The Devil is an Ass was first printed in 1631, and was probably put into circulation at that time, either as a separate pamphlet or bound with Bartholomew Fair and The Staple of News. Copies of this original edition were, in 1640-1, bound into the second volume of the First Folio of Jonson’s collected works.[1] In 1641 a variant reprint edition of The Devil is an Ass, apparently small, was issued in pamphlet form. The play reappears in all subsequent collected editions. These are: (1) the ‘Third Folio’, 1692; (2) a bookseller’s edition, 1716 [1717]; (3) Whalley’s edition, 1756; (4) John Stockdale’s reprint of Whalley’s edition (together with the works of Beaumont and Fletcher), 1811; (5) Gifford’s edition, 1816; (6) Barry Cornwall’s one-volume edition, 1838; (7) Lieut. Col. Francis Cunningham’s three-volume reissue (with some minor variations) of Gifford’s edition, 1871; (8) another reissue by Cunningham, in nine volumes (with additional notes), 1875. The Catalogue of the British Museum shows that Jonson’s works were printed in two volumes at Dublin in 1729. Of these editions only the first two call for detailed description, and of the others only the first, second, third, fifth, and eighth will be discussed.

1631. Owing to irregularity in contents and arrangement in different copies, the second volume of the First Folio has been much discussed. Gifford speaks of it as the edition of 1631-41.[2] Miss Bates, copying from Lowndes, gives it as belonging to 1631, reprinted in 1640 and in 1641.[3] Ward says substantially the same thing.[4] In 1870, however, Brinsley Nicholson, by a careful collation,[5] arrived at the following results. (1) The so-called editions of the second volume assigned to 1631, 1640, and 1641 form only a single edition. (2) The belief in the existence of ‘the so-called first edition of the second volume in 1631’ is due to the dates prefixed to the opening plays. (3) The belief in the existence of the volume of 1641 arose from the dates of Mortimer and the Discoveries, ‘all the copies of which are dated 1641’, and of the variant edition of The Devil is an Ass, which will next be described. (4) The 1640 edition supplies for some copies a general title-page, ‘R. Meighen, 1640’, but the plays printed in 1631 are reprinted from the same forms. Hazlitt arrives at practically the same conclusions.[6]

The volume is a folio by measurement, but the signatures are in fours.

Collation: Five leaves, the second with the signature A_3 B-M in fours. Aa-Bb; Cc-Cc_2 (two leaves); C_3 (one leaf); one leaf; D-I in fours; two leaves. [N]-Y in fours; B-Q in fours; R (two leaves); S-X in fours; Y (two leaves); Z-Oo in fours. Pp (two leaves). Qq; A-K in fours. L (two leaves). [M]-R in fours. A-P in fours. Q (two leaves). [R]-V in fours.

The volume opens with Bartholomew Fayre, which occupies pages [1-10], 1-88 (pages 12, 13, and 31 misnumbered), or the first group of signatures given above.

2. The Staple of Newes, paged independently, [1]-[76] (pages 19, 22, and 63 misnumbered), and signatured independently as in the second group above.

3. The Diuell is an Asse, [N]-Y, paged [91]-170 (pages 99, 132, and 137 misnumbered). [N] recto contains the title page (verso blank). N_2 contains a vignette and the persons of the play on the recto, a vignette and the prologue on the verso. N_3 to the end contains the play proper; the epilogue being on the last leaf verso.

One leaf (pages 89-90) is thus unaccounted for; but it is evident from the signatures and pagination that The Diuell is an Asse was printed with a view to having it follow Bartholomew Fayre. These three plays were all printed by I. B. for Robert Allot in 1631. Hazlitt says that they are often found together in a separate volume, and that they were probably intended by Jonson to supplement the folio of 1616.[7]

Collation made from copy in the library of Yale University at New Haven.

It was the opinion of both Whalley and Gifford that the publication of The Devil is an Ass in 1631 was made without the personal supervision of the author. Gifford did not believe that Jonson ‘concerned himself with the revision of the folio, ... or, indeed, ever saw it’. The letter to the Earl of Newcastle (Harl. MS. 4955), quoted in Gifford’s memoir, sufficiently disproves this supposition, at least so far as Bartholomew Fair and The Devil is an Ass are concerned. In this letter, written according to Gifford about 1632, Jonson says: ‘It is the lewd printer’s fault that I can send your lordship no more of my book. I sent you one piece before, The Fair, ... and now I send you this other morsel, The fine gentleman that walks the town, The Fiend; but before he will perfect the rest I fear he will come himself to be a part under the title of The Absolute Knave, which he hath played with me’. In 1870 Brinsley Nicholson quoted this letter in Notes and Queries (4th S. 5. 574), and pointed out that the jocular allusions are evidently to Bartholomew Fair and The Devil is an Ass.

Although Gifford is to some extent justified in his contempt for the edition, it is on the whole fairly correct.

The misprints are not numerous. The play is overpunctuated. Thus the words ‘now’ and ‘again’ are usually marked off by commas. Occasionally the punctuation is misleading. The mark of interrogation is generally, but not invariably, used for that of exclamation. The apostrophe is often a metrical device, and indicates the blending of two words without actual elision of either. The most serious defect is perhaps the wrong assignment of speeches, though later emendations are to be accepted only with caution. The present text aims to be an exact reproduction of that of the 1631 edition.

1641. The pamphlet quarto of 1641 is merely a poor reprint of the 1631 edition. It abounds in printer’s errors. Few if any intentional changes, even of spelling and punctuation, are introduced. Little intelligence is shown by the printer, as in the change 5. I. 34 SN. (references are to act, scene, and line) He flags] He stags. It is however of some slight importance, inasmuch as it seems to have been followed in some instances by succeeding editions (cf. the omission of the side notes 2. I. 20, 22, 33, followed by 1692, 1716, and W; also 2. I. 46 his] a 1641, f.).

The title-page of this edition is copied, as far as the quotation from Horace, from the title-page of the 1631 edition. For the wood-cut of that edition, however, is substituted the device of a swan, with the legend ‘God is my helper’. Then follow the words: ‘Imprinted at London, 1641.’

Folio by measurement; signatures in fours.

Collation: one leaf, containing the title-page on the recto, verso blank; second leaf with signature A_2 (?), containing a device (St. Francis preaching to the birds [?]), and the persons of the play on the recto, and a device (a saint pointing to heaven and hell) and the prologue on the verso. Then the play proper; B-I in fours; K (one leaf). The first two leaves are unnumbered; then 1-66 (35 wrongly numbered 39).

1692. The edition of 1692[8] is a reprint of 1631, but furnishes evidence of some editing. Most of the nouns are capitalized, and a change of speaker is indicated by breaking the lines; obvious misprints are corrected: e. g., 1. 1. 98, 101; the spelling is modernized: e. g., 1. 1. 140 Tiborne] Tyburn; and the punctuation is improved. Sometimes a word undergoes a considerable morphological change: e. g., 1. 1. 67 Belins-gate] Billings-gate; 1. 6. 172, 175 venter] venture. Etymology is sometimes indicated by an apostrophe, not always correctly: e. g., 2. 6. 75 salts] ’salts. Several changes are uniform throughout the edition, and have been followed by all later editors. The chief of these are: inough] enough; tother] t’other; coozen] cozen; ha’s] has; then] than; ’hem] ’em (except G sometimes); injoy] enjoy. Several changes of wording occur: e.g., 2. 1. 53 an] my; etc.

1716. The edition of 1716 is a bookseller’s reprint of 1692. It follows that edition in the capitalization of nouns, the breaking up of the lines, and usually in the punctuation. In 2. 1. 78-80 over two lines are omitted by both editions. Independent editing, however, is not altogether lacking. We find occasional new elisions: e. g., 1. 6. 121 I’have] I’ve; at least one change of wording: 2. 3. 25 where] were; and one in the order of words: 4. 2. 22 not love] love not. In 4. 4. 75-76 and 76-78 it corrects two wrong assignments of speeches. A regular change followed by all editors is wiues] wife’s.

1756. The edition of Peter Whalley, 1756, purports to be ‘collated with all the former editions, and corrected’, but according to modern standards it cannot be called a critical text. Not only does it follow 1716 in modernization of spelling; alteration of contractions: e. g., 2. 8. 69 To’a] T’a; 3. 1. 20 In t’one] Int’ one; and changes in wording: e. g., 1. 1. 24 strengths] strength: 3. 6. 26 Gentleman] Gentlewoman; but it is evident that Whalley considered the 1716 edition as the correct standard for a critical text, and made his correction by a process of occasional restoration of the original reading. Thus in restoring ‘Crane’, 1. 4. 50, he uses the expression,—‘which is authorized by the folio of 1640.’ Again in 2. 1. 124 he retains ‘petty’ from 1716, although he says: ‘The edit. of 1640, as I think more justly,—Some pretty principality.’ This reverence for the 1716 text is inexplicable. In the matter of capitalization Whalley forsakes his model, and he makes emendations of his own with considerable freedom. He still further modernizes the spelling; he spells out elided words: e. g., 1. 3. 15 H’ has] he has; makes new elisions: e. g., 1. 6. 143 Yo’ are] You’re; 1. 6. 211 I am] I’m; grammatical changes, sometimes of doubtful correctness: e. g., 1. 3. 21 I’le] I’d; morphological changes: e. g., 1. 6. 121 To scape] T’escape; metrical changes by insertions: e. g., 1. 1. 48 ‘to’; 4. 7. 38 ‘but now’; changes of wording: e. g., 1. 6. 195 sad] said; in the order of words: e. g., 3. 4. 59 is hee] he is; and in the assignment of speeches: e. g., 3. 6. 61. Several printer’s errors occur: e. g., 2. 6. 21 and 24.

1816. William Gifford’s edition is more carefully printed than that of Whalley, whom he criticizes freely. In many indefensible changes, however, he follows his predecessor, even to the insertion of words in 1. 1. 48 and 4. 7. 38, 39 (see above). He makes further morphological changes, even when involving a change of metre: e.g., 1. 1. 11 Totnam] Tottenham; 1. 4. 88 phantsie] phantasie; makes new elisions: e. g., 1. 6. 226 I ha’] I’ve; changes in wording: e. g., 2. 1. 97 O’] O!; and in assignment of speeches: e. g., 4. 4. 17. He usually omits parentheses, and the following changes in contracted words occur, only exceptions being noted in the variants: fro’] from; gi’] give; h’] he; ha’] have; ’hem] them (but often ’em); i’] in; o’] on, of; t’] to; th’] the; upo’] upon; wi’] with, will; yo’] you. Gifford’s greatest changes are in the stage directions and side notes of the 1631 edition. The latter he considered as of ‘the most trite and trifling nature’, and ‘a worthless incumbrance’. He accordingly cut or omitted with the utmost freedom, introducing new and elaborate stage directions of his own. He reduced the number of scenes from thirty-six to seventeen. In this, as Hathaway points out, he followed the regular English usage, dividing the scenes according to actual changes of place. Jonson adhered to classical tradition, and looked upon a scene as a situation. Gifford made his alterations by combining whole scenes, except in the case of Act 2. 3, which begins at Folio Act 2. 7. 23 (middle of line); of Act 3. 2, which begins at Folio Act 3. 5. 65 and of Act 3. 3, which begins at Folio Act 3. 5. 78 (middle of line). He considered himself justified in his mutilation of the side notes on the ground that they were not from the hand of Jonson. Evidence has already been adduced to show that they were at any rate printed with his sanction. I am, however, inclined to believe with Gifford that they were written by another hand. Gifford’s criticism of them is to a large extent just. The note on ‘Niaise’, 1. 6. 18, is of especially doubtful value (see note).

1875. ‘Cunningham’s reissue, 1875, reprints Gifford’s text without change. Cunningham, however, frequently expresses his disapproval of Gifford’s licence in changing the text’ (Winter).

B. DATE AND PRESENTATION

We learn from the title-page that this comedy was acted in 1616 by the King’s Majesty’s Servants. This is further confirmed by a passage in 1. 1. 80-81:

Another passage (1. 6. 31) tells us that the performance took place in the Blackfriars Theatre:

Today, I goe to the Black-fryers Play-house.

That Fitzdottrel is to see The Devil is an Ass we learn later (3. 5. 38). The performance was to take place after dinner (3. 5. 34).

At this time the King’s Men were in possession of two theatres, the Globe and the Blackfriars. The former was used in the summer, so that The Devil is an Ass was evidently not performed during that season.[9] These are all the facts that we can determine with certainty.

Jonson’s masque, The Golden Age Restored, was presented, according to Fleay, on January 1 and 6. His next masque was Christmas, his Masque, December 25, 1616. Between these dates he must have been busy on The Devil is an Ass. Fleay, who identifies Fitzdottrel with Coke, conjectures that the date of the play is probably late in 1616, after Coke’s discharge in November. If Coke is satirized either in the person of Fitzdottrel or in that of Justice Eitherside (see Introduction, pp. lxx, lxxii), the conjecture may be allowed to have some weight.

In 1. 2. 1 Fitzdottrel speaks of Bretnor as occupying the position once held by the conspirators in the Overbury case. Franklin, who is mentioned, was not brought to trial until November 18, 1615. Jonson does not speak of the trial as of a contemporary or nearly contemporary event.

