it is probable that 

 ho never felt the burden of poverty under which most of his 

 fellow-dramatists laboured. These circumstances, together 

 with a sensitive and reserved disposition, aro quite sufficient to 

 explain the fact of Ford's having written comparatively few 

 pieces for the stage. Those which he has left us are, however, 

 abundantly sufficient to stamp him as a great dramatist. Tho 

 bent of his genius is essentially tragic. In depicting blighted 

 affections, disappointed ambition, in everything that appeals to 

 our pity, he is masterly. In wit and humour he is wholly 

 deficient. His language and versification have a peculiar power 

 and beanty, and are admirably adapted for conveying those 

 .images of tenderness and pity in which he delighted. Tho plays 

 of Ford which will probably give the greatest pleasure to most 

 readers are the historical play of " Pcrkin Warbeck," " The 

 Broken Heart," and a play frightful in subject, but singularly 

 powerful and noble in execution " Annabella and Giovanni, " 

 known also by several other names. 



The genius of John Webster was one of the most striking in 

 its character, even more than in its power, among all those that 

 adorned the Elizabethan age. Of Webster's personal history 

 wo know nothing ; the time or place of his birth or of his death, 

 his parentage, the circumstances of his life, his social position 

 and habits, cannot be ascertained. And this is especially dis- 

 appointing in the case of one whose works are marked with so 

 strong an individuality as Webster's. We merely know of him 

 that he was a contemporary of Massinger, Ford, and the rest 

 of the younger school of Elizabethan dramatists. There is 

 little doubt that he was at times employed either to work with 

 other dramatists in the composition of plays, or to improve upon 

 the works of earlier authors, as well as producing plays wholly 

 his own. The works of Webster which have come down to us 

 are few; and though some others have been lost, there is no 

 reason to suppose that he was ever a very voluminous writer. 



