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PREFACE

A schoolboy, asked to state what he knew of Mary Tudor, replied: “She was known as Bloody Mary but she was not half as bloody as you’d think.”

We might reasonably expect Miss Sayers, since the previous plays written or performed at the invitation of the Friends of Canterbury Cathedral have concerned prelates and kings who have come to violent and untimely ends, to write with relish of archbishops and assassination, for she has already proved herself to be thoroughly at home with peers and homicide. But, like Mary Tudor, she has not fulfilled our sanguine expectations. Many will be relieved to find that her hero is an architect, that such violence as there may be is accidental, and that, though a rope is the instrument of his downfall, it is accessory to a windlass and not to a gallows.

At a time when all works of fiction are prefaced by a passionate declaration that the author’s characters are entirely imaginary, it is a pleasant change to have to vouch for the authenticity of the main protagonists in this play. It is true that, while most people are familiar with the names of those who damaged or were murdered in Canterbury Cathedral, William of Sens, who designed and built the greater part of it, is not as well known as he ought to be. When the choir was burnt down in 1174, he was chosen by a nervous Chapter to undertake the work of reconstruction. Then as now, that a foreigner in competition with native contractors should be selected for such a task must have caused furious comment. Nevertheless, in the face of official timidity and practical obstacles, he succeeded in raising from the ashes of Lanfranc’s work the leaping choir which we cherish to-day. This creation, magnificent as it is, might hardly seem to be suitable material for a dramatic work. But Miss Sayers chooses William of Sens to be the vehicle for her theme of the artist who in the supreme moment of mastery over his craft may be thrown down and destroyed by a consuming and wasting infirmity, the germ of which is in us all and which too often, fostered by our unawareness, destroys virtue and vitality with its insidious infection. Though few may have fallen physically as far and as hard as William, many have fallen away artistically and have perished without the revelation which was granted to him.

The only scenes which may be suspect historically are those between William and the Lady Ursula. It might be considered a little unfair to credit William with an imaginary intrigue; but, in fact, Miss Sayers has ingenious and moderately sound reasons for doing so.

Our authority for these events is the contemporary chronicle of Gervase the Monk. After recording with horror and enthusiasm the fire and the rebuilding, he refers to William’s accident in a strange and pregnant sentence; he attributes the calamity to “either the Vengeance of God or the Envy of the Devil.” Can we not detect in this the verdict of one who, while full of admiration for the Master’s work, has watched with disapproval, and not a little envy, the pride and licence which the artist has been at little pains to conceal, and now records a well-merited if lamented punishment with righteous satisfaction? Herein may be the clue to some such fall from grace as that which Miss Sayers suggests in the scenes between the architect and his admirer.

For the rest the play deals with well-established facts. Avoiding sham archaism and the fusty language which is too often expected and provided in plays of period, it presents the Middle Ages as being very little removed in essentials from our own. Petrol and patent medicines have taken the place of the windlass and the faith-healing of the pilgrims, but human fallibility and the inspiration of the artist remain constant. The Archangels who from time to time descend into the arena and direct the destinies of the groundlings need not bewilder the reader or the spectator. They represent the Will of God, Fate, Providence, Accident or what you will and, in the final scenes, that bright flash of intuition which occasionally illuminates even the most clouded conscience.

Laurence Irving.

*

The Zeal of Thy House was written for presentation by the Friends of Canterbury Cathedral, and was first acted in the Chapter House at the Canterbury Festival, 12th-18th June, 1937, with Mr. Harcourt Williams as William of Sens and a mixed cast of professional and amateur performers.

It was first presented in London by Mr. Anmer Hall at the Westminster Theatre, on 29th March, 1938, with Mr. Harcourt Williams, Mr. Frank Napier and Mr. Michael Gough in their original parts, and with the original music and costumes.

Mr. Williams and Mr. Napier were the producers on both occasions. The special music was composed by Mr. Gerald H. Knight, the Cathedral Organist at Canterbury.

The present text is that of the play as first written. At Canterbury, it was presented without interval, and in a slightly shortened form. In London, an interval was found necessary between Parts II and III, and the following chorus was accordingly inserted at the beginning of Part III:

The only other modification of any importance was in St. Michael’s final speech, the last sentences of which were altered as follows:

With the help of these modifications, the play in its original form should prove sufficiently elastic to adapt itself for production in any theatre or place of public or private performance.

Dorothy L. Sayers.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

I

Disposer supreme, and judge of the earth,

Thou choosest for Thine the weak and the poor;

To frail earthen vessels and things of no worth

Entrusting Thy riches which aye shall endure.

Those vessels soon fail, though full of Thy light,

And at Thy decree are broken and gone;

Then brightly appeareth the arm of Thy might,

As through the clouds breaking the lightnings have shone.

[During the singing of the second half of this verse, there enter Michael, Raphael with his Thurifer, Gabriel and Cassiel the Recorder. They pass slowly to the steps while the next verse is sung.

Like clouds are they borne to do Thy great will,

And swift as the wind about the world go;

All full of Thy Godhead while earth lieth still,

They thunder, they lighten, the waters o’erflow.

℣. He maketh His angels spirits.

℟. And His ministers a flaming fire.

I am God’s servant Michael the Archangel;

I walk in the world of men invisible,

Bearing the sword that Christ bequeathed His Church

To sunder and to save.

To sunder and to save.I am God’s servant

Raphael the Archangel; and I walk

In the world of men invisible; I receive

Prayer spoken or unspoken, word or deed

Or thought or whatsoever moves the heart,

Offering it up before the Throne.

Offering it up before the Throne.I am

God’s servant the Archangel Gabriel,

The heavenly runner between God and man,

Moving invisible.

Moving invisible.God’s Recorder, I,

That keep the Book and cast up all accounts,

Cassiel, chief scrivener to the Courts of Heaven.

℣. Their sound is gone out into all lands.

℟. And their words into the ends of the world.

[During the singing of the following verse, the Angelic Persons depart severally, Michael standing above Raphael on the right side of the steps, and the Thurifer kneeling below them; Cassiel with his book on the left side of the steps with Gabriel above.

Oh, loud be Thy trump and stirring the sound,

To rouse us, O Lord, from sin’s deadly sleep;

May lights which Thou kindlest in darkness around

The dull soul awaken her vigils to keep.

[The Recorder, Cassiel, sits at his desk;

Raphael hands his censer to the Thurifer, and sits.

What is our business here to-day in Canterbury?

A meeting of the Cathedral Chapter to choose an architect for the rebuilding of the Choir after the great fire of 1174.

Ah, yes—the choir. I was sorry to see the old one go. It was very beautiful, and a favourite haunt of mine. Prayer had soaked into the stones and sanctified them.

Mankind are exceedingly careless of their possessions. I have an entry against one Tom Hogg, neatherd, who neglected to clean his chimney and so had his thatch set on fire. The sparks were blown across the road and lodged under the lead roof of the church. In a short time all was ablaze.

A heavy consequence for a light offence. Was that your doing, Michael?

It was. I bore the flame betwixt my hands and set it among the rafters. We fanned it with our wings, my angels and I, riding upon the wind from the south.

. . . and seven, twenty-six . . . and three, twenty-nine . . . and nine, thirty-eight. . . .

Was it done to avenge the murder of the Archbishop?

. . . and six. Put down four and carry eight.

I do not know. I am a soldier. I take my orders.

We all do that, Michael. Your interference in the matter does not affect the debit against Tom Hogg. He stands charged with Sloth to a considerable amount. What use was made of his sin is neither here nor there. It is a question of economics.

Quite so. I could have done the work perfectly well myself, with a thunderbolt. Hogg’s sin was not in the least necessary.

Nothing that men do is ever necessary. At least, that is my experience. I find them very amusing.

[The sound of the “Veni Creator” is heard from the lower end of the Chapter-House as the Choir-Monks enter in procession.

I find them very pathetic.

You see them at their best, Raphael; as Michael sees them at their worst.

I find them very perverse. If God were not infinite, they would surely exhaust His patience.

They make a great deal of work in the counting house. Happily, being an angel, and not a man, I like work. The hatred of work must be one of the most depressing consequences of the Fall.

Some men work like angels—and whistle over their work. They are much the most cheerful kind.

[In the meantime, Raphael has met the Monks at the foot of the steps and now precedes them to the Chapter, swinging his censer before them. The last verse of the hymn is sung by the Monks standing about the table. Then all sit. Raphael comes down to sit beside Michael. Cassiel opens the Book at a fresh page and prepares to take minutes of the meeting.

Brethren, the business before us is, as you know, the appointment of an architect for the new choir. Our earlier discussions have brought the number of suitable candidates down to three. To-day we have to make our final choice.

Under God’s guidance.

Under God’s guidance, of course, Father Theodatus. The three men in question are John of Kent, William of Sens, and Henry of York.

Have we got the estimates, Father Prior?

I have two of them here. Henry of York’s is lower than John of Kent’s. He thinks he can restore the existing fabric without pulling it all down and rebuilding.

Will that be safe? Some of the masonry looks to me very insecure. John of Kent is a local man—he has had more opportunity to judge. Besides, it would look well to give the work to a local man.

John is very young—young men are always full of extravagant ideas. No experience.

One must encourage young men. The future is with the young.

John’s estimate is certainly rather high. I don’t think we can countenance extravagance.

We must consider expense, of course, Father Treasurer. Perhaps we had better have the architects in and hear what they have to say. Father Gervase—if you will be so good——

[Gervase goes out by door, right.

Speaking as Choirmaster, may I urge here and now that we should get a man who understands something about acoustics. The old choir——

What we want is the old choir restored to what it was before. I dislike this trivial modern stuff they are putting up all over the place, with its pointed arcading and flourishy capitals. Give me something solid, like Ely.

One must move with the times, Father Paul. Now William of Sens is a progressive man.

He is a foreigner. Why should we have a foreigner? Isn’t an Englishman good enough? Money should be kept in the country.

We do not seem to have had an estimate from William of Sens.

[Re-enter Gervase right with John of Kent, William of Sens, and Henry of York.

Not yet. He writes to me here—— Ah, good morning, sirs. Pray come to the table. We have received your letters and considered your qualifications. We are now minded to hear your further opinions, after inspection of the site. You, Master Henry, have submitted a very conservative estimate of the cost of reconstruction.

My Lord Prior, I have kept the expense down to the lowest possible figure; and after examination of the standing masonry I have prepared a plan and elevation.

[Producing it.

Let us have that.

