Chapter LII: 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 yokéd 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 Actæon
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 Actæon'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 damnéd 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!