University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

[The preceding Scene is suddenly involved in wreck, and as the last cloud vanishes, Faustus and Mephistophiles are discovered in the place of St. Marc, in Venice, Faustus still holding by the demon, but sunk into a state of stupefaction. The scene is decorated with all the preparatory splendour and gaiety of the approaching carnival. Day is dawning; and as the strain of wild and fearful music (to which the change has taken place), ceases, the Demon speaks.
Meph.
Rouse thee, Faustus; thou'rt in Venice; look up!
Thy command, scarce uttered, is obey'd.
Own, now, the devil's a man of his word.

Faus.
'Tis real; I do not dream.
The powers, who control our mortal earth,
I do command. Where is Adine?

Meph.
Pshaw! Pshaw! the old song still.
Why, Venice has a thousand beauties; aye,
And ready, too, as fair; which, as I take it,
Is not a little virtue in the dear ones;
It saves hypocrisy. Why should Adine,
Then, be remembered?

Faus.
I would tell thee, fiend
Hadst thou a soul behind that iron mask
To comprehend my meaning; ah, she fell
Confiding in my love, as the young flowrets
Unfold their blossoms to the summer sun,
And wither in its fierceness. Poor Adine!

Meph.
Oh, that sounds well; and, long as words sound well,
There's not a creature would be ass enough
To ask their meaning, save, indeed, an ass.

Faus.
Wilt bring me to the maid?

Meph.
She'll soon be here,
And spare my bringing, with a troop of friends
As simple as herself; a young maid, too,
One Rosolia. Had I but a grain
Of this same poetry, you'd hear such wonders;
Oh, I should blossom out in simile
And trope and metaphor, all flower and moonshine.
The truth is, I'm too honest for a poet,
I cannot lie enough; yet not to boast,
I am a good hand that way, too.

Faus.
They come!
Make us to mortal sight invisible.

Meph.
Yon wall will do the feat without my magic.
Come, step aside, I'll answer for the wall.

[Exeunt.
Enter Count de Casanova, Rosolio, Adine, and Orsini.
Casa.

Come along, girls; this way; here's the very
centre of the mirth; here crowd all the choice masquers.
By the feathered heels of Mercury, but their gambols
make my old blood tingle again. Hey, Rosolia?

Ros.

Faith, father, I could wish my gentle cousin,
Adine, here, were merrier.

Casa.

Pooh, pooh! some sentimental nonsense.
What, has the handsome young doctor of Wittenberg
made an incurable puncture in your little heart?

Adine.

You are merry, sir: I—

Casa.

Merry—to be sure I am. I never was otherwise.
I was merry in my cradle—merry when I was a
bachelor—merry when I married, and merry now I'm

a widower. I've nothing left to plague me but a saucy
daughter, who does nothing but laugh at me, and talk
me to death.

Ros.

Nay, sir, you're my match, or any body's else
at talking.

Casa.

Well, and why shouldn't I talk? I've nothing
to think of.

Ros.

A good reason, certainly; but I wish you'd
cast poor Signor Orsini's nativity, father, and see if
there be any hope for him with Adine, for a more rueful
picture of sighing constancy was never seen.

Casa.
(to Orsini)

Tut, tut, man; never mind the
Wittenberg doctor—doctor—what's his name, Adine?

Ors.

I see too plainly, Count, I have nothing to
hope or fear.

Casa.

To her—to her, man. If Apollo be lord of
the ascendant to-day in the house of Venus, Fortune
may shew Mars in ascendancy to-morrow; therefore, to
her, soldier! hey, Rosolia, am I not right?

Ros.

Indeed, sir, I think you might set example yet
to younger lovers.

Casa.

I think so—I think so—if the pretty Lucetta,
the innkeeper's daughter, but listen to me kindly. (aside.

Ors.
Your pardon, dearest lady, but if e'er
My suit could hope to thrive, it must be now
When all around is gaiety—I've been
Too oft denied; but 'twas in sadder hours.

Adine.
Alas! I have no hours that are not sad.

Ors.
But not now, lady, but not now—and I
May tell my love, and hope a kinder answer.
Is it not so?

Adine.
I pray you, sir, forbear:
I have no heart for love, for any thing
But for— (aside)
be still—be still—Oh Faustus! Faustus!

QUARTETTE.
Casanova, Adine, Rosolia, and Orsini.
Adine.
Go, seek some virgin heart,
Which sorrow never knew,
Such may the love impart
Which to thy worth is due.
Sorrows I dare not name
My heart unseen consume,
Like the undying flame
That lights a tomb.

Ors.
Must, then, my heart its hopes forego,
And no return my passion know?

Casa.
Prithee let her alone:
When sought as a favour,
From Venus, I own,
Not a kiss would have savour.
Sighs and tears I regard as a joke;
The heart, that I prize,
Must leap thro' the eyes,
Ere a word by the lips can be spoke.