Act 4 is largely devoted to a satire of Spanish fashions. In 4. 2. 71 there is a possible allusion to the Infanta Maria, for whose marriage with Prince Charles secret negotiations were being carried on at this time. We learn that Commissioners were sent to Spain on November 9 (Cal. State Papers, Dom. Ser.), and from a letter of January 1, 1617, that ‘the Spanish tongue, dress, etc. are all in fashion’ (ibid.).

These indications are all of slight importance, but from their united evidence we may feel reasonably secure in assigning the date of presentation to late November or early December, 1616.

The play was not printed until 1631. It seems never to have been popular, but was revived after the Restoration, and is given by Downes[10] in the list of old plays acted in the New Theatre in Drury Lane after April 8, 1663. He continues: ‘These being Old Plays, were Acted but now and then; yet being well Perform’d were very Satisfactory to the Town’. The other plays of Jonson revived by this company were The Fox, The Alchemist, Epicoene, Catiline, Every Man out of his Humor, Every Man in his Humor, and Sejanus. Genest gives us no information of any later revival.

C. THE DEVIL IS AN ASS

Jonson’s characteristic conception of comedy as a vehicle for the study of ‘humors’ passed in Every Man out of his Humor into caricature, and in Cynthia’s Revels and Poetaster into allegory. The process was perfectly natural. In the humor study each character is represented as absorbed by a single vice or folly. In the allegorical treatment the abstraction is the starting-point, and the human element the means of interpretation. Either type of drama, by a shifting of emphasis, may readily pass over into the other. The failure of Cynthia’s Revels, in spite of the poet’s arrogant boast at its close, had an important effect upon his development, and the plays of Jonson’s middle period, from Sejanus to The Devil is an Ass, show more restraint in the handling of character, as well as far greater care in construction. The figures are typical rather than allegorical, and the plot in general centres about certain definite objects of satire. Both plot and characterization are more closely unified.

The Devil is an Ass marks a return to the supernatural and allegorical. The main action, however, belongs strictly to the type of the later drama, especially as exemplified by The Alchemist. The fanciful motive of the infernal visitant to earth was found to be of too slight texture for Jonson’s sternly moral and satirical purpose. In the development of the drama it breaks down completely, and is crowded out by the realistic plot. Thus what promised at first to be the chief, and remains in some respects the happiest, motive of the play comes in the final execution to be little better than an inartistic and inharmonious excrescence. Yet Jonson’s words to Drummond seem to indicate that he still looked upon it as the real kernel of the play.[11]

The action is thus easily divisible into two main lines; the devil-plot, involving the fortunes of Satan, Pug and Iniquity, and the satirical or main plot. This division is the more satisfactory, since Satan and Iniquity are not once brought into contact with the chief actors, while Pug’s connection with them is wholly external, and affects only his own fortunes. He is, as Herford has already pointed out, merely ‘the fly upon the engine-wheel, fortunate to escape with a bruising’ (Studies, p. 320). He forms, however, the connecting link between the two plots, and his function in the drama must be regarded from two different points of view, according as it shares in the realistic or the supernatural element.

I. The Devil-Plot

Jonson’s title, The Devil is an Ass, expresses with perfect adequacy the familiarity and contempt with which this once terrible personage had come to be regarded in the later Elizabethan period. The poet, of course, is deliberately archaizing, and the figures of devil and Vice are made largely conformable to the purposes of satire. Several years before, in the Dedication to The Fox,[12] Jonson had expressed his contempt for the introduction of ‘fools and devils and those antique relics of barbarism’, characterizing them as ‘ridiculous and exploded follies’. He treats the same subject with biting satire in The Staple of News.[13] Yet with all his devotion to realism in matters of petty detail, of local color, and of contemporary allusion, he was, as we have seen, not without an inclination toward allegory. Thus in Every Man out of his Humor the figure of Macilente is very close to a purely allegorical expression of envy. In Cynthia’s Revels the process was perfectly conscious, for in the Induction to that play the characters are spoken of as Virtues and Vices. In Poetaster again we have the purging of Demetrius and Crispinus. Jonson’s return to this field in The Devil is an Ass is largely prophetic of the future course of his drama. The allegory of The Staple of News is more closely woven into the texture of the play than is that of The Devil is an Ass; and the conception of Pecunia and her retinue is worked out with much elaboration. In the Second Intermean the purpose of this play is explained as a refinement of method in the use of allegory. For the old Vice with his wooden dagger to snap at everybody he met, or Iniquity, appareled ‘like Hokos Pokos, in a juggler’s jerkin’, he substitutes ‘vices male and female’, ‘attired like men and women of the time’. This of course is only a more philosophical and abstract statement of the idea which he expresses in The Devil is an Ass (1. 1. 120 f.) of a world where the vices are not distinguishable by any outward sign from the virtues:

The New Inn and The Magnetic Lady are also penetrated with allegory of a sporadic and trivial nature. Jonson’s use of devil and Vice in the present play is threefold. It is in part earnestly allegorical, especially in Satan’s long speech in the first scene; it is in part a satire upon the employment of what he regarded as barbarous devices; and it is, to no small extent, itself a resort for the sake of comic effect to the very devices which he ridiculed.

Jonson’s conception of the devil was naturally very far from mediÆval, and he relied for the effectiveness of his portrait upon current disbelief in this conception. Yet mediÆvalism had not wholly died out, and remnants of the morality-play are to be found in many plays of the Elizabethan and Jacobean drama. Rev. John Upton, in his Critical Observations on Shakespeare, 1746, was the first to point out the historical connection between Jonson’s Vice and devils and those of the pre-Shakespearian drama. In modern times the history of the devil and the Vice as dramatic figures has been thoroughly investigated, the latest works being those of Dr. L.W. Cushman and Dr. E. Eckhardt, at whose hands the subject has received exhaustive treatment. The connection with Machiavelli’s novella of Belfagor was pointed out by Count Baudissin,[14] Ben Jonson und seine Schule, Leipzig 1836, and has been worked out exhaustively by Dr. E. Hollstein in a Halle dissertation, 1901. Dr. C.H. Herford, however, had already suggested that the chief source of the devil-plot was to be found in the legend of Friar Rush.

1. The Devil in the pre-Shakespearian Drama

The sources for the conception of the devil in the mediÆval drama are to be sought in a large body of non-dramatic literature. In this literature the devil was conceived of as a fallen angel, the enemy of God and his hierarchy, and the champion of evil. As such he makes his appearance in the mystery-plays. The mysteries derived their subjects from Bible history, showed comparatively little pliancy, and dealt always with serious themes. In them the devil is with few exceptions a serious figure. Occasionally, however, even at this early date, comedy and satire find place. The most prominent example is the figure of Titivillus in the Towneley cycle.

In the early moralities the devil is still of primary importance, and is always serious. But as the Vice became a more and more prominent figure, the devil became less and less so, and in the later drama his part is always subordinate. The play of Nature (c. 1500) is the first morality without a devil. Out of fifteen moralities of later date tabulated by Cushman, only four are provided with this character.

The degeneration of the devil as a dramatic figure was inevitable. His grotesque appearance, at first calculated to inspire terror, by its very exaggeration produced, when once familiar, a wholly comic effect. When the active comic parts were assumed by the Vice, he became a mere butt, and finally disappears.

One of the earliest comic figures in the religious drama is that of the clumsy or uncouth servant.[15] Closely allied to him is the under-devil, who appears as early as The Harrowing of Hell, and this figure is constantly employed as a comic personage in the later drama.[16] The figure of the servant later developed into that of the clown, and in this type the character of the devil finally merged.[17]

2. Jonson’s Treatment of the Devil

In the present play the devil-type is represented by the arch-fiend Satan and his stupid subordinate, Pug. Of these two Satan received more of the formal conventional elements of the older drama, while Pug for the most part represents the later or clownish figure. As in the morality-play Satan’s chief function is the instruction of his emissary of evil. In no scene does he come into contact with human beings, and he is always jealously careful for the best interests of his state. In addition Jonson employs one purely conventional attribute belonging to the tradition of the church- and morality-plays. This is the cry of ‘Ho, ho!’, with which Satan makes his entrance upon the stage in the first scene.[18] Other expressions of emotion were also used, but ‘Ho, ho!’ came in later days to be recognized as the conventional cry of the fiend upon making his entrance.[19]

How the character of Satan was to be represented is of course impossible to determine. The devil in the pre-Shakespearian drama was always a grotesque figure, often provided with the head of a beast and a cow’s tail.[20] In the presentation of Jonson’s play the ancient tradition was probably followed. Satan’s speeches, however, are not undignified, and too great grotesqueness of costume must have resulted in considerable incongruity.

In the figure of Pug few of the formal elements of the pre-Shakespearian devil are exhibited. He remains, of course, the ostensible champion of evil, but is far surpassed by his earthly associates, both in malice and in intellect. In personal appearance he is brought by the assumption of the body and dress of a human being into harmony with his environment. A single conventional episode, with a reversal of the customary proceeding, is retained from the morality-play. While Pug is languishing in prison, Iniquity appears, Pug mounts upon his back, and is carried off to hell. Iniquity comments upon it:

That the practice above referred to was a regular or even a frequent feature of the morality-play has been disputed, but the evidence seems fairly conclusive that it was common in the later and more degenerate moralities. At any rate, like the cry of ‘Ho, ho!’ it had come to be looked upon as part of the regular stock in trade, and this was enough for Jonson’s purpose.[21] This motive of the Vice riding the devil had changed from a passive to an active comic part. Instead of the devil’s prey he had become in the eyes of the spectators the devil’s tormentor. Jonson may be looked upon as reverting, perhaps unconsciously, to the original and truer conception.

In other respects Pug exhibits only the characteristics of the inheritor of the devil’s comedy part, the butt or clown. As we have seen, one of the chief sources, as well as one of the constant modes of manifestation, of this figure was the servant or man of low social rank. Pug, too, on coming to earth immediately attaches himself to Fitzdottrel as a servant, and throughout his brief sojourn on earth he continues to exhibit the wonted stupidity and clumsy uncouthness of the clown. He appears, to be sure, in a fine suit of clothes, but he soon shows himself unfit for the position of gentleman-usher, and his stupidity appears at every turn. The important element in the clown’s comedy part, of a contrast between intention and accomplishment, is of course exactly the sort of fun inspired by Pug’s repeated discomfiture. With the clown it often takes the form of blunders in speech, and his desire to appear fine and say the correct thing frequently leads him into gross absurdities. This is brought out with broad humor in 4. 4. 219, where Pug, on being catechized as to what he should consider ‘the height of his employment’, stumbles upon the unfortunate suggestion: ‘To find out a good Corne-cutter’. His receiving blows at the hand of his master further distinguishes him as a clown. The investing of Pug with such attributes was, as we have seen, no startling innovation on Jonson’s part. Moreover, it fell into line with his purpose in this play, and was the more acceptable since it allowed him to make use of the methods of realism instead of forcing him to draw a purely conventional figure. Pug, of course, even in his character of clown, is not the unrelated stock-figure, introduced merely for the sake of inconsequent comic dialogue and rough horse-play. His part is important and definite, though not sufficiently developed.

3. The Influence of Robin Goodfellow and of Popular Legend

A constant element of the popular demonology was the belief in the kobold or elfish sprite. This figure appears in the mysteries in the shape of Titivillus, but is not found in the moralities. Robin Goodfellow, however, makes his appearance in at least three comedies, Midsummer Night’s Dream, 1593-4, Grim, the Collier of Croyden, c 1600, and Wily Beguiled, 1606. The last of these especially approaches Jonson’s conception. Here Robin Goodfellow is a malicious intriguer, whose nature, whether human or diabolical, is left somewhat in doubt. His plans are completely frustrated, he is treated with contempt, and is beaten by Fortunatus. The character was a favorite with Jonson. In the masque of The Satyr, 1603,[22] that character is addressed as Pug, which here seems evidently equivalent to Puck or Robin Goodfellow. Similarly Thomas Heywood makes Kobald, Hobgoblin, Robin Goodfellow, and Pug practically identical.[23] Butler, in the Hudibras,[24] gives him the combination-title of good ‘Pug-Robin’. Jonson’s character of Pug was certainly influenced in some degree both by the popular and the literary conception of this ‘lubber fiend’.

The theme of a stupid or outwitted devil occurred also both in ballad literature[25] and in popular legend. Roskoff[26] places the change in attitude toward the devil from a feeling of fear to one of superiority at about the end of the eleventh century. The idea of a baffled devil may have been partially due to the legends of the saints, where the devil is constantly defeated, though he is seldom made to appear stupid or ridiculous. The notion of a ‘stupid devil’ is not very common in English, but occasionally appears. In the Virgilius legend the fiend is cheated of his reward by stupidly putting himself into the physical power of the wizard. In the Friar Bacon legend the necromancer delivers an Oxford gentleman by a trick of sophistry.[27] In the story upon which the drama of The Merry Devil of Edmonton was founded, the devil is not only cleverly outwitted, but appears weak and docile in his indulgence of the wizard’s plea for a temporary respite. It may be said in passing, in spite of Herford’s assertion to the contrary, that the supernatural machinery in this play has considerably less connection with the plot than in The Devil is an Ass. Both show a survival of a past interest, of which the dramatist himself realizes the obsolete character.