[Henry puts the plan before the Prior and moves across to left of table.

You will see that I have allowed for keeping the greater part of the standing fabric. (Theodatus and Ernulphus on Prior’s left examine the plan.) With the exception of the more grievously damaged portions which I have marked, I see no reason why the present structure may not be restored——

[He passes plan down to the Monks, on left.

My Lord Prior——

—and put into good order along the original lines. The existing outer walls may be retained——

You think they are not too much weakened by the action of the fire?

Weakened? They are calcined in places almost to powder.

They can be patched and grouted, Master John; and by the addition of supporting buttresses and by altering the pitch of the roof so as to lessen the thrust——

Will not the effect of the buttresses be somewhat clumsy?

There is something a little mean in the proportions of this roof.

I should think it would be bad for sound. After all, the chief use of a choir is to hold services in.

The sooner we get a choir the better. The singing has been very bad lately. I am ashamed to hear sacred words so howled.

[Hands back plan to Henry, who takes it across, right, to Wulfram.

The nave is very awkward to sing in. What with the west end boarded up——

Well, we can’t be expected to hold our services in full view, not to say smell, of the common people.

And the east end boarded up——

[Ernulphus quietly falls asleep.

The draughts are appalling. I caught a shocking cold last Tuesday.

We are singing in a wooden box. You can’t sing properly in a box.

Time is certainly of some importance.

The cost is still more important.

To repair, according to my plan, will be very much cheaper and quicker than to pull down and rebuild. I could engage to be ready within two years——

And in two years more you will have to rebuild again. My Lord Prior——

You, Master John, recommend a complete reconstruction?

Recommend? It must be done. Do not be deceived. This botching is useless and dangerous. It is unworthy——

Master John, I am older than you and more experienced——

You never in your life built anything bigger than a parish church.

Master John, Master John!

This is the Cathedral Church of Christ at Canterbury. It must be the wonder of the realm—nay, of the world! Will you insult God with patchwork? Give me the commission, Lord Prior, and I will build you a church worth looking at!

[Producing plan and elevation, which he passes to Stephen.

To the greater glory of Master John of Kent!

To the glory of God and of the blessed Saints Dunstan and Elphege.

And the entire depletion of the Treasury. Will somebody please tell me where the money is to come from?

The devotion of the common people is most touching. A poor widow yesterday brought us five farthings, all her little savings.

Our Lord will reward her. But that will not go very far.

I think we ought to take the long view. Canterbury is the most important church in the Kingdom, and attracts a great many people to the town. What with the visitors and the great increase in the number of pilgrims since the lamented death of the late Archbishop——

Blessed St. Thomas, pray for us.

[They cross themselves.

A little money spent now on building will repay itself handsomely in donations and bequests.

[Stephen passes the plan to Hilary.

If the fire was a Divine judgment for the Archbishop’s murder——

Eh? the Archbishop? Blessed St. Thomas, pray for us.

[He crosses himself and falls asleep instantly.

I say, if the fire was a judgment, then the new building is a reparation to God, and should be an offering worthy of its high destination and a sufficient sacrifice for the sins of this country.

No artist can do his best work when he has to consider every halfpenny. Thou shalt not muzzle the ox——

All this talk about money is sheer lack of faith. God will provide.

No doubt. But, humanly speaking, the accounts will have to go through the Treasury, and I feel responsible.

There is a good deal of elaborate and expensive ornament here, Master John.

Modern nonsense, modern nonsense. Let us have the old choir back. Here is a groined roof and a clerestory and a lot of fiddle-faddle. How long is all this going to take?

Seven years—perhaps more.

Seven years! Have we to put up with half a cathedral for seven years? Why, God made the world in six days!

God, Father Martin, was not subject to limitations of funds or material.

Nor to the cheese-paring parsimony of a monastic chapter.

Possibly God is an abler architect than any of us.

We have not yet heard your opinion, Master William. Do you think it possible to restore the remaining fabric?

Oh, I should think very likely. I should certainly hope to save some of it.

That is not what you said to us outside.

But I really cannot say—I do not see how anybody can say—without prolonged and careful examination.

That’s very true. Very reasonable.

That is why I have as yet prepared no estimate or plan. But I have brought some drawings of the work entrusted to me at Sens and elsewhere which will give you some idea of the kind of thing I should like to do here.

[Hands papers to Prior.

Now, I like that. Extremely fine and dignified. And very modern in feeling.

And not too ornate.

[William hands them on down right.

It is wonderful. It is like a poem in stone. I should dearly love to see it. How light—and yet how majestic!

[He looks admiringly at William.

Time and cost would depend on the extent of the work. I suggest making a thorough survey before getting out a preliminary plan and estimate. Naturally, I should commit you to nothing without the advice and approval of yourself, Lord Prior and the Father Treasurer.

Just so. We should object to nothing in reason.

I should be obliged (firmly) to stipulate for the best materials.

God’s service demands the best materials.

But we can effect an economy by making good use of local talent, of which I am sure we must possess a great deal——

I am all in favour of local talent.

And we may reduce the cost of shipping and carriage by the use of certain mechanical devices of my own invention, which I need not say I shall be happy to place at the disposal of the authorities without extra fee.

Thank you—that is very proper, very generous. . . . H’m. Well, Brethren, I think we have now the facts before us. If these gentlemen would kindly retire for a few moments. . . .

[General movement; Gervase goes up, right, to door.

Eh, what? what? Have we finished?

No, Father Ernulphus. The architects are retiring while we deliberate.

Oh, I see. Very good.

[He falls asleep again.

Two or three years only, Lord Prior—say four at most—and a strict regard for economy.

[Exit Henry.

Consider, Lord Prior—a structure worthy of its dedication—and safety to life and limb, if you think that matters.

[Exit John.

Sir, if I am chosen, I will do my best.

[Exit William. Gervase follows them off. The rest examine the plans and documents.

The motives of mankind are lamentably mixed.

They mean well, I assure you.

Then it is a pity they do not say what they mean.

It is most confusing. I have worn out my pen trying to keep up with them.

That is easily remedied. Allow me.

[He plucks a feather from his own wing and hands it to Cassiel as Gervase re-enters and shuts the door.

Thank you.

Well, Brethren?

I must say, Master Henry’s plan seems rather makeshift.

He is a Yorkshire man. I would as soon have a foreigner as a Yorkshire man.

He is too anxious to please. First he says two years—then three or four. I should not rely on his estimate.

Are we agreed, then, not to appoint Henry of York? (The Monks signify agreement.) Then that leaves us the choice between John of Kent and William of Sens.

What will they make of that?

They will choose the man whom God has appointed.

I shall see to it that they do.

Let us have John. He is a local man.

[As the Monks give their votes, Gervase notes them down.

Yes; his church will attract attention and bring people into the town.

Too new-fangled and showy. I am for William. I distrust these go-ahead young men.

I have said William all along.

Clearly William is a great craftsman—let us choose him.

We know nothing about him personally. John is a young man of devout life.

What has that to do with it? Besides, his manners are abominable. I give my voice for William.

I like John’s plan—we haven’t seen William’s.

John’s plan looks good from the musician’s point of view.

I must not influence you—but I admit I am greatly impressed by William of Sens. . . . Father Gervase, how does the voting stand?

Five have spoken for John and five for William.

This is where I interfere.

[He goes up into the Chapter-House.

Somebody has not voted. Who is it?

[Everybody stares round at Ernulphus.

It is Father Ernulphus.

He has been asleep all the time.

[Gabriel stands behind Ernulphus.

He is getting very shaky, poor old soul.

Father Ernulphus!

Eh? eh? what?

Do you vote for John of Kent or William of Sens?

William of Sens.

Eh? Yes, of course. William of Sens. Certainly.

[He closes his eyes again.

He hasn’t heard a word. (Loudly) Father Ernulphus!

You needn’t shout. I’m not deaf. I have followed everything very carefully. I said William of Sens and I mean William of Sens.

[He shuts his eyes tight with an air of finality.

Really, Father Prior!

You will never move him now.

[A pause.

The vote of the Chapter, then, is for William of Sens. If there is no further business, the Chapter is dissolved.

Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost. As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be, world without end. Amen.

[Gabriel goes up and stands above.

Father Gervase, pray inform the architects of this decision. Thank those that are not chosen for their pains; they shall receive their journey-money from the Father Treasurer. Ask Master William to come and see me. No time must be lost in putting the work in hand, for the night cometh wherein no man can work.

[Exit Gervase, right, as the Prior follows the Monks out.

℣. Be strong, all ye people of the land, saith the Lord, and

work; for I am with you, saith the Lord God of Hosts.

℟. No man, having put his hand to the plough, and looking

back, is fit for the Kingdom of God.

℣. There is nothing better than that a man should rejoice

in his own works, for that is his portion.

℟. Ascribe ye greatness unto our God; He is the Rock,

His work is perfect.

[Re-enter Gervase, right, with John, Henry and William.

Trickery, Master William, sheer trickery and cheating. You know well enough that you cannot restore a single stone of it.

You will tell any lie in order to get the job. You promise economy, and you will spend their money like water. It is treacherous—it is dishonest——

You would not only promise, you would do them a dishonest piece of work. That is treachery, if you like, Master Henry.

[Henry bounces down the steps with an angry exclamation.

But why must you flatter and fawn on them? Why pander to all their ridiculous foibles? Cannot you tell them the truth as I do and let the best man win?

The trouble with you, my lad, is want of tact. You can handle stone, but you can’t handle men. You must learn to humour fools if you want to get anything done.

You stinking fox!

[John joins Henry, and they go off muttering together, sinking their differences in their common grievance.

Master William, is it true, what they say?

Listen to me, young man. At my age one learns that sometimes one has to damn one’s soul for the sake of the work. Trust me, God shall have a choir fit for His service. Does anything else really matter?

[He and Gervase follow the others out.

During the singing of the following Interlude, the scene-shifters set the stage to represent the site of the choir. The other three Angels go up and stand above with Gabriel.

Every carpenter and workmaster that laboureth night and day, and they that give themselves to counterfeit imagery, and watch to finish a work;

The smith also sitting by the anvil, and considering the iron work, he setteth his mind to finish his work, and watcheth to polish it perfectly.

So doth the potter sitting at his work, and turning the wheel about with his feet, who is always carefully set at his work, and maketh all his work by number.

All these trust to their hands, and every one is wise in his work.

