John Fletcher und Francis Beaumont. Die Namen dieser beiden Dichter, Shakspeare's Zeitgenossen und talentvollsten Nachfolger, sind nicht wohl von einander zu trennen, da sie ihre bedeutendsten Leistungen, nach damaliger Sitte, gemeinschaftlich verfassten. Fletcher, der ältere der beiden Freunde, ward 1576 in Northamptonshire geboren, studirte zu Cambridge und schloss hier den innigen Bund mit Beaumont, den erst der Tod löste. Beaumont war der Sohn eines Richters in Leicestershire und soll 1585 geboren, aber bereits 1615 gestorben sein, während Fletcher erst zehn Jahre nach ihm, 1625, von der Erde abgerufen wurde. Weiteres über ihre Lebensverhältnisse ist nicht auf die Nachwelt gekommen. Ein und funfzig Dramen sollen sie gemeinschaftlich gedichtet haben; Fletcher schrieb später noch mehrere allein oder in Verbindung mit Anderen. Phantasie, Witz und gute Characterzeichnung, sowie ein lebendiger, wahrer Dialog und Reichthum der Erfindung zeichnen ihre Werke aus und weisen diesen den nächsten Rang nach denen Shakespeares an, aber ihnen fehlt die tragische Grösse, das tiefe Gefühl und die komische Grazie des grossen Meisters. Ihre Werke sind wiederholt, auch in der neuesten Zeit wieder aufgelegt worden, doch betrachtet man die von Theobald, Seward und Sympson, 1750 zu London in 10 Octavbänden besorgte Ausgabe als eine der besten. Eine hinsichtlich des Commentars nicht so reiche, aber nicht minder correcte ist folgende: The dramatic Works of Ben Jonson and Beaumont and Fletcher (by P. Whalley and G. Colman). London 1811; 4 Bde gr. 8. Scenes from Philaster; or, Love lies a bleeding. A Tragi- Comedy. By Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher. Philaster tells the Princess Arethusa Not yet seen in the court; hunting the buck, Of which he borrow'd some to quench his thirst, crystal Which did not stop their courses; and the sun, Then took he up his garland and did shew, Did signify; and how all order'd thus, Exprest his grief: and to my thoughts did read Have studied it. I gladly entertain'd him, Philaster prefers Bellario to the Service of the Princess Arethusa. Phi. And thou shalt find her honourable, Full of regard unto thy tender youth, Bell. Sir, you did take me up when I was To construe a simple innocence in me, Harden'd in lies and theft; yet ventur'd you That bears more honour in her breast than you. Phi. But, boy, it will prefer thee; thou art young, And bear'st a childish overflowing love To them that clap thy cheeks and speak thee fair yet. Bellario describes to the Princess Arethusa the manner of his master Philaster's love for her. Are. Sir, you are sad to change your service, is't not so? Bell. Madam, I have not chang'd: I wait on you, But when thy judgment comes to rule those To do him service. passions Thou wilt remember best those careful friends Bell. In that small time that I have seen the world, I never knew a man hasty to part Bell. Sir, if I have made A fault of ignorance, instruct my youth; Phi. Thy love doth plead so prettily to stay, me: Think so, and 'tis so; and when time is full, Nay weep not, gentle boy; 'tis more than time Bell. I am gone; But since I am to part with you, my lord, May sick men, if they have your wish, be well; one. Are. Thou disclaim'st in me; Tell me thy name. Bell. Bellario. Are. Thou can'st sing and play? Are. Alas! what kind of grief can thy years know? Had'st thou a curst master when thou went'st to school? Thou art not capable of any other grief; Care seeks out wrinkled brows, and hollow eyes And builds himself caves to abide in them. Come, sir, tell me truly, does your lord love me? Bell. Love, madam? I know not what it is. Are. Canst thou know grief, and never yet knew'st love? Thou art deceiv'd, boy. Does he speak of me As if he wish'd me well? Bell. If it be love, To forget all respect of his own friends, If when he goes to rest (which will not be) For your lord's credit; but thou know'st a lie Than any truth that says he loves me not. Philaster is jealous of Bellario with the Princess. Bell. Health to you, my lord; The princess doth commend her love, her life, Phi. O Bellario, Now I perceive she loves me, she does shew it In loving thee, my boy, she has made thee brave. Bell. My lord, she has attired me past my wish, Past my desert, more fit for her