4. Friar Rush and Dekker

It was the familiar legend of Friar Rush which furnished the groundwork of Jonson’s play. The story seems to be of Danish origin, and first makes its appearance in England in the form of a prose history during the latter half of the sixteenth century. It is entered in the Stationer’s Register 1567-8, and mentioned by Reginald Scot in 1584.[28] As early as 1566, however, the figure of Friar Rush on a ‘painted cloth’ was a familiar one, and is so mentioned in Gammer Gurton’s Needle.[29] The first extant edition dates from 1620, and has been reprinted by W. J. Thoms.[30] The character had already become partially identified with that of Robin Goodfellow,[31] and this identification, as we have seen, Jonson was inclined to accept.

In spite of many variations of detail the kernel of the Rush story is precisely that of Jonson’s play, the visit of a devil to earth with the purpose of corrupting men. Both Rush and Pug assume human bodies, the former being ‘put in rayment like an earthly creature’, while the latter is made subject ‘to all impressions of the flesh’.

Rush, unlike his counterpart, is not otherwise bound to definite conditions, but he too becomes a servant. The adventure is not of his own seeking; he is chosen by agreement of the council, and no mention is made of the emissary’s willingness or unwillingness to perform his part. Later, however, we read that he stood at the gate of the religious house ‘all alone and with a heavie countenance’. In the beginning, therefore, he has little of Pug’s thirst for adventure, but his object is at bottom the same, ‘to goe and dwell among these religious men for to maintaine them the longer in their ungracious living’. Like Pug, whose request for a Vice is denied him, he goes unaccompanied, and presents himself at the priory in the guise of a young man seeking service: ‘Sir, I am a poore young man, and am out of service, and faine would have a maister’.[32]

Most of the remaining incidents of the Rush story could not be used in Jonson’s play. Two incidents may be mentioned. Rush furthers the amours of his master, as Pug attempts to do those of his mistress. In the later history of Rush the motive of demoniacal possession is worked into the plot. In a very important respect, however, the legend differs from the play. Up to the time of discovery Rush is popular and successful. He is nowhere made ridiculous, and his mission of corruption is in large measure fulfilled. The two stories come together in their conclusion. The discovery that a real devil has been among them is the means of the friars’ conversion and future right living. A precisely similar effect takes place in the case of Fitzdottrel.

The legend of Friar Rush had already twice been used in the drama before it was adopted by Jonson. The play by Day and Haughton to which Henslowe refers[33] is not extant; Dekker’s drama, If this be not a good Play, the Diuell is in it, appeared in 1612. Jonson in roundabout fashion acknowledged his indebtedness to this play by the closing line of his prologue.

If this Play doe not like, the Diuell is in’t.

Dekker’s play adds few new elements to the story. The first scene is in the infernal regions; not, however, the Christian hell, as in the prose history, but the classical Hades. This change seems to have been adopted from Machiavelli. Three devils are sent to earth with the object of corrupting men and replenishing hell. They return, on the whole, successful, though the corrupted king of Naples is finally redeemed.

In certain respects, however, the play stands closer to Jonson’s drama than the history. In the first place, the doctrine that hell’s vices are both old-fashioned and outdone by men, upon which Satan lays so much stress in his instructions to Pug in the first scene, receives a like emphasis in Dekker:

and again:

and finally:

In the second place Lurchall, unlike Rush, but in the same way as Pug, finds himself inferior to his earthly associates. He acknowledges himself overreached by Bartervile, and confesses:

A single correspondence of lesser importance may be added. Both devils, when asked whence they come, obscurely intimate their hellish origin. Pug says that he comes from the Devil’s Cavern in Derbyshire. Rufman asserts that his home is Helvetia.[35]

5. The Novella of Belfagor and the Comedy of Grim

The relation between Jonson’s play and the novella attributed to NiccolÒ Machiavelli (1469-1522) has been treated in much detail by Dr. Ernst Hollstein. Dr. Hollstein compares the play with the first known English translation, that by the Marquis of Wharton in 1674.[36] It is probable, however, that Jonson knew the novella in its Italian shape, if he knew it at all.[37] The Italian text has therefore been taken as the basis of the present discussion, while Dr. Hollstein’s results, so far as they have appeared adequate or important, have been freely used.

Both novella and play depart from the same idea, the visit of a devil to earth to lead a human life. Both devils are bound by certain definite conditions. Belfagor must choose a wife, and live with her ten years; Pug must return at midnight. Belfagor, like Pug, must be subject to ‘ogni infortunio nel quale gli uomini scorrono’.

In certain important respects Machiavelli’s story differs essentially from Jonson’s. Both Dekker and Machiavelli place the opening scene in the classical Hades instead of in the Christian hell. But Dekker’s treatment of the situation is far more like Jonson’s than is the novella’s. Herford makes the distinction clear: ‘Macchiavelli’s Hades is the council-chamber of an Italian Senate, Dekker’s might pass for some tavern haunt of Thames watermen. Dekker’s fiends are the drudges of Pluto, abused for their indolence, flogged at will, and peremptorily sent where he chooses. Machiavelli’s are fiends whose advice he requests with the gravest courtesy and deference, and who give it with dignity and independence’. Further, the whole object of the visit, instead of being the corruption of men, is a mere sociological investigation. Pug is eager to undertake his mission; Belfagor is chosen by lot, and very loath to go. Pug becomes a servant, Belfagor a nobleman.

But in one very important matter the stories coincide, that of the general character and fate of the two devils. As Hollstein points out, each comes with a firm resolve to do his best, each finds at once that his opponents are too strong for him, each through his own docility and stupidity meets repulse after repulse, ending in ruin, and each is glad to return to hell. This, of course, involves the very essence of Jonson’s drama, and on its resemblance to the novella must be based any theory that Jonson was familiar with the latter.

Of resemblance of specific details not much can be made. The two stories have in common the feature of demoniacal possession, but this, as we have seen, occurs also in the Rush legend. The fact that the princess speaks Latin, while Fitzdottrel surprises his auditors by his ‘several languages’, is of no more significance. This is one of the stock indications of witchcraft. It is mentioned by Darrel, and Jonson could not have overlooked a device so obvious. Certain other resemblances pointed out by Dr. Hollstein are of only the most superficial nature. On the whole we are not warranted in concluding with any certainty that Jonson knew the novella at all.

On the other hand, he must have been acquainted with the comedy of Grim, the Collier of Croydon (c 1600). Herford makes no allusion to this play, and, though it was mentioned as a possible source by A. W. Ward,[38] the subject has never been investigated. The author of Grim uses the Belfagor legend for the groundwork of his plot, but handles his material freely. In many respects the play is a close parallel to The Devil is an Ass. The same respect for the vices of earth is felt as in Dekker’s and Jonson’s plays. Belphegor sets out to

The circumstances of the sending bear a strong resemblance to the instructions given to Pug:

So in Jonson:

Belphegor is described as ‘patient, mild, and pitiful’; and during his sojourn on earth he shows little aptitude for mischief, but becomes merely a butt and object of abuse. Belphegor’s request for a companion, unlike that of Pug, is granted. He chooses his servant Akercock, who takes the form of Robin Goodfellow. Robin expresses many of the sentiments to be found in the mouth of Pug. With the latter’s monologue (Text, 5. 2) compare Robin’s exclamation:

Neither Pug (Text, 2. 5. 3-4) nor Robin dares to return without authority:

Like Pug (Text, 5. 6. 3-10) Belphegor worries over his reception in hell:

Finally Belphegor’s sensational disappearance through the yawning earth comes somewhat nearer to Jonson than does the Italian original. The English comedy seems, indeed, to account adequately for all traces of the Belfagor story to be found in Jonson’s play.

6. Summary

It is certain that of the two leading ideas of Jonson’s comedy, the sending of a devil to earth with the object of corrupting men is derived from the Rush legend. It is probable that the no less important motive of a baffled devil, happy to make his return to hell, is due either directly or indirectly to Machiavelli’s influence. This motive, as we have seen, was strengthened by a body of legend and by the treatment of the devil in the morality play.

7. The Figure of the Vice

It is the figure of the Vice which makes Jonson’s satire on the out-of-date moralities most unmistakable. This character has been the subject of much study and discussion, and there is to-day no universally accepted theory as to his origin and development. In the literature of Jonson’s day the term Vice is almost equivalent to harlequin. But whether this element of buffoonery is the fundamental trait of the character, and that of intrigue is due to a confusion in the meaning of the word, or whether the element of intrigue is original, and that of buffoonery has taken its place by a process of degeneration in the Vice himself, is still a disputed question.

The theory of Cushman and of Eckhardt is substantially the same, and may be stated as follows. Whether or not the Vice be a direct descendant of the devil, it is certain that he falls heir to his predecessor’s position in the drama, and that his development is strongly influenced by that character. Originally, like the devil, he represents the principle of evil and may be regarded as the summation of the seven deadly sins. From the beginning, however, he possessed more comic elements, much being ready made for him through the partial degeneration of the devil, while the material of the moralities was by no means so limited in scope as that of the mysteries. This comic element, comparatively slight at first, soon began to be cultivated intentionally, and gradually assumed the chief function, while the allegorical element was largely displaced. In course of time the transformation from the intriguer to the buffoon became complete.[39] Moreover, the rapidity of the transformation was hastened by the influence of the fool, a new dramatic figure of independent origin, but the partial successor upon the stage of the Vice’s comedy part. As early as 1570 the union of fool and Vice is plainly visible.[40] In 1576 we find express stage directions given for the Vice to fill in the pauses with improvised jests.[41] Two years later a Vice plays the leading rÔle for the last time.[42] By 1584 the Vice has completely lost his character of intriguer[43], and in the later drama he appears only as an antiquated figure, where he is usually considered as identical with the fool or jester.[44] Cushman enumerates the three chief rÔles of the Vice as the opponent of the Good; the corrupter of man; and the buffoon.

The Vice, however, is not confined to the moralities, but appears frequently in the comic interludes. According to the theory of Cushman, the name Vice stands in the beginning for a moral and abstract idea, that of the principle of evil in the world, and must have originated in the moralities; and since it is applied to a comic personage in the interludes, this borrowing must have taken place after the period of degeneration had already begun. To this theory Chambers[45] offers certain important objections. He points out that, although ‘vices in the ordinary sense of the word are of course familiar personages in the morals’, the term Vice is not applied specifically to a character in ‘any pre-Elizabethan moral interlude except the Marian Respublica’, 1553. Furthermore, ‘as a matter of fact, he comes into the interlude through the avenue of the farce’. The term is first applied to the leading comic characters in the farces of John Heywood, Love and The Weather, 1520-30. These characters have traits more nearly resembling those of the fool and clown than those of the intriguer of the moralities. Chambers concludes therefore that ‘the character of the vice is derived from that of the domestic fool or jester’, and that the term was borrowed by the authors of the moralities from the comic interludes.

These two views are widely divergent, and seem at first wholly irreconcilable. The facts of the case, however, are, I believe, sufficiently clear to warrant the following conclusions: (1) The early moralities possessed many allegorical characters representing vices in the ordinary sense of the word. (2) From among these vices we may distinguish in nearly every play a single character as in a preËminent degree the embodiment of evil. (3) To this chief character the name of Vice was applied about 1553, and with increasing frequency after that date. (4) Whatever may have been the original meaning of the word, it must have been generally understood in the moralities in the sense now usually attributed to it; for (5) The term was applied in the moralities only to a character in some degree evil. Chambers instances The Tide tarrieth for No Man and the tragedy of Horestes, where the Vice bears the name of Courage, as exceptions. The cases, however, are misleading. In the former, Courage is equivalent to ‘Purpose’, ‘Desire’, and is a distinctly evil character.[46] In the latter he reveals himself in the second half of the play as Revenge, and although he incites Horestes to an act of justice, he is plainly opposed to ‘Amyte’, and he is finally rejected and discountenanced. Moreover he is here a serious figure, and only occasionally exhibits comic traits. He cannot therefore be considered as supporting the theory of the original identity of the fool and the Vice. (6) The Vice of the comic interludes and the leading character of the moralities are distinct figures. The former was from the beginning a comic figure or buffoon;[47] the latter was in the beginning serious, and continued to the end to preserve serious traits. With which of these two figures the term Vice originated, and by which it was borrowed from the other, is a matter of uncertainty and is of minor consequence. These facts, however, seem certain, and for the present discussion sufficient: that the vices of the earlier and of the later moralities represent the same stock figure; that this figure stood originally for the principle of evil, and only in later days became confused with the domestic fool or jester; that the process of degeneration was continuous and gradual, and took place substantially in the manner outlined by Cushman and Eckhardt; and that, while to the playwright of Jonson’s day the term was suggestive primarily of the buffoon, it meant also an evil personage, who continued to preserve certain lingering traits from the character of intriguer in the earlier moralities.

