# Volpone/Act V Scene VIII

SCENE VIII.
The Scrutineo, or Senate House.
Avocatori, Bonario, Celia, Corbaccio, Corvino, Commandadori, Saffi, &c. as before.
1 Avoc. These things can ne'er be reconciled. He, here, [Shewing the papers. Professeth, that the gentleman was wrong'd, And that the gentlewoman was brought thither, Forced by her husband, and there left. Volt. Most true. Cel. How ready is heaven to those that pray! 1 Avoc. But that Volpone would have ravish'd her, he holds Utterly false, knowing his impotence. Corv. Grave fathers, he's possest; again, I say, Possest: nay, if there be possession, and Obsession, he has both. 3 Avoc. Here comes our officer.
Enter Volpone.
Volp. The parasite will straight be here, grave fathers. 4 Avoc. You might invent some other name, sir varlet. 3 Avoc. Did not the notary meet him? Volp. Not that I know. 4 Avoc. His coming will clear all. 2 Avoc. Yet, it is misty. Volt. May't please your fatherhoods—— Volp. [whispers Volt.] Sir, the parasite Will'd me to tell you, that his master lives; That you are still the man; your hopes the same; And this was only a jest—— Volt. How? Volp. Sir, to try If you were firm, and how you stood affected. Volt. Art sure he lives? Volp. Do I live, sir? Volt. O me! I was too violent. Volp. Sir, you may redeem it. They said, you were possest; fall down, and seem so: I'll help to make it good. [Voltore falls.]—God bless the man!———— Stop your wind hard, and swell—See, see, see, see! He vomits crooked pins! his eyes are set,
Like a dead hare's hung in a poulter's shop! His mouth's running away! Do you see, signior? Now it is in his belly. Corv. Ay, the devil! Volp. Now in his throat. Corv. Ay, I perceive it plain. Volp. 'Twill out, 'twill out! stand clear. See where it flies, In shape of a blue toad, with a bat's wings! Do you not see it, sir? Corb. What? I think I do. Corv. 'Tis too manifest. Volp. Look! he comes to himself! Volt. Where am I? Volp. Take good heart, the worst is past, sir. You are dispossest. 1 Avoc. What accident is this! 2 Avoc. Sudden, and full of wonder! 3 Avoc. If he were Possest, as it appears, all this is nothing. Corv. He has been often subject to these fits. 1 Avoc. Shew him that writing:—do you know it, sir? Volp. [whispers Volt.] Deny it, sir, forswear it; know it not. Volt. Yes, I do know it well, it is my hand; But all that it contains is false. Bon. O practice! 2 Avoc. What maze is this! 1 Avoc. Is he not guilty then, Whom you there name the parasite?
Volt. Grave fathers, No more than his good patron, old Volpone. 4 Avoc. Why, he is dead. Volt. O no, my honour'd fathers, He lives—— 1 Avoc. How! lives? Volt. Lives. 2 Avoc. This is subtler yet! 3 Avoc. You said he was dead. Volt. Never. 3 Avoc. You said so. Corv. I heard so. 4 Avoc. Here comes the gentleman; make him way.
Enter Mosca.
3 Avoc. A stool. 4 Avoc. A proper man; and, were Volpone dead, A fit match for my daughter.[Aside. 3 Avoc. Give him way. Volp. Mosca, I was almost lost; the advocate Had betray'd all; but now it is recover'd; All's on the hinge again——Say, I am living. [Aside to Mos. Mos. What busy knave is this!—Most reverend fathers, I sooner had attended your grave pleasures, But that my order for the funeral Of my dear patron, did require me—— Volp. Mosca![Aside. Mos. Whom I intend to bury like a gentleman. Volp. Ay, quick, and cozen me of all.[Aside. 2 Avoc. Still stranger! More intricate! 1 Avoc. And come about again!
