obscurity. Two hundred and fifty lines were excised from Sir Epicure Mammonâs part, including the one about âthe swelling unctuous paps of a fat pregnant sowâ. The problem the men of the theatre still need to solve â Guthrie no less than Garrick â is how to do justice to Jonsonâs fusion of farce and intellectual satire. Guthrie certainly did well by Sir Epicure, who emerged in his production as a Jonsonian âhumourâ, a monumental caricature, but elsewhere his version, rightly hilarious, missed the moral comment which is implicit in the playâs language and structure. Guthrieâs
Alchemist
was great fun; Jonsonâs
Alchemist
is a great comedy. Dryden regarded it as Jonsonâs highest achievement, although
Volpone
now claims first place. Between them they demonstrate Jonsonâs variety within the narrow range of satirical comedy.
V
There remains Jonsonâs later prose-comedy,
Bartholomew Fair
. When in 1950 the Old Vic Company revived this entertainment on the open stage of the Assembly Hall at Edinburgh and later in London, Mr T. C. Worsley, usually a sympathetic critic, found the play âthe most crashing old boreâ 2 and Mr Kenneth Tynan announced that âthe play, to stand up, certainly needs crutchesâ. 3 Part of their dissatisfaction may be attributed to the production by George Devine which, though enjoyable, was insufficiently serious, substituting a riot of false noses and actors laughing at their own stale jokes for Jonsonâs contemporary realism. The reviewers prompted a critical revaluation of this play. It is, of course, a lesser work than either
Volpone
or
The Alchemist
, although some academic critics rate it more highly.
Bartholomew Fair
is a âpanoramicâ structure, looser and more comprehensive than Jonsonâs other great comedies. It is a festive entertainment in the literal sense that it dramatizes a popular holiday, and into it Jonson packed a great deal of London life andLondon idiom. The first act, which is almost a prologue to the four which follow, is essentially expository. It introduces one segment of the large cast of characters, those people who, though already united through kinship, friendship, business, or Puritanical religious zeal, are really linked by one thing: their desire to go to the Fair. They are presented in ones and twos â an idiosyncratic, well-drawn gallery of types â and the opening act culminates in the entrance of the monstrous, black figure of the Puritan-hypocrite, Rabbi Zeal-of-the-Land Busy. In the second act we move to the Fair (or rather, in the Elizabethan theatre, the Fair moves to us), where another monstrous, authoritarian figure, Justice Overdo, is disguising himself in order to move, like a good Governor or Magistrate in the Elizabethan drama, unrecognized among the people. But this Justice, so bent on uncovering âenormitiesâ, learns very little from his experience. The people of the Fair who are introduced in the second act have something in common with the trio in
The Alchemist
â they live by their wits. The prose-pamphlets of Thomas Nashe and others 1 testify to the Elizabethansâ intense interest in the sheer mechanics of roguery, but the moral drift of this festive comedy is that the dupes are no better than the confidence-tricksters and villains. As the comedy progresses, the people of Act One meet and mingle with the folk of the Fair, itself a symbol of the world. There seems little to choose between the fools and the knaves, especially as some of the latter have a touch of the agility and roguish skill of Face, Subtle, and Dol. At the centre of the Fair and of the comedy stands Ursula, the Pig Woman, raucous, sweating, Falstaffian. She seems almost an Earth-Mother figure, but, like the other crooks, she should not be over-romanticized by critics: after all, it is she who, as the unofficial, accommodating lavatory-attendant at the Fair, tries to