The Greatest of Literary Problems

In Ben Jonson’s lines accompanying the Droeshout portrait in the Folio, he says this:

To the Reader
This Figure, that thou here seest put,
It was for gentle Shakespeare cut;
Wherein the Grauer had a strife
With Nature, to out-doo the life:
O, could he but have drawne his wit
As well in brasse, as he hath hit
His face; the Print would then surpasse
All, that was euer writt in brasse.
But, since he cannot, Reader, looke
Not on his Picture, but his Booke.

It may be asked, how Jonson’s address can be reconciled with the theory that neither the “Picture” nor the “Booke” are the actor’s, and preserve the commonly accepted meaning of the address? A fair answer may be given to this by showing how in sincere such expressions were at the time this was written.

There is ample evidence of their worthlessness, and Malone gives us his opinion in this case. Referring to Droeshout’s portraits, he says: “By comparing any of these prints with the original pictures from whence the engravings were made, a better judgment might be formed of the fidelity of our author’s portrait, as exhibited by this engraver, than from Jonson’s assertion, that in “this figure” “the Grauer had a strife with Nature, to out-doo the life”; a compliment which in the books of that age was paid to so many engravers, that nothing decisive can be inferred from it.” 1

There is no doubt that it seems to reveal Jonson’s intention to identify the author of the works with the actor. We are quite willing to admit that he knew whether he was or was not their author, but whether he has revealed to us this knowledge is another matter. What, however, has been quoted to show the character of “Honest Ben” and his disregard of the verities is sufficient to disqualify him as a reliable witness; but though his testimony is of little value, so many believe that he, if nobody else, knew who was the author of the works, that we venture to introduce the swan story of Ariosto related by Bacon, 2 which is to the effect, that to the thread of every man’s life is attached a medal bearing his name. When this thread is severed by the fatal shears, it is seized by a swan which bears it away. The
swans in their aimless flight drop many of the medals which fall into the river Lethe, and are lost; but some swans, having medals with worthy names, bear them to the Temple of Immortality. This story was familiar to Jonson, and it might be asked whether, if he knew that the actor was not the author, he might not have figured him in one of his “fits of fantasie” as the swan who bore the real author’s name to the Temple? The question is perhaps of small moment, but it is certainly suggestive. There are allusions also in Jonson’s eulogy which are quite as misleading as this; but aside from the sufficient fact of his unreliability, we must not forget that he was exercising his talents professionally, and could not well have avoided allusion to the titular author of the book which he was introducing to his readers.