4 Avoc. It is a match, my daughter is bestow'd. [Aside. Mos. Will you give me half?[Aside to Volp. Volp. First, I'll be hang'd. Mos. I know Your voice is good, cry not so loud. 1 Avoc. Demand The advocate.—Sir, did you not affirm Volpone was alive? Volp. Yes, and he is; This gentleman told me so.—Thou shalt have half.—[Aside to Mos. Mos. Whose drunkard is this same? speak, some that know him: I never saw his face.—I cannot now Afford it you so cheap.[Aside to Volp. Volp. No! 1 Avoc. What say you? Volt. The officer told me. Volp. I did, grave fathers, And will maintain he lives, with mine own life, And that this creature [points to Mosca.] told me.—I was born With all good stars my enemies.[Aside. Mos. Most grave fathers, If such an insolence as this must pass Upon me, I am silent: 'twas not this For which you sent, I hope. 2 Avoc. Take him away. Volp. Mosca! 3 Avoc. Let him be whipt. Volp. Wilt thou betray me? Cozen me?
3 Avoc. And taught to bear himself Toward a person of his rank. 4 Avoc. Away.[The Officers seize Volpone. Mos. I humbly thank your fatherhoods. Volp. Soft, soft: Whipt! And lose all that I have! If I confess, It cannot be much more.[Aside. 4 Avoc. Sir, are you married? Volp. They'll be allied anon; I must be resolute: The Fox shall here uncase. [Throws off his disguise. Mos. Patron! Volp. Nay, now My ruins shall not come alone; your match I'll hinder sure: my substance shall not glue you, Nor screw you into a family. Mos. Why, patron! Volp. I am Volpone, and this is my knave; [Pointing to Mosca. This, [to Volt.] his own knave; this, [to Corb.] avarice's fool; This, [to Corv.] a chimera of wittol, fool, and knave: And, reverend fathers, since we all can hope Nought but a sentence, let's not now despair it. You hear me brief. Corv. May it please your fatherhoods—— Com. Silence. 1 Avoc. The knot is now undone by miracle. 2 Avoc. Nothing can be more clear. 3 Avoc. Or can more prove These innocent. 1 Avoc. Give them their liberty. Bon. Heaven could not long let such gross crimes be hid. 2 Avoc. If this be held the high-way to get riches, May I be poor!
3 Avoc. This is not the gain, but torment. 1 Avoc. These possess wealth, as sick men possess fevers, Which trulier may be said to possess them. 2 Avoc. Disrobe that parasite. Corv. Mos. Most honour'd fathers!——— 1 Avoc. Can you plead aught to stay the course of justice? If you can, speak. Corv. Volt. We beg favour. Cel. And mercy. 1 Avoc. You hurt your innocence, suing for the guilty. Stand forth; and first, the parasite: You appear T'have been the chiefest minister, if not plotter, In all these lewd impostures; and now, lastly, Have with your impudence abused the court, And habit of a gentleman of Venice, Being a fellow of no birth or blood: For which our sentence is, first, thou be whipt; Then live perpetual prisoner in our gallies. Volp. I thank you for him. Mos. Bane to thy wolvish nature! 1 Avoc. Deliver him to the saffi. [Mosca is carried out.]—Thou, Volpone, By blood and rank a gentleman, canst not fall Under like censure; but our judgment on thee Is, that thy substance all be straight confiscate To the hospital of the Incurabili: And, since the most was gotten by imposture, By feigning lame, gout, palsy, and such diseases, Thou art to lie in prison, cramp'd with irons, Till thou be'st sick and lame indeed.—Remove him. [He is taken from the Bar. Volp. This is call'd mortifying of a Fox. 1 Avoc. Thou, Voltore, to take away the scandal Thou hast given all worthy men of thy profession,
Art banish'd from their fellowship, and our state. Corbaccio!—bring him near—We here possess Thy son of all thy state, and confine thee To the monastery of San Spirito; Where, since thou knewest not how to live well here, Thou shalt be learn'd to die well. Corb. Ha! what said he? Com. You shall know anon, sir. 1 Avoc. Thou, Corvino, shalt Be straight embark'd from thine own house, and row'd Round about Venice, through the grand canale, Wearing a cap, with fair long ass's ears, Instead of horns; and so to mount, a paper Pinn'd on thy breast, to the Berlina—— Corv. Yes, And have mine eyes beat out with stinking fish, Bruised fruit, and rotten eggs——'Tis well. I am glad I shall not see my shame yet. 1 Avoc. And to expiate Thy wrongs done to thy wife, thou art to send her Home to her father, with her dowry trebled: And these are all your judgments. All. Honour'd fathers.— 1 Avoc. Which may not be revoked. Now you begin, When crimes are done, and past, and to be punish'd, To think what your crimes are: away with them. Let all that see these vices thus rewarded,
Take heart, and love to study 'em! Mischiefs feed Like beasts, till they be fat, and then they bleed. [Exeunt.
