No More Learning

Behold that field, O
Carthon. Many a green hill rises there, with mossy stones and rustling
grass. These are the tombs of Fingal's foes, the sons of the rolling
sea! "

"Dost thou speak to the weak in arms," said Carthon, "bard of the
woody Morven? Have not I seen the fallen Balclutha? And shall I feast
with Fingal, the son of Comhal, who threw his fire in the midst of my
father's hall? I was young, and knew not the cause why the virgins
wept. But when the years of my youth came on, I beheld the moss of my
fallen walls; my sigh arose with the morning, and my tears descended
with night. Shall I not fight, I said to my soul, against the children
of my foes? And I will fight, O bard! I feel the strength of my soul. "

His people gathered round the hero, and drew their shining swords. The
spear trembled in his hand. Bending forward, he seemed to threaten the
king.

"Who of my chiefs," said Fingal, "will meet the son of the rolling sea?
Many are his warriors on the coast, and strong is his ashen spear. "

Cathul rose, in his strength, the son of the mighty Lormar. Three
hundred youths attend the chief, the race of his native streams. Feeble
was his arm against Carthon; he fell, and his heroes fled. Connal
resumed the battle, but he broke his heavy spear; he lay bound on the
field; Carthon pursued his people.

"Clessammor," said the king of Morven, "where is the spear of my
strength? Wilt thou behold Connal bound? "

Clessammor rose in the strength of his steel, shaking his grizzly
locks. He fitted the shield to his side; he rushed, in the pride of
valour.

Carthon saw the hero rushing on, and loved the dreadful joy of his
face; his strength, in the locks of age!

"Stately are his steps of age," he said. "Lovely the remnant of his
years! Perhaps it is the husband of Moina, the father of car-borne
Carthon. Often have I heard that he dwelt at the echoing stream of
Lora. "

Such were his words, when Clessammor came, and lifted high his spear.
The youth received it on his shield, and spoke the words of peace.

"Warrior of the aged locks! Hast thou no son to raise the shield before
his father to meet the arm of youth? What will be the fame of my sword
shouldst thou fall? "

"It will be great, thou son of pride! " began the tall Clessammor. "I
have been renowned in battle, but I never told my name to a foe. Yield
to me, son of the wave; then shalt thou know that the mark of my sword
is in many a field. "

"I never yield, king of spears! " replied the noble pride of Carthon.
"Retire among thy friends! Let younger heroes fight. "

"Why dost thou wound my soul? " replied Clessammor, with a tear. "Age
does not tremble on my hand; I still can lift the sword. Shall I fly
in Fingal's sight, in the sight of him I love? Son of the sea, I never
fled! Exalt thy pointed spear! "

They fought, like two contending winds that strive to roll the wave.
Carthon bade his spear to err; he still thought that the foe was the
spouse of Moina. He broke Clessammor's beamy spear in twain; he seized
his shining sword. But as Carthon was binding the chief, the chief drew
the dagger of his fathers. He saw the foe's uncovered side, and opened
there a wound.

Fingal saw Clessammor low; he moved in the sound of his steel. The
host stood silent in his presence; they turned their eyes to the king.
He came, like the sullen noise of a storm before the winds arise.
Carthon stood in his place; the blood is rushing down his side; he saw
the coming down of the king. Pale was his cheek; his hair flew loose,
his helmet shook on high. The force of Carthon failed, but his soul was
strong.

"King of Morven," Carthon said, "I fall in the midst of my course.
But raise my remembrance on the banks of Lora, where my father dwelt.
Perhaps the husband of Moina will mourn over his fallen Carthon. "

His words reached Clessammor. He fell, in silence, on his son. The host
stood darkened around; no voice is on the plain. Night came; the moon
from the east looked on the mournful field; but still they stood, like
a silent grove that lifts its head on Gormal, when the loud winds are
laid, and dark autumn is on the plain; and then they died.

Fingal was sad for Carthon; he commanded his bards to sing the hero's
praise. Ossian joined them, and this was his song: "My soul has been
mournful for Carthon; he fell in the days of his youth. And thou, O
Clessammor, where is thy dwelling in the wind? Has the youth forgot
his wound? Flies he, on clouds, with thee? Perhaps they may come to my
dreams. I think I hear a feeble voice! The beam of heaven delights to
shine on the grave of Carthon. I feel it warm around.

