The Devil now led Faustus through a series of adventures which were to serve as a prelude to the most afflicting vicissitudes. What Faustus had hitherto seen had embittered his heart; but the scenes which now opened upon him by degrees so wounded his spirit, that his mind was unable either to support or remedy them; and only one of the worldly great, or, what is nearly synonymous, a worker and designer of human misery, could have witnessed them unmoved.
The Devil and Faustus were riding in close conversation along the banks of the Fulda, when they saw beneath an oak-tree a countrywoman sitting with her children, appearing to be the lifeless image of agony and dumb despair. Faustus, whom sorrow attracted as much as joy, went hurriedly up to her, and inquired the cause of her grief. The woman gazed at him for some time, and it was not until his sympathising look had in some degree melted her frozen heart that she was able, amidst tears and sobbings, to explain herself in the following words:
“In the whole world there are no beings so wretched as myself and these poor children. My husband was indebted to the Prince-Bishop for three years’ rent. The first year he could not pay it, on account of the failure of his crops; during the second the Bishop’s wild-boars grubbed up all his seed from the ground; and during the third his whole hunting-train galloped over our fields and destroyed our harvest. As my husband had often been threatened by the steward with a distress, he intended to have gone this morning to Frankfort, to sell a fat calf and his last pair of oxen, and with the amount to have paid his rent. But just as he was setting out the Bishop’s clerk-of-the-kitchen came, and demanded the calf for his lordship’s table. My husband pleaded his poverty, and told him how unjust it would be to take away his calf, which would fetch a high price at Frankfort. The clerk-of-the-kitchen answered, that no peasant had a right to carry any thing out of his master’s domain. The steward and his bailiffs then came, and instead of taking my husband’s part, he drove off the oxen; the clerk-of-the-kitchen took the calf; the bailiffs turned me and my children out of house and home; and while they were pillaging and carrying off our goods, my husband went into the barn and out his throat in despair. The poor wretch lies under that sheet, and we sit here to watch the body, so that it may not be devoured by the wild-beasts, for the priest has refused to bury it.”
She tore away the white sheet which had concealed the body, and fell to the ground. Faustus started at the horrible sight, while tears gushed from his eyes, and he cried, “Man, man, is this thy lot?” Then looking up to heaven, “Oh! didst thou create this unfortunate man merely that a servant of thy religion might drive him to despair and suicide?” He cast the cloth over the body, flung the woman some gold, and said, “I will go to the Bishop and tell him your melancholy story. I am certain that he will bury your husband, give you back your goods, and punish the villains.”
This circumstance made so strong an impression upon Faustus, that he and the Devil reached the Bishop’s castle before he could collect himself. They were received with great civility, and shown into a spacious hall, where his reverence was at table. The Prince-Bishop was a man in his best years, but so enormously corpulent that fat seemed to have overwhelmed his nerves, his heart, and his very soul. He was only animated while eating; all his sense lay in his palate, and he never knew vexation, except when he was disappointed of a dish which he had ordered. His table was so well furnished, that Faustus, whom the Devil had often banqueted by means of his spirits, thought to himself that the Bishop surpassed the master of a thousand arts in his dinners. In the middle of the table stood, amongst other dishes, a large calf’s-head,—a favourite morsel with the Bishop. He was engaged, both body and soul, in the feast, and had not yet spoken a single word, when suddenly Faustus exclaimed:
“Gracious sir, do not take it ill of me if I spoil your appetite, but it is impossible for me to look on that calf’s-head without telling you of a shocking affair which has this day occurred in the neighbourhood of your palace. I hope, from your humanity and Christian mildness, that you will cause those aggrieved to be recompensed, and take care in future that your officers do not again outrage humanity, as they have done in this affair.”
The Bishop raised his eyes in wonder, looked at Faustus, and emptied his glass.
Faustus related the story with warmth and feeling; none of those present, however, paid any attention to him, and the Bishop continued eating. Faustus then said: “I think I am speaking to a Bishop, a shepherd of his flock, and am standing among teachers and preachers of religion and Christian charity? My lord, am I right or not?”
The Bishop eyed him scornfully; then calling for the clerk-of-the-kitchen, he said: “What hubbub is this about a peasant who has been fool enough to cut his throat?”
The clerk-of-the-kitchen laughed, told the story as Faustus had done, and added: “I took away his calf because it would grace your lordship’s table, and was too good for the Frankfort burghers, to whom he wished to sell it. The steward distrained his goods because he had always been a bad tenant, and for three years had not paid his rent. Thus, my lord, does the case stand; and truly no peasant shall drive any thing good out of your demesne with my consent.”
Bishop. Go; you are quite right. (To Faustus) What have you now to say? you see that he did his duty in taking the calf; or do you think that the Frankfort citizens ought to eat the fat calves of my land, and I the lean?
Faustus was about to speak.
Bishop. Listen! eat, drink, and be silent. You are the first person that has ever spoken of peasants and such rabble at my table. Verily, if your dress did not declare you to be a gentleman, I should be inclined to think that you were sprung from beggars, since you speak so warmly in their favour. Learn that the peasant who does not pay his rent does just as well in cutting his throat, as certain people would do in holding their tongues instead of spoiling my appetite with useless speeches. Clerk-of-the-kitchen, that is a noble calf’s-head.
Clerk-of-the-kitchen. It is the head of Hans Ruprecht’s calf.
Bishop. So, so! Send it me here, and reach me the pepper. I will cut myself a slice. And you, Mr. What’s-your-name, may as well take a piece with me.
The clerk-of-the-kitchen placed the pepper-castor before the Bishop. Faustus whispered into the ear of the Devil; and at the moment the Bishop ran his knife into the calf’s-head, the Devil changed it to the head of Hans Ruprecht, which, wild, horrible, and bloody, now stared the Bishop in the face. His reverence let fall his knife, and sank back in a feinting fit; while the whole company sat in lifeless horror and stupefaction.
Faustus. My Lord Bishop, and ye most reverend gentlemen, learn from this to practise Christian charity as well as to preach it.
He hurried away with the Devil.
The sang-froid of the Bishop and his table-companions, and the brutal manner in which he spoke of the fate of the unfortunate suicide, sowed the first seeds of gloomy horror in the breast of Faustus. He revolved in his mind his former experience, as well as what he had seen since he had roamed about with the Devil, and perceived, whichever way he turned, nothing but hard-heartedness, deceit, tyranny, and a willingness to commit crime for the sake of gold, preferment, or luxury. He wished to seek for the cause of all this in man himself; but his own unquiet and doubtful spirit, and his imagination, which always avoided difficulties within its reach, began already in dark dissatisfaction to make the Creator of mankind, if not the author, yet, by his sufferance of all these horrors, at least the accomplice. These impious ideas only required the aid of a few more horrible scenes to derange his understanding entirely; and the Devil inwardly rejoiced in being able to afford a future opportunity for that purpose. Faustus hoped soon to cure himself of this sadness at the court of the renowned prince, and his companion willingly left him in this delusion. About evening they arrived at a city, at the entrance of which they perceived a crowd of people assembled round a tower, in which culprits condemned to death were accustomed to pass the last night of their lives. Faustus, observing that the people were looking up to the ironed windows with the deepest sorrow, asked the cause of this assemblage. Whereupon a hundred voices gave him an answer.