Volpone comes forward.
The seasoning of a play, is the applause. Now, though the Fox be punish'd by the laws, He yet doth hope, there is no suffering due, For any fact which he hath done 'gainst you; If there be, censure him; here he doubtful stands: If not, fare jovially, and clap your hands.[Exit.
* ↑ ————if there be possession, and Obsession, he has both.] In possession, the evil spirit was supposed to enter the body of the demoniac; in obsession he was thought to besiege, and torment him from without.
* ↑ He vomits crooked pins! &c.] This, with what follows, as every one knows, always took place when a person chose to appear bewitched. It is to the praise of Jonson that he lets slip no opportunity of shewing his contempt for the popular opinions on this head; opinions which, in his days, indeed, were manifested to the destruction of many innocent persons; but which operated, as puritanism increased in influence and power, with a virulence that took away all security from age and infirmity; and crowded the prisons with bed-ridden old women, and the courts of justice with victims of ignorance, imposture, and blind and blood superstition.
* ↑ O practice!] i. e. confederacy, concerted fraud. The word is very common in this sense.
* ↑ ————I know Your voice is good, cry not so loud.] From the Mostellaria of Plautus, as Upton remarks: Tr. Scio te bonâ esse voce, ne clama nimis.
* ↑ ————And so to mount—— To the Berlina—] A pillory, or cucking-stool, as Florio says. I doubt whether John understood what the latter really was, Berlina is always used for a raised stage on which malefactors are exposed to public view, and answers with sufficient accuracy to our pillory.
* ↑ ————here he doubtful stands: &c.] This modest Epilogue to the Fox, a play which holds so conspicuous a station among the noblest exertions of human wit, forms a singular contrast to the audacious vouching for the merits of Cynthia's Revels. Vol. II. p. 382.
* ↑ "The Fox is indubitably the best production of its author, and in some points of substantial merit yields to nothing which the English stage can opposite to it; there is a bold and happy spirit in the fable, it is of moral tendency, female chastity and honour are beautifully displayed, and punishment is inflicted on the delinquents of the drama with strict and exemplary justice. The characters of the Hœredipetœ, depicted under the titles of birds of prey, Voltore, Corbaccio, and Corvino, are warmly coloured, happily contrasted, and faithfully supported from the outset to the end: Volpone, who gives his name to the piece, with a fox-like craftiness deludes and gulls their hopes by the agency of his inimitable Parasite, or (as the Greek and Roman authors expressed it) by his Fly, his Mosca; and in this finished portrait Jonson may throw the gauntlet to the greatest masters of antiquity; the character is of classic origin; it is found with the contemporaries of Aristophanes, though not in any comedy of his now existing; the Middle Dramatists seems to have handled it very frequently, and in the New Comedy it rarely failed to find a place; Plautus has it again and again, but the aggregate merit of all his Parasites will not weigh in the scale against this single Fly of our poet. The incident of his concealing Bonario in the gallery, from whence he breaks in upon the scene to the rescue of Celia and the detection of Volpone, is one of the happiest contrivances, which could possibly be devised, because, at the same time that it produces the catastrophe, it does not sacrifice Mosca's character in the manner most villains are sacrificed in comedy, by making them commit blunders, which do not correspond with the address their first representation exhibits, and which the audience has a right to expect from them throughout, of which the Double Dealer is, amongst others, a notable instance. But this incident of Bonario's interference does not only not impeach the adroitness of the Parasite, but it furnishes a very brilliant occasion for setting off his ready invention and presence of mind in a new and superior light, and serves to introduce the whole machinery of the trial and condemnation of the innocent persons before the court of Advocates. In this part of the fable the contrivance is inimitable, and here the poet's art is a study, which every votarist of the dramatic Muses ought to pay attention and respect to: had the same address been exerted throughout, the construction would have been a matchless piece of art, but here we are to lament the haste of which he boasts in his prologue; and that rapidity of composition, which he appeals to as a mark of genius, is to be lamented as the probably cause of incorrectness, or at least the best and most candid plea in excuse of it. For who can deny that nature is violated by the absurdity of Volpone's unseasonable insults to the very persons who had witnessed falsely in his defence, and even