attendant, Phi. Come, come, I know she does. Aye, now I see why my disturbed thoughts Thou shalt know all my drift. I hate her more, Phi. Thou art grown courtly, boy. O let all Hast thou discover'd? is she fal'n to lust, Something allied to her; or had preserv'd Phi. Why this is wond'rous well: This is a salve worse than the main disease. Bell. Why, so you do. She is (for aught I know) by all the gods, But what kind language does she feed thee And I did know it, thus; Bell. Why, she does tell me, she will trust With all her loving secrets, and does call me Phi. This is much better still. Bell. Are you ill, my lord? Phi. Ill? No, Bellario. Bell. Methinks your words Fall not from off your tongue so evenly, Should draw it from me. Phi. Then it is no time To dally with thee; I will take thy life, The gods have not a punishment in store Phi. Fie, fie, So young and so dissembling! fear'st thou not Can boys contemn that? Bell. O, what boy is he death? I Can be content to live to be a man, Phi. Thou art deceiv'd, boy. Bell. Yes. Phi. And she does kiss thee, boy, ha? Bell. How, my lord? Phi. Oh, but thou dost not know what 'tis to die. Bell. Yes I do know, my lord. fis less than to be born; a lasting sleep, A thing we all pursue; I know besides It is but giving over of a game That must be lost. Phi. But there are pains, false boy, Bellario, discovered to be a Woman, For perjur'd souls: think but on these, and then live, If I be perjured, or have ever thought Of that you charge me with: if I be false, Phi. O, what should I do? Your worth and virtue, and as I did grow Why, who can but believe him? He does swear I thought (but it was you) enter our gates; The gods would not endure him. Rise, Bellario, I cannot urge thee further; but thou wert Bell. I will fly as far As there is morning, ere I give distaste My blood flew out, and back again as fast I grew acquainted with my heart, and search'd To that most honour'd mind. But through these I could not stay with you, I made a vow tears, Shed at my hopeless parting, I can see A world of treason practis'd upon you, If you shall hear that sorrow struck me dead, A tear shed from you in my memory, By all the most religious things a maid For other than I seem'd; that I might ever George Chapman. Dieser Dichter ward 1557 geboren, studirte auf einer englischen Universität und wandte sich dann nach London wo er 1634 starb. Er war ein Freund Spensers und Shakspeare's, zeichnete sich vorzüglich als Uebersetzer des Homer, Musaeus und Hesiod aus und schrieb ausserdem sechzehn Bühnenstücke in welchen sich manches sehr Gelungene findet; besonders athmet sein Trauerspiel Bussy d'Ambois, aus dem wir hier eine Scene mittheilen, einen wahrhaft ritterlichen Geist. Scene from Offer'd remission and contrition too: Bussy d'Ambois, a Tragedy: By George Or else that he and D'Ambois might conclude Chapman. The others' dangers. D'Ambois lik'd the last: A Nuntius (or Messenger) in the presence of King Henry, Guise, Beaupre, Nuntius etc. Sparkled and spit) did much much more than scorn That his wrong should incense him so like chaff To go so soon out, and, like lighted paper, Approve his spirit at once both fire and ashes: So drew they lots, and in them fates appointed That Barrisor should fight with fiery D'Ambois; Pyrrhot with Melynell; with Brisac L'Anou And then like flame and powder they commixt, So spritely, that I wish'd they had been Spirits; Turn'd head, drew all their rapiers, and stood That the ne'er-shutting wounds, they needs must Enter the field, and at their heels their foes, rank'd; open, When face to face the three defendants met them, Might as they open'd shut, and never kill. Alike prepar'd and resolute alike. But D'Ambois' sword (that lightned as it flew) Every man's look shew'd, fed with other's Of manly Barrisor; and there it stuck: spirit; As one had been a mirror to another, Thrice pluck'd he at it, and thrice drew on thrusts Like forms of life and death each took from From him, that of himself was free as fire; other: Who thrust still, as he pluck'd, yet (past belief) And so were life and death mix'd at their heights, Nuntius. As Hector 'twixt the hosts arms, And hear him speak: so Barrisor (advis'd) Long shook with tempests, and his lofty top (Even groaning with his weight) he 'gan to nod |