Without these cannot a city be inhabited, and they shall not dwell where they will nor go up and down;

They shall not be sought for in public council, nor sit high in the congregation;

But they will maintain the state of the world, and all their desire is in the work of their craft.

II

Beautiful, beautiful; and everything in such good taste. . . . I wonder what it costs to keep the shrine going in candles. . . . Two years they’ve been building now—goodness knows how long it’s going to take. . . . Dickon, you bad boy, leave that saw alone. . . . Who did you say the architect was? Wilfrid somebody? . . . My poor, dear husband—such a sad sufferer—I was determined to make the pilgrimage. . . . No doubt, it will be all very fine when it’s finished, but I don’t think it’s a patch on Lincoln. . . . Shocking bad dinners they give you at the “Lamb”—you’d better come and have a bite with us. . . . I beg your pardon, madame, was that your foot? Ah, the poor, dear, martyred Archbishop! Such a charming man. I saw him when he came back from France—yes, really, he was as close to me as I am to you. . . . Have you heard the one about the three fat friars and the tinker’s widow? Well, there were three begging friars. . . . So I said to her, “Very well, you may take your wages and go.” . . . It came to me as I was kneeling there that God would most surely have pity upon my sister. . . . I must say it comes out more expensive than I’d reckoned for. And I was abominably cheated that night we lay at Rochester. . . . The King must be a very naughty man to have killed the poor Archbishop. . . . There! I told you it was only putting ideas into the child’s head. . . . Bad business, that fire, and if you ask me, I don’t believe the true story ever came out. . . . Yes, darling, ever so sorry—barefoot in a white sheet. . . . Indeed, I have a very great devotion to St. Thomas. . . . This Purbeck marble’s all the rage, but I don’t care about it myself . . . etc., etc.

[They trail away, still chattering. During the confusion, Gervase and William have made their entrances, right, Gervase crossing the stage and vanishing into doorway, left, while William sits at a trestle-table, centre, and waits resignedly for his workshop to get clear. As the stage empties, the Angels come down again and take up their former positions.

Two years of toil are passed; what shall I write About this architect?

But they will maintain the state of the world, and all their desire is in the work of their craft.A schedule here,

Long as my sword, crammed full of deadly sins;

Jugglings with truth, and gross lusts of the body,

Drink, drabbing, swearing; slothfulness in prayer;

With a devouring, insolent ambition

That challenges disaster.

That challenges disaster.These are debts;

What shall I set upon the credit side?

Six columns, and their aisles, with covering vaults

From wall to arcading, and from thence again

To the centre, with the keystones locking them,

All well and truly laid without a fault.

No sum of prayer to balance the account?

Ask Raphael, for prayers are in his charge.

Come, Raphael, speak; or is thy censer cold?

Canst thou indeed find any grace in William

The builder-up of Canterbury?

The builder-up of Canterbury?Yes.

[He swings his censer, which gives out a cloud of incense.

Behold, he prayeth; not with the lips alone,

But with the hand and with the cunning brain

Men worship the Eternal Architect.

So, when the mouth is dumb, the work shall speak

And save the workman. True as a mason’s rule

And line can make them, the shafted columns rise

Singing like music; and by day and night

The unsleeping arches with perpetual voice

Proclaim in Heaven, to labour is to pray.

Glory to God, that made the Firmament!

[Enter Gervase, left.

Here are the letters for you to sign, Master William. These to Caen, about the next shipment of stone; these to Dover, with instructions for the unloading and carriage. I have mentioned the matter of the damaged crane and told them it must be made good at their own expense.

[Hands pen and inkhorn.

Thanks, Father Gervase.

[Signs letters.

This is the invoice for the oak roofing-beams. And there is an enclosure I can’t quite understand. Something about the commission.

That has no business to be there. Idiots! It refers to a private transaction. Give it to me. I will deal with it myself. Anything more?

[Taking paper and pocketing it.

Do you mind looking at this consignment note? We seem to be fifty scaffold-poles short; but I will have them checked again.

Good. I can trust you to get it put in order. I don’t know what we should have done these two years without your vigilant eye and skilful pen.

I wish I could do more to help. But my hands are no good for anything but writing. I should have loved to take a more active part in the work. (Smiling.) I must be content to be the man with only one talent, and make it go as far as I can.

[Enter Hubert, right.

If every one would make good use of his own talent and let others do the same, the world would move faster. Well, Brother Hubert, what’s the trouble?

Well, sir, if you’d kindly take a look at this here last lot of lime (presenting specimens of lime and mortar on a shovel). If lime you can call it. What they’ve done to it I don’t know, but it don’t seem to have no body in it as you might say. It don’t bind right. You should hear what my lads has to say about it.

Yes. Poor slack stuff. Where did this come from?

From Jocelyn’s. You remember, the Father Treasurer wanted the order given to them. He said Thomas Clay’s price was excessive.

I wish the Father Treasurer would allow me to know my own job. Tell him—no, don’t tell him anything. Order in a fresh lot from Thomas Clay’s as before, instructing him to charge it up at Jocelyn’s price and send me a private note of the difference. We can adjust it on that timber account. Do you understand? If these timber merchants are knaves enough to offer me a five per cent. commission for giving them the contract and Father Stephen is fool enough to grudge a few pounds extra for first-class material, all right. We play off the knave against the fool, get what we want, and save argument.

Ay, that’s so. What the Father Treasurer don’t see won’t worry him.

But is it honest?

All I know is, this here lime ain’t honest. Prior Wibert, him as built the Water-Tower, wouldn’t never have asked his masons to put up with cheap rubbish like this here.

No, of course it’s not honest. And it’s not exactly safe. That is, it’s liable to misconstruction, if proclaimed upon the housetops. But the Lord commended the unjust steward.

You can’t make bricks without straw, nor yet mortar without lime. And if Prior Wibert, rest his soul, was alive, he’d say the same.

Cheer up, little churchman. Take thy bill and sit down quickly and write fifty. Nobody’s robbing the Church.

[Exit Gervase, left, still a trifle unhappy about it.

H’m. Unfortunate. He’ll lie awake all night wrestling with his conscience, and probably let the whole thing out to the Father Treasurer. Can’t be helped. Sufficient for the day. . . . How about the new arch? D’you think she’s settled in? I’d like to get those supports out to-day.

Been over every inch of her, sir, and I think she’ll do. We’re getting the tackle up now.

Let me know when you’re ready; I don’t want anything started till I come. What do you think of the plan for the roof and clerestory?

Grand, sir, grand. I only wish Prior Wibert, good man, was alive to see it. Always a man for new ideas, was Prior Wibert. Ah! He’d have loved that tall shafting and the way the cross-ribbing is made to carry the span. “Mark my words, Hubert,” he used to say to me, “the arch is the secret of building. We ain’t half learned yet,” he’d say, “what the arch can carry when it’s put to it.”

He was right, there. But we’re finding out. We’re finding out every day. Greece never guessed it; Rome only half understood it; but our sons will know in the years to come. (With rising excitement.) We all have our dreams, Hubert. Churches we shall never live to see. Arch shouldering arch, shaft, vault and keystone, window and arcading higher, and wider and lighter, lifting roof, tower, spire, into the vault of heaven—columns slender as lily-stalks—walls only a framework for the traceries—living fountains of stone——

That’s so, Master, that’s so. That’s the way to build. Each stone carrying his neighbour’s burden, as you might say.

A triumph of balance, eh, Hubert? A delicate adjustment of interlocking stresses. Look! there was an idea came into my head last night.

[He sketches on a block of stone.

Enter Stephen and Martin, right.

Well, I must say, it’s rather inconsiderate. Still, we mustn’t let the opportunity slip.

Certainly not; rich benefactors have to be humoured. Nobody knows that better than he does. Will you tackle him?

If you like. Er—Master William!

What can I do for you, Father Treasurer?

Forgive me for interrupting you—I know you’re very busy, but the fact is, we have a visitor——

Rather an important visitor.

The Lady Ursula de Warbois——

[Enter Theodatus, right. He has his sleeves tucked up, and a coarse apron over his habit, and carries a trowel.

We had been hoping she would come——

She has just arrived and asked to see the Father Prior.

She is with him now. Father Theodatus, have you heard? The Lady Ursula is with the Father Prior!

Indeed?

[He goes across to speak to one of the Workmen.

Come, sirs. All this excitement is scarcely becoming to your cloth. Is the lady young and beautiful? And what is she doing with the Father Prior, or he with her?

[Workmen snigger.

Master William! Pray control your tongue.

There! you see you have shocked Father Theodatus.

The Lady Ursula is the widow of an exceedingly wealthy knight.

She has come to reside in Canterbury; and has several times expressed interest in the work. To-day she has come and wants to see over the new choir——

If she is pleased with what she sees, she will probably be good for a handsome subscription.

Oh, very well. Take her where you like. Better stand clear of the new arch, though. We’re going to get the supports out, and it might come down. You never know—eh, Hubert?

That’s right. You never know.

Yes—but the point is, she particularly wants to meet the architect and be shown round personally.

She wants to see the plans, and have everything explained to her.

T’cha! women always want explanations. But they never listen, and wouldn’t understand a word if they did. I’ve no use for women—not in working hours.

The curse came by a woman.

Well—if it comes to that, so did you, Father Theodatus.

That’s right. Women are a curse—but we can’t get into the world, nor on in the world without ’em.

Well, Master William, I’m sure you will oblige her. People always like to talk to the architect. The human touch, you know. It’s always good publicity.

Oh, very well, I suppose one must make one’s self a martyr to publicity. Go and keep an eye on the lads, Hubert; I’ll come as soon as I’m free.

[Going, Stephen and Martin offer to accompany him.

No, thanks. I can find my own way. Don’t you run your heads into temptation. Sed libera nos a malo—deliver us from the apple and all its consequences.

[Exit, right, with Hubert.

Dear me! I hope he will behave with discretion.

Never fear. He can bridle his tongue when he likes. He is a politic man. Remember how he persuaded us into the expense of rebuilding.

Yes—we have had some experience of his policy. Well—he wheedled money out of us; let him now wheedle it out of the Lady Ursula.

At any rate, he is a first-class workman. He gives us good value for our money.

Does he? I hope he does. Sometimes I have my doubts. From something one of the carriers let fall the other day, I am inclined to suspect him of—some irregularities.

Oh, surely not! The accounts all go through your hands and the correspondence through those of Father Gervase.

Father Gervase? Do you think a crafty old fox like that hasn’t the wit to hoodwink a young and innocent churchman like Father Gervase? Is he in the office, by the way? I am inclined to give him a caution. (Calling left.) Father Gervase!