"O thou that rollest above, round as the shield of my fathers! Whence
are thy beams, O sun, thy everlasting light? Thou comest forth in thy
awful beauty; the stars hide themselves in the sky; the moon, cold and
pale, sinks in the western wave. But thou thyself movest alone. Who
can be a companion of thy course? The oaks of the mountains fall; the
mountains themselves decay with years; the ocean shrinks and grows
again; the moon herself is lost in heaven; but thou art for ever the
same, rejoicing in the brightness of thy course.

"When the world is dark with tempests; when thunder rolls, and
lightning flies, thou lookest in thy beauty from the clouds, and
laughest at the storm. But to Ossian thou lookest in vain, for he
beholds thy beams no more; whether thy yellow hair flows on the eastern
clouds, or thou tremblest at the gates of the west. But thou art
perhaps, like me, for a season; thy years will have an end. Thou shalt
sleep in thy clouds; careless of the voice of the morning. Exult thee,
O sun, in the strength of thy youth! Age is dark and unlovely. It is
like the glimmering light of the moon when it shines through broken
clouds and the mist is on the hills; the blast of north is on the
plain; the traveller shrinks in the midst of his journey. "


_II. --Darthula_

Daughter of heaven, fair art thou! The silence of thy face is pleasant!
Thou comest forth in loveliness. The stars attend thy blue course in
the east. The clouds rejoice in thy presence, O moon! Look from thy
gates in the sky. Burst the cloud, O wind, that the daughter of night
may look forth, that the shaggy mountains may brighten, and the ocean
roll its white waves in light!

Nathos is on the deep, and Althos, that beam of youth. Ardan is near
his brothers. They move in the gloom of their course. The sons of
Usnoth move in darkness, from the wrath of Cairbar of Erin. Who is
that, dim, by their side? The night has covered her beauty! Who is it
but Darthula, the first of Erin's maids? She has fled from the love
of Caribar, with blue-shielded Nathos. But the winds deceive thee, O
Darthula! They deny the woody Etha to thy sails. These are not the
mountains of Nathos; nor is that the roar of his climbing waves. The
halls of Cairbar are near; the towers of the foe lift their heads! Erin
stretches its green head into the sea. Tura's bay receives the ship.
Where have ye been, ye southern winds, when the sons of my love were
deceived? But ye have been sporting on plains, pursuing the thistle's
beard. Oh that ye had been rustling in the sails of Nathos till the
hills of Etha arose; till they arose in their clouds, and saw their
returning chief!

Long hast thou been absent, Nathos--the day of thy return is past!
Lovely thou wast in the eyes of Darthula. Thy soul was generous and
mild, like the hour of the setting sun. But when the rage of battle
rose, thou wast a sea in a storm. The clang of thy arms was terrible;
the host vanished at the sound of thy coarse. It was then Darthula
beheld thee from the top of her mossy tower; from the tower of Selama,
where her fathers dwelt.

"Lovely art thou, O stranger! " she said, for her trembling soul arose.
"Fair art thou in thy battles, friend of the fallen Cormac! Why dost
thou rush on in thy valour, youth of the ruddy look? Few are thy hands
in fight against the dark-browed Cairbar! Oh that I might be freed from
his love--that I might rejoice in the presence of Nathos! "

Such were thy words, Darthula, in Selama's mossy towers. But now the
night is around thee. The winds have deceived thy sails, Darthula!
Cease a little while, O north wind! Let me hear the voice of the
lovely. Thy voice is lovely, Darthula, between the rustling blasts!

"Are these the rocks of Nathos? " she said. "This the roar of his
mountain streams? Comes that beam of light from Usnoth's mighty hall?
The mist spreads around; the beam is feeble and distant far. But the
light of Darthula's soul dwells in the chief of Etha! Son of the
generous Usnoth, why that broken sigh? Are we in the land of strangers,
chief of echoing Etha? "

"These are not the rocks of Nathos," he replied, "nor this the roar
of his streams. We are in the land of strangers, in the land of cruel
Cairbar. The winds have deceived us, Darthula. Erin lifts here her
hills. Go towards the north, Althos; be thy steps, Ardan, along the
coast; that the foe may not come in darkness, and our hopes of Etha
fail. I will go towards that mossy tower to see who dwells about the
beam. "

He went. She sat alone; she heard the rolling of the wave. The big tear
is in her eye. She looks for returning Nathos.

He returned, but his face was dark.

"Why art thou sad, O Nathos? " said the lovely daughter of Colla.