“Dr. Robertus, our father, the friend of freedom, the protector of the people, the avenger of the oppressed, sits imprisoned in yonder tower. The cruel tyrannical Minister, once his friend, has now condemned him to death; and to-morrow he is to be executed, because he dared to uphold our privileges.”
These words sunk deep into the soul of Faustus. He conceived a high opinion of a man who, at the risk of his own life, had dared to stand forward as the avenger of his fellow-creatures. As he himself had just been a witness of the consequences of oppression, he commanded the Devil to carry him to this doctor. The Devil took him aside, and then flew up with him into the tower, and entered the cell of the avenger of the people. Faustus saw before him a man whose daring and gloomy physiognomy was truly disgusting. But the romantic imagination of Faustus pictured, at first sight, the form of a great man, from what he had heard and from what he saw before him. The doctor did not seem much surprised at their sudden appearance. Faustus approached him, and said:
“Doctor Robertus, I come to hear your story from your own mouth; not that I have any doubt, for your appearance confirms all that has been told me of you; I am now convinced that you fall a sacrifice to that tyranny which oppresses the race of man, and which I abhor as much as you do. I come likewise to offer you my assistance, which, contrary to all appearances, can extricate you from this dreadful situation.”
The doctor looked coldly upon him, let his face sink into his hands, and replied:
“Yes, I fall a victim to power and tyranny; and, what is most grievous to me, through the means of a false friend, who sacrifices me more to his fear and envy than to his despotic principles. I know not who ye are, and whether ye can save me; but I wish that men of your appearance should know Dr. Robertus, who is to bleed to-morrow in the cause of freedom. From my earliest youth the noble spirit of independence, which man is bound to thank for every thing great that he is capable of, fired my breast; from my early youth the numerous examples of tyranny and oppression which I saw with my eyes, or read of in history, roused my soul and inflamed me to fury. Often did I shed tears because I felt myself unable to avenge the sufferings of mankind. To increase my misery, I read in the history of the Greeks and Romans what advancement man made in virtue when tyrants were put down, and he was left to follow the bent of his own nature. Think not that I am one of those fools whose idea of freedom is that every one should do as he pleases. Full well I know that the capacities of men are different, and that their situations in life must be different; but when I considered the laws which should secure to each individual his life and property, I found nothing but a wild chaos, which tyrannical power had artfully mixed up in order to make herself the sole and arbitrary mistress of the happiness and the existence of the subject. After this discovery, the whole human race appeared to me as a flock of sheep, which a band of robbers had conspired to plunder and devour by means of laws enacted by themselves, and to which they themselves are not amenable: for where is the law that fetters the rulers of the earth? Is it not madness that those very people who, by their situations, are most liable to the abuse of their passions, are subservient to no law, and acknowledge no tribunal which can call them to account? Misery is near, and promised vengeance is far off; and that chimes-in but poorly with the feelings and nature of man.” Faustus earnestly listened to all this, looked furious, and struck his forehead with his hand. The Devil was quite enraptured with the orator, who continued:
“The wild indignation which I expressed at every new act of oppression does honour to my heart, and therefore I care very little though my enemies can reproach me for want of prudence; for what is termed prudence by the world is nothing else than blind submission, servility, flattery, and being unscrupulous how or in what manner a place is obtained; but an independent being like myself seeks for happiness by purer means. I had the misfortune to be allied, by the bonds of friendship, to the present Minister from the time we were at school together. He sought advancement, and he has the spirit which insures it; for, from his very infancy, he has endeavoured to obtain power and riches by principles entirely opposite to mine; and in proportion as I have attacked tyrannical forms of government, he has defended them. We have disputed this delicate point privately and in public, and my honesty has always enabled me to defeat him; but as it was natural that I should have the oppressed part of mankind on my side, so was it yet more reasonable that he should succeed in winning over all those who derive advantage from enslaving their fellow-men. As these are the very people who can open the door of happiness and fortune to their confederates, so was he soon distinguished and raised, step by step, to the rank of prime-minister of the kingdom; whilst I, neglected, despised, and unknown, remained stationary. The proud despot exerted his utmost to bring me over to his party by bribery and promise of place; but I saw that he only wished to make me thereby more deeply feel his power, and that he felt nothing more was wanting to complete his triumph than to have a man of my principles acknowledge him as patron, and sanctify his arbitrary measures by coÖperating with him. True, therefore, to myself, I the more eagerly exposed and censured the crimes which he was daily committing. You must be aware that if he had been capable of feeling what was great, this hostility would have inspired him with admiration for a man who took him to task with so much danger to himself; but it operated in a different manner. The more I exposed him, the more his hatred against me increased; and when I, a month ago, published a paper in which I depicted him in his true colours, and the people thereupon assembled round his house, threatened his life, and shouted my name with enthusiasm, the wretch had the baseness to send the paper forthwith to the Prince, who had me tried and condemned to death. Thus the laws of tyrants condemn me, but the rights of man acquit me.—I have now told you my history, and you shall hear nothing more from me. I die without a murmur, and merely grieve that I cannot burst the chain which fetters my fellow-men. If you can assist me, good; but know that death from the hand of my foe is more welcome to me than mercy. Leave me now to myself; return to slavery, while I wing my course to everlasting freedom.”
Faustus was confounded at the magnanimity of the Doctor, and hurried away to reproach the minister with his injustice, and put him to shame. The Devil, who saw deeper into matters, perceived that the Doctor was animated with quite a different spirit than that of freedom. The minister gave them an immediate audience; when Faustus spoke to him with much warmth and boldness concerning the situation and opinions of the Doctor. He represented to him how injurious it would be to his reputation to sacrifice a man, whom he once called friend, at the shrine of despotism. He gave him to understand that every man would believe that revenge and fear had actuated him to get rid of so sharp-sighted an observer of his actions. “If your proceedings be just,” he continued, “you have, then, nothing to fear from him; if, on the contrary, you are such a man as he declares you to be, his execution will only strengthen his assertion, and every honest man will call you a false friend and an oppressor of your fellow-citizens.”
