University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

A Pleasing Landscape.
Faustus, lying on a flowery grass-plot, weary, restless, striving to sleep. Twilight—Spirits flit, hovering about—beautiful little forms.
Ariel.
(Song, accompanied by Æolian harps.)
(Addresses the Fairies.)

Chorus of Fairies;
at first singly; then two, and more, alternately and together.

[An exceedingly loud noise announces sunrise.
Ariel.

[Fairies disappear.
Faustus
(alone).

Imperial Palace, Throne-Hall.
Council of State. Trumpets. Courtiers of every rank, splendidly dressed, enter. The Kaiser ascends the throne, on his right the Astrologer.
Kaiser.
Trusty and well-beloved, from far and near
Assembled, I am glad to meet you here.
I see the Wise Man at my side; but where's
The Fool?

Junker.
He stumbled as he climbed the stairs;
He trod too close upon the spreading train
Of the robe, and tripped. They bore him off amain;
But whether dead or drunk, who knows or cares?

Second Junker.
And lo! preferment comes apace.
Another's pushing for the place;
Tricked out in so superb a trim,
That every eye is fixed on him.
The palace guards would stop him fain,
And cross their halberds: all in vain.
See where he has got, fool-hardy fool!

Enter Mephistopheles drest as Court fool; he kneels at the foot of the throne.
Mephistopheles.
That which men execrate, yet welcome to them;
Long for, and yet would from their presence chase it;
Protect, and yet they say it will undo them;
Declaim against, deride, and still embrace it?
He, whom you may not call to your assistance,
Yet smile when any have to him alluded;
What from thy throne now stands at no great distance—
What from this circle hath itself excluded?

Kaiser
(to Mephistopheles).
Enough! your riddles here are out of place.
These gentlemen, in their own, have a hard case
To deal with; solve it for us if you can.
I should be too well pleased to have the man
Who could do that. My old Fool's gone, I fear,
To the—. Take his place at my side: stand here.

[Mephistopheles steps up and places himself at the Kaiser's left.
Murmurs of the Crowd.
A new fool! ... I like old things best.
How came he in? ... What interest?
Struck down at once. ... How he did sip!
That was a tub. ... And this a chip.

Kaiser.
Welcome, my well-beloved, from near and far,
Convened beneath this favourable star.
Who reads the heavens sees in the horoscope
Prosperity there written—Welfare, Hope.
Why, at such time when we would drown all cares
But of decorum beards and masquing dress—
When we would feast upon our happiness—
This Council about plaguy state affairs?
Yet if it can't but be so—and you see it
Fit that it should so be—why then SO BE IT!

[The Council being thus formally opened by the Kaiser, the Chancellor, who is also Archbishop, makes his Report on the general state of the Empire. His Report is followed by similar statements from the other High Functionaries.
Chancellor.

Heermeister.
How they do rave and rage in these wild days!
Everyone, everywhere—madness outright.
Command—aye, say command—when none obeys.
The burgher, safe within his walls—the knight,
Perched on his rocky nest, stand there defying
All we can do—on their own strength relying.
The hireling, for his pay, makes blustering claim.
They're with us yet; but were the debt
Once paid, 'tis little that we'd see of them.
Enforce, where all resist it, a command!
'Twere into a wasp's nest to thrust your hand.
The kingdom, which they should protect,
Look at it—devastated, plundered, wrecked!
We cannot pay them; and we must permit
Violence, rapine, wrong. All suffer it.
The Empire! What's the Empire? Half the lands
Utterly lost to us—in rebel hands.
And foreign princes, not one of them cares
For it or us: 'tis our concern, not theirs.

Treasurer.
Who on Allies can reckon? The supplies,
That were to have come in from our allies,
—Pipewater, when the conduit pipes are cut!
And, in your realm, is Property secure?
Go where one will, 'tis a new man keeps house;
One who would seem to have no object but
To hold his own, and with no thanks to us.
We must look on, and helplessly endure!
So many flowers of our prerogative
We have given away, scarce one remains to give;
And Parties—as they call them—little weight,
Now-a-days, place I on their love or hate.
Parties? where are they?—Ghibelline or Guelph?
Combine? combine! where each thinks but of self.
They scrape, they screw, and what they get they guard—
Our chests left empty, every gold-gate barred.

Marshal.
And what distress must I, too, bear?
Every day striving still to spare;
My efforts to retrench attended
With this result—that more's expended.
The cooks, they want for nothing: wild boars, bucks,
Does, hares, and hens and turkeys, geese and ducks.
Duty-rents paid in kind, we still can dine.
But what in the wide world to do for wine?
'Tis all out, how supply it—there's the rub.
'Tis not so long ago since, tub on tub,
It lay piled in the cellars—tun on tun,
Of the best vintage-years, and the best run
Of the best hill-slopes. Now, what with the drain
Of the nobles on it, who will never stop
Their swilling, I'm not left a single drop:
And the town-council, too, has tapped its store.
This too the nobles swill, and brawl for more;
They snatch at wine-cups—seize no matter what
Comes first to hand—drain goblet, pan, and pot,
Till under the broad table, bowl and beast
Fall mixed with broken relics of the feast.
I!—I must pay for all, provide for all.
The Jew! for me his pity is but small.
He his anticipation-bond prepares
Swallowing the years to come: he never spares.
The pigs—plague take them!—never come to brawn.
The very pillow on the bed's in pawn.
The loaves upon the table still to pay;
To-morrow's bread-stuff eaten yesterday!

Kaiser
(after some reflection, to Mephistopheles).
And, Fool, have you no grievance to propound?

Mephistopheles.
I?—None. Upon this splendour to look round—
With thee and thine and all this grand array
Around us!—Must not confidence arise?
—With such a prince, so ruling such a land;
With such a host, that so the foe defies;
With such intelligence at your command;
With such activity of enterprise—
Can any powers malevolent unite
For darkness where these stars are shedding light?

Murmurs.
The rascal's quick. ... Aye, up to trick—
Liar, romancer. ... When lies answer:
Be sure there's something in the wind; ...
Aye, something always lurks behind. ...
To me 'twould seem a settled scheme.

Mephistopheles.
Search the world round, and is there to be found
On earth one quiet corner that has not
A something wanting, which, are we unable
To come at it, makes life uncomfortable?
This man wants that thing, and that man wants this.
Here, our want is hard cash; and hard cash is,
When men most want it, cash hard to be got.
'Tis not a thing that from the streets you sweep;
It lies deep down, but Science lifts the deep.
In mountain veins—in walls—and underground—
Much gold in coins, or uncoined, may be found;
And, if you ask who brings this gold to light?—
The gifted man, ruling the Infinite
Of Nature, mighty in the Spirit's might.

Chancellor.
Nature and Spirit! Words that, in my mind,
No Christian man should utter; 'tis for this
That we burn atheists. Speeches of the kind
Are highly dangerous. Nature! aye—that is
Sin; Spirit—that means Devil;—and Devil and Sin—
A pretty pair they are!—true kith and kin—
Having a natural fancy for each other,
Have gendered what the world at once should smother—
The mis-shaped miserable monster Doubt—
Sexless, or double-sexed.
In the wide borders
Of the old Empire, two—and but two orders
To speak of—have risen up to guard the throne:
The Spiritualty and the Ritters; and they form
A sure protection against every storm,
And for their pay make Church and State their own.
Plebeian arrogance and self-willed spite
Lead some mad spirits to contest the right;
Dealers with fiends they are, and heretics:
Country and town infesting and destroying.
And these this jester, with his fool-born tricks,
Which you are unsuspiciously enjoying,
Is now to this high circle smuggling in.
To cling to reprobates itself is sin:
The scorners and court-fool are close akin.

Mephistopheles.
There spoke the veriest bigot of book-learning.
What you discern not, sir, there's no discerning:
All, that you touch not, stands at hopeless distance;
All, that you grasp not, can have no existence;
All, that eludes your weights, is base and light;
That, which you count not, is not counted right;
All measurement is false, but where you mete;
All coin without your stamp is counterfeit.

Kaiser.
These wise saws will not make our suffering less;
What mean you by this lengthened Lent-address?
I'm weary of this endless ‘if’ and ‘how;’
Get me the money—that's what we want now.

Mephistopheles.
Aye, all you want, and more; 'tis easy, yet
The Easy's difficult enough to get.
There's plenty of it—plenty—not a doubt of it—
In the' heart of the' earth, but how to get it out of it?
Think of the old days, when invading bands
Came like a deluge, swamping men and lands;
How natural it was that many should
Hide their best valuables where they could.
'Twas so in times of the old Roman sway:
So yesterday—and so it is to-day;—
And all lies dead and buried in the soil.
The soil is Cæsar's—his the splendid spoil.

Treasurer.
Not bad for a fool. It stands to reason quite:
The soil is doubtless the old emperor's right.

Chancellor.
His golden meshes Satan spreads, I fear;
And something more than good is busy here.

Marshal.
If what we want at court he'd only give,
I'd hazard th'other place in this to live.

Heermeister.
The fool's the man for us all. The soldier's dumb:
He takes his dollars—asks not whence they come.