Ors.
Ah! do all my hopes deceive me!

Ros.
(To Orsini.)
Poor heart retire!
[illeg.]
With hopes she'll e'er receive thee.

Adine.
Go, seek some virgin heart
May love for love impart;
In pity hence, thy suit give o'er,
And mention love to me no more.

All.
In pity hence, thy suit give o'er,
And/I'll mention love to me/her no more.

[Exit Orsini.
[The rest retire.
[The music gradually encreases to a lively measure, to which the various characters of the carnival enter, until the stage is filled, and a kind of ballet representation of the shows and gaieties of the festival takes place.
Enter Faustus and Mephistophiles, behind.
Faus.
Who is yon lady with Adine?

Meph.
Rosolia, her cousin—a sprightly maiden.

Faus.
And beautiful.—Her eye darts fires might warm
The icy bosom of a fasting anchorite,
And teach him passion.—Is that her father?

Meph.
It is!—

Faus.
Beautiful Rosolia!—

Meph.
The beautiful Adine is weeping on her breast.

Faus.
Mock on—mock on—mock what thou hast not heart
Nor brain to comprehend, with all thy power.

Meph.
The heart and brain—two fine companions those!
'Tis hard to say which plays the fool most wisely.

Faus.
She is indeed most beautiful—that smile
So soft and winning, and those eyes all fire!
But no—another time for her;—and now
I'd be with my Adine—alone. Obey me.

Meph.
Obey thee? to be sure—Why not obey thee?
In serving such a friend I serve myself.
[Goes to Adine.
He's here—I mean the doctor, he who met
A certain lady in a certain grove
By moonlight—

Adine.
(rushing forward)
What voice was that?

[Music. At this instant another figure, resembling Adine, assumes her place, and is led off by Casanova and Rosolia. Mephistophiles, receding, points to her, and exit.
[The Scene suddenly changes at the same moment to a lonely place. Adine stands motionless.
Faus.
(approaching gently)
Adine! my Adine!

[Adine turns fearfully, and, recognizing him, shrieks, and rushes into his arms.
Adine.
Faustus! Oh, why hast thou deserted me?

Faus.
I have not deserted thee—

Adine.
And art thou come to make me thine for ever?
I have not known one happy hour since
I quitted you—and then your long long silence:
My heart was almost broken.

Faus.
I'll heal it, dearest.
I'm here to recompence thy gentle faith
With boundless power.

Adine.
Boundless power!—What mean you?

Faus.
Look round—Behold a proof—

Adine.
(looking round)
Gracious heaven, where am I?
What place is this?—
How came I here—Oh Faustus! dear Faustus!

Faus.
Thou art in safety from surprise and danger—
With thy Faustus and alone!—What is't you fear?—

Adine.
Men report strange things of thee.

Faus.
And grant them true—will Adine cease to love?

Adine.
Oh! no, no—but if this be true—
If thou art leagued with powers I dare not name,
Tho' I must still dearly dearly love thee,
And tho' to part with thee were certain death,
Yet part with thee I would—

Faus.
And would'st thou, girl, because by ceaseless toil,
In deep and midnight studies, I have won
Dominion o'er the powers of darkness—
Would't thou, for this, abandon me;
Me, me to whom thou'st sworn eternal love?

Adine.
E'en so!—and die! still loving thee.

Faus.
(calmly)
Then we must part—for this is so, Adine!

AIR.—Adine.

Faus.
Hear me—
I cannot, if I would, resign the knowledge
I have obtained. There is no Lethe
To cleanse and purify a mind
Once so endow'd as mine.

Adine.
Oh! say not so, dear Faustus!

Faus.
If wealth or love of sway can tempt thee,
Pronounce the word, and at thy regal foot
The thousand thrones of gorgeous Ind shall pour
Their treasures down, and own their vassalage.

Adine.
I want no treasures but thy love—no throne
But thy heart—Oh let me win it back to heaven.

Faus.
Give me thy hand, Adine—ere Time can wave
His silent pinions o'er a moment's space
We'll fly to regions of perpetual summer.
Lo! e'en now I'll call the spirit!

[A strain of low music.
Adine.
No! no—let go my hand. There is no consent
In my most hidden heart to such dread evil;
And over me the fiend shall not prevail.

[Mephistophiles suddenly starts up behind Adine—she shudders.
Adine.
What suffocating fearful heat is this
Comes creeping o'er my brain, like the fell blast
Which haunts the desert?—

Faus.
Now, slave! spread thy broad pennons for our flight!

Adine.
No!—here I cry for aid by this dread spell
That withers up the tempter's power to nothing,
Oh! free me from his presence! help, heaven!

[She lifts up the cross of her rosary, and Mephistophiles, shuddering, suddenly vanishes.— Faustus trembles, hides his face, and recedes from the stage.—Adine utters a slight convulsive shriek, as if conscious of relief from their presence, and falls senseless.