Yes, Father Stephen?

Tell me; since you have been handling Master William’s letters, have you ever had any reason to suspect any financial irregularities?

Financial irregularities?

Tampering with the estimates? Fudging the accounts? Pocketing commissions and that sort of thing? Doing little deals on the side?

I am quite positive, Father Stephen, that Master William has never cheated the Church of a single penny, and never would. He thinks of nothing, lives for nothing, but the integrity of his work. If you knew him as well as I do, working with him these two years, you would be sure of that.

I am glad to hear it. But keep your eyes open. I have heard stories, and I am not altogether satisfied.

Would it not be better to speak openly to Master William himself?

Of course it would; but they are afraid to. Why? Because the man has managed to get the ear of the Father Prior—and because they don’t want him to throw up the job in the middle—and because, having once put their hands to dirty tools, they don’t know how to draw back. (To Stephen and Martin.) No man can serve God and mammon. God’s House should be built with prayer. You are trying to build it with worldly wisdom and wordly lucre. Look at all those pilgrims! How many of them have clean hands and pure hearts?

We cannot see into their hearts.

Have you listened to their talk? One in ten may be sincere. The rest are idle men and gadding women, making pilgrimage an excuse for a holiday trip—compounding for old sins by committing new ones. All they come for is to drink and gossip in alehouses, tell each other dirty stories, pick up loose companions, waste their own time and other people’s, and gabble through a few perfunctory prayers at top speed, so as to have more time for sight-seeing.

Are you not a little uncharitable?

Most of them are very worthy people. And after all, we can’t do without their money.

If you had faith, you could. You degrade the Church by these vulgar and dubious methods of publicity.

Really, Father Theodatus! This is monstrous. The Father Prior himself entrusted me with the publicity side of the appeal. I have taken great pains to get these pilgrimages properly advertised. And this is my reward!

Brethren! brethren! All the workmen are listening to you.

[Enter William, right, with Ursula.

Let them listen!

I do not care who hears me!

Pray, madam, mind your head—the doorway is rather low. One step down. Allow me. This is just a little corner of our workshop, where——Walter! Hugh! Simon! Is nobody doing any work to-day? Do you take it for the Feast of St. Lazybones? (The Workmen hurriedly return to their tasks.) Walter—that corner is out of true. And here, you! Is that the way to treat your tools? . . . I beg your pardon, madam. The moment my back is turned, everything seems to come to a standstill.

No wonder. Without the heart, how can the limbs do their office? You are the heart of the undertaking.

It is very good of you to say so. I think you know Father Stephen, the Treasurer? Father Martin, the Guest-Brother? Father Theodatus, the Sacristan? And Father Gervase, who is Clerk and Historian to the Chapter, and is good enough to deal with my correspondence in his spare time. (To Gervase) Have those letters gone?

I am just taking them to the messenger.

[Exit Gervase, right.

And what, madam, do you think of our Cathedral?

I think it must be the most beautiful in the world. And how glorious the new choir will be when it is finished! Master William has described it all to me and has promised to show me all his plans and drawings. That was a promise, was it not, Master William?

Certainly—if you are really interested.

Of course I am interested. I am glad I have come to live in Canterbury. It will be so exciting to watch the work going on from day to day. A widow needs an interest in life. And it will be a great comfort to live under the protection of blessed St. Thomas.

Thousands of the suffering and bereaved have already found healing and consolation by his benign intervention. Only a few weeks ago, out of a large congregation of worshippers who attended a special service——

[Bell begins to ring. Monks enter, right, and file across the stage and down the steps. Workmen lay down their tools and go out, right, with dinner-baskets.

That is the bell for nones.

[Exit down steps.

I will tell you presently about the special service.

[Exeunt Stephen and Martin down steps.

Do you propose to attend nones? The lower part of the nave is available for the laity.

No; I propose to see those drawings of yours.

I do not think you came here to see architectural drawings.

I came—to see the architect. (Pause.) Did you realise that this was not the first time we had met?

I realised it perfectly. I had the honour to pick up your glove yesterday in the market-place.

I was much indebted to you for the courtesy.

I was much indebted to you for the opportunity. I am an opportunist. So, I fancy, are you. We have that much in common.

Is that an impertinence, I wonder?

Yes.

I ought to be offended with you.

If you are wise, you will be. Let us be plain.

The first time our eyes met, we knew one another

As fire knows tinder. You have seen what havoc

Fire works. Let be.

Fire works. Let be.I do not fear the fire.

My fire should be a lamp to light the world,

Fed with my life, consuming only me;

Will you not learn that it is perilous

To play with fire? That it is death to come

Between the man and the work? In one man’s life

Is room for one love and no more—one love;

I am in love with a dream.

I am in love with a dream.Tell me your dreams

Sitting by the fire, seeing pictures in the fire,

Visions and dreams.

Visions and dreams.Your old men shall dream dreams

And your young men see visions—but not your women.

What use have women for the dreams of a man

Save to destroy them? What does a woman know

Of the love of knowledge, passing the love of women?

The passion of making, beside which love’s little passion

Shows brittle as a bubble?—To raise up beauty from ashes

Like the splendour of resurrection; to see the stone

Knit unto stone and growing, as in the womb

Bone grows to bone; to build a world out of nothing—

That is my dream; that is the craftsman’s dream,

The power and the glory, the kingdom of God and man—

Of man, never of woman. Women create

Passively, borne on a wind of lust, for a whim,

At the caprice of a man, in a smile, in a spasm

Of the flesh; we, with the will, with the blood, with the brain,

All the desire of the soul, the intent of the mind.

Now do you understand what my dreams are

And why they are not for you?

And why they are not for you?I understand.

Knowledge and work—knowledge is given to man

And not to woman; and the glory of work

To man and not to woman. But by whom

Came either work or knowledge into the world?

Not by the man. God said, “Ye shall now know;

Knowledge is death.” And Adam was afraid.

But Eve, careless of peril, careless of death,

Hearing the promise, “Ye shall be as gods,”

Seized knowledge for herself, and for the man,

And all the sons of men; knowledge, like God;

Power to create, like God; and, unlike God,

Courage to die. And the reward for her

Was sorrow; but for Adam the reward

Was work—of which he now contrives to boast

As his peculiar glory, and in one breath

Denies it to the woman and blames her for it,

Winning the toss both ways. My simple Adam,

It is too late to scare woman with risks

And perils—woman, that for one splendid risk

Changed the security of Paradise,

Broke up the loom and pattern of creation,

Let in man’s dream on the world, and snatched the torch

of knowledge from the jealous hand of God

So that the fire runs in man’s blood for ever.

So that she runs like fire in a man’s blood

For ever! Take what thou wilt—the risk, the sorrow,

The fire, the dream—and in the dream’s end, death.

Thus Eve cast down the gauntlet in God’s face:

“My will for Thine; man’s purpose against God’s;

Slay me and slay the man, slay all my seed,

But let man’s knowledge and man’s work go on.”

Thus God took up the gauntlet in Eve’s face.

Having, like man, courage to look on death:

“My Son for thy sons, and God’s blood for man’s;

Crucify God, but let the work go on.”

By man came sin.

By man came sin.O felix culpa, quae

Talem et tantum meruit Redemptorem!

Master William! Master William!

There! that means work. You see what happens when one starts this kind of thing. Go now. They are coming out of church. Quickly—or we shall have Father Martin and the special service all over again. I will come to your lodging after supper.

Bringing your dreams with you.

[Exit down steps. Enter Hubert, right.

Master! The arch is ready when you are.

I am coming. Work, Hubert, work. Sometimes one persuades one’s self that it all means something to somebody.

Do you think the gracious lady will be moved to contribute to the building fund?

H’m. I had forgotten that aspect of the matter. Yes—I shouldn’t be surprised if she did.

The blessed saints be praised for it.

I wonder!

[Exeunt William and Hubert, right.

Why did God create mankind in two different sorts, if it makes so much trouble?

[The Angels are inexpressibly shocked.

Hush! you mustn’t ask Why.

Angels never ask Why.

Only men ask Why.

And you see what happened to them, just for asking Why.

Do you want to eat of the Tree of Knowledge, like Adam and Eve?

And find Michael there, with his big sword?

And put our Master to the trouble and pain of another crucifixion?

Or start another war, like that lost brother whom we must not name?

Criticising God’s creation! I never heard of such a thing!

Shall we that are but worms, but silk-worms, but glow-worms, chide God that He hath made slow-worms, and other venomous creeping things?

Shall we that are all discord, quarrel the harmony of His creation or His providence?

Can an apothecary make a sovereign treacle of vipers and other poisons, and cannot God admit offences and scandals into His physic?

As soon as He had made light (which was His first creature) He took pleasure in it; He said it was good; He was glad of it; glad of the sea, glad of the earth, glad of the sun, and moon, and stars, and He said of every one, It is good.

III

[Enter Simon, right, and crosses to door, left.

[Exit left.

Spring, indeed! I wish the spring were here. It hasn’t stopped raining for three months.

More like four. We’ve had vile weather ever since the eclipse last September. What a climate!

I knew that eclipse meant bad luck.

Well, it’s not raining to-day.

Bad luck? If we never get worse luck than a bit of bad weather, I don’t care how many eclipses we have.

We ain’t heard the last of the eclipse yet, mark my words.

You and your prophecies! What are you grumbling about? Job’s going well enough, ain’t it? Four years, and here we’ve finished the triforium and the clerestory, and the key of the great arch will be put in to-day. Not too bad, in four years.

[Re-enter Simon, left, trundling a coil of rope, wound on a drum.

Ah! he’s a good worker, is Master William. And a fast worker. Knows what he’s about. He’s the sort of master I can do with. Strict, and drives you like the devil, but I don’t mind that.

That’s right. I respect a master that’s a good worker. When Master William works, he works.

And when he plays (with a meaning grin), he plays! Him and the Lady Ursula!

Well, I don’t mind that, either. That’s their affair.

Quite right, Hugh. The day for labour and the night for—sleep.

She’s somewhere about the place now.

Who is? Lady Ursula?

Yes. Takes a lot of interest. Always putting up a bit o’ prayer, or coming to see how the job’s getting on, or calling on the Father Treasurer with a little donation to something.

[Enter Prior and Theodatus, right.

It’s a wonder the good fathers don’t see through it.

Maybe they do. Maybe it pays them to wink t’other eye. Lady’s Ursula’s rich. It don’t do to offend rich folks.