Minister. I do not know you, nor do I ask who you are. The manner in which I bear your reproaches and your epithets will best prove my opinion of you. Consider, now, whether you have a right to bestow them from mere hearsay, being yourself unacquainted with the affairs of this country. I will conclude, however, that you speak from compassion, and therefore will give you an answer. I was, and am still, the friend of Dr. Robertus; and I deplore the necessity which forces me to deliver up to justice a man whose talents might have made him useful to his country, had he not perverted them to her destruction. I will not search for the cause of this in his breast, but will leave it to his own conscience. For a long time I have tolerated his dangerous infatuation; but since he has inflamed the minds of the people for whose welfare I am answerable, and has placed himself at the head of a rebellion, he must die, as my own son must, were he guilty of the like offence. The law has judged him, and not I; he knew this law, and knew what penalties rebellion draws down upon its sons. I have nothing to say against the opinion of the people: when they are no longer misled, I believe they will consider me as their father. If you please, you may stay among us; and whenever you can see any thing really calculated for the people’s good, be assured that I shall always pay attention to it.
After these words, which he spoke in a firm and unaltered tone, he retired, and left Faustus, who was unable at the moment to make any reply. Upon going away, the latter said to the Devil, “Which of these two, now, shall I believe?” The Devil shrugged his shoulders; for he generally appeared to be ignorant when concealing the truth would be profitable to himself and injurious to mankind.
Faustus. But why should I ask thee? I will obey the call of my own heart. A man who is so nearly allied to me by his way of thinking shall not die.
If Faustus had been acquainted with some of our modern bawlers for freedom, he would not have been so mistaken in the Doctor; but such a being was a novelty at that period.
The next morning, when the execution was to take place, Faustus went into the grand square, attended by the Devil, and told him in going along what he was to do. At the very moment the executioner was about to decapitate the Doctor, who had kneeled down, looking very ghastly, the latter disappeared. The Devil carried him through the air beyond the frontiers; and there, delivering him a large sum of money, he abandoned him joyfully to his fate, for he saw pretty clearly how he would employ his gold and liberty. The people raised a wild shout of joy at the disappearance of the Doctor, and believed that Providence had rescued their favourite. Faustus also shouted, and rejoiced at the glorious action.
Faustus and the Devil now rode to the court of the Prince of ---. [134] They soon reached the court of this prince, who was cried up through all Germany as a wise and virtuous ruler, whose only happiness consisted in the welfare of his subjects. It is true that the subjects themselves did not always join in this cry; but the prince is not yet born who can give satisfaction to all men.
Faustus and the Devil, by means of their dress and equipage, soon found admittance at court. Faustus regarded the Prince with the eyes of a man whose heart was already prepossessed in his favour; and to carry this prepossession even to conviction, nothing more was necessary than the noble exterior of the Prince himself. He was, or appeared to be, frank and open; endeavoured to please and to win all hearts without appearing to do so; was familiar without laying aside his dignity, and possessed that prudent coldness which inspires respect, though we scarcely know why. All this was blended with so much elegance, urbanity, and decorum, that it would have been difficult for the most acute eye to have distinguished the acquired, the artificial, and the assumed, from the plain and natural. Faustus, who had as yet seen few of those men of the world whose natural characters are swallowed up by political prudence, formed an ideal one out of the above-mentioned materials; and after he had for some time visited the court, and believed that he had obtained a thorough knowledge of the head personage, the following conversation took place one evening between him and the Devil:
Faustus. I have hitherto purposely said nothing to you of this Prince; but now, having, as I flatter myself, caught his character, I venture to affirm that report is no liar, and I hope to wring from thee an avowal that he is the man we have been seeking.
Devil. I guessed, from your beginning, how you would end. I suppose you verily believe that you have brought the Devil into a quandary; but of this anon. Your prince shall be for the present a thoroughly honest fellow. I will tell you nothing of the result of the observations I have made upon him; for, from what I have learnt at the minister’s, there is something going forward which will soon give you ocular demonstration of his worth; till then keep the idea you have formed of him in your bosom, and tell me what is your opinion of Count C., his favourite.
Faustus. Curse it: he is the only person here whom I cannot comprehend. He is the bosom friend of the Prince, and yet is as slippery as an eel, which always escapes through your fingers; and as smooth as a woman is towards her husband when she has resolved to deceive him. But perhaps he is obliged to conceal the emotions of his soul, lest some of those spies who are always hanging round the favourites of princes should take advantage of him.
Devil. His soul! Dost think then, Faustus, that a man who so studiously endeavours to disguise himself has a breast that would bear the light? Never trust him in whom art and subtlety have so far overcome animal nature, that even the signs of his instinct and his sensations are extinguished. When that which works and ferments within you shows itself no more in your face, in your eyes, and in your actions, you are no longer what nature formed you; but are become the most dangerous brutes on the earth.
Faustus. And is the Count such a being as you have described?
Devil. The Count is a man who has travelled much and has made the tour of the courts of Europe, has smoothed down the rugged man, and has sacrificed the noble feelings of his heart at the cold shrine of reason; in short, one of those calculating heads who laugh at your ideal virtue, and act with men like the potters, who dash the work of their hands to pieces if it does not please their fancy. He is one of those who think themselves justified, by their experience, to consider the entire race of men as a pack of wolves who will devour all who put confidence in them. Nothing delights him more than to carry on an intricate state-plot; and he treats a maiden as he does a rose which he plucks from the stalk,—inhales the sweetness, and then very coolly treads it under foot.
Faustus. Malicious devil! and can the man thou hast depicted to me be the bosom friend of the Prince of ---?
Devil. Time will show what he is to him. I tell thee there is something going forward. Didst thou, by the by, observe the minister this evening?
Faustus. He appeared sad and melancholy.
Devil. He, now, is one of those whom you call honest men. He is just, noble-minded, and attentive to the duties of his situation; but, like all of you, he has a foible to counterbalance his virtues; this is an unbounded tenderness for the other sex: and as he, out of principle, required the blessing of the priest to his pleasures, so did he, after the death of his first wife, make a fool of himself by marrying the woman whom you have seen. Through a few hours’ enjoyment he destroyed the fabric of his fortune. She took advantage of his doting fondness, and wasted in luxury, dress, and play, her, his, and his children’s property, and involved him in debts to an immense amount. It is true she found in Baron H., whom you know, and who is sole master in the house, a powerful coadjutor. When they were completely aground, and their desires had become more craving in proportion as the difficulty of gratifying them increased, the lady readily agreed to a plan which her minion proposed to her in private, and which was nothing else “than to sell the honour of her stepdaughter, under an equivocal promise of marriage, at as high a price as the favourite would buy it.” The minister had not the slightest suspicion of all this; he only felt his lack of money, the weight of his debts, the full mass of his folly, and trembled in momentary expectation of the arrival of his son, whom the wife had driven from home in order that she might dissipate his property. The poor youth had in the interval departed for the Turkish wars, and had been rewarded for his interference with a wooden arm. I do not say that the favourite might not have had, at the commencement of this affair, serious views of marrying the daughter, for he was well aware of the father’s interest with the Prince; but during these last few days the scene has quite changed. The Prince has proposed to him an alliance with one of the richest heiresses in the land; and he has determined, by one secret stroke, so entirely to overwhelm the minister and his whole house, that no one shall dare to cry for revenge or to complain of him. They will all be silent, and the minister will be crushed beneath his foot, like the worm, whose sufferings are unheard.