Mephistopheles.
And if, perhaps, you fancy me a rogue,
Why not take counsel of the Astrologue?
There stands he—Truth itself;—reads what Heaven writes
Distinctly in the planetary lights—
Cycle encircling cycle, Hour and House—
And what he sees in Heaven will say to us.

Murmurs of the Crowd.
Rascals a pair!—they understand—
And play into each other's hand—
Phantast and Fool. Easily known
Why they two so beset the throne.
Aye, the old song—so often sung—
The fool suggests—the wise gives tongue.

Astrologer
speaks, Mephistopheles prompts.
The Sun himself is gold without alloy;
Swift Mercury, still at his sly employ,
For friends that pay speeds messages of joy.
Venus, with every man of you in love,
Early and late, keeps twinkling from above.
Coy Luna's whimsical; and Mars, belike,
With red glare threatens, but delays to strike;
And Jupiter is still the brightest star.
Dim glooms the mass of Saturn from afar:
Small to the eye, and small our estimate
Of him in value, vast as is his weight.
The world is cheered, when, in conjunction shines,
Luna with Sol—with silver, gold combines.
Anything else one wishes for or seeks—
Park, palace, pretty bosom, rosy cheeks—
Follows of course. This highly-learned man
Makes or procures it—what none else here can.

Kaiser.
A second voice upon my ear,
That doubles every sentence, rings—
The matter yet is far from clear,
And nothing like conviction brings.

Murmurs.
What's that to us? ... What wretched fuss—
Chemist and quack ... Old almanack.
I've heard it oft ... I was too soft;
And should it come—'Tis all a hum.

Mephistopheles.

Murmurs.
My foot—I cannot move about;
My arm is cramped ... 'Tis only gout;
And my big toe, it pains me so.
From all these signs, my mind divines
That here the treasure is.

Kaiser.
Come, no delay:
Escape for you is none. This very day
Shall bring these froth-lies of yours to the test.
Show us these chambers where these treasures rest.
I'll throw down sword and sceptre of command,
And labour with my own imperial hand;
Work heart and hand at the great enterprise:
But if all you are uttering be but lies—
As I do fear—I'll send you straight to hell.

Mephistopheles
(aside).
Broad is the way from this, as I know well.
(Aloud)
I have not words enough truly to tell
Of all the treasure everywhere that lies:
None claiming it—none knowing of such prize.
The peasant with his plough who scrapes the sod,
Sees a gold crock beneath the upturned clod,
Crusted and clammy—blesses his good luck
In having on a lump of nitre struck;
And, with delight and terror manifold,
Feels in his meagre hand, that scarce can hold
The treasure, rouleaus of gold—actual gold.
Down to what clefts—through what drear passages
Must he who knows of hidden treasure press
On the verge of the under-world! What vaults to be
Blown up!—what cellars, well secured: the sun
For ages has not seen them open thrown!
There golden salvers, goblets, beakers fair—
All for the sage—and ruby cups are there.
And, should he wish to use them—plenty of
Good old wine, too—I warrant you true stuff.
And you may credit me—I know it well—
The wood casks all are dust; and, strange to tell
The wine makes new ones of its own old crust.
And such wine—'tis not only gems and gold,
But the essential spirit of noblest wine
That night and horrors here imprisoned hold.
Here doth the Sage his search untired pursue.
Day has no light whereby deep truths to see,
In Darkness is the home of Mystery.

Kaiser.
Darkness and Mystery I leave to thee.
What's good for any thing will dare the day.
At night your rascal can sculk out of view—
When every cow is black and all cats grey.
Handle the plough, then; and let us behold
Your share turn up these pans and pots of gold.

Mephistopheles.
Take spade and hoe yourself. Throw off all state:
The labour of the peasant 'tis makes great.
A herd of golden calves shall from the soil
Start up—of earnest will and ardent toil
Instant reward! Enraptured then you may
Adorn yourself—adorn your lady gay.
Jewels in the imperial diadem
Add splendour to the monarch; the rich gem
Makes beauty lovelier in the coloured play
Of light.

Kaiser
(impatiently).
Quick! quick! how long, how long, will you delay?

Astrologer
(Mephistopheles prompting).
Sire! moderate this fervour of desire.
Best now the merry masquerade to act,
And end it. Double purposes distract.
Then thro' the Above, in self-communion learn,
The Under to deserve, and so to earn.
Who seeks for goodness, should himself be good;
For cheerfulness, should calm his fevered blood.
Tread hard the ripe grapes, if thy wish be wine;
If miracles, increasing faith be thine!

Kaiser.
Well, then! Ash Wednesday will, I trust, uphold
The promises you're giving me of gold.
I never did so long for Lent.
The Astrologer's advice is, after all,
The best; and so in merriment
Let the interval be spent.
We'll have our ball, whate'er befall,
And a gay time of carnival.

[Trumpets.—Exeunt.
Mephistopheles
(to the Audience).
You never can get fools to understand
How luck and merit still go hand in hand:
Your born fool never yet was Fortune's prizeman.
The stone of the philosopher,
In such hands, no great treasure were—
The wise man's talisman minus the wise man.

MASQUERADE

A spacious Hall, with Side-chambers adorned and prepared for a Masquerade.
Characters Introduced.—Garden-Girls, Gardener, Mother and Daughter, Woodcutters, &c. Pulchinelloes, Parasites, Drunkard, Satirical Poet, The Graces, The Fates, The Furies, Hope, Fear, Prudence, Zoilo-Thersites, Knabe Lenker, Plutus, Starveling, Women, Fauns, Satyrs, Gnomes, Giants, Nymphs, Pan.
Enter Herald.
Herald.

Enter Garden-girls, some adorned with artificial flowers; some with bouquets in their hands.
Garden-girls.
(Song, accompanied by mandolins.)

Herald
(to the Garden-girls).
Let us see the laden baskets,
Balanced on your heads that rest;
Show the fair flowers—bud and blossom—
Each select what suits him best.
Let a garden, as by magic,
Walks and arbours, meet the eyes:
Crowds will throng round the fair merchants,
And the lovely merchandise.

Garden-girls.
'Tis a pleasant mart. No higgling,
No dispute for prices here;
In a few short words expressive,
What each offers will appear.

Olive-branch
(with fruit).
I no flower its blossoms envy;
I with none will have dispute;
Peaceful, and of peace the emblem,
Marrow of the land my fruit.
Oh! that, this day, it were mine
The brightest, fairest brow to twine.

Wheat-wreath
(golden).
Gifts of Ceres form my chaplet,
Brown with the maturing sun.
Crown of Life! be still the Useful
And the Ornamental one.

Fancy Chaplet.
Flowers of mosses, many-coloured,
Mimics of the mallow grey—
Nothing half so bright in nature—
Are the fashion of the day.

Fancy Bouquet.
These—their family and tribe—
No Theophrastus could describe:
Some have little love for these,
But there are whom they will please.
Flowers to beauty dedicated,
Chaplets through the tresses plaited;
Or delightedly that rest
Near the fond heart, on the soft breast.

Challenge.
Let your motley fancies blossom
In the fashion of the hour;
In strange guise be shaped and moulded.
Be they such as Nature never,
In her wildest freaks, unfolded—
Green stalks—bells of golden glimmer
From the flowing tresses shimmer;
But we—

Rose-buds.
Love to lurk unseen.
Happy finder! he for whom
We a sweet surprise have been,
Breathing fresh in dewy bloom.
When the summer comes again—
And the rose-bud kindles then
Into blushes—who of men
But must yield him to the charm?
Can of love his heart disarm?
Lovely flower! and love's own emblem!
Timid promise—rich revealing!
Rose! Of all in Flora's kingdom
Dear to eye, and heart, and feeling!

[The Garden-girls arrange their goods under the green leafy walks. Gardener enters with Garden-boys, who arrange themselves as a Chorus.
Gardener.
(Song, accompanied by Theorbos.)
(To the Garden-girls.)

[Amid alternate song, accompanied with guitars and theorbos, both choruses proceed to arrange their goods so as to set them off to advantage.
Enter Mother and Daughter.
Mother.

[Girls, playfellows young, and beautiful, enter and join in loud confidential chatting. Fishermen and Birdcatchers now enter with nets, lines, and limed twigs and other tackle, and join the group of girls. Alternate attempts to win, catch, escape, and hold fast, give opportunity for most agreeable dialogues.
Enter Wood-cutters, Charcoal-burners, &c., violently and roughly.
Woodcutters.
Room! make room! we want and crave it;
Want but room—and we must have it.
Trees we fell—down come they crashing;
Bear them with us—crushing, smashing.
What we wish, is to impress on
All and each the true old lesson—
If the coarse and clumsy hand
Kept not working in the land;
If there were not such as we are,
Could the world have such as ye are?
Ye are the chosen;
Yet do not forget it,
That ye would be frozen,
If we had not sweated.