You hear that, Father Prior?

All the same, mark my words, no good will come of it. That eclipse wasn’t sent for nothing.

Ah, come off it. You and your eclipse!

For shame, my son, for shame! We cannot have these lewd songs here.

[He comes down past Simon to the steps, with the Prior.

Sorry, Father.

[He goes out, left.

So it goes on, Father, day after day—

Songs in the workshop, sniggering in the dortor,

Unbecoming gossip among the novices,

Heads wagged in the market-place, and tales going round

In the ale-house, fingers pointed everywhere

At William of Sens, the Cathedral architect—

A notorious evil liver, a seducer of women,

A taker of bribes——

A taker of bribes——That was not proved, I fancy.

A cunning liar, that boasts of pulling the wool

Over the eyes of the fat, innocent monks;

A man without truth, without shame. It is not respectable;

It is not right.

It is not right.You must not say, without truth,

Lest you should hear the very stones cry out

Against you. Truth is glorious; but there is one

Glory of the sun, another of the moon,

And all the truth of the craftsman is in his craft.

Where there is truth, there is God; and where there is glory,

There is God’s glory too.

There is God’s glory too.Craft is the word.

We could do better without William’s craft

In more ways than in one. I would rather have

A worse-built church with a more virtuous builder.

Make God the loser for your conscience’ sake?

This is God’s House, and if on any pretext

We give him less than the best, we shall cheat God

As William never cheated God, nor us.

He that bestowed the skill and the desire

To do great work is surely glad to see

That skill used in His service.

That skill used in His service.Skill is not all.

The kingdom of Heaven is won by righteousness,

Not skill. He cannot wish His work performed

Save with clean hands and a pure heart.

Save with clean hands and a pure heart.My son,

Will you not let God manage His own business?

He was a carpenter, and knows His trade

Better, perhaps, than we do, having had

Some centuries of experience; nor will He,

Like a bad workman, blame the tools wherewith

He builds His City of Zion here on earth.

For God founded His Church, not upon John,

The loved disciple, that lay so close to His heart

And knew His mind—not upon John, but Peter;

Peter the liar, Peter the coward, Peter

The rock, the common man. John was all gold,

And gold is rare; the work might wait while God

Ransacked the corners of the earth to find

Another John; but Peter is the stone

Whereof the world is made. So stands the Church,

Stone upon stone, and Christ the corner-stone

Carved of the same stuff, common flesh and blood,

With you, and me, and Peter; and He can,

Being the alchemist’s stone, the stone of Solomon,

Turn stone to gold, and purge the gold itself

From dross, till all is gold.

From dross, till all is gold.To purge—to burn!

He makes His ministers a flaming fire—

And are not we His ministers? Shall not we

Lay axe to the rotten root, trunk, branch? destroy.

Make bonfire of this scandal in the Church

And burn God’s honour clean?

And burn God’s honour clean?God is a man,

And can defend His honour, being full-grown

In wisdom and in stature. We need not

Play nursemaid to the Babe of Bethlehem

To shield Him from the harlot and the thief,

Or keep those tender, innocent hands from harm

That bear the sharp nails’ imprint, and uphold

The axis of the spheres. He can touch dirt

Without defilement, for Himself hath said,

“What I have cleansed, that call not thou unclean.”

But while His laws are broken in our sight

Must we stand by, and smile, and still do nothing?

Do your own work, while yet the daylight lasts.

Look that it be well done; look not beyond it.

I charge you, on your holy obedience,

Set charity as a bridle on your tongue;

Talk not of William’s nor another’s faults,

Unless to God, Who hears but spreads no scandal.

Of this be sure: who will not have the Gospel

Shall have the Law; but in God’s time, not ours.

[Enter Simon by door, left, carrying a small windlass.

[He sets the windlass down, centre. Enter William, right.

You are merry, Simon. Is that the rope to rig the travelling cradle?

Yes, sir.

See that every inch of it is well tested before I go up. I’m not as young or as light as I was. Good morning, Father Prior. Ah! Father Theodatus, you are just the man I was looking for. Pray will you help Simon to test that rope? It is to hoist me up to the top of the great arch, and I have a value for my neck.

Oh, by all means.

[Moving up, left.

Simon is a good lad enough, but I would rather trust your vigilance. Young men’s minds are apt to run astray.

[During the following dialogue, Theodatus takes the free end of the rope and begins to wind it off on to the windlass. Simon stands by the drum, so that, as the rope is slowly wound off, they can both examine it for flaws. They occupy the stage from centre to left.

Young men are not alone in that, Master William. The talk of the town comes to our ears sometimes, dull-witted old churchmen though we be. It seems that even a master architect may find interests outside his work.

Outside his working hours, Father Prior.

I quite appreciate that. My dear son, as your father in God I might find many things to say to you. . . .

But as a man of the world you doubt whether I should listen. It is a rare virtue to refrain even from good words.

Then I will speak only as a man of the world and urge the value of discretion.

Father Theodatus would say, of hypocrisy.

Father Theodatus is not your employer. The Church is your employer, and it is my duty to speak for the Church.

Very well. As my employer, to use your own blunt term, what fault have you to find with my private amusements?

This: that instead of attending to their work, your workmen waste their time in gossip and backbiting about you. If you choose to be damned, you must; if you prefer to make a death-bed repentance, you may; but if an idle workman does an unsound job now, no repentance of yours will prevent it from bringing down the church some day or other.

You are quite right. I congratulate you. You have found the one argument to which I am bound to listen. Were you a diplomat before you were a churchman?

Perhaps.

[Exit, right.

Or a soldier. The old man’s a hard hitter and knows where to plant his blows. (He goes up, back, to overlook the work of Walter and Geoffrey, speaking to Theodatus and Simon as he goes): Test it with the eye and the hand—don’t trust to either alone.

Are there no fires in Heaven, that every man

With his own hand, upon the anvil of sin

Forges the sword of judgment? Gabriel, Raphael,

There is a sword in the making; look you to it.

[Raphael goes up and stands near Theodatus, centre, and Gabriel, near Simon, left.

℣. The eyes of the Lord are in every place, beholding the evil and the good.

℟. Shall we continue in sin that grace may abound? God forbid.

℣. He maketh His sun to rise on the evil and on the good;

℟. And sendeth rain upon the just and unjust.

[Enter Ursula, right.

William!

Ah! You have come at a very good moment.

[He leads her forward to the steps.

Oho! look at that!

We are just about to put in the key of the great arch.

Turn away mine eyes from beholding vanity!

If you will stand here presently and watch, you will see me fly up to the top of the scaffold in a machine of my own devising—and down again, like blessed St. Paul in a basket!

[Raphael sets his censer gently swinging.

How amusing! I hope it is safe.

More headaches for Father Martin! He don’t like these goings-on. Says they look bad, and shock influential patrons.

Never fear for that. But, hark’ee—we’re in disgrace with the Prior.

Oh! I ought not to have come.

That was my fault. I asked you. I wanted you here.

Take care, Simon! There is a flaw in the rope.

[Simon, with his eyes on William and Ursula, pays no attention.

[The rope runs through his heedless fingers. Gabriel makes a despairing gesture, and looks across at Raphael. The scandalised Theodatus continues to pray with his eyes tight shut.

What does the Prior complain of? Scandal in the Cathedral?

Something like that.

Take care, Theodatus! There is a flaw in the rope.

[Raphael flings away the censer, which rolls clanging down the steps. The rope, flaw and all, is wound off.

At least he cannot say that you think more of me than of your work.

No, he has not said that.

[The rope is now all wound off.

He will not take the work away from you?

He is too shrewd for that. Besides, God would not let him; He has put me here and will keep me here, Prior or no Prior.

Master Hubert says, is that rope ready?

Here you are, mate.

[He picks up the windlass and takes it down to Workman, who carries it out.

Do we presume too much upon God’s mercy?

We are the master-craftsmen, God and I—

We understand one another. None, as I can,

Can creep under the ribs of God, and feel

His heart beat through those Six Days of Creation;

Enormous days of slowly turning lights

Streaking the yet unseasoned firmament;

Giant days, Titan days, yet all too short

To hold the joy of making. God caught His breath

To see the poles of the world stand up through chaos;

And when He sent it forth, the great winds blew,

Carrying the clouds. And then He made the trees

For winds to rustle through—oak, poplar, cedar,

Hawthorn and elm, each with its separate motion—

And with His delicate fingers painted the flowers,

Numberless—numberless! why make so many

But that He loved the work, as I love mine,

And saw that it was good, as I see mine?—

The supple, swift mechanics of the serpent,

The beautiful, furred beasts, and curious fish

With golden eyes and quaintly-laced thin bones,

And whales like mountains loud with spurting springs,

Dragons and monsters in strange shapes, to make

His angels laugh with Him; when He saw those

God sang for joy, and formed the birds to sing.

And lastly, since all Heaven was not enough

To share that triumph, He made His masterpiece,

Man, that like God can call beauty from dust,

Order from chaos, and create new worlds

To praise their maker. Oh, but in making man

God over-reached Himself and gave away

His Godhead. He must now depend on man

For what man’s brain, creative and divine

Can give Him. Man stands equal with Him now,

Partner and rival. Say God needs a church,

As here in Canterbury—and say He calls together

By miracle stone, wood and metal, builds

A church of sorts; my church He cannot make—

Another, but not that. This church is mine

And none but I, not even God, can build it.

Me hath He made vice-gerent of Himself,

And were I lost, something unique were lost

Irreparably; my heart, my blood, my brain

Are in the stone; God’s crown of matchless works

Is not complete without my stone, my jewel,

Creation’s nonpareil.

Creation’s nonpareil.Hush! God will hear you—

The priests say He is jealous. Tempt Him not

Lest He should smite and slay.

Lest He should smite and slay.He will not dare;

He knows that I am indispensable

To His work here; and for the work’s sake, He,

Cherishing, as good masons do, His tools,

Will keep me safe. When the last stone is laid

Then may He use me as He will; I care not;

The work is all; when that is done, good night——

My life till then is paramount with God.

You make me shake to hear you. Blasphemy! blasphemy!

Sound sense. Fear nothing. I must leave you now;

The work waits for me, and that must not be;

Idleness is the only sin. Like God

I must be doing in my little world,

Lest, lacking me, the moon and stars should fail.

[He goes out down the steps.

I am afraid; have mercy on him, Christ!

Draw thy sword, Michael; the hour is come.