Faustus. But will not the Prince hear of this deed, and punish it?
Devil. Thine own eyes shall be witnesses of the issue of the affair.
Faustus. I command thee, under pain of my displeasure, to play none of thy tricks here.
Devil. Those who by their crimes put the Devil himself to blush, have very little need of his assistance. We begin now, O Faustus, to remove the covering from the hearts of men; and I own that I feel sincere joy in finding that the Germans are capable of something grand. You, indeed, are merely the imitators of other nations, and lose thereby the glory of originality; but in hell that is not esteemed essential, and good-will in the cause of wickedness is all that is required.
Faustus passed his time gaily among the women of the court, corrupting all those who were to be obtained by money or a fine face; whilst the drama of the favourite was rapidly hastening to a conclusion. He now revealed his finely-spun design to Baron H. The latter was to be the instrument of it; and as the glitter of gold was no longer at hand to sharpen his palled passion for the minister’s wife, and as the tears of the unfortunate daughter, the misery of the father, and the expected arrival of the crippled son, began to bear heavily upon his tender conscience, he determined at once to free himself of all these burdens. His reward consisted in the Count’s undertaking to persuade the Prince to send the Baron on an important mission to the imperial court. In consideration of this, the Baron was to procure the wife of the minister to purloin secretly, from the cabinet of her husband, a certain parchment, considered to be one of the most important title-deeds of the princely house; and which the favourite was well aware would shortly be called for, on account of a certain law-suit with another illustrious family. The Count then hoped to make it appear that the minister, for a sum of money, would have delivered it into the hands of the adversaries, if the favourite’s watchfulness had not detected his treachery. The spouse of the minister, who thought that an old man who could no longer supply her with gold for her follies deserved no mercy, readily delivered the paper into the hands of the Baron, for whom she had the most doting fondness.
The minister was walking, in a melancholy manner, up and down his apartment. The sense of approaching shame, and the certainty of deceived love, had removed from him even his daughter, who latterly had been his only consolation. She was weeping in her chamber, and breaking a heart worthy of a better destiny. The minister’s meditations were interrupted by his wife, who now came to reproach him, and thereby add to his misery. Baron H. presently entered, and coolly demanded the commission, by virtue of which he was to act at the imperial court. As he brought with him the Prince’s order for the same, the minister instantly went into his cabinet to fetch it. In the mean time the lady, who now first heard of the Baron’s intended departure, began to rave at him in the agony of despair. No sooner did the minister return with the Baron’s commission than a messenger brought him a note from the Prince, in which he was commanded instantly to bring the title-deed into court in order that it might be laid before the envoy of the adverse party. The minister searched the cabinet, emptied all his drawers of their contents, and the cold sweat of death began to trickle down his face. He questioned his secretaries and clerks, his wife also, and his daughter; but to no purpose. At length he was obliged to resolve, fortified as he was by his innocence, to expose himself to the dreadful storm. He hastened to the Prince, who was sitting alone with the Count, informed him of his misfortune, assured him of his innocence, and submitted to his destiny. The Count allowed the Prince to give way to his first indignation at this unwelcome intelligence, when, advancing very coolly, he took the title-deed out of his own pocket, and delivered it to the Prince with a low bow. He then suffered himself to be closely questioned as to the means by which the deed came into his possession; but not until the Prince had threatened him with his displeasure did he confess, with the greatest apparent reluctance, the process of the affair according to his concerted plan. The minister was dumb; this evidence of his guilt so confused him, that not even the consciousness of his innocence could dispel the darkness which had come over him. The Prince looked furiously upon him, and said: “I ought long since to have expected that you would endeavour to pay the debts of your waste and extravagance by betraying me.” This last reproach in some degree restored the wretched man to his senses; he was about to speak, but the Prince commanded him to be silent, to resign his situation immediately, go home, and not leave his house till sentence should have been pronounced upon him.
The minister accordingly went home, while big tears rolled down his cheeks. Despair forced from the daughter the secret of her shame, and from the wife the avowal of her crime. The strength of his spirit gave way, his senses became confused, and that most frightful of all visitations, insanity, drew a gloomy veil over the remembrance of the past, and, by the ruin of his mind, healed his heart of the wounds which his nearest and dearest had inflicted upon it.
It was at this moment that the Devil led Faustus into the chamber of the minister, having previously informed him of every particular of the affair. All the fibres of feeling were not yet entirely destroyed, and some few drops of paternal sensibility were yet falling from the eyes of the good old man upon the miserable daughter who was clasping his knees. He smiled once more, played with her dishevelled locks, and smiled yet again. Suddenly his son rushed in, and was about to precipitate himself into his embrace. The father gave him a ghastly look; a wild shriek of madness, which thrilled through the nerves of every one present, burst from his heaving breast; and the poor sufferer became for ever an object of horror and painful compassion.
Faustus raged, and uttered the most frightful curses. He instantly determined to inform the Prince of the whole proceeding, and to unmask the traitors. The Devil smiled, and advised him to go softly to work if he wished thoroughly to know this Prince whom he boasted of as an impersonation of all human virtues. Faustus hastened to court; and certain, as he imagined, of being able to cause the ruin of the favourite by this discovery, he coolly communicated every thing to the Prince. When he came to the motive which urged the Count to this horrible action, namely, his wish to free himself from his engagements with the daughter of the minister, the countenance of the Prince brightened; he sent for the Count, and embracing him on his entrance, said:
“Happy is the Prince who finds a friend who, out of obedience and the fear of displeasing him, dares commit an action which the common rules of morality condemn. The minister has always acted like a fool. I am glad that we have thus got rid of him. Thou wilt fill his situation much better.”
Faustus stood for a moment petrified with horror. Noble warmth soon, however, began to fire his breast. He depicted in frightful colours the present situation of the minister. He then burst into fury and reproaches, and, without the least reserve or fear, spoke like an avenger of humanity when unmasking a cold-blooded, hypocritical tyrant. He was turned out of the palace as a madman. He returned home, and the Devil received him with a triumphant air. Faustus said nothing, but gnashed his teeth, and, in his venomous wrath, rejoiced that he was entirely separated from the race of man.