Enter Pulchinelloes and Parasites.
Pulchinelloes
(stupidly, almost like fools).
Ye are the born fools,
Toiling and trudging;
Nature hath made you
With bent back, for drudging.
We are the clever:
Nothing whatever,
That you call lumber,
Our backs to encumber.
All our pleasure,
Easy leisure;
All our traps,
Flaps and caps:
Hose and jackets, and such tight wear—
No great burthen is such light ware;
Slim foot, then, in thin pantoufle,
Through the court we shift and shuffle.
We are met in market-places,
Painted masks upon our faces.
At street corners we stand gaping—
There, like cocks, keep flapping, clapping
Wings as 'twere; and, thus set going,
Take to clattering and crowing—
Together three or four of us
Will step aside—like eels we glide—
And nobody sees more of us,
Till, by and bye, up starts a brother,
And we crow out to one another.
Praise us, blame us—try to shame us—
What care we? Ye cannot tame us.

Parasites
(flattering and fawning on the Woodcutters, Charcoal-burners, &c.).

Enter A Drunken Man (scarce conscious).
Drunken Man.
(These lines repeated by Chorus.)
(Chorus.)
(Chorus.)
(Chorus.)

[Herald announces different poets, court and ritter singers, tender and enthusiastic. In the pressure of rival poets, none will let another be heard. One sneaks by, and contrives to say a few words.
Satirist.
In my character of Poet
How my spirits it would cheer,
Dared I say or sing a something
Nobody would wish to hear.

[The Night and Churchyard poets send apologies, as they are engaged in an interesting conversation with a newly-arisen vampire, from which they anticipate the developement of a new school of poetry. The Herald is compelled to admit their excuse, and calls up the Greek Mythology, which, though in modern masks, loses neither character nor charms.
Enter The Graces.
Aglaia.
The charm of manners we bid live
In life. With graceful kindness give.

Hegemone.
And gracefully be still received
The granted wish—the want relieved.

Euphrosyne.
And graceful be the tone subdued,
And homefelt charm of Gratitude.

Enter The Parcæ.
Atropos.

Clotho.

Lachesis.

Enter The Furies.
Herald.

Alecto.

Megæra.

Tisiphone.

Enter The Group described in the following speech.
Herald.
Now, may it please you, stand back one and all:
Make way for another group! Those whom I see
Differ in character and in degree—
Aye, and in kind—from all the maskers here.
See, pressing hitherward, what would appear
A mountain: variegated carpets fall
Adown its flanks, and it moves on in pride—
A head, with large long teeth, and serpentine
Proboscis wreathed. Their secret they would hide;
But it will open to this key of mine.
A graceful lady, sitting on the neck,
Wields a thin wand that mighty bulk to guide,
And bend all his brute motions to her will.
Archly smiles she, as tho' at her own skill
Amused and happy, holding him in check.
The other stands high up: a glory there
Encircles that grand form—a light divine,
Too dazzling for this eye of mine to dare.
Two noble women—one at either side—
Are chained; and one is trembling, as in fear,
And one moves gracefully with joyous cheer;
And one would break the chain she loathes to wear.
One looks, in bondage, as though she were free:
Let them, in turn, each tell us who they be.

Fear.

Hope.
If the masking of the night,
Sisters dear, be a delight;
Yet, be sure to-morrow's coming
Will bring with it joy more bright
Than your gayest masking, mumming.
Oh! for the uncertain haze
Of the torches' glimmering blaze,
That the cheerful day-break glow
Over all its light would throw!
Then, at our own will, would we,
Now in groups, and now alone,
Or with one—some dearest one—
Roam thro' lawn and meadow free;
Rest at leisure, roam at pleasure,
And in life that knows no care,
All things to our will replying,
No repulse, and no denying,
Wander, welcomed everywhere:
Doubting not there still must be
To be found some region blest—
Happy home of all that's best.

Prudence.

Enter Zoilo-Thersites.
Zoilo-Thersites.
Ho! ho! this is the very place for me,
To set all right, for you're all wrong I see.
What I may think of small game is small matter.
See! the fair lady, up there; I'll be at her.
Oh! yes; be sure it is no other than
The dame Victoria. Well, if I'm a man,
She, with the two white wings, cocked up there, thinks
Herself an eagle—and that east and west,
And north and south, and every point between them,
Are hers,—of her wide empire are but links:
All things are hers, if she has only seen them;
Aye, aye, the lust of empire has its charms.
They praise her; aye, they praise her. I protest
That to praise anything sets me in arms.
What's low I would lift up, what's high make low;
What's crooked I'd make straight; not only so,
But make straight crooked. I was, from my birth,
One who saw always all things wrong on earth.
The round earth! Why should it be round? Aye, there
Matters require reform—I'd have it square.

Herald.
Aye, ragged rascal! thou shalt not escape
The good staff's welcome on thy crooked nape.
Aye, turn and writhe, and wind and wheel away,
And crawling, lick the dust. Begone! I say.
Strange how the fellow, with his broken hump,
Whirls on the floor—the round, rough, loathsome lump.
The porcupine—no head, or arms, or leg.
How the thing puffs!—'tis very like an egg.
Look there! it swells, it lengthens, bursts asunder;
And a twin birth behold!—a double wonder!—
Adder and bat: through dust the one you track,
And one up to the roof is flitting black.
They're making their way out to meet again,
And reunite—oh! save me from the twain.

[Zoilo-Thersites disappears as described.
Murmurs of the Crowd.
‘Up! up! another dance comes on’—
‘Not I, indeed: would we were gone!
Felt you how the spectres breathe
From above and from beneath?
A thrilling whizzed along the root
Of my hair.’—‘It crawled along my foot.
But no one's hurt.’ ‘Well, well—all's right;
But we have had such a fright.
All the fun, any way, is ended:
This was what the brute intended.’

[The Herald sees a group approaching, which he describes before they are seen by the general company.
Herald.
Since first I took upon myself the task
To play the herald's part, at mime or mask,
I always watched the doors, that nothing might
Find entrance in, that could in any way
Disturb, even for a moment, the delight
That in a theatre, on holiday,
You have in truth a title to expect.
I waver not, I yield not, have no fear;
I keep the door well watched and guarded here.
But through the window spectres may glide in,
From tricks of magic. Even could I detect
Such tricks, I have no power to keep you free.
I cannot but acknowledge that about
The dwarf was something to create grave doubt;
But now in pour the spectres, in full stream,
Resistless. Who each figure is, and what
The characters assumed are, it would seem
The herald's fitting duty to explain.
But here to try would be an effort vain:
I cannot tell you, for I know it not.
Here there is mystery beyond my reach.
Here you must help me; here, you, too, must teach.
See you a roll and rustling through the crowd?
A gallant team of four—a splendid car—
Sweeps swiftly hitherward. It glitters far.
It doth not part the crowd, nor doth there seem
Tumult or pressure round that glorious team.
In coloured light on moves it far and fast,
And wandering stars of fire are from it cast,
As from a magic lantern. How it speeds
Hither! and with the roar of a strong blast.
Make way for it!—I shudder, and—

[The car described by the Herald now appears on the stage.
Knabe Lenker
(Boy Charioteer).
Halt, steeds!
Stay your wings! stay! and feel the accustomed rein;
Restrain yourselves: be still when I restrain;
Rush on when I inspire; respect the ground
On which we are! Look everywhere around!
Circle on circle—how spectators throng.
Up, herald! up! and ere we speed along,
And are far out of sight, be it your aim
To paint and to present us each by name,
As suits your office. Allegories be
The matters that you trade in—such are we.

Herald.
I do not know your name, but I
Would venture on description.

Lenker.
Try!

Herald.
First, looking at you, I admit
You have youth—and beauty goes with it.
'Twixt man and boy; the fair beholder
Thinks you'll look better, too, when older.
You seem to me one, upon whom to gaze
May give them danger in the future days—
A dear deceiver from your very birth.

Lenker.
Prettily said. Go on; make it appear
How far the riddle of this acted mirth
Your skill can solve—your comment let us hear.

Herald.
The eyes' swart fire—the jewelled band that presses
With starry glow the midnight of thy tresses—
The graceful, showy, ornamental gown,
That from the shoulders to the sock falls down
In glittering tissue, and the glowing fringe
That streams along the sides with purple tinge—
Your person from a girl's one scarce would know;
But the girls think of it, for weal or woe:
They have already given you, it may be,
Some little lessons in the A B C.

Lenker.
The splendid figure on the chariot throne!
Give us your notion of who it may be.

Herald.
The King in every look of his is shown;
And opulent, I guess, and mild is he:
Who win his favour they from care are free—
May rest them at their ease. His active eyes
Spy out their wants, his lavish hand supplies:
The liberal hand is more than house or land.

Lenker.
Your vague description will not help us much.
You may improve your sketch with little trouble:
Add in another and another touch.

Herald.
Noble he is! No words can paint the Noble!
A hale moon face, full mouth, and cheeks that glow
Under the diamonded turban's snow;
A sumptuous robe, that falls with easy flow;
And in his gestures, and his graceful mien,
The calm of long-accustomed sway is seen.

Lenker.
'Tis Plutus! god of wealth. In happy hour
Come on a visit to the Emperor,
In all his pomp and prodigality.
I fancy he'll be very welcome now.

Herald.
But of yourself tell us the What and How.