[Michael follows William out, with his sword drawn in his hand.

℣. Except the Lord build the house, their labour is but lost that build it.

℟. Except the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain.

℣. The zeal of thine house hath eaten me up; and rebukes are fallen upon me.

℟. For Thou art great and doest wondrous things; Thou art God alone.

[During the singing of these versicles, the three remaining Angels stand side by side at the top of the steps, with Ursula below them. Now they go up and stand on the plinth at the back of the stage, Raphael and Gabriel to right and left, with Cassiel centre.

The Lord is known to execute judgment; the ungodly is trapped in the work of his own hands.

For he hath said in his heart, Tush, I shall never be cast down; there shall no harm happen unto me.

The snares of death compassed me round about, and the pains of hell gat hold upon me.

I shall find trouble and heaviness, and I will call upon the name of the Lord: O Lord, I beseech Thee, deliver my soul.

[The stage gradually fills with Monks and Workmen; among them is a Young Boy.

This is a brave day . . . the great arch finished . . . See, they are making ready to drop in the keystone . . . It is wonderful how well Master William’s machines work—they have halved the labour of building . . . there’s old Hubert—he’ll be a proud man to-day . . . Laus Deo! our new choir will be ready for us within the year . . . There it goes! No, they’re waiting for something . . . They’re waiting for the architect . . . There he is, slung half-way up in the travelling cradle . . . Can’t you see? Come on, lad, up on my shoulder . . . There’s the keystone slung aloft on the crane . . . Hurray! Master William’s up now—just getting to the top of the scaffolding . . . Get ready to cheer, boys. . . .

Oh, look! look at the angel—the terrible angel!

What’s that? An angel? What? Where? Nonsense!

High on the scaffold, with the drawn sword in his hand!

Mother of God!

[She falls upon the steps.

A shout from the stage is succeeded by a heavy crash without from the far end of the building. Men run in, right.

He’s fallen . . . Master William’s down . . . He’s killed . . . fifty feet at least . . . His foot slipped . . . No, the rope broke . . . What’s happened? . . . God have mercy on us! . . . Run for help! . . . Blessed Mary, pray for us! . . . Send for the Prior . . . Fetch a chirurgeon . . . The devil is abroad . . . No, it was an angel . . . Where’s that boy who saw the angel? . . . Here, the lady’s fainted—give us a hand here to carry her in . . . Come along, let’s see what’s happened . . .

[There is a general rush down the steps.

Take me with you. (But she is unable to stand.) No—leave me! Run and bring me word.

[They leave her crouched on the steps and run out. The three Angels come down and follow the crowd out. Nobody is left but Theodatus, Simon and Ursula.

The rope! God forgive me—I was talking and laughing. Father Theodatus, what have we done?

The rope! God is avenged. But I did not mean—I did not think—if it had not been for your lewd songs and his own behaviour with this woman——

Could You not break me and not him, O God?

We have killed him among us.

Out of the deep have I called unto Thee. O Lord, hear my voice.

O let Thine ears consider well the voice of my complaint.

If Thou, Lord, wilt be extreme to mark what is done amiss, O Lord, who may abide it?

For there is mercy with Thee, therefore shalt thou be feared.

I look for the Lord, my soul doth wait for Him, in His word is my trust.

My soul fleeth unto the Lord; before the morning watch, I say, before the morning watch.

O Israel, trust in the Lord, for with the Lord there is mercy, and with Him is plenteous redemption;

And He shall redeem Israel from all his sins.

[During the singing of the psalm, the Prior has re-entered from the lower end, with Hubert, Gervase and the Young Boy. They mount the steps.

Father! Father! In pity, tell me—is he dead?

No, my poor child. But sorely maimed.

He will never be the same man again.

Let me go to him.

Presently. The leech is with him now, seeing to his hurts. Trust me, you shall see him presently. (He goes on up steps and sits, right.) Now, Hubert, I must know how all this came to pass.

My Lord Prior, there is no doubt at all. There was a flaw in the rope. Just as the cradle came up to the level of the scaffolding, bearing Master William, I saw with my eyes the strands spring asunder. I stretched out my hands to catch him, but I could not reach. If I could have done anything—anything! I would gladly have given my life.

So would I, Hubert.

I am sure you would.

Such a craftsman! such a craftsman! So kind a master! Just, zealous, generous—no fault in him at all.

So faithful a servant of the Church! Who will finish his work now? . . . He was my friend, too.

What I should like to know is—who had the testing o’ that there rope?

It was I—it was my neglect. I have no excuse. I shall never forgive myself.

It was my fault. I was talking to William—distracting the attention of them all. This is a judgment for our sin—his and mine.

True; it was a judgment. Ask this boy here. Did he not see the angel thrust him down?

Yes, child. What is this about an angel?

It is true. I saw a great angel stand between heaven and earth—all in gold and scarlet, with a drawn sword. Oh, and he had great wings, too. He cut the rope and the cradle fell.

There, you see! it was a divine judgment.

Divine judgment! The boy’s dreaming. It was rank carelessness. Simon—who was at the other end of the rope when you tested it? (Simon looks round at Theodatus, waiting for him to speak.) Speak up, man! Who was it?

I was there, Theodatus.

Well, it was I. But I had nothing to do with it. You heard what the child said. It was a miracle.

I think we sometimes make disasters, and then call them miraculous judgments. Did you at any moment take hand or eye from the rope while you were testing it?

I cannot remember. (Under the Prior’s eye, he abandons this line of defence.) She was there with William. For my soul’s sake I could not look at them. I was saying my prayers . . .

Sayin’ your prayers! With the master’s safety depending on you!

God Himself laid the seal upon my eyes. I was His appointed instrument to overthrow the wicked man.

Think what you say, my son. It is not for us

To ordain ourselves the ministers of vengeance;

For it must needs be that offences come,

But woe unto that man by whom the offence

Cometh; ’twere better he had not been born.

This is thy sin: thou hast betrayed the work;

Thou hast betrayed the Church; thou hast betrayed

Christ, in the person of His fellow-man.

What was the prayer wherein thou offer’dst up

Thy brother’s life?

Thy brother’s life?The Litany of the Virgin.

Go to the church; repeat it once again,

Saying at every line: “This was the spear

With which I pierced the body of the Lord,”

Then come to me and ask for absolution.

I will obey.

[Exit Theodatus, right.

I will obey.For you, my son and daughter,

You see how sin brings its own suffering;

Do not despair; God’s mercy is very great. (He rises.)

Thou that hast visions of angels, come with me.

I am an old man. Let me have thy shoulder.

So. Thou shalt tell me more about the angel.

[Exeunt Prior and Young Boy, right.

Madam, pray do not weep so. He would be sorry to see it. I loved him, too. Let us go together to visit him.

And supposing he can never work again? What comfort in this world for him? And what forgiveness for any of us?

[Exeunt Gervase and Ursula, right.

Well, Simon, you’ve made a nice mess of it. There, there, lad, I can see you’re sorry. Don’t ’ee lose heart, now. It’s a bad business, but we must make the best of it.

Oh, Hubert!

[Exeunt Hubert and Simon, right.

During the singing of the following hymn, the Angels return and take up their places as at the beginning of the play.

IV

They told me you wanted some extra coverings for Master William’s bed.

Thank you, brother. Why, this is very kind! Surely these are the best fleeces.

They are usually kept for distinguished visitors. But Father Wulfram specially asked that you should have them. They will make Master William warm and comfortable—since he has taken this fancy for lying here.

We are in hopes he may sleep better close to his work. He is so restless. Day and night he thinks of nothing but the building, and frets to lie helpless and so far away. From here he can see the sun shine on the arches he has raised; and when he lies wakeful in the early dawn it will comfort him to hear the clink of the mason’s trowel and the carver’s hammer heralding in the day.

[The Lay-Brother sets a stool near the head of the couch, down-stage, and goes out, right.

Poor soul! Well, let us praise God for this warm and seasonable weather. Now that the summer is come, he will take no hurt from his change of lodging.

[The Lay-Brother returns with a jug of water, a horn drinking-vessel, and a candlestick, which he places on the stool.

May it refresh him, soul and body! But I fear he undertakes more than his strength will bear. He has insisted to-day on being carried to view the progress of the roof over the Choir and Crosses. It is impossible to move him without causing severe pain—and then he gives orders and excites himself. Indeed, it is too much for him.

I suppose nothing would induce him to resign the appointment?

Part him from his work? Oh, no! It would be more bitter to him than death. And where should we get another like him?

[Exit Lay-Brother, right.

Well, I don’t know. It is true he has done magnificent work. But frankly, dear brother, a sick man with a crippled spine cannot have his eyes here, there and everywhere, and during this half-year since his accident things have not gone quite so well.

You know why that is. Some of the brethren do not work so loyally for Brother Hubert as they did for him.

Isn’t that natural? Hubert is an excellent craftsman, but, after all, he is only an oblate, and a man of no education. Now if Master William had appointed, let us say, Father Hilary——

Father Hilary does fine carving very prettily, but he’s quite out of his depth when it comes to the practical side of building. Now, Brother Hubert understands his job inside out.

Of course, but——Well, there you are! You can’t deny that there has been a certain amount of ill-feeling.

Jealousy, vanity, hatred, malice and all uncharitableness! And these are churchmen, vowed to holy obedience and humility.

Beati pauperes spiritu. Beati mites.

Amen! (He examines the couch critically and gives a punch to the pillows. Re-enter Lay-Brother, right, with a crucifix in his hand and a large bundle of papers under his arm.) Ah, thanks, Brother Robert. (He sets the crucifix on the stool with the other things.) Better put the papers on that other stool for the moment. (Lay-Brother puts them on stool, right.) There! I think that is the best we can do.

[Voices and footsteps off, right.

I think they are bringing our patient in now.

I hope he is not too much exhausted.

[Enter, right, William, carried by Theodatus and Simon.

Ugh! ugh! Gently, you fools, gently. Do you want to kill me? You’ve had one good shot at it. Jolt, jolt, like a couple of pack-asses. Clumsy idiots.

[They lay him on the couch, to a running accompaniment of groans and curses.

I am sorry. Did I hurt you?

Oh, no! Only jarred me to pieces, that’s all.

Is that a little easier? I’m afraid you have over-tired yourself. Are you in great pain?

Oh, I daresay it’ll be worse in Purgatory.

You have been out too long in the hot sun.