8. Jonson’s Use of the Vice

The position of the Vice has been discussed at some length because of its very important bearing on Jonson’s comedy. It is evident, even upon a cursory reading, that Jonson has not confined himself to the conception of the Vice obtainable from a familiarity with the interludes alone, as shown in Heywood’s farces or the comedy of Jack Juggler. The character of Iniquity, though fully identified with the buffoon of the later plays, is nevertheless closely connected in the author’s mind with the intriguer of the old moralities. This is clear above all from the use of the name Iniquity, from his association with the devil, and from Pug’s desire to use him as a means of corrupting his playfellows. Thus, consciously or unconsciously on Jonson’s part, Iniquity presents in epitome the history of the Vice.

His very name, as we have said, links him with the morality-play. In fact, all the Vices suggested, Iniquity, Fraud, Covetousness, and Lady Vanity, are taken from the moralities. The choice of Iniquity was not without meaning, and was doubtless due to its more general and inclusive significance. In Shakespeare’s time Vice and Iniquity seem to have been synonymous terms (see Schmidt), from which it has been inferred that Iniquity was the Vice in many lost moralities.[48]

Of the original Vice-traits Iniquity lays vigorous claim to that of the corrupter of man. Pug desires a Vice that he may ‘practice there-with any play-fellow’, and Iniquity comes upon the stage with voluble promises to teach his pupil to ‘cheat, lie, cog and swagger’. He offers also to lead him into all the disreputable precincts of the city. Iniquity appears in only two scenes, Act 1. Sc. 1 and Act 5. Sc. 6. In the latter he reverses the usual process and carries away the devil to hell. This point has already been discussed (p. xxiv).

Aside from these two particulars, Iniquity is far nearer to the fool than to the original Vice. As he comes skipping upon the stage in the first scene, reciting his galloping doggerel couplets, we see plainly that the element of buffoonery is uppermost in Jonson’s mind. Further evidence may be derived from the particularity with which Iniquity describes the costume which he promises to Pug, and which we are doubtless to understand as descriptive of his own. Attention should be directed especially to the wooden dagger, the long cloak, and the slouch hat. Cushman says (p. 125): ‘The vice enjoys the greatest freedom in the matter of dress; he is not confined to any stereotyped costume; ... the opinion that he is always or usually dressed in a fool’s costume has absolutely no justification’. The wooden dagger, a relic of the Roman stage,[49] is the most frequently mentioned article of equipment. It is first found (1553-8) as part of the apparel of Jack Juggler in a print illustrating that play, reproduced by Dodsley. It is also mentioned in Like Will to Like, Hickescorner, King Darius, etc. The wooden dagger was borrowed, however, from the fool’s costume, and is an indication of the growing identification of the Vice with the house-fool. That Jonson recognized it as such is evident from his Expostulation with Inigo Jones:

The long cloak, twice mentioned (1. 1. 51 and 85), is another property borrowed from the fool. The natural fool usually wore a long gown-like dress,[50] and this was later adopted as a dress for the artificial fool. Muckle John, the court fool of Charles I., was provided with ‘a long coat and suit of scarlet-colour serge’.[51]

Satan’s reply to Pug’s request for a Vice is, however, the most important passage on this subject. He begins by saying that the Vice, whom he identifies with the house fool, is fifty years out of date. Only trivial and absurd parts are left for Iniquity to play, the mountebank tricks of the city and the tavern fools. Douce (pp. 499 f.) mentions nine kinds of fools, among which the following appear: 1. The general domestic fool. 4. The city or corporation fool. 5. Tavern fools. Satan compares Iniquity with each of these in turn. The day has gone by, he says:

Then he intimates that Iniquity may be able to play the tavern fool:

And finally he compares him with the city fool:

Thus not only does Jonson identify the Vice with the fool, but with the fool in his senility. The characteristic functions of the jester in the Shakespearian drama, with his abundant store of improvised jests, witty retorts, and irresistible impudence, have no part in this character. He is merely the mountebank who climbs upon a tavern stool, skips over the table, and leaps into corporation custards.

Iniquity, then, plays no real part in the drama. His introduction is merely for the purpose of satire. In The Staple of News the subject is renewed, and treated with greater directness:

‘Tat. I would fain see the fool, gossip; the fool is the finest man in the company, they say, and has all the wit: he is the very justice o’ peace o’ the play, and can commit whom he will and what he will, error, absurdity, as the toy takes him, and no man say black is his eye, but laugh at him’.

In Epigram 115, On the Town’s Honest Man, Jonson again identifies the Vice with the mountebank, almost in the same way as he does in The Devil is an Ass:

II. THE SATIRICAL DRAMA

It was from Aristophanes[52] that Jonson learned to combine with such boldness the palpable with the visionary, the material with the abstract. He surpassed even his master in the power of rendering the combination a convincing one, and his method was always the same. Fond as he was of occasional flights of fancy, his mind was fundamentally satirical, so that the process of welding the apparently discordant elements was always one of rationalizing the fanciful rather than of investing the actual with a far-away and poetic atmosphere. Thus even his purely supernatural scenes present little incongruity. Satan and Iniquity discuss strong waters and tobacco, Whitechapel and Billingsgate, with the utmost familiarity; even hell’s ‘most exquisite tortures’ are adapted in part from the homely proverbs of the people. In the use of his sources three tendencies are especially noticeable: the motivation of borrowed incidents; the adjusting of action on a moral basis: the reworking of his own favorite themes and incidents.

1. General Treatment of the Plot

For the main plot we have no direct source. It represents, however, Jonson’s typical method. It has been pointed out[53] that the characteristic Jonsonian comedy always consists of two groups, the intriguers and the victims. In The Devil is an Ass the most purely comic motive of the play is furnished by a reversal of the usual relation subsisting between these two groups. Here the devil, who was wont to be looked upon as arch-intriguer, is constantly ‘fooled off and beaten’, and thus takes his position as the comic butt. Pug, in a sense, represents a satirical trend. Through him Jonson satirizes the outgrown supernaturalism which still clung to the skirts of Jacobean realism, and at the same time paints in lively colors the vice of a society against which hell itself is powerless to contend. It is only, however, in a general way, where the devil stands for a principle, that Pug may be considered as in any degree satirical. In the particular incident he is always a purely comic figure, and furnishes the mirth which results from a sense of the incongruity between anticipation and accomplishment.

Fitzdottrel, on the other hand, is mainly satirical. Through him Jonson passes censure upon the city gallant, the attendant at the theatre, the victim of the prevalent superstitions, and even the pretended demoniac. His dupery, as in the case of his bargain with Wittipol, excites indignation rather than mirth, and his final discomfiture affords us almost a sense of poetic justice. This character stands in the position of chief victim.

In an intermediate position are Merecraft and Everill. They succeed in swindling Fitzdottrel and Lady Tailbush, but are in turn played upon by the chief intriguer, Wittipol, with his friend Manly. Jonson’s moral purpose is here plainly visible, especially in contrast to Plautus, with whom the youthful intriguer is also the stock figure. The motive of the young man’s trickery in the Latin comedy is usually unworthy and selfish. That of Wittipol, on the other hand, is wholly disinterested, since he is represented as having already philosophically accepted the rejection of his advances at the hands of Mrs. Fitzdottrel.

In construction the play suffers from overabundance of material. Instead of a single main line of action, which is given clear precedence, there is rather a succession of elaborated episodes, carefully connected and motivated, but not properly subordinated. The plot is coherent and intricate rather than unified. This is further aggravated by the fact that the chief objects of satire are imperfectly understood by readers of the present day.

Jonson observes unity of time, Pug coming to earth in the morning and returning at midnight. With the exception of the first scene, which is indeterminate, and seems at one moment to be hell, and the next London, the action is confined to the City, but hovers between Lincoln’s Inn, Newgate, and the house of Lady Tailbush. Unity of action is of course broken by the interference of the devil-plot and the episodic nature of the satirical plot. The main lines of action may be discussed separately.

In the first act chief prominence is given to the intrigue between Wittipol and Mrs. Fitzdottrel. This interest is continued through the second act, but practically dropped after this point. In Act 4 we find that both lovers have recovered from their infatuation, and the intrigue ends by mutual consent.

The second act opens with the episode of Merecraft’s plot to gull Fitzdottrel. The project of the dukedom of Drownedland is given chief place, and attention is centred upon it both here and in the following scenes. Little use, however, is made of it in the motivation of action. This is left for another project, the office of the Master of Dependencies (quarrels) in the next act. This device is introduced in an incidental way, and we are not prepared for the important place which it takes in the development of the plot. Merecraft, goaded by Everill, hits upon it merely as a temporary makeshift to extort money from Fitzdottrel. The latter determines to make use of the office in prosecuting his quarrel with Wittipol. In preparation for the duel, and in accordance with the course of procedure laid down by Everill, he resolves to settle his estate. Merecraft and Everill endeavor to have the deed drawn in their own favor, but through the interference of Wittipol the whole estate is made over to Manly, who restores it to Mrs. Fitzdottrel. This project becomes then the real turning-point of the play.

The episode of Guilthead and Plutarchus in Act 3 is only slightly connected with the main plot. That of Wittipol’s disguise as a Spanish lady, touched upon in the first two acts, becomes the chief interest of the fourth. It furnishes much comic material, and the characters of Lady Tailbush and Lady Eitherside offer the poet the opportunity for some of his cleverest touches in characterization and contrast.[54] The scene, however, is introduced for incidental purposes, the satirization of foreign fashions and the follies of London society, and is overelaborated. The catalogue of cosmetics is an instance of Jonson’s intimate acquaintance with recondite knowledge standing in the way of his art.

Merecraft’s ‘after game’ in the fifth act is of the nature of an appendix. The play might well have ended with the frustration of his plan to get possession of the estate. This act is introduced chiefly for the sake of a satire upon pretended demoniacs and witch-finders. It also contains the conclusion of the devil-plot.

The Devil is an Ass will always remain valuable as a historical document, and as a record of Jonson’s own attitude towards the abuses of his times. In the treatment of Fitzdottrel and Merecraft among the chief persons, and of Plutarchus Guilthead among the lesser, this play belongs to Jonson’s character-drama.[55] It does not, however, belong to the pure humor-comedy. Like The Alchemist, and in marked contrast to Every Man out of his Humor, interest is sought in plot development. In the scene between Lady Tailbush and Lady Eitherside, the play becomes a comedy of manners, and in its attack upon state abuses it is semi-political in nature. Both Gifford and Swinburne have observed the ethical treatment of the main motives.

With the exception of Prologue and Epilogue, the doggerel couplets spoken by Iniquity, Wittipol’s song (2. 6. 94), and some of the lines quoted by Fitzdottrel in the last scene, the play is written in blank verse throughout. Occasional lines of eight (2. 2. 122), nine (2. 1. 1), twelve (1. 1. 33) or thirteen (1. 1. 113) syllables are introduced. Most of these could easily be normalized by a slight emendation or the slurring of a syllable in pronunciation. Many of the lines, however, are rough and difficult of scansion. Most of the dialogue is vigorous, though Wittipol’s language is sometimes affected and unnatural (cf. Act 1. Sc. 1). His speech, 1. 6. 111-148, is classical in tone, but fragmentary and not perfectly assimilated. The song already referred to possesses delicacy and some beauty of imagery, but lacks Jonson’s customary polish and smoothness.

As a work of art the play must rely chiefly upon the vigor of its satiric dialogue and the cleverness of its character sketches. It lacks the chief excellences of construction—unity of interest, subordination of detail, steady and uninterrupted development, and prompt conclusion.

2. Chief Sources of the Plot

The first source to be pointed out was that of Act 1. Sc. 4-6.[56] This was again noticed by Koeppel, who mentions one of the word-for-word borrowings, and points out the moralistic tendency in Jonson’s treatment of the husband, and his rejection of the Italian story’s licentious conclusion.[57] The original is from Boccaccio’s Decameron, the fifth novella of the third day. Boccaccio’s title is as follows: ‘Il Zima dona a messer Francesco Vergellesi un suo pallafreno, e per quello con licenzia di lui parla alla sua donna, ed ella tacendo, egli in persona di lei si risponde, e secondo la sua risposta poi l’effetto segue’. The substance of the story is this. Il Zima, with the bribe of a palfrey, makes a bargain with Francesco. For the gift he is granted an interview with the wife of Francesco and in the latter’s presence. This interview, however, unlike that in The Devil is an Ass, is not in the husband’s hearing. To guard against any mishap, Francesco secretly commands his wife to make no answer to the lover, warning her that he will be on the lookout for any communication on her part. The wife, like Mrs. Fitzdottrel, upbraids her husband, but is obliged to submit. Il Zima begins his courtship, but, though apparently deeply affected, she makes no answer. The young man then suspects the husband’s trick (e poscia s’incominciÒ ad accorgere dell’ arte usata dal cavaliere). He accordingly hits upon the device of supposing himself in her place and makes an answer for her, granting an assignation. As a signal he suggests the hanging out of the window of two handkerchiefs. He then answers again in his own person. Upon the husband’s rejoining them he pretends to be deeply chagrined, complains that he has met a statue of marble (una statua di marmo) and adds: ‘Voi avete comperato il pallafreno, e io non l’ho venduto’. Il Zima is successful in his ruse, and Francesco’s wife yields completely to his seduction.