Lenker.
I am Profusion—I am Poesy.
I am the Poet who feels his true power,
And is himself, indeed, but in the hour
When he on the regardless world hath thrown,
With lavish hand, the wealth, peculiarly his own.
And I am rich—am rich immeasurably:
Plutus alone in riches equals me.
Thro' me his banquets charm, his dances live:
That which they could not else have had, I give.

Herald.
The bragging tone sits gracefully on you;
But show us something of what you can do.

Lenker.
I do but snap my fingers and around
The car are sparks and lightning-flashes found
[Snaps his fingers.
Here goes a string of pearls, and here
Are golden clasps for neck and ear;
Comblet and crown the next snap brings,
And gems of price in costliest rings;
And flamelets here and there I throw,
In the fond hope that some may glow.

Herald.
How they crowd, and grasp, and snatch at
Everything that they can catch at!
They'll crush his life out. Toy and trinket
He flings to them. Only think it—
All snatch at them, gem and jewel,
As in dreams; but, oh, how cruel!
As I live 'tis but a juggle.
After a poor devil's struggle
For a gem—and he has got it—
For a ring—and he has caught it—
When he thinks he has a treasure,
It takes wings at its own pleasure.
Pearl-strings snap, the beads are falling—
Beetles in the hand are crawling.
Flung impatiently away,
Humming round his head they play.
Another clutches for his prize
A very swarm of butterflies,
That flutter off capriciously;
I'd almost say maliciously.
Scamp! to have promised them so much,
And put them off with rubbish such.

Lenker.
The Herald's business is of masks to tell,
But not to penetrate below the shell
Into the essence. This is not your right
Or proper province: it asks sharper sight.
From all discussions I would keep me free.
Master, to thee I turn, and ask of thee (turning to Plutus)—

Hast thou not given me full dominion o'er
The glorious team, the tempest-footed four?
Do I not, at thy will, their motions sway?
Am I not where thy impulse points the way?
Was it not mine to rush on daring wing
Triumphantly along the Chariot-ring,
And home to thee the palm of victory bring?
And, in War's splendid game, the conqueror's meed
When did I seek for thee, and not succeed?
The laurel-wreath, that shines thy brows above,
Was it not I with mind and hand that wove?

Plutus.
Gladly—oh! would that all the world could hear it—
Do I proclaim thee spirit of my spirit;
To aid my wishes still thy wishes fly;
Richer thou art—oh! far more rich than I!
The green bough and thy wreath, I value them
More—'twill delight thee—than my diadem.
Thou art—let all men know it—my best treasure:
Thou art my son, in whom my soul hath pleasure.

Lenker
(to the crowd).
The choicest gifts I have to give—
See! I've scattered them around—
Are the flamelets fugitive,
That for a little moment shed
Their fire on this or that one's head;
From one to one away they bound;
O'er this brow halo-like they sit,
From that in restless brilliance flit:
A light loose blaze of flickering gauze
That dies before we know it was.
Alas! how seldom will the light,
Shed anywhere, rise high or bright;
With many a one burned out before
They know—it fades—falls—is no more.

Clacking of Women.
Look at the crouching rascal on
The carriage roof—a charlatan—
Hans Merryman—poor Jack; but very
Far now looks Merryman from merry.
Hunger and thirst have bared his jaw-bones;
None ever saw such sorry raw bones.
Pinch him! there's nothing here to pinch:
Skin and bone—if he's flesh he'll flinch.

Starveling.
Off! touch me not, vile women! Ye
Have never a good word for me.
Until my lady was too grand
To house-affairs to give a hand;
Too grand to answer every call,
Work hard, and have an eye to all;
Things went on well. No room for doubt—
All running in and nothing out.
I kept the key of chest and strong box:
But I am always in the wrong-box.
You scoffed such poor economist,
And called me Lady Stingy-fist.
Oh! yes, I always am to blame,
Old screw and skin-flint then my name.
But now the woman has grown daring—
No thought of stinting or of sparing;
No, nor of paying. Think of paying,
With wants increasing—means decaying!
Her good man scarce can walk the streets—
In debt to every one he meets.
And all that she can filch, she flings
Away on dress or junketings.
She drinks more wine—aye, too, and better—
With the young rascals that beset her.
New wants are every day arising—
Old times are gone. Is it surprising,
That thirst for gold, no more your peevish vice
Of pinch-gut parsimonious Avarice,
Puffs itself out—puts on Man's mask? In me,
Lo! the new Science of Economy!

Ringleader of the Women.
With dragons let the old drake grabble;
Skin-flint with Flint-skin grin and gabble:
Why with them keep up a struggle?
Is not all a lie—a juggle?
The men—were they not bad enough?—
Are stung to madness by this stuff.

Mass of Women.
At him! At his dragons made of
Pasteboard! What are you afraid of?
Nothing here but lie, cheat, trick:
Wizard! juggler! heretic!
Destined shortly to exhibit
At the stake, or on the gibbet.

Herald.
Peace! or my staff the coast will clear;
Yet is my help scarce wanting here.
See you how, in their wrath, the monsters raise
Their scales, and each his double wings displays?
Their jaws breathe fire, and the crowd flies apace:
I thank the dragons, they have cleared the place.

[Plutus steps from the car.
Herald.

Plutus
(to Lenker).
It was a heavy burden. Thou art free:
Away to thine own sphere. Away with thee!
Thy place—thy true place—is not here, among
A wild, ree-raw, self-willed, tumultuous throng,
Together here in mad confusion hurled.
There, where the clear eye sees in calm the clear;
There, where the good, the beautiful is dear;
Where the pure impulse of the heart alone
Doth guide thee, and thou art indeed thine own.
In solitude: oh! there create thy world.

Lenker.
Dear to myself as envoy true of thine,
I love thee; for thy nature, too, is mine.
Fulness is ever where thou dost remain,
And where I am men feel it glorious gain;
And many a one will all his life debate—
‘To thee, to me, shall he be dedicate?’
Thine may at will lie down and rest. For those
Who follow me there never is repose.
Nor sleep my acts in secret and in shade:
Do I but breathe, my presence is betrayed.
Farewell! I seek the joy you give full fain;
But whisper low, and I am here again.

[Exit as he came.
Plutus.
Now for the imprisoned treasures of the box!
Just with the herald's rod I touch the locks.
'Tis open! Look you here: in brazen kettles
It boils out—golden streams—and now it settles,
And stiffens into chains, crowns, trinkets, rings.
And now it bubbles and boils up again:
Seizing on, melting, swallowing all the things
It had created.

Alternate Cry of Crowd.
Look! look there! how fast 'tis going:
Bubbling, boiling, over-flowing.
Gushing streams of many colours;
Golden cups, and minted dollars;
Ducats, ducats following
See the monster swallowing!
Now of rouleaus flings a heap up,
And I feel my bosom leap up;
Now the cauldron's boiling over,
And the ground all round 'twill cover.
All of which we have been dreaming—
All for which we have been scheming—
'Tis your own—'tis but to snatch it;
Yours, if only you can catch it.
Snatch it! catch it! seize the offer,
While we carry off the coffer!

Herald.
The fools! what are they at? What do you mean?
Know you not that all this is but a scene
In a masquerade? You've spoiled the evening's play.
Think you that men their money give away,
And money's worth, so lightly? Counters would,
To throw about among you, be too good.
Clowns! they imagine that a show, forsooth,
Should at the same time be the plain coarse truth.
Truth! why your whole life is a lie. The True—
What meaning, rascals, could it have for you?
Up, thou, that mummest thee in Plutus' part—
Thou that the hero of our revels art—
Sweep the field clear of these scoundrels.

Plutus.
Aye, your wand
Will do the work: entrust it to my hand.
The road—I promise you that this will keep it
Clear. See! the wand, into the fire I dip it.
Now, then, for it, maskers—now of yourselves take care.
How it does crackle!—with what lightning glare
It flashes out! And now the wand is lit,
And everyone who ventures too near it
Will be singed and scorched.
I say, take care of your skins:
Be warned in time, my circuit now begins.

Scream and Crush.
‘How he does whisk the rod about!’
‘'Tis over with us all, no doubt.’
‘Back! back! I say.’ ‘I'll keep my place.’
‘The fire-spray flashed into my face.’
‘Ha! but 'twas heavy,—that hot mace.’
‘Back, there! back! back, Maskers! vile pack!’
‘Back, stupid rascals! back, I say!’
‘Aye, had I wings to fly away.’

Plutus.
The circle's wider now, and all is right;
None singed or scorched, tho' all pushed back in fright:
Yet, to secure some order, it were well
Round us to draw a cord invisible.

Herald.
You have done wonders; forced back to the ranks
These noisy mutineers: accept my thanks.

Plutus.
There still is need of patience, noble friend;
Signs many tumults manifold portend.

