September 22, 2008
Slaughter in England
It's double-murder day at the Reader's Almanac, in which a playwright skewers an actor and a daughter takes out her querulous mother.
Ben Jonson Escapes The Hangman (1598)
On this day, in a field outside of London, playwright Ben Jonson fought a duel with Gabriel Spenser, an actor in Phillip Henslowe's acting company. Despite fighting with a rapier ten inches shorter than Spenser's (or so Jonson claimed later), he ran Spenser through, killing him. Jonson was arrested and charged with manslaughter, the penalty for which was hanging. But in court, Jonson called for a Bible and translated a brief passage from the Latin. This way, he claimed "benefit of clergy" and escaped captial punishment. Instead, he forfeited his "goods and chattels" and was to be branded on the thumb with the letter T. But the wiley Jonson managed to evade the "Tyburn T" — meant to prevent him from claiming benefit of clergy again — by bribing the jailer to use only cold steel for the branding.
In fact, it seems the only fallout Jonson suffered from the affair was to estrange himself from Henslowe, for whom he had written a few plays. The put-out theater manager declined to produce Jonson's next play, so it was up to another company to perform "Every Man in His Humour," considered Jonson's first great play, and acted in it by then-unknown actor and wannabe playwright, William Shakespeare.
Mary Lamb Had A Little Knife (1796)
The day Mary Lamb plunged a kitchen knife into her mother's chest changed her life for the better.
Up to that moment, her life was, at best, tolerable, and much of the time it was worse. She suffered from bouts of depression that left her excitable and irritable. Her father was out of work and her mother an invalid, so it fell on her to bring in money as a seamstress, with help from her brother, Charles, who contributed his salary as a clerk when he was not writing sonnets. Her days were filled with seemingly endless cycle of sewing mantuas and dresses, caring for her sick mother, and overseeing the household. On this day, she snapped. It was lunchtime, and Mary was in the kitchen with her sewing apprentice, a girl, and her mother. Charles was in another part of the house. She began arguing with the girl, and, in anger, picked up a knife and began chasing the child. Her mother chastized Mary, and Mary stabbed her. Hearing the screams, Charles raced into the room, but it was too late. All he could do was take the knife from Mary's hand before anyone else could be hurt.
Given the family's history of insanity — Charles had suffered a breakdown the previous year — the court ruled that Mary was a lunatic and she was sent to the madhouse. A few months later, she was released into her brother's care, and she would remain by his side until his death in 1834. Their father died a few years later, and Mary found herself freed from having to care from them, and as her brother's fame grew, she found herself drawn into a circle of England's literary lights, where her good humor and wit made her valued company. She collaborated with Charles on the prose "Tales from Shakespear" and another book of stories for children.
A moment's madness, a lifetime of depression, yet Mary Lamb persevered.
Born today: Philip Stanhope, diplomat, wit, London, 1694; Dannie Abse, poet, novelist, playwright, editor, memoirist, Cardiff, Wales, 1923; Fay Weldon, novelist, playwright, Alvechurch, Worcestershire, 1931.
Died: Snorri Sturluson, chiefton, poet, historian, Reykjaholt, Iceland, 1241.
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