About midnight the Count caused the Devil and Faustus to be arrested, and cast into a frightful dungeon. Faustus commanded the fiend to submit quietly, because he wished to see how far these hypocrites would carry their wickedness. When in prison, the dreadful scene of the day flitted before his mind’s eye in colours of tenfold horror; and wild thoughts against Him who rules the destiny of man arose from the contemplation of it. His soul became inflamed; and at length he exclaimed, with scornful laughter:
“Where is here the finger of the Godhead, and where is that Providence which presides over the path of the righteous? I see the just man insane, and the wretch who drove him to madness rewarded; I disclosed to the tyrant, who affects virtue, the wickedness of his favourite, and he found him only so much the more worthy of his friendship and favour. If this be the order and harmony of the moral world, then there is harmony and order in the brain of the poor lunatic, who is suffered to fall unprotected and unrevenged.”
He continued, while the Devil listened and laughed: “But allowing that man is obliged, by necessity, to do every thing he does, then must his deeds and his actions be ascribed to the Supreme Being, and they thereby cease to be punishable. If nothing but what is good and perfect can flow from a Perfect Being, then are our deeds, horrible as they seem to us, good and perfect. If they are wicked, and in reality what they seem to us, then ought that Being to be looked up to with horror and aversion. Come, fiend, resolve my doubts, and tell me what causes the moral misery of man.”
Devil. A truce to your doubts! no one clothed in flesh is permitted to untie that knot, and therefore a thousand fools will hang, drown, and destroy themselves. Do not, O Faustus, forget the end which we proposed to ourselves at our first interview. I promised to show thee men in their nakedness, in order to cure thee of the prejudices thou hadst imbibed from thy books, so that they might not disturb thee in the enjoyment of life. But when thou hast rid thyself of all these human frailties, and hast discovered that the pretended guidance of the Eternal One whom thou hast renounced on my account, and before whose sight thou mayst commit, undeterred, the most horrible atrocities, is only a delusion, perhaps thy soul will then have sufficient strength to understand these horrible mysteries; and, if so, I will reveal them to thee.
Faustus. Then, by the mysteries of evil which surround men from their birth to their grave, I shall yet be the greatest of my race; for, in summoning thee, I shall have threaded the labyrinth in which the rest must grope about to all eternity.
Devil. It is well that the rest of men do not possess the magic art which has enabled thee to render me thy subject, else would hell soon be emptied; and thou wouldst see more devils walking upon the earth than there are saints in the Calendar. Heigh ho! I know what a troublesome life a devil has who is forced to put in execution all the designs of an honest heart and a sound head: what, then, would become of us, if every rascal and fool could call us out of hell!
This observation of the Devil’s was on the point of putting Faustus into a better humour; but his attention was almost immediately directed to another subject. Six armed men, with dark lanterns, followed by two executioners with empty sacks, now entered the dungeon. Faustus asked them what they wanted; and the leader answered, with great politeness: “We are merely come, sir, to request you and your honourable companion to creep into these sacks; for we are ordered to tie you up in them, and then fling you into the neighbouring stream.” The Devil laughed aloud, and exclaimed: “See, Faustus, the Prince of --- wishes to cool in you that enthusiasm for virtue which you displayed so warmly before him to-day.” Faustus looked furiously, and gave a sign: a fiendish roar instantly filled the arched vaults; the soldiers and executioners sunk trembling to the ground, and out flew the prisoners on the wings of the mighty wind.
Revenge now inflamed the breast of Faustus, and arrayed itself in the brilliant hues of a great and noble call. The idea of avenging mankind on its oppressors rushed through his brain, and he determined to employ the power of the Devil in clearing the earth of hypocrites and villains. He therefore exclaimed:
“Fly this moment to the palace, and strangle the wretch who makes a game of virtue. Annihilate him who rewards the traitor, and knowingly treads upon the righteous man. Avenge mankind on him, in my name.”
Devil. Faustus, thou art forestalling the vengeance of the Avenger.
Faustus. His vengeance sleeps, and the righteous man suffers; I will have him destroyed who wears only the mask of virtue.
Devil. Bid me, then, breathe pestilence and death over the whole earth, so that the whole race of man may perish. I tell thee, Faustus, thou art giving thyself useless trouble, and sending wretches down to hell in vain; for things will still go on as they did, or perhaps worse.
Faustus. Crafty fiend, thou wouldst willingly save him in order that he might commit more crimes. Princes like him do indeed deserve thy protection, for they render virtue contemptible by rewarding villany. Die he shall, and, loaded with his last deed, sink trembling into damnation.
Devil. Know, thou fool, that the Devil rejoices over the death of a sinner; and what I said was merely to secure myself from thy future reproaches, and that thou mightest have no excuse remaining. The consequences of this deed be thine.
Faustus. Yes, be they mine. I will lay them in the scale against my sins. Hasten, and be firm. Be thou the arrow of my vengeance. Seize the favourite and hurl him among the sands of burning Libya, so that he may perish by inches.
Devil. Only private revenge, and spite in finding thyself deceived, drive thee to this.
Faustus. Babbling fiend! It is a solitary remnant of what you call my youthful prejudices which inspires me with angry thoughts at the sight of any atrocious act. If I could have seen and tolerated the wickedness of men, should I have wanted thee? Hasten and obey.
The Devil suffocated the Prince on his magnificent couch, then seized the trembling favourite and hurled him among the burning sands of Libya. He then returned to Faustus, and cried, “The deed is done!” They once more mounted the rapid winds, and sailed out of the country.
Faustus sat, melancholy, upon his horse; for, after they had passed the frontiers, the Devil had changed their method of travelling. The history of the minister still gnawed his heart, and he was stung to the quick at being obliged to acknowledge that the Devil had as yet been right in respect to men; and the bitterness of his spirit increased in proportion as they displayed themselves to him in their true colours. Yet the idea of having avenged the unfortunate minister upon the hypocrites cheered him in the midst of his gloomy sorrows. Pride by degrees so inflated his heart, that he almost began to consider his alliance with the Devil as the act of a man who yields up his soul for the good of his race, and thereby surpasses all the heroes of antiquity, who merely sacrificed their temporal existence; nay more, for as they sacrificed themselves for the sake of glory, or for a recompense,—which he, on account of his engagement, could entertain no hopes of,—so at last he imagined that they were not worthy to stand for a moment in comparison with him. Thus, place men in whatever situation you will, they soon begin to feel happy, provided their self-love has an opportunity of working; for self-love can even gild the yawning gulf of hell, as in the case of Faustus. He forgot, in his pride, the motives of his alliance with the Devil, and his thirst for pleasure and enjoyment; and while he sat upon his horse, his imagination dubbed him the knight-errant of virtue and the champion of innocence. The Devil rode by his side without once disturbing his meditations; for he only saw in each of these would-be noble feelings the sources of future torment and despair. His hatred of Faustus, however, increased in proportion as the ideal prospects of the latter brightened and expanded; he enjoyed, in anticipation, the hour when all these airy visions would melt and disappear, and all these painted images of fancy would deck themselves in the livery of hell, and tear the rash one’s heart as the heart of mortal had never yet been torn. After a long silence, Faustus suddenly exclaimed: “Tell me how it fares with the false favourite.”