Starveling.
Now, with this charmed ring round me, at my ease
I may deal with the ladies as I please.
There's something comic in their forward paces—
They always so crowd up to the front places;
Where anything is to be seen worth seeing,
At mask or merry-make, they're sure of being,
With eager lips and eyes;—are young and lusty,
The jades—and I'm not altogether rusty.
A pretty girl's a pretty girl, do you see?
And let me tell you is not lost on me.
To-day 'twill cost me nothing: I'll do lover.
Words in the crowd can scarce be made intelligible
To the quickest ear; but could we not discover
A language of expression much more eligible?
I have been pondering o'er it this some time,
And think that I could play a pantomime.
Gestures—hand—foot—significant shrug of shoulders—
To reach the eyes of the crowd would scarcely answer;
I've something else to show, that all beholders
Will recognise at once. I'm no romancer.
Gold—pliant gold—I'll mould it. The moist clay
Takes any shape—and everywhere makes way.

Herald.
What is the fool at? The lank fool! can it
Be that this hunger-bitten thing has wit?
He is in an odd humour. See! the gold
Under his hand into a paste is rolled.
He kneads it—presses it: the red soft ball
He shapes, reshapes, leaves shapeless after all.
He turns him to the women. At the sight
They scream, and, if they could, would take to flight.
Disgust is in their glances; but for ill
The rascal is at his devices still.
With him to scoff down decency is quite
A matter of amusement and delight.
To suffer this in silence were disgrace:
Give me the staff to drive him from the place.

Plutus.
The danger from without he does not see.
His mad pranks let him play out at his will;
They'll soon be over, for Necessity,
Strong as is Law, than Law is stronger still.

[Enter Fauns, Satyrs, Gnomes, Nymphs, &c., attendants on Pan, and announcing his approach.
Tumult and Song.
The savage host comes suddenly
From wooded vale, from mountain high—
Worshipping their mighty Pan—
With a resistless cry!
They know that which to none but them is known:
Straight to the empty circle sweep they on.

Plutus.
I recognise you and your mighty Pan.
A daring step to take, a rash bold thing;
I know what is not known to every man,
And open as I ought this narrow ring.
Oh! may the issue favourable be!
Whither this strange step leads they do not see.
The world may gaze on wonders unforeseen
To spring to life from what to-night has been.

Wild Song.
Ye, in holiday array,
Decked with gaud and glitter gay,
See, where rough they come and rude—
The powerful, active, strong-built brood—
With rapid run, with active spring,
Leaping light into the ring.

Fauns.
The Fauns, a merry group, in pleasant dance,
With oak-leaf wreath on their crisp curls, advance.
A fine sharp-pointed ear up presses,
To meet the curly tresses.
A stumpy little nose, a broad flat face,
Are no bad passports to a lady's grace.
In dances, from the paw of the young faun
The fairest lady's hand is not withdrawn.

Satyr.
The goat-foot Satyr now hops in,
With shrunk leg—sinewy and thin.
He, chamois-like, from mountain height,
Looks round him with a proud delight.
In the keen air breathes freedom—life;
Despises homestead, child, and wife,
Who in the valley's depth contrive,
'Mid steam and smoke, to keep alive,
Nor envy him his world on high—
His solitudes of cliff and sky.

Gnomes.
And now trips in a tiny band;
Not two and two, or hand in hand.
With lamplet bright, in mossy dress,
In intermingling lines we press.
Each mannikin on his own labours
Intent, nor thinking of his neighbours.
Thus hither, thither, in and out,
Like shiny ants, we run about.
A kindly crew, a thrifty race;
Our haunt, the poor man's dwelling-place;
Chirurgeons of the rocks well known,
Our skill in mountain practice shown.
We cup and bleed the hills; we drain
Of its best wealth the mineral vein;
Fling liberally the metals out:
‘Cheer up! cheer up!’ our joyous shout.
Benevolent is our intent,
And good is still to good men meant.
The good man's friend; yet from the earth
We drag into the light of day
The gold for which men steal and slay,
And woman gives her soul away.
Nor, thanks to us, shall iron brand
Be wanting to the proud man's hand,
Who murders wholesale. Take man's life,
Or steal, or take another's wife:
Break these commandments three, the rest
Will soon be slighted or transgressed.
We grieve not: we are clear of blame,
Guiltless and calm. Be thou the same!

Giants.
Here come the wild men, fierce and fell—
Among the Hartzberg heights that dwell:
Tumultuously down they throng,
In nature's naked vigour strong;
The pine-stem in each rough right hand;
Below the waist a padded band,
A leafy screen above the knees:
The Pope hath life-guards none like these.

Nymphs in Choir
(surrounding the great Pan, who now appears).

Deputation of Gnomes
(to the great Pan).

Plutus.
Keep cool! for strange things are about to be;
But what will come, let's bear it cheerfully.
You're not a man without some self-control,
An incident comes on that well may try it—
Stiffly will this age and the next deny it:
Set it down truly in your protocol.

Herald
(laying his hand on the staff which Plutus holds).

Plutus.

Pleasure Garden.
Morning Sun—The Kaiser—his Court—Faustus and Mephistopheles—(drest becomingly in the usual Court dress of the day). Both kneel. Marshal, Heermeister, Treasurer, Pages, Feudal Lord, and Court Fool.
Faustus.
Sire, pardon you of flames this magic show?

Kaiser.
Oh! that I often were deluded so!
All of a sudden a new realm I trod,
Seemed of the world of fire the very God;
Coal-rocks, more black than night, for ever fed
Bright flamelets, bursting from that marble bed;
While here and there from seething gulfs would rise
A thousand flames that whirled into the skies,
Where, playing loose in air, they hung aloof,
Flickered and waved, and formed a vaulted roof;
Whence tongues of light, that intermingling crost,
Gave to the eye a dome, now seen, now lost.
Between far fire-shafts, wreathed with curling flame,
Long lines of nations, onward moving, came
Toward me: in wide rings streamed the pressing crowd—
My subjects all—and all to me in homage bowed.
And evermore some courtier's well-known face,
'Mong the strange visages that thronged the place,
Would catch my glance, and claim a moment's grace.
With thousand salamanders circled round,
I seemed the prince of that enchanted ground.

Mephistopheles.
Thou art! The Elements owe thee allegiance!
Fire! thou hast tested it—gave prompt obedience.
Throw thee into the boiling Ocean's waves,
And straightway all sea-spirits are thy slaves!
Here, too, in pride of conquest, shalt thou tread
Triumphantly the ocean's pearl-strewn bed;
See billows ever round thee rise and fall,
And guard thee with their undulating wall.
The tender green waves, purple-tinged, are swelling
To form in the drear deep thy royal dwelling.
The billows do thee homage. Through the brine
A palace moves with every step of thine.
The walls are happy in the magic gift
Of life, exulting as, with arrow-swift
To and fro gambollings, their place they shift.
And the sea-monsters float up from their caves,
To the mild lustre glimmering thro' the waves,
Throng to the light, till now unseen; but they
Fear to come nearer thee, and dart away:
And dragons, golden-scaled, their high crests rear,
And sharks, whose jaws gape wide, but cause no fear.
Thou art a prince! but ne'er on Levee-day
Hast thou beheld so brilliant a display.
Beauty smiles on thee! the Nereidés
Come to the very windows, if you please,
Of the fresh-water palace in the seas—
The young ones, shy and rather curious fish,
The older, sober girls as one could wish.
Thetis has heard it—holds out hands and lips:
A second Peleus will the first eclipse;
—Then on Olympus height thy place to be!

Kaiser.
The realms of Air I'd rather leave to thee;
We are in no hurry to ascend that throne.

Mephistopheles.
And Earth, great prince, already is thine own.

Kaiser.
Through what good fortune have I chanced upon
This wonder of the Thousand Nights and One?
If, like Sheherazadé, most prolific
Of story-tellers, you would every day
Give something new—oh! that were a specific
'Gainst dullness that I never could repay.
Be ready still with such delightful tales
Of wonder when despondency prevails,
And cares upon the sinking spirit weigh—
Still cheer me when all else to cheer me fails.

Marshal
(steps hastily in).
May it please your Highness, I had never thought
That it at any time could be my lot
Such joyous tidings to communicate
As fill me now with rapture—every debt
Has been paid off, the usurers' claws are dulled,
My tortures—sharper than hell's torments—lulled.
There can not be in heaven a happier man.

Heermeister
(follows hastily).
The army's paid whatever had been due,
The soldiers to their colours pledged anew,
The merry Lanzknecht's got a large advance,
And girls and vintners bless the lucky chance.

Kaiser.
You breathe more freely, and your care-worn face
Has actually assumed a cheerful grace;
And what a step!—why, I protest, you run!

Treasurer
(entering).
Ask these men, they will tell what they have done.

Faustus.
The chancellor will please to state the case;
It falls in with the duties of his place.

Chancellor
(advancing slowly).
Who could have ever dreamed such happiness
Would come the days of my old age to bless.
Listen! and look upon the heaven-sent leaf,
That into joy hath changed a people's grief.
(Reads)
—‘To all whom it concerneth, and so forth:—
This note of hand, that purports to be worth
A thousand crowns, subjects to such demand
The boundless treasure buried in the land.
And furthermore, said treasure underground,
To pay said sum is, whensoever found,
And wheresoever, firmly pledged and bound.’

Kaiser.
Audacity unheard of!—foul deceit!
Who signed the emperor's name to such vile cheat?
What punishment can for such crime atone?