"We are in the land of foes," replied the hero. "The winds have
deceived us, Darthula. The strength of our friends is not near, nor the
mountains of Etha. Where shall I find thy peace, daughter of mighty
Colla? The brothers of Nathos are brave, and his own sword has shone
in fight! But what are the sons of Usnoth to the host of dark-browed
Cairbar? Oh that the winds had brought thy sails, Oscar, king of men!
Thou didst promise to come to the battles of fallen Cormac! Cairbar
would tremble in his halls, and peace dwell round the lovely Darthula.
But why dost thou fall, my soul? The sons of Usnoth may prevail! "

"And they will prevail, O Nathos! " said the rising soul of the maid.
"Never shall Darthula behold the halls of gloomy Cairbar. Give me those
arms of brass, that glitter to the passing meteor. I see them dimly in
the dark-bosomed ship. Darthula will enter the battle of steel. "

Joy rose in the face of Nathos when he heard the white-bosomed maid. He
looks towards the coming of Cairbar. The wind is rustling in his hair.
Darthula is silent at his side. Her look is fixed on the chief. She
strives to hide the rising sigh.

Morning rose with its beams. The sons of Erin appear, like grey rocks,
with all their trees; they spread along the coast. Cairbar stood in the
midst. He grimly smiled when he saw the foe. Nathos rushed forward, in
his strength; nor could Darthula stay behind. She came with the hero,
lifting her shining spear.

"Come," said Nathos to Cairbar--"come, chief of high Temora! Let our
battle be on the coast, for the white-bosomed maid. His people are not
with Nathos; they are behind these rolling seas. Why dost thou bring
thy thousands against the chief of Etha? "

"Youth of the heart of pride," replied Cairbar, "shall Erin's king
fight with thee? Thy fathers were not among the renowned, and Cairbar
does not fight with feeble men! "

The tear started from car-borne Nathos. He turned his eyes to his
brothers. Their spears flew at once. Three heroes lay on earth. Then
the light of their swords gleamed on high. The ranks of Erin yield, as
a ridge of dark clouds before a blast of wind! Then Cairbar ordered his
people, and they drew a thousand bows. A thousand arrows flew. The sons
of Usnoth fell in blood. They fell like three young oaks, which stood
alone on the hill. The traveller saw the lovely trees, and wondered how
they grew so lonely; the blast of the desert came by night, and laid
their green heads low; next day he returned, but they were withered,
and the heath was bare!

Darthula stood in silent grief, and beheld their fall! Pale was her
cheek.
Her trembling lips broke short a half-formed word. Her breast
of snow appeared. It appeared; but it was stained with blood. An arrow
was fixed in her side. She fell on the fallen Nathos, like a wreath of
snow! Her hair spreads wide on his face. Their blood is mixing round!

"Daughter of Colla--thou art low! " said Cairbar's hundred bards. "When
wilt thou rise in thy beauty, first of Erin's maids? Thy sleep is
long in the tomb. The sun shall not come to thy bed and say, 'Awake,
Darthula! Awake thou first of women! The wind of spring is abroad. The
flowers shake their heads on the green hills. The winds wave their
growing leaves. ' Retire, O sun, the daughter of Colla is asleep! She
will not come forth in her beauty. She will not move in the steps of
her loveliness! "

Such was the song of the bards when they raised the tomb. I, too, sang
over the grave when the king of Morven came to green Erin to fight with
the car-borne Cairbar!


FOOTNOTES:

[W] No ancient or modern work in the history of literature has
excited such wild admiration and such profound contempt as the "Ossian"
of James Macpherson. It was Napoleon's favourite work; he carried it
with him to Egypt and took it to St. Helena. Byron and Goethe and
Chateaubriand were also touched to enthusiasm by it. Its author--or,
as some still think, its editor--was a Scottish schoolmaster, James
Macpherson, born at Ruthven, in Inverness-shire on October 27, 1736.
The first part of the work, entitled "Fragments of Ancient Poetry,
Collected in the Highlands of Scotland, and Translated from the Gaelic,
or Erse, Language," was published in 1760; "Fingal" appeared in 1762,
and "Temora" in the following year. Doctor Johnson said of Macpherson:
"He has found names, and stories, and phrases, nay, passages in old
songs, and with them has blended his own compositions, and so made
what he gives to the world as the translation of an ancient poem"; and
this verdict is now confirmed by the best authorities. Nevertheless,
"Ossian" is a work of considerable merit and great historic interest.
It contains some fine passages of real poetry, such as the invocation
to the sun with which "Carthon" concludes, and it has served to attract
universal attention to the magnificent Celtic traditions of Scotland
and Ireland. Macpherson died in Inverness-shire on February 17, 1796.




CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE[X]




The Tragical History of Dr. Faustus


_Persons in the Play_

Doctor Faustus
Wagner, _his servant_
Mephistophilis
Lucifer
The Emperor
Benvolio, Martino, Frederick, _gentlemen of the emperor's court_
BRUNO
THE POPE
THREE Scholars, CARDINALS, LORDS, Devils, PHANTOMS,
GOOD _and_ EVIL ANGELS, _etc_. , CHORUS.


ACT I


SCENE I. --FAUSTUS _in his study, reading a volume on necromancy_.

FAUSTUS: All things that move between the quiet poles
Shall be at my command: emperors and kings
Are but obeyed in their several provinces;
But his dominion that excels in this
Stretches as far as does the mind of man.
A sound magician is a demi-god.

[_Enter_ GOOD _and_ EVIL ANGELS.

GOOD ANGEL: O Faustus, lay that damned book aside
And gaze not on it, lest it tempt thy soul,
And heap God's heavy wrath upon thy head!
Read, read the Scriptures--that is blasphemy.

EVIL ANGEL: Go forward, Faustus, in that famous art
Wherein all nature's treasure is contained;
Be thou on earth as Jove is in the sky,
Lord and commander of these elements.
[_Exeunt_ ANGELS.

FAUSTUS: How am I glutted with conceit of this!
Faustus, begin thine incantations,
And try if devils will obey thy hest.

[_Thunder_. FAUSTUS _pronounces the incantation.
Enter_ MEPHISTOPHILIS.

MEPHISTOPHILIS: Now, Faustus, what wouldst thou have me do?

FAUSTUS: I charge thee, wait upon me while I live,
To do whatever Faustus shall command.

MEPHISTOPHILIS: I am a servant to great Lucifer,
And may not follow thee without his leave.

FAUSTUS: Tell me, what is that Lucifer, thy lord?

MEPHISTOPHILIS: Arch-regent and commander of all
spirits.

FAUSTUS: Was not that Lucifer an angel once?

MEPHISTOPHILIS: Yes, Faustus, and most dearly loved of God.

FAUSTUS: How comes it, then, that he is prince of devils?

MEPHISTOPHILIS: Oh, by aspiring pride and insolence,
For which God threw him out from the face of heaven.

FAUSTUS: And what are you that live with Lucifer?

MEPHISTOPHILIS: Unhappy spirits that fell with Lucifer,
conspired against our God with Lucifer,
And are forever damned with Lucifer.

FAUSTUS: Where are you damned?

MEPHISTOPHILIS: In hell.

FAUSTUS: How comes it, then, that you are out of hell?

MEPHISTOPHILIS: Why, this is hell, nor am I out of it.
Think'st thou that I, that saw the face of God,
And tasted the eternal joys of heaven,
Am not tormented with ten thousand hells
In being deprived of everlasting bliss?

FAUSTUS: Go, bear these tidings to great Lucifer:
Seeing Faustus hath incurred eternal death
By desperate thoughts against God's deity, Say
he surrenders up to him his soul,
So he will spare him four-and-twenty years,
Having thee ever to attend on me.
Then meet me in my study at midnight,
And then resolve me of thy master's mind. [_Exeunt_.


SCENE II. --_The same. Midnight_. FAUSTUS. _Enter_ MEPHISTOPHILIS.

FAUSTUS: Now tell me what saith Lucifer, thy lord?

MEPHISTOPHILIS: That I shall wait on Faustus while he lives,
So he will buy my service with his soul,
And write a deed of gift with his own blood.

[FAUSTUS _stabs his own arm, and writes. At the summons
of_ MEPHISTOPHILIS _enter_ DEVILS, _who present_
FAUSTUS _with crowns and rich apparel. Exeunt_
DEVILS. FAUSTUS _reads the deed, by which_ MEPHISTOPHILIS
_is to be at his service for twenty-four years,
at the end of which_ LUCIFER _may claim his soul_.

MEPHISTOPHILIS: Now, Faustus, ask me what thou
wilt.

FAUSTUS: Tell me where is the place that men call
hell?

MEPHISTOPHILIS: Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed
In one self place; but where we are is hell,
And where hell is, there must we ever be;
And, to be short, when all the world dissolves,
And every creature shall be purified,
All places shall be hell that are not heaven.