Devil. He pants upon the scorched sands, and stretches his parched tongue from out his burning jaws, that the air and dew may refresh and moisten it; but no cooling wind blows there, and for a millennium there will fall no refreshing drop from heaven. His blood boils like molten metal in his veins, and the rays of the sun fall perpendicularly upon his bare head. Already is a curse against the Almighty conceived in his inflamed brain, but his tongue is unable to stammer it forth. He turns up the hot sand like a mole, in order that he may suck the damp earth; but thus he only digs his own grave. Is thy revenge satisfied?
Faustus. Revenge! Why dost thou call the exercise of justice revenge? Here am I shedding cold drops of sweat through my skin at what thou hast been telling me; but I saw him laugh when I described to him and his patron the sufferings of the noble father and the ruined daughter.
Devil. Time, which slowly draws up the curtain, will at length disclose every thing. If the villanies of a petty despot and his catamite horrify thee, what wilt thou think when thou seest men who have a thousand times more power, and consequently will, to commit evil? We have, as yet, only removed the first skin of the monster: what will become of thee when we tear open his breast? Soon would He, to whom vengeance properly belongs, empty the magazine of his thunder, were he to destroy all those who, according to thy opinion, do not deserve to live.
Faustus was about to reply, when he saw afar off a village in a blaze. As every thing uncommon excited his curiosity, he spurred forward his horse, and the Devil followed at his heels. He was soon met by a confused rout of knights and attendants, who had been vanquished by another party, which, however, did not pursue them. When they came nearer to the village, they found the plain strewed with the bodies of men and horses. They saw among the dead a miserable wretch, who, with both his hands, was endeavouring to force back his entrails, which were hanging out of his mangled belly. He howled and cursed frightfully during this horrid operation. Faustus asked him the cause of all this bloodshed. The fellow screamed, “Get to the Devil, Mr. Curiosity; if you saw your inside outmost, as I see mine, you would have no wish to answer questions. If you want to know why they have served me thus, inquire of that noble gentleman, my master, who lies there dead, and whom I have to thank for this treatment.”
They left him, and approached a knight who was wounded in the shoulder, and Faustus put the same question to him. The knight answered: “A boor belonging to yon burning village killed, some time ago, a stag, the property of the mighty Wildgrave. Thereupon the Wildgrave demanded the culprit of my master, in order that he might be tied upon the back of a stag and run to death, according to the German custom. My master refused to give up the boor; but in order to punish him, seized every thing he possessed, and confiscated it to his own use. The Wildgrave then sent a letter of defiance to my lord, in the name of Heaven, and with the permission of the emperor. We were worsted in the battle, and the Wildgrave has set fire to the village, which he has surrounded with his horsemen, so that the inhabitants cannot escape; for he intends to fulfil the oath which he swore, viz. to roast all the peasants, like Michaelmas geese, for his hounds and wild-boars.”
Faustus (furiously). Where is his castle?
Knight. On yonder eminence; it is the strongest and most magnificent castle in the whole country.
Faustus rode to the top of a hill, and looked down upon the burning village, which lay beneath him in the valley. Mothers with children in their arms, old men, youths, and maidens rushed out, cast themselves at the feet of the horsemen, and begged for mercy. The Wildgrave shouted till the valley reËchoed, “Drive the rabble back; they shall perish in the flames!” The peasants screamed out, again and again: “We are innocent! we are innocent! He who offended you has escaped. What have we and our children done? Ah, spare but them!” The horsemen whipped them up from the ground, and drove them into the fire. The poor mothers flung down their babes, in the hope that they would pity them; but the hoofs of the horses trampled them to death.
Faustus cried deliriously: “Fly, Devil, and return not till thou hast consumed the tyrant’s castle, and all that is therein. When he returns home, let him find retribution.”
The Devil laughed, shook his head, and flew away; whilst Faustus flung himself down beneath a tree, and gazed impatiently upon the castle. When he beheld it in flames, the madman imagined that he had restored all things to their right order, and received the Devil on his return with the utmost joy. The latter came back in triumph, and boasted of the ruin he had caused; and, pointing to the Wildgrave and his myrmidon, who were scampering towards the castle, he exclaimed: “The vapours of the hellish pool will not, one day, strike him with such horror, O Faustus, as this thy deed: his young and beloved wife was a few days ago delivered of her firstborn.”
Faustus. Oh, save her and the new-born babe!
Devil. It is too late. The mother pressed the boy in her arms, and he was burnt to ashes upon her bosom.
This episode made Faustus shudder, and he exclaimed, “How ready is the Devil to destroy!”
Devil. Not so ready as daring men are to decide and punish. Had ye but our might, ye would long ago have shattered the vast globe, and reduced it to a chaos. Are you not a proof of this yourself, since you so madly abuse the power which you have over me? Go to; go to. The man who does not bridle himself resembles the wheel which rolls down the steep: who can stop its course? It springs from rock to rock till it is shivered. Faustus, I would willingly have permitted the babe to grow up and commit sin; for I am now deprived both of him and his mother. Yes, Faustus; she endeavoured to preserve him from the scorching flames with her arms, the flesh of which was already frightfully burnt.
Faustus. Thou drivest it home to my very heart. (Hiding his face in his mantle, already wet with his tears.)
The desire of avenging the virtuous and the innocent upon the wicked now began to cool in the heart of Faustus. He however comforted his spirit, tormented by the last spectacle, with the thought of the mother and the suckling being preserved from hell. Besides this, his hot blood, his eagerness for pleasure, his desire for change, and finally his doubts, did not permit any sensation to make a lasting impression upon his heart. As he was attracted by every new object, his feelings, therefore, burnt like sky-rockets, which for a moment illumine the darkness of the night, and then suddenly disappear. The rich meal and the delicious wines which he enjoyed in the next city where they arrived soon chased away his melancholy fancies; and as the grand fair was being held there at that time, Faustus and the Devil, after they had dined, went into the market-place to see the crowd.