to the very Advocate, who had so successfully defended him? Is it in character for a man of his deep cunning and long reach of thought to provoke those on whom his all depended, to retaliate upon him, and this for the poor triumph of a silly jest? Certainly this is a glaring defect, which every body must lament, and which can escape nobody. The poet himself knew the weak part of his plot, and vainly strives to bolster it up by making Volpone exclaim against his own folly— I am caught in mine own noose— "And again— To make a snare for mine own neck! and runMy head into it, wilfully! with laughter!When I had newly 'scaped, was free, and clear,Out of mere wantonness! O, the dull devilWas in this brain of mine, when I devised it,And Mosca gave it second——   ——These are my fine conceits!I must be merry, with a mischief to me!What a vile wretch was I, that could not bearMy fortune soberly? I must have my crotchets,And my conundrums! "It is with regret I feel myself compelled to protest against so pleasant an episode, as that which is carried on my sir Politick Would-be and Peregrine, which, in fact, produces a kind of double plot and catastrophe; this is an imperfection in the fable, which criticism cannot overlook; but sir Politick is altogether so delightful a fellow, that it is impossible to give a vote for his exclusion; the most that can be done against him, is to lament that he has not more relation to the main business of the fable. "The judgment pronounced upon the criminals in the conclusion of the play is so just and solemn, that I must think the poet has made a wanton breach of character, and gained but a sorry jest by the bargain, when he violates the dignity of his court of judges by making one of them so abject in his flattery to the Parasite upon the idea of matching him with his daughter, when he hears that Volpone has made him his heir; but this is an objection, that lies within the compass of two short lines, spoken aside from the bench, and may easily be remedied by their omission in representation; it is one only, and that a very slight one, amongst those venial blemishes— —quas incuria fudit. "It does not occur to me that any other remark is left for me to make upon this celebrated drama, that could convey the slightest censure; but very many might be made in the highest strain of commendation, if there was need of any more than general testimony to such acknowledged merit. The Fox is a drama of so peculiar a species, that it cannot be dragged into a comparison with the production of any other modern poet whatsoever; its construction is so dissimilar from any thing of Shakspeare's writing, that it would be going greatly out of our way, and a very gross abuse of criticism to attempt to settle the relative degrees of merit, where the characters of the writers are so widely opposite: In one we may respect the profundity of learning, in the other we must admire the sublimity of genius; to one we pay the tribute of understanding, to the other we surrender up the possession of our hearts; Shakspeare with ten thousand spots about him dazzles us with so bright a lustre, that we either cannot or will not see his faults; he gleams and flashes like a meteor, which shoots out of our sight before the eye can measure its proportions, or analyse its properties—but Jonson stands still to be surveyed, and presents so bold a front, and levels it so fully to our view, as seems to challenge the compass and the rule of the critic, and defy him to find out an error in the scale and composition of his structure. "Putting aside therefore any further mention of Shakspeare, who was a poet out of all rule, and beyond all compass of criticism, one whose excellencies are above comparison, and his errors beyond number, I will venture an opinion that this drama of the Fox, is, critically speaking, the nearest to perfection of any one drama, comic or tragic, which the English stage is at this day in possession of."Observer, vol. iii. p. 170-176. This excellent analysis of the Fox, was written by Mr. Cumberland, a man peculiarly fitted by nature for dramatic criticism; but who wasted his ingenuity and his talents in an eager and excessive chase after general notoriety, which frequently led him beyond the sphere of his knowledge. With a respectable portion of ancient literature, a style at once elegant and impressive; with an archness that formed a pleasing substitute for wit, and enough of taste to give zest and currency to his opinions, he wanted little but a distrust of his own powers, to render him at once the delight and ornament of the age. How much he fell short of this, cannot be remembered without sorrow. His fate, however, may "point a moral," and teach that over-weening confidence, and negligence, (inseparable companions,) though they cannot wholly destroy, may yet debase the noblest gifts of nature, and the most valuable acquirements of art. But ingenious