FAUSTUS: I think hell's a fable.

MEPHISTOPHILIS: Aye, think so still, till experience
change thy mind. [_Exit_.

FAUSTUS: If heaven was made for man, 'twas made for me.
I will renounce this magic and repent.

[_Enter the_ GOOD _and_ EVIL ANGELS.

GOOD ANGEL: Faustus, repent! Yet God will pity
thee.

EVIL ANGEL: Thou art a spirit; God cannot pity thee.

FAUSTUS: My heart is hardened; I cannot repent.

EVIL ANGEL: Too late.

GOOD ANGEL: Never too late, if Faustus will repent.

[_Exeunt_ ANGELS.

FAUSTUS: O Christ, my Saviour, my Saviour,
Help to save distressed Faustus' soul.

[_Enter_ LUCIFER.

LUCIFER: Christ cannot save thy soul, for He is just;
Thou call'st on Christ, contrary to thy promise;
Thou shouldst not think on God; think on the Devil.

FAUSTUS: Nor will Faustus henceforth; pardon him for this,
And Faustus vows never to look to Heaven.


ACT II

SCENE I. --_Rome. Enter_ CHORUS.

CHORUS: Learned Faustus,
To find the secrets of astronomy
Graven in the book of Jove's high firmament,
Did mount him up to scale Olympus' top;
Where, sitting in a chariot burning bright,
Drawn by the strength of yoked dragons' necks,
He views the clouds, the planets, and the stars.
From east to west his dragons swiftly glide,
And in eight days did bring him home again.
Now, mounted new upon a dragon's back,
He, as I guess, will first arrive at Rome
To see the Pope and manner of his court,
And take some part of holy Peter's feast,
The which this day is highly solemnised.

[_Exit. Enter_ FAUSTUS _and_ MEPHISTOPHILIS.

FAUSTUS: Hast thou, as erst I did command,
Conducted me within the walls of Rome?

MEPHISTOPHILIS: This is the goodly palace of the
Pope.

FAUSTUS: Sweet Mephistophilis, thou pleasest me.
Whilst I am here on earth, let me be cloy'd
With all things that delight the heart of man.
My four-and-twenty years of liberty
I'll spend in pleasure and in dalliance.
Now in this show let me an actor be,
That this proud Pope may Faustus' cunning see.

[_Enter_ POPE _and others in procession_; BRUNO,
_nominated pope in opposition by the_ EMPEROR, _in chains_.
FAUSTUS _and_ MEPHISTOPHILIS, _impersonating two
cardinals, are given charge of the condemned_
BRUNO, _whom they liberate and dispatch magically
to the_ EMPEROR. _Subsequently, both being rendered
invisible, they amuse themselves at the expense of
the_ POPE _and his guests at a banquet; and then depart
to the_ EMPEROR'S _court_.

SCENE II. --_Before the_ EMPEROR'S _palace_. BENVOLIO _at a
window. Enter the_ EMPEROR _with his train, including_
FAUSTUS, MEPHISTOPHILIS, BRUNO.

EMPEROR: Wonder of men, renowned magician,
Thrice-learned Faustus, welcome to our court.
Now, Faustus, as thou late didst promise us,
We would behold that famous conqueror,
Great Alexander, and his paramour,
In their true shapes and state majestical.

FAUSTUS: Your majesty shall see them presently.

BENVOLIO: Aye, aye, and thou bring Alexander and
his paramour before the emperor, I'll be Actaeon
and turn myself to a stag.

FAUSTUS: And I'll be Diana and send you the horns
presently.

[_Enter a pageant of Darius, Alexander, etc. , being
phantoms. Exeunt_.

FAUSTUS: See, see, my gracious lord!

EMPEROR: Oh, wondrous sight!
Two spreading horns, most strangely fastened
Upon the head of young Benvolio!

BENVOLIO: Zounds, doctor, this is your villainy.

FAUSTUS: Oh, say not so, sir; the doctor has no skill
To bring before the royal emperor
The mighty monarch, warlike Alexander.
If Faustus do it, you are straight resolved
In bold Actaeon's shape to turn a stag.
And therefore, my lord, so please your majesty,
I'll raise a kennel of hounds shall hunt him so--
Ho, Belimoth, Argison, Asteroth!

BENVOLIO: Hold, hold! Good my lord, entreat for me!
'Sblood, I am never able to endure these torments.

EMPEROR: Let me entreat you to remove his horns;
He hath done penance now sufficiently.