Treasurer.
Forget you, Sire, the writing is your own?
This last night you were in the character
Of Pan: we saw the Chancellor prefer
The suit. He said, ‘A few strokes of your pen
Will bless the people over whom you reign.
Do make them happy on this festal night.’
And then you did take up the pen and write.
No time was lost. A thousand artists plied,
A thousand-fold the scroll was multiplied;
And that the good to every one might fall,
We stamped at once the series, one and all.
Tens—thirties—fifties—hundreds off we strike!
Never was anything that men so like:
Your city, mouldering and in despair,
Has caught new life, and joy is everywhere.
Long as your name was by the world held dear,
Never did it so brightly shine as here—
The alphabet! what is it to this sign?—
To this ‘hoc signo vinces’ note of thine?

Kaiser.
For good gold, then, in court and camp it passes,
And for good gold is taken by the masses?
I must permit it, tho' it does seem odd.

Marshal.
The papers flying everywhere abroad—
Stop it—oh yes!—the lightning flashes stop—
At every banker's booth and money-shop,
For each leaf you can have (deducting still
Some discount) gold and silver, if you will.
Then off with you to butcher and to baker,
Vintner, and such like—tailor, sausage-maker.
Half the world passes—wealth is such a blessing—
Its days in feasting—the other half in dressing.
Flaunting in their new clothes—show their new riches—
The mercer cuts away—the stitcher stitches—
And ‘long live Cæsar!’ blurts out, 'mid the ringing
Of plates—of boiling, broiling, swearing, singing.

Mephistopheles.
And he who walks alone the public ways,
And fixes on the fairest there his gaze,
And sees her move, with bland attractiveness,
In all the splendour of imposing dress;
The peacock's proud plume shades one eye, the while
She smirks, and simpers by with meaning smile—
Methinks she sees, and seems to understand
The import of this little note of hand.
Aye! and it wins from her, as by a spell,
The favours that my lady has to sell.
When words are weak, and wit all out of joint.
'Tis this that brings a woman to the point:
Close in the bosom, hidden there from view,
It lies so nicely in a billet-doux.
The priest—he now no purse or scrip need bear—
Devoutly folds it in his Book of Prayer.
The soldier moves more freely, at his loins
No longer carrying a weight of coins.
Pardon me, Sire; on such details to dwell,
No doubt seems trifling with the miracle.

Faustus.
The treasure that within the land lies deep,
Entranced, as 'twere, in an enchanted sleep,
Frozen and fixed—useless, while unemployed—
This may be disemprisoned, be enjoyed.
Man, in imagination's boldest hour,
To reach such treasure's limit has no power.
The intellect strives ever, strives in vain,
Some dim anticipation to attain;
But Spirits grasp it—see beyond the sense—
Have in the Boundless boundless confidence.

Mephistopheles.
An easy substitute for gold and pearls
This paper is, and its convenience such,
We know at once how little, and how much
We have: no need of testing and of weighing;
No chaffering, cheapening, proving, or assaying
But to the vintner's, or the merry girl's,
Off with us! Wish we specie—little danger
Of waiting long to find a money-changer.
At worst it is but digging—in a trice
You shovel up cup and trinkets plenty; call
An auction, for the bill make quick provision,
To the discomfiture and shame of all
Who looked upon our project with derision.
Once used to them, men will have nothing but
These leaves—so easy to receive and spend;
And the realm circulates, from this hour out,
Jewels, and gold, and paper to no end.

Kaiser
(to Faustus and Mephistopheles).
You've done the state some service, and a meed
Appropriate to such service I've decreed.
We do appoint you now, of our good pleasure,
Our custodees of subterranean treasure.
Wealth from all other eyes that Earth holds hid,
Guard; let none dig or delve but as you bid.
(To the Officers of the Treasury.)
And, Treasurers, as behoves in your high place,
Aid with becoming dignity and grace.
Thus shall we see, with profit and delight,
The Upper- and the Under-world unite.

Treasurer.
No danger, Sire, of discord or debate,
Or deficit, now that my happy fate
Makes the magician my associate.

[Exit with Faustus.
Kaiser.
If I distribute gifts among my court,
How will they use them? let each tell me now.

First Page
(receiving his gift).
I'll pass my life in gaiety and sport.

Second Page
(receiving).
I'll buy a frontlet for my lady's brow:
Rings in her ear and on her hand shall shine.

Chamberlain
(taking his present).
I'll drink two flasks for one, and better wine.

Another.
The dice, I feel them—and the itch of play.

Feudal Lord
(thoughtfully).
I'll free my castle from its debts to-day.

Another.
A treasure!—yes, a treasure!—with the rest
I'll hoard it up securely in a chest.

Kaiser.
I thought to have waked the ardour that inspires
Bold enterprise—new deeds and new desires.
Wealth leaves you each employed at his old game—
The same! I should have known you—still the same.

(The Court Fool, who had been supposed dead, presents himself.)
Fool
(approaching).
You shower down gifts, let me have part of the shower.

Kaiser.
What! you alive! you'd drink them in an hour.

Fool.
Drink?—magic leaves! I comprehend you not.

Kaiser.
Strange if you did! you'd use them badly, sot!

Fool.
There, more are dropping—I do not know what
To do.

Kaiser.
Do! take them, they fell to your lot.
[Exit Kaiser.

Fool.
Five thousand crowns! the words are written plain.

Mephistopheles.
What, two-legged bladder, on thy feet again?

Fool.
Aye! down, then up, seldom so well as now.

Mephistopheles.
How glad you look, the sweat runs down your brow.

Fool.
And is this money? look at it; what do you think?

Mephistopheles.
Money, no doubt of it, and meat and drink.

Fool.
And will it buy me corn, land, house, and kine?

Mephistopheles.
No doubt of it: bid only, they are thine.

Fool.
Castle and park, and forest, fish-pond, chase?

Mephistopheles.
All these—and then the title of Your Grace.

Fool.
I'll have the castle; sleep to-night in it.

[Exit.
Mephistopheles
(alone).
Who but will now acknowledge our fool's wit?

Dark Gallery.
Faustus—Mephistopheles.
Mephistopheles.
Why drag me down these dismal passages?
A pleasant notion of what pleasant is
You seem to have. The merriment within,
The gay throng of great people crowding thick—
Why drag me from it? 'tis the very scene
For drollery, cajolery and trick.

Faustus.
Speak not of that. You cannot but have been
Outwearied with its sameness long ago,
The glitter is all gone of that poor show.
The purpose—or I take it so to be—
Of all your restless shuffling to and fro,
Is to escape a moment's talk with me.
Now I am tortured into act tho' loth—
The Chamberlain and Marshal at me both.
The Emperor's impatient for the play
Of Helena and Paris, so they say:
He wills it, and there must be no delay.
The model forms of man's and woman's beauty
He would behold as they appeared in life:
Swift to the task—up, Spirit! do thy duty.
The emperor waits—I may not break my word.

Mephistopheles.
So lightly to have promised was absurd.

Faustus.
This comes, companion, from the arts you use:
We made him rich, and now we must amuse.

Mephistopheles.
You think the thing is done as soon as said.
Here before steeps more perilous we stand,
That guard the frontier of a foreign land.
Art rash enough the hostile ground to tread?
Aye! with the devil to pay, 'tis mighty cheap,
Worlds of new debt upon your head to heap.
Would you call up their Helena of old,
Like those pale paper phantoms of false gold?
Of witch materials from the yielding sex—
Of dwarfy men, with puffed and pursy necks—
Of midnight ghosts and goblins, and the stuff
That ghosts are made of, you shall have enough.
But devils' drabs—tho' good things in their way—
Would not quite do your heroine parts to play.

Faustus.
Aye, twanging on the same old string again!
Why is it that you never can speak plain?
Consult with you! that always is about
One's worst expedient—you suggest new doubt.
The father of all hindrance—your advice,
An agent's—for each job who has his price;
Mumble but a few sounds, and, quick as thought,
While one looks round, you have them on the spot.

Mephistopheles.
I and the Heathen never hit it well.
They're none of mine, and they have their own hell.
But there are means—

Faustus.
Speak! speak! delay me not.

Mephistopheles.
But there are means—reluctantly do I
Unveil a higher Mystery—Goddesses
August enthrone themselves in loneliness.
Place none around them, glimpse of Time still less.
They are—we speak not of them, scarce will think—
They are the Mothers—

Faustus.
Mothers!

Mephistopheles.
Do you shrink?
Are you shuddering?

Faustus.
Mothers! mothers! It sounds strange.

Mephistopheles.
And is so. Goddesses beyond the range
Known to you mortals. We of them would keep
Strict silence. For their homes you may scrape deep
Under the undermost. Aye, go there, do.
You have yourself to blame for it; but for you
We'd have no need of them.

Faustus.
The road?

Mephistopheles.
The road!
There's no road. Road!—road to where none have trod
Ever—none ever will tread!—road to where
I warrant never suppliant bent in prayer,
Nor ever will hereafter! Art thou ready?
No locks are there—no bolts to be pushed back;
But solitudes whirl round in endless eddy.
Can'st grasp in thought what no words can express—
Vacuity and utter loneliness?