Thanks. Sorry, Simon. Don’t mind me, Father Theodatus. It’s only bad temper. The Prior set you a hard penance when he appointed you beast of burden to a sick man.

[Exit Lay-Brother.

No, indeed. There is nothing I would more gladly do. I deserve far more than that for the evil I did you.

Oh, stop blaming yourself. What’s done can’t be helped. Blame God, or the devil, or whoever looks after these things. Where’s Hubert? I want him here. Go and fetch Brother Hubert, for God’s sake, somebody. (Exeunt Simon and Theodatus, right.) Why haven’t my papers been brought down?

They are all here. I will put them handy for you.

Will you not rest a little first?

No, I will not. Leave me alone, can’t you? Gervase, find me the measurements for those corbels. They’ve got them all wrong, as I knew they would. (Enter Hubert, right.) Just because I’m not there to stand over them all the time——Oh, Hubert, come and look at this. What did I tell you? I knew it was not my measurements that were wrong. Can’t you remember anything you’re told?

I am sure, sir, I gave Father Hilary the measurements exactly as you gave them to me. But he would have it as his own way was the right one, and he told the men under him——

Father Hilary! Why should they pay any attention to Father Hilary? If I had the use of my limbs I’d give them something to remind them who’s in charge here. But I have to lie helpless as a log while you make a mess of it among you. Never mind. Not your fault. Gervase, give me pen and ink—I’ll show you how you can put it right. (Gervase fetches pen and ink from bench, left.) Lift me up, somebody. (Martin lifts him up.) Ugh! Now, see here . . . I’ve got an idea about this. . . .

[He begins to draw on the plan, but is overcome by faintness.

Dear master, leave it until to-morrow.

It looks as though I shall have to. All right, Hubert. Don’t worry. We’ll put it straight in the morning. (Gervase and Martin take away the drawing materials and settle him back on his pillows.) Oh, God! Shall I never be able to do anything again?

[Enter Lay-Brother, right, with a bowl of soup and a trencher of bread.

You work too hard. You have over-tired yourself. You will feel better when you have eaten. (Gervase takes the bowl and hands it to William, and the Lay-Brother goes out.) Come away now, Brother Hubert. He must be persuaded to rest. (He bustles Hubert away, right, then turns at the door as Ernulphus and Paul pop their heads round it.) Here are some visitors for you.

[Enter Paul, carrying a bunch of roses and something done up in a cabbage-leaf and Ernulphus, obviously concealing some offering under his habit. Exeunt Martin and Hubert.

May we come in? Pax tecum, my son, pax tecum.

Et cum spiritu tuo.

And how do you feel this evening?

Horrible!

T—t—t—t—t!

It’s this dreadful hot weather. Very trying. I don’t know when I remember such a trying June. I’m sure we never had such unwholesome heat when I was a boy. I was nearly melted away, working in the garden. And the greenfly gets worse every year. There never was such a year for greenfly. Everything smothered. Still, I’ve managed to find a few roses (presenting them), and see! A dozen or so of the early strawberries. I thought you might like them for your supper.

That’s very good of you, Father Paul. Are they the first?

The very first. Nobody else has had any—not even the Father Prior. I hope you will find them sweet. Though I must say, fruit doesn’t seem to have the flavour it had in my young days. Still, such as they are, there they are.

[He puts them on the stool, down-stage.

I shall enjoy them immensely. I don’t know anything more refreshing than early strawberries.

Oho! don’t you? I do. (He produces a stout little flask from under his habit.) Just you try this. A reviving cordial water from our own distillery. Not too fiery, and full of healthful properties. Made from herbs, according to our special recipe.

[Puts it on the stool.

Thank you; thank you very much. I will drink it to the healths of both of you.

Oh, but it is your own health we must all wish and pray for. We do pray for you, of course. Night and morning. And remember you at Mass. Eh, Father Ernulphus?

Always. All of us. So you mustn’t lose heart. Oh, dear, no. Now we had better run away, or we shall tire you out. Good night, my son. May God watch over and restore you!

Our Lady and all the blessed saints have you in their keeping.

[Paul and Ernulphus trundle amiably off, right.

Good old souls! This is what I have come to, Gervase—to be nursed and coddled, and comforted like a child with strawberries. Ah, well. You can tuck me up for the night and leave me to my own hobgoblins.

To the holy Angels, rather. There! is that comfortable?

Yes, thank you, my boy.

Do not forget your prayers.

Very well, Father.

Benedicat te omnipotens Deus, Pater, et Filius et Spiritus Sanctus. Amen.

Amen.

Sleep in peace. Hubert and I will be at hand if you should need anything.

[Exit, left.

William pulls out a rosary, mechanically counts the first decade, then tosses it away impatiently.

Michael.

Michael.

Michael, thou watchman of the Lord! What of the night? Watchman, what of the night?

The morning cometh, and also the night; if ye will enquire, enquire ye: return, come.

[Enter Theodatus, right.

Master William, there is one without would speak with you.

Who?

The Lady Ursula.

What is the use of this? I will not see her. It is always the same story. She asks to be my wife, my nurse, my servant—Heaven knows what; to devote her life, make reparation and all the rest of it. She shall not do it. I will not have people sacrificing themselves for me. It is monstrous. It is impossible. Tell her so.

She says she is here for the last time. She is very unhappy. I think you ought—I beseech you to let her come.

That is a new tune for you to sing, Father Theodatus.

I have learnt a little charity of late. Let me beg of you.

Oh, very well.

[Theodatus beckons in Ursula and goes out, right.

William, I have come to say good-bye. I will not trouble you any more. Since I am nothing to you now, and the world without you is nothing to me, I can but take refuge at the Throne of Grace and pray for both of us.

That is folly, my dear. You, in a convent of nuns! Go and be happy, and forget me.

That is the one thing I cannot do. No other man shall have me, if not you.

I am not a man, Ursula. I am a cripple with a broken back—a stock, a stone—I am nothing. A marriage-bond with me would be a bond indeed. Let the dead past bury its dead. Our dream is over.

“Sitting by the fire, seeing pictures in the fire, visions and dreams”—do you remember?

I have no dreams now—only nightmares. Nobody can bring back my dreams. Some of them even grudge me my work here—all that is left to me.

I have broken what I cannot mend. William, tell me—had I at any time, even for a moment, any part in your dream?

I hardly know. But once, high in a corner of the clerestory, where none but God will look for it, I carved an angel with your face.

Ah, my dear! . . . And you will still have me go?

Yes; go. I am sorry. Go.

[Ursula goes without protest.

Father Theodatus! (Theodatus looks in.) Pray conduct the Lady Ursula to the convent gate and ask the Father Prior if he can come and see me.

I will, my son.

[Exit Theodatus with Ursula, right.

My days are consumed away like smoke, and my bones are burnt up as it were a fire-brand.

My heart is smitten down and withered like grass, so that I forget to eat my bread.

For the voice of my groaning, my bones will scarce cleave to my flesh.

And that because of Thine indignation and wrath; for Thou hast taken me up and cast me down.

[Enter Prior, right.

You sent for me, my son?

Yes. I scarcely know why, save that I am in hell and can see no way out.

Is there some sin troubling your conscience?

All the sins there are—or most of them, any way. Not that they ever troubled me till I was punished for them. But now—they rise up round me in the night and stifle me.

My son, will you not confess them and receive absolution?

Confess? if I were to confess them all, you would be here till to-morrow. I cannot remember when I last made a confession.

In general, then, my son, and as well as you can remember them, tell me your sins.

And that because of Thine indignation and wrath; for Thou hast taken me up and cast me down.I do confess to God

The Father and the Son and Holy Ghost,

To Mary Mother of God the ever-virgin,

To the most holy Apostles Peter and Paul,

To blessed Michael and all his angels

And the whole company of Heaven, and thee,

Father, that I have sinned exceedingly,

In thought, in word, in action, by my fault,

By my own fault, my own most grievous fault.

I have lusted as men lust; I have eaten and drunk

With the drunken; I have given way to wrath,

Taking God’s name in vain, cursing and smiting;

I have been too much eager after gold

And the brave things of the world, that take the eye

And charm the flesh. Now, smitten in my flesh

My sins have left me, and I see perforce

How worthless they all were. I am sorry for them.

Though yet I think I was not the worse craftsman

Because in me the lusty flesh rejoiced,

Lending its joy to all I did. Some men,

Fettering the body, fetter the soul, too,

So that the iron eats inward; thereof come

Cruelties, deceits, perversities of malice,

Strange twistings of the mind, defeats of spirit,

Whereof I cannot with sincerity

Accuse myself. But if it be a sin

To make the flesh pander to the mind,

I have sinned deep. Of the means, not of the end,

I heartily repent.

I heartily repent.Son, they mistake

Who think God hates those bodies which He made

Freedom, not licence, must be given the body,

For licence preys upon itself and others,

Devouring freedom’s gifts. Have others suffered

Through lust, wrath, greed of yours?

Through lust, wrath, greed of yours?I do confess it,

And ask their pardon and God’s pardon for it

Most humbly.

Most humbly.In this world as in God’s heaven

There is no power to match humility:

It breaks the horns of the unicorns, and makes

The wand of justice flower like Aaron’s rod.

Stoop to repent, and God will stoop to pardon.

I do repent.

I do repent.Indeed I hope thou dost.

For all these injuries, see thou make amends

So far as may be done; the irreparable

God’s grace shall turn to good, since only He

Can lead out triumph from the gates of hell,

As He hath done by thee, using thy faults

To further His great ends, by His sole power,

Not thine.

Not thine.I understand. A year ago

An idle mason let the chisel slip

Spoiling the saint he carved. I chid him for it,

Then took the tool and in that careless stroke

Saw a new vision, and so wrought it out

Into a hippogriff. But yet the mason

Was not the less to blame. So works with us

The cunning craftsman, God.

The cunning craftsman, God.Thou hast a mind

Apt to receive His meaning. But take heed:

The mind hath its own snares. What sins of the mind

Trouble thee now?

Trouble thee now?I do not know of any.

I cannot read the heart; but I am old

And know how little one need fear the flesh

In comparison of the mind. Think, I beseech thee,

If any sin lie yet upon thy conscience.

Father, I know of none.

Father, I know of none.The Tree of Life

Grew by the Tree of Knowledge; and when Adam

Ate of the one, this doom was laid upon him

Never, but by self-knowledge, to taste life.

Pray now for grace, that thou may’st know and live.

Wilt thou not give me present absolution?