A close comparison of this important source is highly instructive. Verbal borrowings show either that Jonson had the book before him, or that he remembered many of the passages literally. Thus Boccaccio’s ‘una statua di marmo’ finds its counterpart in a later scene[58] where Mrs. Fitzdottrel says: ‘I would not haue him thinke hee met a statue’. Fitzdottrel’s satisfaction at the result of the bargain is like that of Francesco: ‘I ha’ kept the contract, and the cloake is mine’ (omai È ben mio il pallafreno, che fu tuo). Again Wittipol’s parting words resemble Il Zima’s: ‘It may fall out, that you ha’ bought it deare, though I ha’ not sold it’.[59] In the mouths of the two heroes, however, these words mean exactly opposite things. With Il Zima it is a complaint, and means: ‘You have won the cloak, but I have got nothing in return’. With Wittipol, on the other hand, it is an open sneer, and hints at further developments. The display of handkerchiefs at the window is another borrowing. Fitzdottrel says sarcastically:

Finally Wittipol, like Il Zima, suspects a trick when Mrs. Fitzdottrel refuses to answer:

But precisely here Jonson blunders badly. In Boccaccio’s story the trick was a genuine one. Il Zima stands waiting for an answer. When no response is made he begins to suspect the husband’s secret admonition, and to thwart it hits upon the device of answering himself. But in Jonson there is no trick at all. Fitzdottrel does indeed require his wife to remain silent, but by no means secretly. His command is placed in the midst of a rambling discourse addressed alternately to his wife and to the young men. There is not the slightest hint that any part of this speech is whispered in his wife’s ear, and Wittipol enters upon his courtship with full knowledge of the situation. This fact deprives Wittipol’s speech in the person of Mrs. Fitzdottrel of its character as a clever device, so that the whole point of Boccaccio’s story is weakened, if not destroyed. I cannot refrain in conclusion from making a somewhat doubtful conjecture. It is noticeable that while Jonson follows so many of the details of this story with the greatest fidelity he substitutes the gift of a cloak for that of the original ‘pallafreno’ (palfrey).[60] The word is usually written ‘palafreno’ and so occurs in Florio. Is it possible that Jonson was unfamiliar with the word, and, not being able to find it in a dictionary, conjectured that it was identical with ‘palla’, a cloak?

In other respects Jonson’s handling of the story displays his characteristic methods. Boccaccio spends very few words in description of either husband or suitor. Jonson, however, is careful to make plain the despicable character of Fitzdottrel, while Wittipol is represented as an attractive and high-minded young man. Further than this, both Mrs. Fitzdottrel and Wittipol soon recover completely from their infatuation.

Koeppel has suggested a second source from the Decameron, Day 3, Novella 3. The title is: ‘Sotto spezie di confessione e di purissima coscienza una donna, innamorata d’un giovane, induce un solenne frate, senza avvedersene egli, a dar modo che’l piacer di lei avessi intero effetto’. The story is briefly this. A lady makes her confessor the means of establishing an acquaintance with a young man with whom she has fallen in love. Her directions are conveyed to him under the guise of indignant prohibitions. By a series of messages of similar character she finally succeeds in informing him of the absence of her husband and the possibility of gaining admittance to her chamber by climbing a tree in the garden. Thus the friar becomes the unwitting instrument of the very thing which he is trying to prevent. So in Act 2. Sc. 2 and 6, Mrs. Fitzdottrel suspects Pug of being her husband’s spy. She dares not therefore send Wittipol a direct message, but requests him to cease his attentions to her

Wittipol takes the hint, and promptly appears at the place indicated.

Von Rapp[61] has mentioned certain other scenes as probably of Italian origin, but, as he advances no proofs, his suggestions may be neglected. It seems to me possible that in the scene above referred to, where the lover occupies a house adjoining that of his mistress, and their secret amour is discovered by her servant and reported to his master, Jonson had in mind the same incident in Plautus’ Miles Gloriosus, Act. 2. Sc. 1 f.

The trait of jealousy which distinguishes Fitzdottrel was suggested to some extent by the character of Euclio in the Aulularia, and a passage of considerable length[62] is freely paraphrased from that play. The play and the passage had already been used in The Case is Altered.

Miss Woodbridge has noticed that the scene in which Lady Tailbush and her friends entertain Wittipol disguised as a Spanish lady is similar to Act 3. Sc. 2 of The Silent Woman, where the collegiate ladies call upon Epicoene. The trick of disguising a servant as a woman occurs in Plautus’ Casina, Acts 4 and 5.

For the final scene, where Fitzdottrel plays the part of a bewitched person, Jonson made free use of contemporary books and tracts. The motive of pretended possession had already appeared in The Fox (Wks. 3. 312), where symptoms identical with or similar to those in the present passage are mentioned—swelling of the belly, vomiting crooked pins, staring of the eyes, and foaming at the mouth. The immediate suggestion in this place may have come either through the Rush story or through Machiavelli’s novella. That Jonson’s materials can be traced exclusively to any one source is hardly to be expected. Not only were trials for witchcraft numerous, but they must have formed a common subject of speculation and discussion. The ordinary evidences of possession were doubtless familiar to the well-informed man without the need of reference to particular records. And it is of the ordinary evidences that the poet chiefly makes use. Nearly all these are found repeatedly in the literature of the period.

We know, on the other hand, that Jonson often preferred to get his information through the medium of books. It is not surprising, therefore, that Merecraft proposes to imitate ‘little Darrel’s tricks’, and to find that the dramatist has resorted in large measure to this particular source.[63]

The Darrel controversy was carried on through a number of years between John Darrel, a clergyman (see note 5. 3. 6), on the one hand, and Bishop Samuel Harsnet, John Deacon and John Walker, on the other. Of the tracts produced in this controversy the two most important are Harsnet’s Discovery of the Fraudulent Practises of John Darrel,[64] 1599, and Darrel’s True Narration of the Strange and Grevous Vexation by the Devil of 7 Persons in Lancashire and William Somers of Nottingham, ... 1600. The story is retold in Francis Hutchinson’s Historical Essay concerning Witchcraft, London, 1720.

Jonson follows the story as told in these two books with considerable fidelity. The accompaniments of demonic possession which Fitzdottrel exhibits in the last scene are enumerated in two previous speeches. Practically all of these are to be found in Darrel’s account:

They may be compared with the description given by Darrel: ‘He was often seene ... to beate his head and other parts of his body against the ground and bedstead. In most of his fitts, he did swell in his body; ... if he were standing when the fit came he wold be cast headlong upon the ground, or fall doune, drawing then his lips awry, gnashing with his teeth, wallowing and foaming.... Presently after he would laughe loud and shrill, his mouth being shut close’. (Darrel, p. 181.) ‘He was also continually torne in very fearfull manner, and disfigured in his face ... now he gnashed with his teeth; now he fomed like to the horse or boare, ... not to say anything of his fearfull staring with his eyes, and incredible gaping’. (Darrel, p. 183.) The swelling, foaming, gnashing, staring, etc., are also mentioned by Harsnet (pp. 147-8), as well as the jargon of languages (p. 165).

The scene is prepared before Merecraft’s appearance (Text, 5. 5. 40. Cf. Detection, p. 92), and Fitzdottrel is discovered lying in bed (Text, 5. 5. 39; 5. 8. 40). Similarly, Somers performed many of his tricks ‘under a coverlet’ (Detection, p. 104). Sir Paul Eitherside then enters and ‘interprets all’. This is imitated directly from Harsnet, where we read: ‘So. [Somers] acting those gestures M. Dar. did expound them very learnedlye, to signify this or that sinne that raigned in Nott. [Nottingham].’ Paul’s first words are: ‘This is the Diuell speakes and laughes in him’. So Harsnet tells us that ‘M. Dar. vpon his first comming vnto Som. affirmed that it was not So. that spake in his fitts, but the diuell by him’. Both Fitzdottrel (Text, 5. 8. 115) and Somers (Narration, p. 182) talk in Greek. The devil in Fitzdottrel proposes to ‘break his necke in jest’ (Text, 5. 8. 117), and a little later to borrow money (5. 8. 119). The same threat is twice made in the True Narration (pp. 178 and 180). In the second of these passages Somers is met by an old woman, who tries to frighten him into giving her money. Otherwise, she declares, ‘I will throwe thee into this pit, and breake thy neck’. The mouse ‘that should ha’ come forth’ (Text, 5. 8. 144) is mentioned by both narrators (Detection, p. 140; Narration, p. 184), and the pricking of the body with pins and needles (Text, 5. 8. 49) is found in slightly altered form (Detection, p. 135; Narration, p. 174). Finally the clapping of the hands (Text. 5. 8. 76) is a common feature (Narration, p. 182). The last mentioned passage finds a still closer parallel in a couplet from the contemporary ballad, which Gifford quotes from Hutchinson (p. 249):

Of the apparatus supplied by Merecraft for the imposture, the soap, nutshell, tow, and touchwood (Text, 5. 3. 3-5), the bladders and bellows (Text, 5. 5. 48), some are doubtless taken from Harsnet’s Discovery, though Darrel does not quote these passages in the Detection. We find, however, that Darrel was accused of supplying Somers with black lead to foam with (Detection, p. 160), and Gifford says that the soap and bellows are also mentioned in the ‘Bishop’s book’.

Though Jonson drew so largely upon this source, many details are supplied by his own imagination. Ridiculous as much of it may seem to the modern reader, it is by no means overdrawn. In fact it may safely be affirmed that no such realistic depiction of witchcraft exists elsewhere in the whole range of dramatic literature.

3. Prototypes of the leading Characters

The position of the leading characters has already been indicated. Pug, as the comic butt and innocent gull, is allied to Master Stephen and Master Matthew of Every Man in his Humor, Dapper of The Alchemist, and Cokes of Bartholomew Fair. Fitzdottrel, another type of the gull, is more closely related to Tribulation Wholesome in The Alchemist, and even in some respects to Corvino and Voltore in The Fox. Wittipol and Manly, the chief intriguers, hold approximately the same position as Wellbred and Knowell in Every Man in his Humor, Winwife and Quarlous in Bartholomew Fair, and Dauphine, Clerimont, and Truewit in The Silent Woman. Merecraft is related in his character of swindler to Subtle in The Alchemist, and in his character of projector to Sir Politick Wouldbe in The Fox.

The contemptible ‘lady of spirit and woman of fashion’ is one of Jonson’s favorite types. She first appears in the persons of Fallace and Saviolina in Every Man out of his Humor; then in Cynthia’s Revels, where Moria and her friends play the part; then as Cytheris in Poetaster, Lady Politick in The Alchemist, the collegiate ladies in The Silent Woman, and Fulvia and Sempronia in Catiline. The same affectations and vices are satirized repeatedly. An evident prototype of Justice Eitherside is found in the person of Adam Overdo in Bartholomew Fair. Both are justices of the peace, both are officious, puritanical, and obstinate. Justice Eitherside’s denunciation of the devotees of tobacco finds its counterpart in a speech in Bartholomew Fair, and his repeated ‘I do detest it’ reminds one of Overdo’s frequent expressions of horror at the enormities which he constantly discovers.

4. Minor Sources

The Devil is an Ass is not deeply indebted to the classics. Jonson borrows twice from Horace, 1. 6. 131, and 2. 4. 27 f. The half dozen lines in which the former passage occurs (1. 6. 126-132) are written in evident imitation of the Horatian style. Two passages are also borrowed from Plautus, 2. 1. 168 f., already mentioned, and 3. 6. 38-9. A single passage (2. 6. 104 f.) shows the influence of Martial. These passages are all quoted in the notes.

The source of Wittipol’s description of the ‘Cioppino’, and the mishap attendant upon its use, was probably taken from a contemporary book of travels. A passage in Coryat’s Crudities furnishes the necessary information and a similar anecdote, and was doubtless used by Jonson (see note 4. 4. 69). Coryat was patronized by the poet. Similarly, another passage in the Crudities seems to have suggested the project of the forks (see note 5. 4. 17).

A curious resemblance is further to be noted between several passages in The Devil is an Ass and Underwoods 62. The first draft of this poem may have been written not long before the present play (see Fleay, Chron. 1. 329-30) and so have been still fresh in the poet’s mind. The passage DA. 3. 2. 44-6 shows unmistakably that the play was the borrower, and not the poem. Gifford suggests that both passages were quoted from a contemporary posture-book, but the passage in the epigram gives no indication of being a quotation.

The chief parallels are as follows: U. 62. 10-14 and DA. 3. 3. 165-6; U. 62. 21-2 and DA. 3. 3. 169-72; U. 62. 25-6 and DA. 3. 2. 44-6; U. 62. 45-8 and DA. 2. 8. 19-22. These passages are all quoted in the notes. In addition, there are a few striking words and phrases that occur in both productions, but the important likenesses are all noted above. In no other poem except Charis, The Gipsies, and Underwoods 36,[65] where the borrowings are unmistakably intentional, is there any thing like the same reworking of material as in this instance.

III. Specific Objects of Satire

The Devil is an Ass has been called of all Jonson’s plays since Cynthia’s Revels the most obsolete in the subjects of its satire.[66] The criticism is true, and it is only with some knowledge of the abuses which Jonson assails that we can appreciate the keenness and precision of his thrusts. The play is a colossal exposÉ of social abuses. It attacks the aping of foreign fashions, the vices of society, and above all the cheats and impositions of the unscrupulous swindler. But we miss its point if we fail to see that Jonson’s arraignment of the society which permitted itself to be gulled is no less severe than that of the swindler who practised upon its credulity. Three institutions especially demand an explanation both for their own sake and for their bearing upon the plot. These are the duello, the monopoly, and the pretended demoniacal possession.