Faustus.
You might have spared, methinks, this solemn speeching;
Something of the old time it seems to smack;
Brings back the very smell of the witch kitchen.
Have I not dealt in the world? and have I not
There learned the empty?—there the empty taught?
What I saw clearly, if I spoke out plain,
Was I not doubly contradicted then?
And to escape the blows from all sides given,
To savage solitude was I not driven,
Till sick of life in such dull sameness passed,
I gave me over to the Devil at last?

Mephistopheles.
And hadst thou swum thro' ocean, even within
Its shoreless desolation, thou would'st see
Wave on wave coming everlastingly,
In the very jaws of ruin; something still
Would meet the eye—say, dolphins on the green
Of the smooth surface, sporting at their will;
Cloud-shadows trailing—sun, moon, many a star.
In the illimitable void afar
Nothing whatever—nothing there is seen.
Where your foot falls the unsubstantial ground
Sinks down—still sinks; you move—you hear no sound.

Faustus.
—The very rant of the hierophant
When he is wheedling some poor neophyte.
Your promise though is the reverse of his,
And its results in all things opposite.
You'd send me to the empty to increase
Science, Art, Power. I see what you are at—
The old tale of the chestnuts, and the cat
Scorching his paws in the cinders. Never mind,
I'll sift it to the depth: in this, your evil
Find good—in this your nothing all things find.

Mephistopheles.
We part; but I must own you know the devil.
Here take this Key.

Faustus.
That little thing!

Mephistopheles.
Aye, take
And hold it tight, nor little of it make.

Faustus.
It swells!—it shines!—it flashes in my hand!

Mephistopheles.
The virtue there is in it, understand!
The Key will scent the Mothers to their lair.
Follow his guidance down, and you are there.

Faustus.
The Mothers! it falls on me like a blow.
How can a word—a sound—affect me so?

Mephistopheles.
Such narrow-mindedness! At a new word
Quailing!—would'st never hear but what you've heard?
If—pardon me—a meaning's to be found,
Beyond what your thoughts reach to, in a sound,
Is that a matter to astonish us,
So long inured to the Miraculous?

Faustus.
Think not in torpor that I place my weal.
'Tis man's—'tis man's to shudder and to feel
The Human in us, though the world disown
And mock at feeling, seized and startled thus,
In on itself by strong revulsion thrown,
Thrills at the Vast—the Awful—the Unknown.

Mephistopheles.
Sink then! I might say rise—'tis one. Fly far
From earth—from all existences that are,
Into the realms of Image unconfined.
Gloat upon charms that long have ceased to be:
Like cloud-wreaths rising, rolling, the combined
Army of Apparitions rush on thee.
Wave high the Key, and keep them at far length—
From thy person keep them.

Faustus.
As I grasp the Key,
My heart expands to the great work, and strength
Is given me. Onward!

Mephistopheles.
A burning Tripod tells thee thou hast found
The deepest—art below the deepest ground;
And by its light the Mothers thou wilt see—
Some sit, and others stand, or, it may be,
In movement are. Formation, Transformation,
Eternal Play of the Eternal Mind,
With Semblances of all things in creation,
For ever and for ever sweeping round.
Onward! They see thee not, for they but see
Shapes substanceless. There's risk—be bold—be brave:
Straight to the Tripod; touch it with the Key.

[Faustus takes a firm commanding attitude with the key.
Mephistopheles
(looking at him).
All's right! it clings!—it follows! Faithful slave!
Thou reascendest,—Fortune raising thee—
Calm, self-possessed, as one that knows not fear;
Ere they have marked thine absence, thou art here.
Bring but the Tripod hither, and from night
Hero and Heroine you may raise to light—
The first to venture on such bold design.
'Tis done; to have accomplished it is thine—
And now as the magician bids, the clouds
Of waving incense shape them into Gods.

Faustus.
And now? what now?

Mephistopheles.
Thy being downward strain.
Stamp, and you sink; stamp—you ascend again.

[Faustus stamps and sinks.
Mephistopheles
(alone).
If the Key lead him but in the right track!
—I wonder, is he ever to come back?

Brilliantly Lighted Halls.
Kaiser and Princes. The Court in motion. Chamberlain, Marshal, Mephistopheles, Blondine, Brunette, Dame, Page.
Chamberlain
(to Mephistopheles).
Give us the Spirit scene without delay—
The Emperor's impatient for the play.

Marshal.
'Twas but a moment since his Grace did ask
About it. Haste! The party was made for
This show of yours, and the thing must be done,
Or you will compromise the emperor.

Mephistopheles.
My friend's this very moment at his task;
He has gone away to work at it—has gone
To his study; has begun it: 'twill go on
Well—I've no doubt of it. Closeted close, none dare
Disturb him as he works in secret there.
Who would raise up such treasure—would bid rise
The Beautiful—needs for the enterprise
The highest Art—the Magic of the Wise.

Marshal.
It matters not what arts you call to aid;
The Emperor's will is that the play be played.

Blondine
(to Mephistopheles).
A word, an't please you, sir. You see my face
Is now quite clear; but 'tis another case
When summer comes. In the hot horrid weather
A hundred brown-red spots sprout out together,
Hiding the white skin, clouding it with freckles.
A cure, sir!

Mephistopheles.
Pity, that a face so pretty,
That smiles so dazzlingly on me to-day,
Should look so in the month of merry May,
Like a young panther's hide—all spots and speckles.
Take frog-spawn, toads' tongues—stew all in a skillet,
And when the moon is at the full distil it;
And in the wane, be sure to spread it on.
Spring comes and goes—the freckles, too, are gone.

Brunette
(having made her way to him).
The crowd throng round, they fawn on you and flatter;
May I a plain word speak? A little matter
Ails me. A cure, my lord! A frozen foot
Mars walking, dancing, spoils even my salute
When I would curtsey.

Mephistopheles.
If you would but grant
Me just to press your foot—

Brunette.
With a gallant—
A lover—I might do it.

Mephistopheles.
Child! the print
Of my foot hath a deeper meaning in't.
A cure will follow if my foot but strike,
Whatever the disease. 'Tis like to like
Forms the great secret of the healing art.
Thus foot cures foot, and so with every part.
Now for the tread, which you need not return.

Brunette
(screaming).
Pain! pain! it was a hard stamp, like a burn,
As of a horse-hoof. How can I endure
The torture?

Mephistopheles.
With the torture take the cure.
At dances you can now with pleasure move,
At table mix feet with the man you love.

Dame
(pressing forward).
Me!—let me through! I cannot bear the pain;
It boils up from my heart—it burns my brain.
Last night he lived but in my glances; he
Chats with her now, and turns his back on me.

Mephistopheles.
A case of difficulty 'tis and doubt.
You must press gently up to him—hear me out—
This cinder keep, and with it on his cloak
Or on his sleeves or shoulder make a stroke,
Or any part that may your fancy take:
Remembrance and repentance will awake.
The cinder you immediately must swallow;
Wine must not touch your lips, nor water follow
This food. He sighs before your door to-night.

Dame.
There is not poison in it?

Mephistopheles
(enraged).
Honour bright!
Think who you speak with. Long enough in vain
Might a man search to find the like again.
It came from one of the old wizard-pyres.
—We've not been lately stirring up the fires.

Page
(approaching).
They scorn my love—they say 'tis but a boy's.

Mephistopheles
(aside).
Whom shall I listen to? What crowds! what noise!
(To the Page)
Tell not to growing girls your hopes and fears;
Youth is not valued but by those in years.
(Others press up to him.)
There—more; no end of comers—age and youth.
My last, sad, only refuge is the truth.
Oh, Mothers! Mothers! let but Faustus loose.
(Looks round.)
The lights already glimmer in the hall.
The whole court's moving thither, one and all.
Each pressing after each in their degrees,
Through the long walks, down the far galleries.
And now they gather in the ample space
Of the old Ritter-saal, and scarce find place.
O'er the broad walls the tapestry hangs rich,
And armour gleams from every nook and niche.
It needs no charm to bid the Spirits come:
Your Ghosts are here if anywhere at home.

Ritter-saal, dimly lighted. Kaiser and Court have entered. Herald, Astrologer, Mephistopheles, Architect, Faustus, Ladies, Ritters, &c.
Herald.
The usage of announcing our new play
Must to necessity for once give way.
The Spirits keep their secrets, and in vain
We seek the hidden magic to explain.
The seats arranged, the chairs are ready all—
The emperor placed in front of the high wall.
There, worked in tapestry, he may behold
In peace the wars of the great days of old.
Now the court circle's filled, and all around
Crowds throng the benches, lining the background.
Lovers find room near lovers, and their fear
Will press them closer when the Ghosts appear.
And so, all being settled and at ease,
We are quite ready. Rise, Ghosts, if you please.

[Trumpets.
Astrologer.
Begin the Drama! 'tis the Sire's command.
Obedient to his will, ye Walls expand!
Magic for everything that we require,
In any exigency, is at hand.
The curtain, curling as though touched by fire,
Is gone—the wall divides—turns round, and there
Before us stands, far in, a theatre,
With light mysterious—none can say whence come;—
And I ascend to the Proscenium.