FAUSTUS: Being that to delight your majesty with
mirth is all that I desire, I am content to remove
his horns (Mephistophilis _removes them_), and
hereafter, sir, look you speak well of scholars.


SCENE III. --_A wood_. BENVOLIO, MARTINO _and_ FREDERICK.

MARTINO: Nay, sweet Benvolio, let us sway thy thoughts
From this attempt against the conjurer.

BENVOLIO: Away! You love me not, to urge me thus.
Shall I let slip so great an injury,
When every servile groom jests at my wrongs,
And in their rustic gambols proudly say,
"Benvolio's head was graced with horns to-day? "
If you will aid me in this enterprise,
Then draw your weapons and be resolute.
If not, depart; here will Benvolio die,
But Faustus' death shall quit my infamy.

FREDERICK: Nay, we will stay with thee, betide what may,
And kill that doctor, if he comes this way.
Close, close! The conjurer is at hand,
And all alone comes walking in his gown.
Be ready, then, and strike the peasant down.

BENVOLIO: Mine be that honour, then. Now, sword, strike home!
For horns he gave, I'll have his head anon!

[_Enter_ FAUSTUS.

No words; this blow ends all.
Hell take his soul! His body thus must fall.

[BENVOLIO _stabs_ FAUSTUS, _who falls_; BENVOLIO _cuts
off his head_.

FREDERICK: Was this that stern aspect, that awful frown
Made the grim monarchs of infernal spirits
Tremble and quake at his commanding charms?

MARTINO: Was this that damned head, whose art conspired
Benvolio's shame before the emperor?

BENVOLIO: Aye, that's the head, and there the body lies.
Justly rewarded for his villainies. [Faustus _rises_.
Zounds, the devil's alive again!

FREDERICK: Give him his head, for God's sake!

FAUSTUS: Nay, keep it; Faustus will have heads and hands,
Aye, all your hearts, to recompense this deed.
Then, wherefore do I dally my revenge?
Asteroth! Belimoth! Mephistophilis!

[_Enter_ MEPHISTOPHILIS, _and other_ DEVILS.

Go, horse these traitors on your fiery backs,
And mount aloft with them as high as Heaven;
Thence pitch them headlong to the lowest hell.
Yet stay, the world shall see their misery,
And hell shall after plague their treachery.
Go, Belimoth, and take this caitiff hence,
And hurl him in some lake of mud and dirt;
Take thou this other, drag him through the woods,
Amongst the pricking thorns and sharpest briars;
Whilst with my gentle Mephistophilis
This traitor flies unto some steepy rock
That rolling down may break the villain's bones.
Fly hence! Dispatch my charge immediately!

FREDERICK: He must needs go, that the devil drives.

[_Exeunt_ DEVILS _with their victims_.


FOOTNOTES:

[X]: Christopher Marlowe was born at Canterbury in February,
1564, the year of Shakespeare's birth. From the King's School he went
to Cambridge, at Corpus, and took his degree in 1583. For the next ten
years, he lived in London; a tavern brawl ended his career on June 1,
1593. During those ten years, when Greene and Nashe and Peele were
beginning to shape the nascent drama, and Shakespeare was serving his
apprenticeship, most of the young authors were living wild enough
lives, and none, according to tradition, wilder than Kit Marlowe;
who, nevertheless, was doing mightier work, work more pregnant with
promise than any of them, and infinitely greater in achievement; for
Shakespeare's tragedies were still to come. That "Tamburlaine the
Great," the first play of a lad of twenty-three, should have been crude
and bombastic is not surprising; that "The Tragical History of Dr.
Faustus" should have been produced by an author aged probably less than
twenty-five is amazing. The story is traditional; two hundred years
after Marlowe, Goethe gave it its most familiar setting (see Vol. XVI,
p. 362). But although some part of Marlowe's play is grotesque, there
is no epithet which can fitly characterise its greatest scenes except
"tremendous. " What may not that tavern brawl have cost the world!


ACT III

SCENE I. --FAUSTUS' _study. Enter_ WAGNER.

WAGNER: I think my master means to die shortly.
He has made his will, and given me his wealth, his
house, his goods, and store of golden plate, besides two
thousand ducats ready coined. I wonder what he means?
If death were nigh, he would not frolic thus. He's now
at supper with the scholars, where there's such cheer as
Wagner in his life ne'er saw the like. Here he comes;
belike the feast is ended.

[_Exit.