and liberal as these strictures confessedly are, (for though an idolater of Shakspeare, Mr. Cumberland could be just to Jonson,) they yet seem capable of some degree of modification. The point on which Mr. Cumberland chiefly rests, is the injury done to the unity of the plot by the disguise of Volpone in the last act, which he terms a violation of nature. Now it is evident, I think, that this forms the great moral of the play, and that Jonson had it is view from the beginning. "Is it in character," Mr. Cumberland asks, "for a man of Volpone's deep cunning, and long reach of thought to provoke those on whom his all depended, to retaliate upon him, and this for the poor triumph of a silly jest?" Mr. Cumberland shall answer his own question. In his review of the Double Dealer, (Ibid. p. 244,) he finds Maskwell, like Volpone, losing his caution in the exultation of success; upon which he observes; "I allow that it is in character for him to grow wanton in success; there is a moral in a villain out-witting himself." This appears a singular change of opinion in the course of a few pages: but, whatever may be Mr. Cumberland's versatility, Jonson is consistent with himself and with the invariable experience of mankind. "See," says Falstaff, "how wit may be made a jackanapes when 'tis upon an ill employ!" The same sentiment is to be found in Beaumont and Fletcher: "Hell gives us art to reach the depths of sin,"But leaves us wretched fools when we are in."Queen of Corinth.  This, too, is the moral of the New way to pay Old Debts, so strikingly pointed out by Massinger: "Here is a precedent to teach wicked men,"That when they quit religion and turn atheists,"Their own abilities leave them." And, finally, this is inculcated by Butler in the quatrain already given, and which its shrewdness and applicability, will justify me in giving once more: "But when he'd got himself a name"For fraud and tricks, he spoil'd his game;"And forced his neck into a noose,"To shew his play at Fast-and-Loose." Mr. Cumberland allows sir Politick to be "a delightful fellow," and will not, therefore, hear of his exclusion. But could he find nothing to say for his lady, the most finished, and amusing female pedant which the stage ever produced?—Through her, sir Politick is, in some measure, connected with the plot; and both are occasionally subservient to the poet's main design. With regard to "the breach of character, in making one of the judges conceive the idea of matching his daughter with Mosca," Mr. Cumberland himself admits that the objection is confined to the "compass of two lines spoken aside." But in justice to this learned personage, let it be further remarked that his determination is founded upon the actual demise of Volpone, in which case, as he justly concludes, the parasite is freed from all suspicions of fraud and imposture. It seems to have escaped Mr. Cumberland's recollection that Mosca is not the servant, but the humble friend of Volpone; and it is quite certain that he has not penetrated into the author's views in this part of the scene. Mr. Cumberland pronounces the Fox, "indubitably the best production of its author," and this appears to be the prevailing opinion. I venture, however, to declare my dissent, and to place that prodigy of human intellect, the Alchemist, at the head of Jonson's labours. The opinion of Mr. Cumberland may be candidly accounted for, from his more intimate acquaintance with the illustrious originals which furnished much of the strength and beauty of the Fox, than with the obscure and humble sources, from which this mighty genius derived the rude materials of the Alchemist. With respect to the popular decision on this subject, it has no better foundation, perhaps, than the accidental collocation of his plays in the homely couplet so often repeated: "The Fox, the Alchemist, and Silent Woman, "Done by Ben Jonson, and outdone by no man." But it is time to draw to a conclusion. I shall therefore only subjoin a few lines from Hurd, (a man seldom just to Jonson, never friendly,) and leave the reader to wonder at the perversity which could maintain that the author of the FOX had "stalked for two centuries on the stilts of artificial reputation." "Later writers for the stage have, no doubt, avoided these defects (the sporting with Corbaccio's deafness, &c. p. 192) of the exactest of our old dramatists. But do they reach his excellencies? Posterity, I am afraid, will judge otherwise, whatever may be now thought of some fashionable comedies. And if they do not,—neither the state of general manners, nor the turn of public taste appears to be such as countenances the expectation of greater improvements."—Μαντι κακων!—"To those who are not over sanguine in their hopes, our forefathers will perhaps be thought to have furnished (what, in nature, seemed linked together) the fairest example of dramatic, as of real manners." Hor. vol. ii. p. 244.