From Bricklayer’s Apprentice to Literary Luminary

Born in 1572 as the stepson of a bricklayer, Ben Jonson’s rise to become Jacobean England’s most celebrated writer was anything but predictable. His early life reads like one of his own gritty city comedies—apprenticed to his stepfather’s trade before running away to military service in Flanders, then plunging into London’s theatrical underworld. The young Jonson was no stranger to violence; in 1598, he killed actor Gabriel Spencer in a duel, escaping hanging only by claiming “benefit of clergy” (demonstrating literacy by reading Psalm 51 in Latin). The incident left him branded on the thumb and briefly converted to Catholicism—one of many contradictions that would define his career.

By 1616, the same year Shakespeare died, Jonson had achieved what his rival never did: royal recognition as England’s de facto first Poet Laureate, receiving an annual pension of 100 marks from James I. That year, he also published a lavish folio edition of his Works—a radical act that elevated plays to the status of literature at a time when theater was considered ephemeral entertainment. As critic Richard West would later eulogize in 1638, Jonson’s words would be studied “as they read the classics,” his influence spanning continents.

The Theatre Wars and Early Successes

Jonson’s theatrical debut was as chaotic as his personal life. His collaboration on the scandalous Isle of Dogs (1597) landed him in prison and shuttered London’s theaters. Yet by 1598, he scored his first hit with Every Man in His Humour, featuring Shakespeare in the cast. The play popularized the “humour” comedy—based on the medieval theory of bodily fluids dictating personality—and established Jonson’s signature style: satirical, learned, and obsessed with London’s seamy underbelly.

The early 1600s saw Jonson embroiled in the “Poetomachia” or War of the Theatres, trading literary blows with rivals like John Marston. His Roman tragedy Sejanus (1603) flopped, but his genius found its true medium in two forms: biting city comedies and lavish court masques.

Masquerade and Majesty: Jonson’s Court Spectacles

Jonson’s collaboration with architect Inigo Jones produced some of the Stuart court’s most dazzling masques—multimedia extravaganzas combining poetry, music, and cutting-edge stagecraft. The Masque of Blackness (1605), commissioned by Queen Anne of Denmark, was revolutionary:

– Shocking Spectacle: Anne and her ladies appeared with skin painted black as “Niger’s daughters,” seeking whiteness in Britain’s “sun-like” king—a bold commentary on race and power.
– Feminine Agency: Female performers took center stage, defying Elizabethan conventions.
– Political Theater: These masques cost up to £3,000 (millions today), showcasing royal wealth while subtly critiquing court excess.

Jonson famously clashed with Jones over their respective arts’ supremacy, declaring his words the “soul” of masques, while Jones’ visuals were mere “transitory” bodies.

The Great Comedies: Vice, Virtue, and London’s Underworld

Between 1606–1614, Jonson produced his masterpieces, reveling in human folly:

1. Volpone (1606): Set in Venice, this tale of a conman feigning death to swindle legacy-hunters drips with grotesque humor. The titular “Fox” delivers speeches like a twisted ode to greed: “Good morning to the day; and next, my gold! Open the shrine, that I may see my saint.”

2. The Alchemist (1610): A pandemic-era romp (set during London’s 1610 plague) about fraudsters exploiting the gullible with fake alchemy. Its breakneck dialogue mirrors the chaos:
Face: “Believe him not.”
Subtle: “I fart at thee!”
Doll: “Nay, gentlemen, for shame—”

3. Bartholomew Fair (1614): A raucous snapshot of London’s infamous festival, teeming with pickpockets, puritans, and the unforgettable Ursula the pig-woman—a sweating, swearing embodiment of carnival excess: “I am all fire and fat… you might follow me by the drops!”

Unlike Shakespeare’s romantic resolutions, Jonson’s endings often leave vice half-punished, as if he secretly admired his rogues’ vitality.

The Folio Revolution and Later Years

Jonson’s 1616 folio was a watershed, asserting plays as lasting literature. Later life brought hardship: financial struggles, paralysis (possibly from stroke), and declining theatrical success. Yet his influence endured through the “Tribe of Ben”—disciples like Robert Herrick who gathered at London’s Apollo Club.

Buried upright in Westminster Abbey in 1637 (legend says to save space), Jonson left a contradictory legacy: a classicist who celebrated lowlife chaos, a moralist who reveled in vice, and the first English writer to demand—and receive—recognition as both artist and intellectual.

Jonson vs. Shakespeare: A Rivalry for the Ages

The contrast between Jonson and his friend-rival Shakespeare reveals their divergent visions:

– Jonson: “I sought to depict deeds and language such as men do use.” His comedies held a mirror to London’s vices.
– Shakespeare: “The poet’s pen… gives to airy nothing a local habitation.” His plays embraced fantasy and transcendence.

Yet without Jonson’s folio precedent, Shakespeare’s 1623 First Folio might never have existed. As Jonson wrote in his famous elegy for Shakespeare, he was “not of an age, but for all time”—a tribute that equally applies to Jonson himself, the flawed, brilliant architect of English literary professionalism.