1. The Duello

The origin of private dueling is a matter of some obscurity. It was formerly supposed to be merely a development of the judicial duel or combat, but this is uncertain. Dueling flourished on the Continent, and was especially prevalent in France during the reign of Henry III. Jonson speaks of the frequency of the practice in France in The Magnetic Lady.

No private duel seems to have occurred in England before the sixteenth century, and the custom was comparatively rare until the reign of James I. Its introduction was largely due to the substitution of the rapier for the broadsword. Not long after this change in weapons fencing-schools began to be established and were soon very popular. Donald Lupton, in his London and the Countrey carbonadoed, 1632, says they were usually set up by ‘some low-country soldier, who to keep himself honest from further inconveniences, as also to maintain himself, thought upon this course and practises it’.[67]

The etiquette of the duel was a matter of especial concern. The two chief authorities seem to have been Jerome Carranza, the author of a book entitled Filosofia de las Armas,[68] and Vincentio Saviolo, whose Practise was translated into English in 1595. It contained two parts, the first ‘intreating of the vse of the rapier and dagger’, the second ‘of honor and honorable quarrels’. The rules laid down in these books were mercilessly ridiculed by the dramatists; and the duello was a frequent subject of satire.[69]

By 1616 dueling must have become very common. Frequent references to the subject are found about this time in the Calendar of State Papers. Under date of December 9, 1613, we read that all persons who go abroad to fight duels are to be censured in the Star Chamber. On February 17, 1614, ‘a proclamation, with a book annexed’, was issued against duels, and on February 13, 1617, the King made a Star Chamber speech against dueling, ‘on which he before published a sharp edict’.

The passion for dueling was turned to advantage by a set of improvident bravos, who styled themselves ‘sword-men’ or ‘masters of dependencies,’ a dependence being the accepted name for an impending quarrel. These men undertook to examine into the causes of a duel, and to settle or ‘take it up’ according to the rules laid down by the authorities on this subject. Their prey were the young men of fashion in the city, and especially ‘country gulls’, who were newly come to town and were anxious to become sophisticated. The profession must have been profitable, for we hear of their methods being employed by the ‘roaring boys’[70] and the masters of the fencing schools.[71] Fletcher in The Elder Brother, Wks. 10. 283, speaks of

and Massinger makes similar comment in The Guardian, Wks., p. 343:

Another function of the office is mentioned by Ford in Fancies Chaste and Noble, Wks. 2. 241. The master would upon occasion ‘brave’ a quarrel with the novice for the sake of ‘gilding his reputation’, and Massinger in The Maid of Honor, Wks., p. 190, asserts that he would even consent ‘for a cloak with thrice-died velvet, and a cast suit’ to be ‘kick’d down the stairs’. In A King and No King, B. & Fl., Wks. 2. 310 f., Bessus consults with two of these ‘Gentlemen of the Sword’ in a ridiculous scene, in which the sword-men profess the greatest scrupulousness in examining every word and phrase, affirming that they cannot be ‘too subtle in this business’.

Jonson never loses an opportunity of satirizing these despicable bullies, who were not only ridiculous in their affectations, but who proved by their ‘fomenting bloody quarrels’ to be no small danger to the state. Bobadill, who is described as a Paul’s Man, was in addition a pretender to this craft. Matthew complains that Downright has threatened him with the bastinado, whereupon Bobadill cries out immediately that it is ‘a most proper and sufficient dependence’ and adds: ‘Come hither, you shall chartel him; I’ll shew you a trick or two, you shall kill him with at pleasure’.[72] Cavalier Shift, in Every Man out of his Humor, among various other occupations has the reputation of being able to ‘manage a quarrel the best that ever you saw, for terms and circumstances’. We have an excellent picture of the ambitious novice in the person of Kastrill in The Alchemist. Kastrill, who is described as an ‘angry boy’, comes to consult Subtle as to how to ‘carry a business, manage a quarrel fairly’. Face assures him that Dr. Subtle is able to ‘take the height’ of any quarrel whatsoever, to tell ‘in what degree of safety it lies’, ‘how it may be borne’, etc.

From this description of the ‘master of dependencies’ the exquisite humor of the passage in The Devil is an Ass (3. 3. 60 f.) can be appreciated. Merecraft assures Fitzdottrel that this occupation, in reality the refuge only of the Shifts and Bobadills of the city, is a new and important office about to be formally established by the state. In spite of all their speaking against dueling, he says, they have come to see the evident necessity of a public tribunal to which all quarrels may be referred. It is by means of this pretended office that Merecraft attempts to swindle Fitzdottrel out of his entire estate, from which disaster he is saved only by the clever interposition of Wittipol.

2. The Monopoly System

Jonson’s severest satire in The Devil is an Ass is directed against the projector. Through him the whole system of Monopolies is indirectly criticised. To understand the importance and timeliness of this attack, as well as the poet’s own attitude on the subject, it is necessary to give a brief historical discussion of the system as it had developed and then existed.

Royal grants with the avowed intention of instructing the English in a new industry had been made as early as the fourteenth century,[73] and the system had become gradually modified during the Tudor dynasty. In the sixteenth century a capitalist middle class rose to wealth and political influence. During the reign of Elizabeth a large part of Cecil’s energies was directed toward the economic development of the country. This was most effectually accomplished by granting patents to men who had enterprise enough to introduce a new art or manufacture, whether an importation from a foreign country or their own invention. The capitalist was encouraged to make this attempt by the grant of special privileges of manufacture for a limited period.[74] The condition of monopoly did not belong to the mediaeval system, but was first introduced under Elizabeth. So far the system had its economic justification, but unfortunately it did not stop here. Abuses began to creep in. Not only the manufacture, but the exclusive trade in certain articles, was given over to grantees, and commodities of the most common utility were ‘ingrossed into the hands of these blood-suckers of the commonwealth.[75] A remonstrance of Parliament was made to Elizabeth in 1597, and again in 1601, and in consequence the Queen thought best to promise the annulling of all monopolies then existing, a promise which she in large measure fulfilled. But the immense growth of commerce under Elizabeth made it necessary for her successor, James I., to establish a system of delegation, and he accordingly adapted the system of granting patents to the existing needs.[76] Many new monopolies were granted during the early years of his reign, but in 1607 Parliament again protested, and he followed Elizabeth’s example by revoking them all. After the suspension of Parliamentary government in 1614 the system grew up again, and the old abuses became more obnoxious than ever. In 1621 Parliament addressed a second remonstrance to James. The king professed ignorance, but promised redress, and in 1624 all the existing monopolies were abolished by the Statute 21 James I. c. 3. In Parliament’s address to James ‘the tender point of prerogative’ was not disturbed, and it was contrived that all the blame and punishment should fall on the patentees.[77]

Of all the patents granted during this time, that which seems to have most attracted the attention of the dramatists was one for draining the Fens of Lincolnshire. Similar projects had frequently been attempted during the sixteenth century. In the list of patents before 1597, catalogued by Hulme, seven deal with water drainage in some form or other. The low lands on the east coast of England are exposed to inundation.[78] During the Roman occupation large embankments had been built, and during the Middle Ages these had been kept up partly through a commission appointed by the Crown, and partly through the efforts of the monasteries at Ramsey and Crowland. After the dissolution of these monasteries it became necessary to take up anew the work of reclaiming the fen-land. An abortive attempt by the Earl of Lincoln had already been made when the Statute 43 Eliz. c. 10. 11. was passed in the year 1601. This made legal the action of projectors in the recovery of marsh land. Many difficulties, however, such as lack of funds and opposition on the part of the inhabitants and neighbors of the fens, still stood in their way. In 1605 Sir John Popham and Sir Thomas Fleming headed a company which undertook to drain the Great Level of the Cambridgeshire fens, consisting of more than 300,000 acres, at their own cost, on the understanding that 130,000 acres of the reclaimed land should fall to their share. The project was a complete failure. Another statute granting a patent for draining the fens is found in the seventh year of Jac. I. c. 20, and the attempt was renewed from time to time throughout the reigns of James and Charles I. It was not, however, until the Restoration that these efforts were finally crowned with success.

When the remonstrance was made to James in 1621, the object of the petitioners was gained, as we have seen, by throwing all the blame upon the patentees and projectors. Similarly, the dramatists often prefer to make their attack, not by assailing the institution of monopolies, but by ridicule of the offending subjects.[79] Two agents are regularly distinguished. There is the patentee, sometimes also called the projector, whose part it is to supply the funds for the establishment of the monopoly, and, if possible, the necessary influence at Court; and the actual projector or inventor, who undertakes to furnish his patron with various projects of his own device.

Jonson’s is probably the earliest dramatic representation of the projector. Merecraft is a swindler, pure and simple, whose schemes are directed not so much against the people whom he aims to plunder by the establishment of a monopoly as against the adventurer who furnishes the funds for putting the project into operation:

Both Fitzdottrel and Lady Tailbush are drawn into these schemes so far as to part with their money. Merecraft himself pretends that he possesses sufficient influence at Court. He flatters Fitzdottrel, who is persuaded by the mere display of projects in a buckram bag, by demanding of him ‘his count’nance, t’appeare in’t to great men’ (2. 1. 39). Lady Tailbush is not so easily fooled, and Merecraft has some difficulty in persuading her of the power of his friends at Court (Act 4. Sc. 1).

Merecraft’s chief project, the recovery of the drowned lands, is also satirized by Randolph:

and in Holland’s Leaguer, Act 1. Sc. 5 (cited by Gifford):

In the later drama the figure of the projector appears several times, but it lacks the timeliness of Jonson’s satire, and the conception must have been largely derived from literary sources. Jonson’s influence is often apparent. In Brome’s Court Beggar the patentee is Mendicant, a country gentleman who has left his rustic life and sold his property, in order to raise his state by court-suits. The projects which he presents at court are the invention of three projectors. Like Merecraft, they promise to make Mendicant a lord, and succeed only in reducing him to poverty. The character of the Court Beggar is given in these words: ‘He is a Knight that hanckers about the court ambitious to make himselfe a Lord by begging. His braine is all Projects, and his soule nothing but Court-suits. He has begun more Knavish suits at Court, then ever the Kings Taylor honestly finish’d, but never thriv’d by any: so that now hee’s almost fallen from a Palace Begger to a Spittle one’.

In the Antipodes Brome introduces ‘a States-man studious for the Commonwealth, solicited by Projectors of the Country’. Brome’s list of projects (quoted in Gifford’s edition) is a broad caricature. Wilson, in the Restoration drama, produced a play called The Projectors, in which Jonson’s influence is apparent (see Introduction, p. lxxv).

Among the characters, of which the seventeenth century writers were so fond, the projector is a favorite figure. John Taylor,[81] the water-poet, furnishes us with a cartoon entitled ‘The complaint of M. Tenterhooke the Projector and Sir Thomas Dodger the Patentee’. In the rimes beneath the picture the distinction between the projector, who ‘had the Art to cheat the Common-weale’, and the patentee, who was possessed of ‘tricks and slights to pass the seale’, is brought out with especial distinctness. Samuel Butler’s character[82] of the projector is of less importance, since it was not published until 1759. The real importance of Jonson’s satire lies in the fact that it appeared in the midst of the most active discussion on the subject of monopolies. Drummond says that he was ‘accused upon’ the play, and that the King ‘desired him to conceal it’.[83] Whether the subject which gave offense was the one which we have been considering or that of witchcraft, it is, however, impossible to determine.

3. Witchcraft

Witchcraft in Jonson’s time was not an outworn belief, but a living issue. It is remarkable that the persecutions which followed upon this terrible delusion were comparatively infrequent during the Middle Ages, and reached their maximum only in the seventeenth century.

The first English Act against witchcraft after the Norman Conquest was passed in 1541 (33 Hen. VIII. c. 8). This Act, which was of a general nature, and directed against various kinds of sorceries, was followed by another in 1562 (5 Eliz. c. 16). At the accession of James I. in 1603 was passed 1 Jac. I. c. 12, which continued law for more than a century.

During this entire period charges of witchcraft were frequent. In Scotland they were especially numerous, upwards of fifty being recorded during the years 1596-7.[84] The trial of Anne Turner in 1615, in which charges of witchcraft were joined with those of poisoning, especially attracted the attention of Jonson. In 1593 occurred the trial of the ‘three Witches of Warboys’, in 1606 that of Mary Smith, in 1612 that of the earlier Lancashire Witches, and of the later in 1633. These are only a few of the more famous cases. Of no less importance in this connection is the attitude of the King himself. In the famous Demonology[85] he allied himself unhesitatingly with the cause of superstition. Witchcraft was of course not without its opponents, but these were for the most part obscure men and of little personal influence. While Bacon and Raleigh were inclining to a belief in witchcraft, and Sir Thomas Browne was offering his support to persecution, the cause of reason was intrusted to such champions as Reginald Scot, the author of the famous Discovery of Witchcraft, 1584, a work which fearlessly exposes the prevailing follies and crimes. It is on this side that Jonson places himself. That he should make a categorical statement as to his belief or disbelief in witchcraft is not to be expected. It is enough that he presents a picture of the pretended demoniac, that he makes it as sordid and hateful as possible, that he draws for us in the person of Justice Eitherside the portrait of the bigoted, unreasonable, and unjust judge, and that he openly ridicules the series of cases which he used as the source of his witch scenes (cf. Act. 5. Sc. 3).