They now found themselves in a strange city. There lived in one of the convents a young monk, who had, by means of a heated imagination, succeeded in so powerfully convincing himself of the force of religious faith, that he believed he should be able to remove mountains, and to prove himself a new apostle in deeds and miracles, if once his soul received the true inspiration, and the Holy Spirit worked its way through him. Besides this, he imbibed all the follies and quackeries which others had rejected,—a circumstance in which visionaries entirely differ from philosophers. The young monk, like every theorist who is inspired with the importance of his subject, was a fiery orator; he thereby soon won over the minds of the simple, especially of the women, who were easily caught by any warm and impassioned appeal. His imagination, however, quickly formed for him another magic wand; for as he, on account of his alliance with the highest of all beings, had a lofty opinion of man, he formed the design of physiognomically dissecting the masterpiece of creation, this favourite of heaven, and of allotting to him his interior qualities by means of his exterior appearance. Men of his character so frequently deceive themselves, that it is impossible to say whether some remaining spark of understanding had whispered to him that this new delusion would give a fresh polish to the old one; and that more pious souls would come to him than ever, in order to be told so many wondrous things about their faces. As he had only seen the four walls of his cell, his penitents, and people of his own cast, and as he was as ignorant in regard to mankind, the world, and true science, as men of sanguine imaginations usually are,—it may be concluded that fancy alone excited him to this scheme. His words and his writings operated prodigiously upon the minds of all those who would much rather be confused than think clearly. This is the case with the greater part of mankind; and, as the hours of life glide away very pleasantly when self-love is tickled, it was impossible that he should be without disciples, for he flattered every body. Our monk did not confine his researches to man alone; for he descended to the more ignoble beasts of the earth, allotted to them their qualities by examining their faces and the structure of their bodies, and imagined that he had made a wonderful discovery when he proved—from the mighty claws, the teeth, and the aspect of the lion, and from the tender, light fabric of the hare—why the lion was not a hare, and the hare a lion. He was strangely surprised that he had succeeded in pointing out so clearly the appropriate and unalterable signs of brute nature, and to be able to apply them to man,—although society has so much accustomed the latter to mask his features, that they are rarely to be seen in their primitive state. Not satisfied with these triumphs, our monk descended even into the kingdoms of the dead—tore skulls from the graves, and the bones of animals from the muck-heaps; and showed his visitors why the dead were dead, and, from their bones, how it was impossible that they should be otherwise than dead. In a word, he proved, clearly and unanswerably, that death never yet came without a cause.
The Devil was well aware of the general infatuation, and perceived that, while he and Faustus sat at dinner in the public room, some of the company, and even the innkeeper himself, were surveying them with the utmost attention; and were communicating to each other, in whispers, the result of their observations, and showing the profiles which they had secretly taken. The fame of the wonderful monk had long since reached the ears of Faustus; but he had hitherto paid so little attention to it, that he now hardly knew what to make of these signs and whisperings. When they arrived in the market-place, they were surprised by a new and extraordinary spectacle. This resort was the true school for physiognomists. Every one there could single out his man, lay his visage upon the balance, and weigh out the powers of his mind. Some stood gazing at horses, asses, goats, swine, dogs, and sheep. Others held between their fingers spiders, butterflies, grasshoppers, and other insects, and endeavoured to ascertain what their instinct might be from an attentive survey of their exterior. Some were employed in judging, from the weight of jaw-bones or the sharpness of teeth, to what animals they belonged. But when Faustus and the Devil advanced among them, each man desisted from his occupation, and began to cry out, “What a nose! what eyes! what a searching glance! what a soft and beautiful curve of the chin! what strength! what intuition! what penetration! what a cleanly-made figure! what a vigorous and majestic gait! what strength of limb! how uniform and harmonious is his whole frame!” “I would give I know not what for the autographs of the gentlemen,” said a weaver, “in order that I might judge, by their handwriting, of the quickness of their thoughts.” The Devil happening to knit his brows from impatience of this folly, one of the physiognomists instantly said, “The internal force of the lion, which the gentleman possesses, has been aroused by some external provocation, or some trifling thought.”
Faustus was laughing at all this, when suddenly a beautiful female looked down upon him from a window, and cried, in sweet amazement: “Holy Catherine! what a noble head! what soft and angelic pensiveness in the eyes! what a sweet and lovely physiognomy!” These melodious words sunk into the heart of Faustus. He looked up to the window: her eyes met his for a moment ere she drew herself back. Faustus whispered to the Devil: “I will not quit this town till I have possessed that maiden: what voluptuousness beams in her eyes!” They had scarcely entered a side street, when one of the physiognomists came up and asked them very civilly for “the physiognomy of their writing,” assuring them that no stranger had hitherto refused him this favour, and he hoped and trusted that they would not. He thereupon pulled out his album, and offered it to Faustus, at the same time producing pen and ink.
Faustus. Not so fast, my friend; one good turn deserves another. Tell me, first, who the maiden is that I this moment saw at the window of yonder house, and whose countenance is so celestial.
Physiognomist. Ah! she is an angel in every sense of the word. Our illustrious master has often assured us, that her eyes are the very mirrors of chastity, her lovely mouth only formed to express the inspiration of a heart filled with heavenly ideas; that her brow is the polished shield of virtue, against which all temptations, all earthly sin, will be shivered; that her nose snuffs the odours of the fields of bliss; and that she is the most perfect cast of ideal beauty ever yet permitted to appear in the world.
Faustus. Truly, you have depicted her to me with more than earthly colours; and now tell me her situation in life, and her name.
Physiognomist. She is the daughter of a physician; but her father and mother being lately dead, she lives by herself on her own property. Her name is Angelica.
They then wrote some nonsensical lines in his album, and the physiognomist departed, delighted with his treasure.
Faustus. Now tell me, Devil, how this child of grace is to be come at. I am just inclined to see this monk’s ideal beauty.
Devil. By the high road to the human heart you will certainly meet her; for sooner or later all must fall in with it, however far their fancies may have caused them to stray from it.
Faustus. What a delightful enjoyment it would be to fill so exalted an imagination as hers with images of pleasure!
Devil. The monk has already had the start of you, and has so sharpened her feelings, and filled her little soul with so much vanity and self-conceit, and made her piety so carnal, that you have nothing else to do than give one audible tap at the gate of her heart, in order to be admitted. Let us now see to what lengths such delusions will lead a young woman.
Faustus. And let it be done quickly.