Mephistopheles
(peeping out of the prompter's box).
No player like me, so up to all stage trick!
And prompting is the devil's rhetoric.
[To the Astrologer.
The tune, to which the Stars keep time, you hear,
You'll catch my whispers with but half an ear.

Astrologer.
By Magic raised a temple here behold,
A massive structure of the days of old—
Like Atlas, who propped heaven up long ago,
Stand pillars, plenty of them, in a row.
Their load of stone such columns well may bear:
'Twere a large building asked more than a pair.

Architect.
And this is the Antique! You cannot force
Me into praising it—'tis cumbrous, coarse.
But Rough, it seems, is Noble; Clumsy, Grand.
Give me the structure men can understand.
Our long, thin, narrow pillars, I so love,
Striving into the Boundlessness above.
The sharp-arched zenith lifts us to the skies.
Give me the edifice that edifies!

Astrologer.
Welcome with reverence this star-favoured hour;
Be Reason bound in words of magic power;
Let Fancy lord it, wandering, wild and free;
All the Mind images the Eye will see;
All the Eye sees, the Mind as true receive:
It is Impossible, and so Believe.

[Faustus is seen ascending on the other side of the proscenium.
Astrologer.
In priestly robe attired, with flower-wreathed brow,
A great magician stands before you now,
Redeeming the bold promise that he gave—
A tripod with him from a hollow cave
Of the realms under earth is rising up:
I feel the fragrance of the incense-cup.
He bounes him now the mighty work to bless,
And we can augur nothing but success.

Faustus.
In your name, oh, ye Mothers! you, whose throne
Is in the Boundless—you, who dwell alone,
Yet not in uncompanioned loneliness.
Around your head the flitting fantasms press
Of life, yet without life. What was, what cast
The splendour of its presence on the Past,
Yonder, as erst, abides eternally—
It was, and having been, will ever be.
It you distribute, beings of all might,
To day's pavilion, to the vault of night:
Some thro' life's cheerful pageant sport their hour,
Some the bold Magian seeks, and subjects to his power,
And, fearless now, to the expectant gaze
His wonder-works he lavishly displays.

Astrologer.
The burning key hath scarcely touched the bowl,
When round us undulating vapours roll,
And in, like rising clouds, the dense mists slide,
Wave—lengthen—form a sphere—unite—divide—
Are two—and they—surpassing wonder of
The Spirits' skill!—make music as they move.
It comes, one knows not how, from tones of air;
The melody moves with them everywhere.
The pillar-shaft, the very triglyph rings;
I do believe that all the temple sings.
From the light veil, as by the music led,
A lovely youth steps forth with measured tread.
The waving mist-wreath falls. He stands out clear.
Who does not see the graceful Paris here?

Lady.
What vigour there! and with such youthful grace!

Second Lady.
How fresh the peach-bloom on that fair soft face!

Third Lady.
How finely carved each sweet and swelling lip.

Fourth Lady.
From such a cup delicious 'twere to sip.

Fifth Lady.
He's handsome, but I cannot think refined.

Sixth Lady.
More elegant he might be, to my mind.

Knight.
I see the traces of the shepherd boy;
No manners—nothing of the Prince of Troy.

Second Knight.
Yes, thus half naked he looks pretty well:
Show him in armour—that's the way to tell.

Lady.
How calmly he inclines him—he would rest.

Knight.
A pleasant couch for you were that soft breast.

Lady.
He bends his arm above his head—what grace!

Chamberlain.
Rudeness—'gainst all proprieties of place.

Lady.
Yon chamber-knights find fault for evermore.

Chamberlain.
To stretch and yawn before the emperor!

Lady.
He acts his part—he thinks himself alone.

Chamberlain.
The Theatre should not forget the Throne.

Lady.
Sleep on the fair youth softly seems to fall.

Chamberlain.
Belike he'll snore; you know 'tis nature all.

Young Lady
(enraptured).
What fragrance mixes with the incense-wreaths,
And on my heart delicious freshness breathes!

Elderly Lady.
Yes, all hearts feel a breath of rapturous power!
It flows from him.

Old Lady.
It is the growing flower
Of human life, that as ambrosia here
Blooms in the youth, and fills the atmosphere.

[Helena advances.
Mephistopheles.
This, then, was she! My rest she'll never break.
Fair, doubtless; but with me she does not take.

Astrologer.
Here all at fault, I own it, I must seem.
She comes! the all-beautiful! Oh that a tongue
Of fire were mine! The poets, who have sung
Of Beauty, did but picture their own dream.
They saw not. Who hath seen her—sees her—is
Entranced, is dumb. To win, to call her his—
Oh! that it could but be!—Wish wild and vain!

Faustus.
Do my eyes see? or deep within the brain
Doth the full fountain of all Beauty shed
Its gushing torrents? Oh! what glorious gain
Is mine! bright issue of that journey dread—
The world—yet undeveloped, undisclosed,
How mean! how abject!—rose up in the hour
Of my initiation, robed with power,
And on its own eternity reposed.
No painted cloud, no transitory gleam,
No sand-drift now of unsubstantial dream,
But kindred with man's heart, indeed divine.
If that in thought I ever part from thee,
Oh! may I in that moment cease to be!
The shape that won me from myself away
Amused me in the magic mirror's play—
How faint! how feeble, to these charms of thine!
In thee life's springs of power and passion live.
Life of my life! to thee myself I give!
Love! adoration! madness of the heart!

Mephistopheles
(from the prompter's box).
Collect yourself—you fall out of your part.

Elderly Lady.
Shapely and tall—only the head too small.

Younger.
Look at the foot—'tis clumsy after all.

Diplomatist.
I have seen princesses; from head to foot
I do pronounce her beauty absolute.

Courtier.
Softly she steals to where he sleeping is.

Lady.
She shocks me.—Near that pure young form of his!

Poet.
He is illumined in the light serene.

Lady.
Endymion!—Luna!—'tis the very scene
As painted.

Poet.
Yes; the goddess downward sinks,
And o'er the sleeper bends; his breath she drinks.
How enviable!—a kiss!—the measure's full.

Duenna.
What! before all the people—that is cool.

Faustus.
Distracting favour to the boy!

Mephistopheles.
Be still.
Do let the phantom lady have her will.

Courtier.
She glides away on light foot; he awakes.

Lady.
Looks back—I thought so—I make no mistakes.

Knight.
He's stricken dumb! ‘Is this the work of dreams?’
Thinks he: ‘what strange things came on me in sleep!’

Lady.
She is, methinks, a dame that knows, not ‘seems,’
And her experience holds such strange things cheap.

Courtier.
And now she turns to him with such calm grace.

Lady.
I see there's a new pupil in the case—
An unformed boy belike of tender age;
And she would take him into tutelage.
In such things all men are so very dull.
Poor lad! he fancies he's the first she has taught.

Knight.
What dignity! so calmly beautiful!

Lady.
A vile coarse wretch! no better than she ought.

Page.
Oh that I were in that young shepherd's place!

Courtier.
Who would not in a net like this be caught?

Lady.
The gem from time to time, with many a one,
Has been from hand to hand still shifted on—
The gilding rubbed off many a year ago.

Another Lady.
From ten years old she has been but so-so.

Knight.
Yes, Fortune favoured them. Yet how divine
The precious relic—would that it were mine.

Gelahrter.
I see her, but it is not free from doubt
That she's the Helen men so talk about.
The danger of illusion here is great;
The eye misleads and will exaggerate.
‘Stick to the written letter’ is my creed:
I look into my Homer, and I read
How she so pleased all the old men of Troy;
And here methinks the self-same thing we see:
I am not young, and she so pleases me.

Astrologer.
He hath cast off the dreamy shepherd-boy;
Wakes into hero—into man. See! see!
He seizes her—she hath no power to flee—
With his nerved arm uplifts her. Can it be?
Thinks he to force her hence?

Faustus
(to Paris).
Rash fool! give o'er.
Dare it! defy me! I can bear no more.

Mephistopheles.
These spirit-freaks, these odd extravagancies,
Are mere stage-trick—they but act out your fancies.

Astrologer.
One word. From what we see, I think we may
Presume ‘the Rape of Helen’ is the play.

Faustus.
What!—Rape?—Am I then nothing here? The key—
Is't not still in my hand? It guided me
Through waves, and horrors, and the hollow roar
Of wildernesses waste, to this firm shore.
Here do I plant my foot—here actual life
Is, and reality—high 'vantage ground
From which the spirit with spirits may well dare strife,
And for itself a double empire found.
She was—how far away! she is—how near!
Rescued, is doubly mine—is doubly dear.
Crown, Mothers, crown the daring with success.
Who hath known her must perish or possess!

Astrologer.
What dost thou, Faustus! Faustus! look at him!
He grasps at her!—the phantom shape grows dim.
Now to the youth he points the key—and, lo!
He touches; he hath touched him! Woe! woe! woe!

[Explosion. Faustus lies on the ground. The spirits go off in smoke.
Mephistopheles
(takes Faustus on his shoulder).
Aye, now he has it, aye. Yes, yes, just so;
Your fool's a heavy load in any case,
And brings the devil himself into disgrace.

[Darkness. Tumult.