To form an adequate conception of the poet’s satirical purpose in this play one should compare the methods used here with the treatment followed in Jonson’s other dramas where the witch motive occurs. In The Masque of Queens, 1609, and in The Sad Shepherd, Jonson employed the lore of witchcraft more freely, but in a quite different way. Here, instead of hard realism with all its hideous details, the more picturesque beliefs and traditions are used for purely imaginative and poetical purposes.

The Masque of Queens was presented at Whitehall, and dedicated to Prince Henry. Naturally Jonson’s attitude toward witchcraft would here be respectful. It is to be observed, however, that in the copious notes which are appended to the masque no contemporary trials are referred to. The poet relies upon the learned compilations of Bodin, Remigius, Cornelius Agrippa, and Paracelsus, together with many of the classical authors. He is clearly dealing with the mythology of witchcraft. Nightshade and henbane, sulphur, vapors, the eggshell boat, and the cobweb sail are the properties which he uses in this poetic drama. The treatment does not differ essentially from that of Middleton and Shakespeare.

In The Sad Shepherd the purpose is still different. We have none of the wild unearthliness of the masque. Maudlin is a witch of a decidedly vulgar type, but there is no satirical intent. Jonson, for the purpose of his play, accepts for the moment the prevailing attitude toward witchcraft, and the satisfaction in Maudlin’s discomfiture doubtless assumed an acquiescence in the popular belief. At the same time the poetical aspect is not wholly forgotten, and appears with especial prominence in the beautiful passage which describes the witch’s forest haunt, beginning: ‘Within a gloomy dimble she doth dwell’. The Sad Shepherd and the masque are far more akin to each other in their treatment of witchcraft than is either to The Devil is an Ass.

IV. Personal Satire

The detection of personal satire in Jonson’s drama is difficult, and at best unsatisfactory. Jonson himself always resented it as an impertinence.[86] In the present case Fleay suggests that the motto, Ficta, voluptatis causa, sint proxima veris, is an indication that we are to look upon the characters as real persons. But Jonson twice took the pains to explain that this is precisely the opposite of his own interpretation of Horace’s meaning.[87] The subject of personal satire was a favorite one with him, and in The Magnetic Lady he makes the sufficiently explicit statement: ‘A play, though it apparel and present vices in general, flies from all particularities in persons’.

On the other hand we know that Jonson did occasionally indulge in personal satire. Carlo Buffone,[88] Antonio Balladino,[89] and the clerk Nathaniel[90] are instances sufficiently authenticated. Of these Jonson advances a plea of justification: ‘Where have I been particular? where personal? except to a mimic, cheater, bawd or buffoon, creatures, for their insolencies, worthy to be taxed? yet to which of these so pointingly, as he might not either ingenuously have confest, or wisely dissembled his disease?’[91]

In only one play do we know that the principal characters represent real people. But between Poetaster and The Devil is an Ass there is a vast difference of treatment. In Poetaster (1) the attitude is undisguisedly satirical. The allusions in the prologues and notices to the reader are direct and unmistakable. (2) The character-drawing is partly caricature, partly allegorical. This method is easily distinguishable from the typical, which aims to satirize a class. (3) Jonson does not draw upon historical events, but personal idiosyncrasies. (4) The chief motive is in the spirit of Aristophanes, the great master of personal satire. These methods are what we should naturally expect in a composition of this sort. Of such internal evidence we find little or nothing in The Devil is an Ass. Several plausible identifications, however, have been proposed, and these we must consider separately.

The chief characters are identified by Fleay as follows: Wittipol is Jonson. He has returned from travel, and had seen Mrs. Fitzdottrel before he went. Mrs. Fitzdottrel is the Lady Elizabeth Hatton. Fitzdottrel is her husband, Sir Edward Coke.Mrs. Fitzdottrel. The identification is based upon a series of correspondences between a passage in The Devil is an Ass (2. 6. 57-113) and a number of passages scattered through Jonson’s works. The most important of these are quoted in the note to the above passage. To them has been added an important passage from A Challenge at Tilt, 1613. Fleay’s deductions are these: (1) Underwoods 36 and Charis must be addressed to the same lady (cf. especially Ch., part 5). (2) Charis and Mrs. Fitzdottrel are identical. The song (2. 6. 94 f.) is found complete in the Celebration of Charis. In Wittipol’s preceding speech we find the phrases ‘milk and roses’ and ‘bank of kisses’, which occur in Charis and in U. 36, and a reference to the husband who is the ‘just excuse’ for the wife’s infidelity, which occurs in U. 36. (3) Charis is Lady Hatton. Fleay believes that Charis, part 1, in which the poet speaks of himself as writing ‘fifty years’, was written c 1622-3; but that parts 2-10 were written c 1608. In reference to these parts he says: ‘Written in reference to a mask in which Charis represented Venus riding in a chariot drawn by swans and doves (Charis, part 4), at a marriage, and leading the Graces in a dance at Whitehall, worthy to be envied of the Queen (6), in which Cupid had a part (2, 3, 5), at which Charis kissed him (6, 7), and afterwards kept up a close intimacy with him (8, 9, 10). The mask of 1608, Feb. 9, exactly fulfils these conditions, and the Venus of that mask was probably L. Elizabeth Hatton, the most beautiful of the then court ladies. She had appeared in the mask of Beauty, 1608, Jan. 10, but in no other year traceable by me. From the Elegy, G. 36, manifestly written to the same lady (compare it with the lines in 5 as to “the bank of kisses” and “the bath of milk and roses”), we learn that Charis had “a husband that is the just excuse of all that can be done him”. This was her second husband, Sir Edward Coke, to whom she was married in 1593’.

Fleay’s theory rests chiefly upon (1) his interpretation of The Celebration of Claris; (2) the identity of Charis and Mrs. Fitzdottrel. A study of the poem has led me to conclusions of a very different nature from those of Fleay. They may be stated as follows:

Charis 1. This was evidently written in 1622-3. Jonson plainly says: ‘Though I now write fifty years’. Charis is here seemingly identified with Lady Purbeck, daughter of Lady Hatton. Compare the last two lines with the passage from The Gipsies. Fleay believes the compliments were transferred in the masque at Lady Hatton’s request.

Charis 4 and 7 have every mark of being insertions. (1) They are in different metres from each other and from the other sections, which in this respect are uniform. (2) They are not in harmony with the rest of the poem. They entirely lack the easy, familiar, half jocular style which characterizes the eight other parts. (3) Each is a somewhat ambitious effort, complete in itself, and distinctly lyrical. (4) In neither is there any mention of or reference to Charis. (5) It is evident, therefore, that they were not written for the Charis poem, but merely interpolated. They are, then, of all the parts the least valuable for the purpose of identification, nor are we justified in looking upon them as continuing a definite narrative with the rest of the poem. (6) The evident reason for introducing them is their own intrinsic lyrical merit.

Charis 4 was apparently written in praise of some pageant, probably a court masque. The representation of Venus drawn in a chariot by swans and doves, the birds sacred to her, may have been common enough. That this is an accurate description of the masque of February 9, 1608 is, however, a striking fact, and it is possible that the lady referred to is the same who represented Venus in that masque. But (1) we do not even know that Jonson refers to a masque of his own, or a masque at all. (2) We have no trustworthy evidence that Lady Hatton was the Venus of that masque. Fleay’s identification is little better than a guess. (3) Evidence is derived from the first stanza alone. This does not appear in The Devil is an Ass, and probably was not written at the time. Otherwise there is no reason for its omission in that place. It seems to have been added for the purpose of connecting the lyric interpolation with the rest of the poem.

Charis 5 seems to be a late production. (1) Jonson combines in this single section a large number of figures used in other places. (2) That it was not the origin of these figures seems to be intimated by the words of the poem. Cupid is talking. He had lately found Jonson describing his lady, and Jonson’s words, he says, are descriptive of Cupid’s own mother, Venus. So Homer had spoken of her hair, so Anacreon of her face. He continues:

The italicized words may refer to U. 36. 3-4. They correspond, however, much more closely to Challenge, 2 Cup. The ‘bath your verse discloses’ (l. 21) may refer to DA. 2. 6. 82-3. U. 36. 7-8 or Gipsies 15-6.

is mentioned in U. 36. 9-10. ‘The passages in DA. and Gipsies[92] are less close. The ‘valley called my nest’ may be a reference to DA. 2. 6. 74 f. Jonson had already spoken of the ‘girdle ’bout her waist’ in Challenge, 2 Cup. Charis 5 seems then to have been written later than U. 36, Challenge, 1613, and probably Devil is an Ass, 1616. The evidence is strong, though not conclusive.

Charis 6 evidently refers to a marriage at Whitehall. That Cupid, who is referred to in 2, 3, 5, had any part in the marriage of Charis 6 is nowhere even intimated. That Charis led the Graces in a dance is a conjecture equally unfounded. Jonson of course takes the obvious opportunity (ll. 20, 26) of playing on the name Charis. That this occasion was the same as that celebrated in 4 we have no reason to believe. It applies equally well, for instance, to A Challenge at Tilt, but we are by no means justified in so limiting it. It may have been imaginary.

Charis 7 was written before 1618, since Jonson quoted a part of it to Drummond during his visit in Scotland (cf. Conversations 5). It was a favorite of the poet’s and this furnishes sufficient reason for its insertion here. It is worthy of note that the two sections of Charis, which we know by external proof to have been in existence before 1623, are those which give internal evidence of being interpolations.

Summary. The poem was probably a late production and of composite nature. There is no reason for supposing that the greater part was not written in 1622-3. The fourth and seventh parts are interpolations. The first stanza of the fourth part, upon which the identification largely rests, seems not to have been written until the poem was put together in 1622-3. If it was written at the same time as the other two stanzas, we cannot expect to find it forming part of a connected narrative. The events described in the fourth and sixth parts are not necessarily the same. There is practically no evidence that Lady Hatton was the Venus of 1608, or that Charis is addressed to any particular lady.

The other link in Fleay’s chain of evidence is of still weaker substance. The mere repetition of compliments does not necessarily prove the recipient to be the same person. In fact we find in these very pieces the same phrases applied indiscriminately to Lady Purbeck, Lady Frances Howard, Mrs. Fitzdottrel, perhaps to Lady Hatton, and even to the Earl of Somerset. Of what value, then, can such evidence be?

Fleay’s whole theory rests on this poem, and biographical evidence is unnecessary. It is sufficient to notice that Lady Hatton was a proud woman, that marriage with so eminent a man as Sir Edward Coke was considered a great condescension (Chamberlain’s Letters, Camden Soc., p. 29), and that an amour with Jonson is extremely improbable.Fitzdottrel. Fleay’s identification of Fitzdottrel with Coke rests chiefly on the fact that Coke was Lady Hatton’s husband. The following considerations are added. Fitzdottrel is a ‘squire of Norfolk’. Sir E. Coke was a native of Norfolk, and had held office in Norwich. Fitzdottrel’s rÔle as sham demoniac is a covert allusion to Coke’s adoption of the popular witch doctrines in the Overbury trial. His jealousy of his wife was shown in the same trial, where he refused to read the document of ‘what ladies loved what lords’, because, as was popularly supposed, his own wife’s name headed the list. Jonson is taking advantage of Coke’s disgrace in November, 1616. He had flattered him in 1613 (U. 64).

Our reasons for rejecting this theory are as follows: (1) The natural inference is that Jonson would not deliberately attack the man whom he had highly praised three years before. I do not understand Fleay’s assertion that Jonson was always ready to attack the fallen. (2) The compliment paid to Coke in 1613 (U. 64) was not the flattery of an hour of triumph. The appointment to the king’s bench was displeasing to Coke, and made at the suggestion of Bacon with the object of removing him to a place where he would come less often into contact with the king. (3) Fitzdottrel is a light-headed man of fashion, who spends his time in frequenting theatres and public places, and in conjuring evil spirits. Coke was sixty-four years old, the greatest lawyer of his time, and a man of the highest gifts and attainments. (4) The attempted parallel between Fitzdottrel, the pretended demoniac, and Coke, as judge in the Overbury trial, is patently absurd. (5) If Lady Hatton had not been selected for identification with Mrs. Fitzdottrel, Coke would never have been dreamed of as a possible Fitzdottrel.Wittipol. He is a young man just returned from travel, which apparently has been of considerable duration. He saw Mrs. Fitzdottrel once before he went, and upon returning immediately seeks her out. How does this correspond to Jonson’s life? The Hue and Cry was played February 9, 1608. According to Fleay’s interpretation, this was followed by an intimacy with Lady Hatton. Five years later, in 1613, Drummond tells us that Jonson went to France with the son of Sir Walter Raleigh. He returned the same year in time to compose A Challenge at Tilt, December 27. Three years later he wrote The Devil is an Ass at the age of forty-three.