The Devil was perfectly willing to steal so pure a soul from heaven, and thereby to consummate more speedily the measure of Faustus’s sins. He suddenly stood in the shape of an old man with a peep-show, and, giving Faustus the wink, he hurried away into the market-place. He raised his voice, and invited the people to come and see his peep-show. The populace flocked around him,—footmen and chambermaids, wives and widows, boys and graybeards. The Devil showed them all kinds of scenes, which he accompanied with pious explanations and moral sayings. Each person stepped back delighted from the peep-show, and charmed the bystanders with the recital of the wonders he had witnessed. The beautiful Angelica now looked out of her window; and, hearing the Devil descant in so pious a tone, she felt an irresistible desire to see the wonders of his box, and to bestow alms upon the devout old showman. The Devil was sent for. Even he was struck by her wondrous beauty, her gentle manners, and her ingenuousness; but he became only so much the more desirous to confuse her senses and entrap her. She placed her enthusiastic eye to the window of the box. The Devil preluded with a few proverbs and wise saws, and unfolded to her view scenes of love, in which he led her fancy so adroitly from the spiritual to the carnal, that she was scarcely aware of the gradation. If she were about to turn away her eyes with shame, the offensive object changed itself at once into a sublime image, which again attracted her attention. Her cheeks glowed, and she believed herself gazing upon an unknown and enchanted world. The artful Devil caused the figure of Faustus to appear in all these scenes. She saw him pursuing a shadow which resembled her own, and undertaking for its sake the greatest actions, and exposing himself to dangers of every description. When the Devil had completely chained her attention, and perceived that she was highly curious to know wherefore the figure of Faustus was thus associated with her own, he changed the scene, and represented the parties in situations not to be misconstrued. Lightning does not so quickly glance through the darkness as did these scenes flit before the eyes of the innocent maiden; a moment is an age in comparison, and the poison was glowing in her breast before she was able to retreat. She started back, and, with her hands before her eyes, rushed into her chamber, and sunk senseless into the arms of Faustus. When she became aware of her fall, she hid her face and repulsed the miscreant. He laid costly jewels at her feet; but she spurned them, and cried, “Tremble, thou wretch! the hand of the Avenger will one day fall heavily upon thee for this crime.”
The insensate Faustus rejoiced at his victory; and went, without the least feeling of repentance, to the Devil, who laughed at the affair, and yet more fiendishly when he thought of its terrific consequences.
Faustus found himself here in his element. He flew from conquest to conquest, and made very little use of the power of the Devil, but a great deal of his gold, which has some influence even over devout minds. Angelica became invisible, and all the endeavours of Faustus to see her once more were of no avail; but he soon forgot her in the tumult of his pleasures. Reading by chance some of the manuscript publications of the monk, he was irritated by the self-conceit and ignorance of the author. He proposed to the Devil to play him a trick, and with that intention they both went to the convent. As they were exceedingly well dressed, and appeared to be persons of distinction, they were received by the young monk in the most cordial and friendly manner. His eyes had scarcely met those of the Devil when he became so agitated by his physiognomy, that, forgetting all the forms of politeness, he shook him violently by the hand; and going to some distance, he looked at him first full in the face, and then in the profile. He then cried out:
“Ha! who art thou, most mighty one? Yes; you can do what you like; and what you wish you can also do: your physiognomy tells me this; therefore it is not necessary for me to know you. Never have I been more perfectly convinced of the truth of my science than at this moment. Who can behold such a human visage without interest, without admiration? Who cannot perceive in that nose, original greatness; in that eye, penetration, strength, and expression?”
He felt his forehead, and then continued:
“Permit me, with my measure, to ascertain the height of your brow? Yes; I see unshaken courage in that forehead, as clearly as I do steadfast friendship, fidelity, love of God and man, in those lips. What a nobleness in the whole! Thy face is the physiognomy of an extraordinary man, who thinks deeply, who holds fast to whatever he undertakes, works, flies, triumphs, finds few men in whom he will confide, but many who will rely on him.
“Ah! if a common mortal had such a brow, such a mouth, such a nose, or even such hair, what would become of physiognomy?
“Perhaps there is not a man existing whom thy countenance would not by turns attract and repel. What infantine simplicity! What heroic grandeur! Few mortals can be so well known and so little known as yourself.
“Eagle, lion, destroyer, reformer of mankind, move on, move on, and reclaim men from their blindness; share with them the intellectual strength which nature has given thee; and announce thyself to all as I have just announced thee to thyself.”
Faustus craunched his teeth while the monk was saying all these noble things about the countenance of the Devil, who turning coolly to the physiognomist, said,
“And what is thy opinion of that gentleman? Tell me what he is.”
Monk. Great, bold, mighty, powerful, soft, and mild; but thou, his companion, art greater, bolder, mightier, more powerful, more soft, more mild.
Then looking at Faustus, he exclaimed:
“Mighty pupil of a mightier man, if thy spirit and thy heart could entirely catch his greatness, thou wouldst still be merely reflecting the rays of his glory. But seat thyself, and let me take thy shadow.”
Faustus, more and more enraged to see how infinitely the monk rated him below the Devil, now burst forth:
“Shadows! yes, indeed, shadows only hast thou seen. How darest thou thus judge and measure the human race? Hast thou seen men? Where, and how? Thou hast merely seen their shadows, which thou adornest with the tinsel of thy crazed imagination, and givest them out as the true forms. Tell me what kind of human beings thou hast seen. Were they not sectaries, fanatics, visionaries, the very offscourings of human nature? Were they not vain devotees, young wives who have cold husbands, and widows who have sleepless nights? Were they not authors eager to have every mark and pimple on their insignificant features turned into a sign and prognostication of genius? Were they not grandees, whose brilliant stations rendered their physiognomies imposing to thine eye? Thou seest that I know thy customers, and have read thy book.”
Devil. Bravo, Faustus! Let me now put in a word, and tell his reverence a few mortifying truths. Brother monk, thou hast formed in thy solitary cell a phantom of perfection, and wouldst fain thrust that into people’s heads, which, when there, poisons the brain, as the gangrene corrupts all the flesh around it. There were men long ago who ventured to judge of the innermost of their fellow-creatures from the outside; but there was some difference between them and thee. They had travelled over a considerable part of the earth; experience had made them gray; they had lived and conversed with men, visited all the lurking holes of vice and iniquity, roved from the palace to the cot, crept into the caves of savages, and thus knew what belonged to a well-organised man, and what he could do with his faculties. But shalt thou—swollen with prejudices, pent up in a convent like a toad in the trunk of an oak—pretend to have a clear idea of that which even they barely understood?
The monk stood between the two speakers as between two volcanoes in eruption; he crossed his hands humbly upon his breast, and cried, “Have mercy!”
The Devil continued:
“Among the many impudent follies which I observed in thy book was an attempt to draw the Devil’s portrait. It is now high time for him to appear to thee, in order that thou mayst correct the likeness. Look at me; and for once thou shalt be able to say thou hast seen an object in its proper form.”
The Devil then appeared to him in the most frightful of infernal figures; but he rolled a thick mist before the eyes of Faustus, in order that he might not blast his sight. The monk fell to the earth; and the Devil, resuming all his former comeliness, exclaimed:
“Now thou mayst paint the Devil in his proper colours, provided thou hast strength. Thou wouldst often be thus overcome, if thou didst in reality see the innermost of those whom thou makest angels.”
Faustus. Persist in thy folly; communicate it to others; and by thy extravagances render religion repulsive to reasonable people. Thou canst not farther more efficaciously the interests of the enemy. Farewell!
The monk had lost his senses through terror; but he still continued writing notwithstanding his madness; and his readers never once perceived his derangement, so much did his new books resemble his old ones.
Faustus was delighted with this adventure; but becoming weary of the town, he quitted it the next morning with the Devil, and took the road to France.