Wittipol intimates that he is Mrs. Fitzdottrel’s equal in years, in fashion (1. 6. 124-5), and in blood (1. 6. 168). For Jonson to say this to Lady Hatton would have been preposterous.Justice Eitherside. Only the desire to prove a theory at all costs could have prevented Fleay from seeing that Coke’s counterpart is not Fitzdottrel, but Justice Eitherside. In obstinacy, bigotry, and vanity this character represents the class of judges with which Coke identified himself in the Overbury trial. Nor are these merely class-traits. They are distinctly the faults which marred Coke’s career from the beginning. It is certain that Coke is partially responsible for this portraiture. Overbury was a personal friend of the poet, and the trial, begun in the previous year, had extended into 1616. Jonson must have followed it eagerly. On the other hand, it is improbable that the picture was aimed exclusively at Coke. He merely furnished traits for a typical and not uncommon character. As we have seen, it is in line with Jonson’s usual practise to confine personal satire to the lesser characters.Merecraft. Fleay’s identification with Sir Giles Mompesson has very little to commend it. Mompesson was connected by marriage with James I.’s powerful favorite, George Villiers, later Duke of Buckingham. In 1616 he suggested to Villiers the creation of a special commission for the purpose of granting licenses to keepers of inns and ale-houses. The suggestion was adopted by Villiers; Mompesson was appointed to the Commission in October, 1616, and knighted on November 18 of that year. The patent was not sealed until March, 1617. His high-handed conduct soon became unpopular, but he continued in favor with Villiers and James, and his disgrace did not come until 1621.

It will readily be seen that Mompesson’s position and career conform in no particular to those of Merecraft in the present play. Mompesson was a knight, a friend of the king’s favorite, and in favor with the king. Merecraft is a mere needy adventurer without influence at court, and the associate of ruffians, who frequent the ‘Straits’ and the ‘Bermudas’. Mompesson was himself the recipient of a patent (see section III. 2). Merecraft is merely the projector who devises clever projects for more powerful patrons. Mompesson’s project bears no resemblance to those suggested by Merecraft, and he could hardly have attracted any popular dislike at the time when The Devil is an Ass was presented, since, as we have seen, his patent was not even sealed until the following year. Finally, Jonson would hardly have attacked a man who stood so high at court as did Mompesson in 1616.

It is evident that Jonson had particularly in mind those projectors whose object it was to drain the fens of Lincolnshire. The attempts, as we have seen, were numerous, and it is highly improbable that Jonson wished to satirize any one of them more severely than another. In a single passage, however, it seems possible that Sir John Popham (see page lx) is referred to. In Act 4. Sc. 1 Merecraft speaks of a Sir John Monie-man as a projector who was able to ‘jump a business quickly’ because ‘he had great friends’. That Popham is referred to seems not unlikely from the fact that he was the most important personage who had embarked upon an enterprise of this sort, that his scheme was one of the earliest, that he was not a strict contemporary (d. 1607), and that his scheme had been very unpopular. This is proved by an anonymous letter to the king, in which complaint is made that ‘the “covetous bloody Popham” will ruin many poor men by his offer to drain the fens’ (Cal. State Papers, Mar. 14?, 1606).Plutarchus Guilthead. Fleay’s identification with Edmund Howes I am prepared to accept, although biographical data are very meagre. Fleay says: ‘Plutarchus Gilthead, who is writing the lives of the great men in the city; the captain who writes of the Artillery Garden “to train the youth”, etc. [3. 2. 45], is, I think, Edmond Howes, whose continuation of Stow’s Chronicle was published in 1615.’

Howes’ undertaking was a matter of considerable ridicule to his acquaintances. In his 1631 edition he speaks of the heavy blows and great discouragements he received from his friends. He was in the habit of signing himself ‘Gentleman’ and this seems to be satirized in 3. 1, where Guilthead says repeatedly: ‘This is to make you a Gentleman’ (see N. & Q. 1st Ser. 6. 199.). The Noble House. Two proposed identifications of the ‘noble house’, which pretends to a duke’s title, mentioned at 2. 4. 15-6. have been made. The expenditure of much energy in the attempt to fix so veiled an allusion is hardly worth while. Jonson of course depended upon contemporary rumor, for which we have no data.

Cunningham’s suggestion that Buckingham is referred to is not convincing. Buckingham’s father was Sir George Villiers of Brooksby in Leicestershire. He was not himself raised to the nobility until August 27, 1616, when he was created Viscount Villiers and Baron Waddon. It was not until January 5, 1617 (not 1616, as Cunningham says), that he became Earl of Buckingham, and it is unlikely that before this time any allusion to Villiers’ aspiration to a dukedom would have been intelligible to Jonson’s audience.

Fleay’s theory that the ‘noble house’ was that of Stuart may be accepted provisionally. Lodowick was made Earl of Richmond in 1613, and Duke in 1623. He was acceptable to king and people, and in this very year was made steward of the household.

D. AFTER-INFLUENCE OF THE DEVIL IS AN ASS

A few instances of the subsequent rehandling of certain motives in this play are too striking to be completely overlooked. John Wilson, 1627-c 1696, a faithful student and close imitator of Jonson, produced in 1690 a drama called Belphegor, or The Marriage of the Devil, a Tragi-comedy. While it is founded on the English translation of Machiavelli’s novella, which appeared in 1674, and closely adheres to the lines of the original, it shows clear evidence of Jonson’s influence. The subject has been fully investigated by Hollstein (cf. VerhÄltnis, pp. 22-24, 28-30, 35, 43, 50).

The Cheats, 1662, apparently refers to The Devil is an Ass in the Prologue. The characters of Bilboe and Titere Tu belong to the same class of low bullies as Merecraft and Everill, but the evident prototypes of these characters are Subtle and Face in The Alchemist.

A third play of Wilson’s, The Projectors, 1664, shows unmistakable influence of The Devil is an Ass. The chief object of satire is of course the same, and the character of Sir Gudgeon Credulous is modeled after that of Fitzdottrel. The scenes in which the projects are explained, 2. 1 and 3. 1, are similar to the corresponding passages in Jonson. The Aulularia of Plautus is a partial source, so that the play in some features resembles The Case is Altered. In 2. 1 Wilson imitates the passage in the Aulularia, which closes Act 2. Sc. 1 of The Devil is an Ass (see note 2. 1. 168).

Brome, Jonson’s old servant and friend, also handled the subject of monopolies (see page lxi). Jonson’s influence is especially marked in The Court Beggar. The project of perukes (Wks. 1. 192) should be compared with Merecraft’s project of toothpicks.

Mrs. Susanna Centlivre’s Busie Body uses the motives borrowed from Boccaccio (see pp. xlv ff.). The scenes in which these appear must have been suggested by Jonson’s play (Genest 2. 419), though the author seems to have been acquainted with the Decameron also. In Act. 1. Sc. 1 Sir George Airy makes a bargain with Sir Francis Gripe similar to Wittipol’s bargain with Fitzdottrel. In exchange for the sum of a hundred guineas he is admitted into the house for the purpose of moving his suit to Miranda. ‘for the space of ten minutes, without lett or molestation’, provided Sir Francis remain in the same room, though out of ear shot (2d ed., p. 8). In Act 2. Sc. 1 the bargain is carried out in much the same way as in Boccaccio and in Jonson. Miranda remaining dumb and Sir George answering for her.

In Act 3. Sc. 4 (2d ed., p. 38) Miranda in the presence of her guardian sends a message by Marplot not to saunter at the garden gate about eight o’clock as he has been accustomed to do, thus making an assignation with him (compare DA. 2. 2. 52).

Other motives which seem to show some influence of The Devil is an Ass are Miranda’s trick to have the estate settled upon her, Charles’ disguise as a Spaniard, and Traffick’s jealous care of Isabinda. The character of Marplot as comic butt resembles that of Pug.

The song in The Devil is an Ass 2. 6. 94 (see note) was imitated by Sir John Suckling.

APPENDIX Extracts from the Critics

Gifford: There is much good writing in this comedy. All the speeches of Satan are replete with the most biting satire, delivered with an appropriate degree of spirit. Fitzdottrel is one of those characters which Jonson delighted to draw, and in which he stood unrivalled, a gull, i. e., a confident coxcomb, selfish, cunning, and conceited. Mrs. Fitzdottrel possesses somewhat more interest than the generality of our author’s females, and is indeed a well sustained character. In action the principal amusement of the scene (exclusive of the admirable burlesque of witchery in the conclusion) was probably derived from the mortification of poor Pug, whose stupid stare of amazement at finding himself made an ass of on every possible occasion must, if portrayed as some then on the stage were well able to portray it, have been exquisitely comic.

This play is strictly moral in its conception and conduct. Knavery and folly are shamed and corrected, virtue is strengthened and rewarded, and the ends of dramatic justice are sufficiently answered by the simple exposure of those whose errors are merely subservient to the minor interests of the piece.

Herford (Studies in the Literary Relations of England and Germany, pp. 318-20): Jonson had in fact so far the Aristophanic quality of genius, that he was at once a most elaborate and minute student of the actual world, and a poet of the airiest and boldest fancy, and that he loved to bring the two rÔles into the closest possible combination. No one so capable of holding up the mirror to contemporary society without distorting the slenderest thread of its complex tissue of usages; no one, on the other hand, who so keenly delighted in startling away the illusion or carefully undermining it by some palpably fantastic invention. His most elaborate reproductions of the everyday world are hardly ever without an infusion of equally elaborate caprice,—a leaven of recondite and fantastic legend and grotesque myth, redolent of old libraries and antique scholarship, furtively planted, as it were, in the heart of that everyday world of London life, and so subtly blending with it that the whole motley throng of merchants and apprentices, gulls and gallants, discover nothing unusual in it, and engage with the most perfectly matter of fact air in the business of working it out. The purging of Crispinus in the Poetaster, the Aristophanic motive of the Magnetic Lady, even the farcical horror of noise which is the mainspring of the Epicoene, are only less elaborate and sustained examples of this fantastic realism than the adventure of a Stupid Devil in the play before us. Nothing more anomalous in the London of Jonson’s day could be conceived; yet it is so managed that it loses all its strangeness. So perfectly is the supernatural element welded with the human, that it almost ceases to appear supernatural. Pug, the hero of the adventure, is a pretty, petulant boy, more human by many degrees than the half fairy Puck of Shakespeare, which doubtless helped to suggest him, and the arch-fiend Satan is a bluff old politician, anxious to ward off the perils of London from his young simpleton of a son, who is equally eager to plunge into them. The old savage horror fades away before Jonson’s humanising touch, the infernal world loses all its privilege of peculiar terror and strength, and sinks to the footing of a mere rival state, whose merchandise can be kept out of the market and its citizens put in the Counter or carted to Tyburn.

A. W. Ward (Eng. Dram. Lit., pp. 372-3): The oddly-named comedy of The Devil is an Ass, acted in 1616, seems already to exhibit a certain degree of decay in the dramatic powers which had so signally called forth its predecessor. Yet this comedy possesses a considerable literary interest, as adapting both to Jonson’s dramatic method, and to the general moral atmosphere of his age, a theme connecting itself with some of the most notable creations of the earlier Elizabethan drama.... The idea of the play is as healthy as its plot is ingenious; but apart from the circumstance that the latter is rather slow in preparation, and by no means, I think, gains in perspicuousness as it proceeds, the design itself suffers from one radical mistake. Pug’s intelligence is so much below par that he suffers as largely on account of his clumsiness as on account of his viciousness, while remaining absolutely without influence upon the course of the action. The comedy is at the same time full of humor, particularly in the entire character of Fitzdottrel.

Swinburne (Study of Ben Jonson, pp. 65-7): If The Devil is an Ass cannot be ranked among the crowning masterpieces of its author, it is not because the play shows any sign of decadence in literary power or in humorous invention. The writing is admirable, the wealth of comic matter is only too copious, the characters are as firm in outline or as rich in color as any but the most triumphant examples of his satirical or sympathetic skill in finished delineation and demarcation of humors. On the other hand, it is of all Ben Jonson’s comedies since the date of Cynthia’s Revels the most obsolete in subject of satire, the most temporary in its allusions and applications: the want of fusion or even connection (except of the most mechanical or casual kind) between the various parts of its structure and the alternate topics of its ridicule makes the action more difficult to follow than that of many more complicated plots: and, finally, the admixture of serious sentiment and noble emotion is not so skilfully managed as to evade the imputation of incongruity. [The dialogue between Lady Tailbush and Lady Eitherside in Act 4. Sc. 1 has some touches ‘worthy of MoliÈre himself.’ In Act 4. Sc. 3 Mrs. Fitzdottrel’s speech possesses a ‘a noble and natural eloquence,’ but the character of her husband is ‘almost too loathsome to be ridiculous,’ and unfit ‘for the leading part in a comedy of ethics as well as of morals.’] The prodigality of elaboration lavished on such a multitude of subordinate characters, at the expense of all continuous interest and to the sacrifice of all dramatic harmony, may tempt the reader to apostrophize the poet in his own words:

Yet a word of parting praise must be given to Satan: a small part as far as extent goes, but a splendid example of high comic imagination after the order of Aristophanes, admirably relieved by the low comedy of the asinine Pug and the voluble doggrel by the antiquated Vice.

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