Of all thy fleshly faults, humbly confessed,

Truly repented, I do absolve thee now

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of

The Holy Ghost. Amen.

The Holy Ghost. Amen.Amen.

The Holy Ghost. Amen.Amen.Good night;

Peace be with thee.

Peace be with thee.And with thy spirit. Good night.

[Exit Prior. William tosses restlessly.

℣. The ministers of God are sons of thunder, they are falls of water, trampling of horses, and running of chariots; and if the voices of these ministers cannot overcome thy music, thy security, yet the Angels’ trumpets will.

[Distant trumpet.

[Gabriel goes up and stands behind William.

[Michael goes up and stands with drawn sword before William.

[Cassiel goes up and stands at the foot of William’s bed, with the Book open before him.

[Raphael goes up and stands with his censer at the head of William’s bed.

Sleep! while these voices wail through aisle and cloister

Howling on judgment? Cannot Father Ambrose

Keep his monks quiet—let a sick man rest?

I am confessed, absolved. Why think of judgment?

My soul is heavy even unto death,

And something not myself moves in the dusk

Fearfully. Lights! lights! lights!

Fearfully. Lights! lights! lights!Let there be light!

[William becomes aware of the presence of the Angels.

℣. Behold, the angel of the Lord, standing in the way, and his sword drawn in his hand.

℟. And he was afraid, because of the sword of the angel of the Lord.

℣. My flesh trembleth for fear of Thee, and I am afraid of Thy judgments.

℟. God is a righteous judge, strong and patient, and God is provoked every day.

So—it is come; first death and then the judgment.

Thou standest there and holdest up the Book

Wherein my sins show black. But I am shriven.

Christ’s blood hath washed me white. What then art thou,

Threats in thy hand, and in thy face a threat

Sterner than steel and colder?

Sterner than steel and colder?I am Michael,

The sword of God. The edge is turned toward thee:

Not for those sins whereof thou dost repent,

Lust, greed, wrath, avarice, the faults of flesh

Sloughed off with the flesh, but that which feeds the soul,

The sin that is so much a part of thee

Thou know’st it not for sin.

Thou know’st it not for sin.What sin is that?

Angel, what sins remain? I have envied no man,

Sought to rob no man of renown or merits,

Yea, praised all better workmen than myself

From an ungrudging heart. I have not been slothful—

Thou canst not say I was. Lust, greed, wrath, avarice,

None ever came between my work and me;

That I put first; never by nights of lust

Too spent to labour in the dawning day;

Never so drunken that I could not set

Level to stone or hold the plumb-line true;

Never so wroth as to confound my judgment

Between the man and the work, or call the one

Ill-done because I wished the other ill;

Never so grasping as to take reward

For what I did not, or despised to do.

If I neglected lip-service to God,

My hands served for me, and I wrought His praise

Not in light words puffed from a slumberous mind

Like wind, but in enduring monuments,

Symbol and fruit of that which works, not sleeps.

Answer me, Angel, what have I ever done

Or left undone, that I may not repent

Nor God forgive?

Nor God forgive?There where thy treasure is

Thy heart is also. Sin is of the heart.

But all my heart was in my work.

But all my heart was in my work.Even so.

What, in my work? The sin was in my work?

Thou liest. Though thou speak with God’s own voice

Thou liest. In my work? That cannot be.

I grant the work not perfect; no man’s work

Is perfect; but what hand and brain could do,

Such as God made them, that I did. Doth God

Demand the impossible? Then blame God, not me,

That I am man, not God. He hath broken me,

Hath sought to snatch the work out of my hand——

Wherefore? . . . O now, now I begin to see.

This was well said, He is a jealous God;

The work was not ill done—’twas done too well;

He will not have men creep so near His throne

To steal applause from Him. Is this my fault?

Why, this needs no repentance, and shall have none.

Let Him destroy me, since He has the power

To slay the thing He envies—but while I have breath

My work is mine; He shall not take it from me.

No; thou shalt lay it down of thine own will.

Never. Let Him heap on more torments yet——

He can heap none on thee, He hath not borne——

Let Him strike helpless hands as well as feet——

Whose Feet and Hands were helpless stricken through——

Scourge me and smite me and make blind mine eyes——

As He was blindfolded and scourged and smitten——

Dry up my voice in my throat and make me dumb——

As He was dumb and opened not His mouth——

Cramp me with pains——

Cramp me with pains——As He was cramped with pains,

Racked limb from limb upon the stubborn Cross——

Parch me with fever——

Parch me with fever——He that cried, “I thirst”——

Wring out my blood and sweat——

Wring out my blood and sweat——Whose sweat, like blood

Watered the garden in Gethsemane——

For all that He can do I will not yield,

Nor leave to other men that which is mine,

To botch—to alter—turn to something else,

Not mine.

Not mine.Thou wilt not? Yet God bore this too,

The last, the bitterest, worst humiliation,

Bowing His neck under the galling yoke

Frustrate, defeated, half His life unlived,

Nothing achieved.

Nothing achieved.Could God, being God, do this?

Christ, being man, did this; but still, through faith

Knew what He did. As gold and diamond,

Weighed in the chemist’s balance, are but earth

Like tin or iron, albeit within them still

The purchase of the world lie implicit:

So, when God came to test of mortal time

In nature of a man whom time supplants,

He made no reservation of Himself

Nor of the godlike stamp that franked His gold,

But in good time let time supplant Him too.

The earth was rent, the sun’s face turned to blood,

But He, unshaken, with exultant voice

Cried, “It is finished!” and gave up the ghost.

“Finished”—when men had thought it scarce begun.

Then His disciples with blind faces mourned,

Weeping: “We trusted that He should redeem

Israel; but now we know not.” What said He

Behind the shut doors in Jerusalem,

At Emmaus, and in the bitter dawn

By Galilee? “I go; but feed My sheep;

For Me the Sabbath at the long week’s close—

For you the task, for you the tongues of fire.”

Thus shalt thou know the Master Architect,

Who plans so well, He may depart and leave

The work to others. Art thou more than God?

Not God Himself was indispensable,

For lo! God died—and still His work goes on.

℣. Thou that destroyest the temple and buildest it in three days, save thyself. If thou be the Son of God, come down from the cross.

℟. Thinkest thou that I cannot now pray to My Father, and He shall presently give Me more than twelve legions of angels? But how then shall the scriptures be fulfilled, that thus it must be?

Lord, I believe; help Thou mine unbelief.

Lord, I believe; help Thou mine unbelief.

O, I have sinned. The eldest sin of all,

Pride, that struck down the morning star from Heaven

Hath struck down me from where I sat and shone

Smiling on my new world. All other sins

God will forgive but that. I am damned, damned,

Justly. Yet, O most just and merciful God,

Hear me but once, Thou that didst make the world

And wilt not let one thing that Thou hast made,

No, not one sparrow, perish without Thy Will

(Since what we make, we love)—for that love’s sake

Smite only me and spare my handiwork.

Jesu, the carpenter’s Son, the Master-builder,

Architect, poet, maker—by those hands

That Thine own nails have wounded—by the wood

Whence Thou didst carve Thy Cross—let not the Church

Be lost through me. Let me lie deep in hell,

Death gnaw upon me, purge my bones with fire,

But let my work, all that was good in me,

All that was God, stand up and live and grow.

The work is sound, Lord God, no rottenness there—

Only in me. Wipe out my name from men

But not my work; to other men the glory

And to Thy Name alone. But if to the damned

Be any mercy at all, O send Thy spirit

To blow apart the sundering flames, that I

After a thousand years of hell, may catch

One glimpse, one only, of the Church of Christ,

The perfect work, finished, though not by me.

℣. Save me from the lion’s mouth; Thou hast heard me also from among the horns of the unicorns.

℟. For why? Thou shalt not leave my soul in hell, neither shalt Thou suffer Thine holy one to see corruption.

[Trumpet.

Sheathe thy sword, Michael; the fight is won.

Close the book, Cassiel; the score is paid.

Give glory, Raphael; the race is run.

Lead homeward, Gabriel, the sheep that strayed.

Eloi, Eloi, Eloi,

Glory to God in the highest; holy is He!

How hardly shall the rich man enter in

To the Kingdom of Heaven! By what sharp, thorny ways,

By what strait gate at last! But when he is come,

The angelic trumpets split their golden throats

Triumphant, to the stars singing together

And all the sons of God shouting for joy.

Be comforted, thou that wast rich in gifts;

For thou art broken on the self-same rack

That broke the richest Prince of all the world,

The Master-man. Thou shalt not surely die,

Save as He died; nor suffer, save with Him;

Nor lie in hell, for He hath conquered hell

And flung the gates wide open. They that bear

The cross with Him, with Him shall wear a crown

Such as the angels know not. Then be still,

And know that He is God, and God alone.

℣. Who suffered for our salvation; descended into hell, rose again the third day from the dead.

℟. He ascended into Heaven, He sitteth on the right hand of the Father, God Almighty; from whence He shall come to judge the quick and the dead.

Eloi, Eloi, Eloi,

Glory to God in the highest; holy is He!

[While this is sung, the Angels go up and stand side by side across the stage behind the couch.

I shall not die but live, and declare the works of the Lord.

Who is there? I was dreaming. Gervase! Hubert!

[Gervase and Hubert run in, left and right.

William?

William?Dear master?

William?Dear master?God hath changed my mind.

I must submit. I must go back to France.

I do but hinder the work, lingering here,

Kicking against the pricks.

Kicking against the pricks.Do not say so!

What should we do without you?

What should we do without you?I am not

The only architect in the world—there are others

Will do the work as well, better perhaps.

Stay not to chide me—listen, there is one,

William the Englishman, a little man,

But with a mounting spirit and great vision;

Send now for him. I think we quarrelled once,

Not seeing eye to eye—but that is nothing;

He will respect my work as I do his,

And build a harmony of his and mine

To a nobler close than mine. I’ll not dictate

Conditions to the Chapter; but, should they choose

William the Englishman to follow me,

He’ll do such work for them as honours God

And them and all good craftsmen. As for me,

My place is here no more. I am in God’s hand.

Take me and bear me hence.

Take me and bear me hence.Dear master, whither?

To the Lady Ursula’s lodging. If unto her

I can make any amends, then I will make it.

To all of you, I owe a debt of love

Which I will pay with love. Only to God,

That royal creditor, no debt remains.

He from the treasure of His great heart hath paid

The whole sum due, and cancelled out the bond.

Laus Deo!

[Gervase and Hubert carry William out, right.

[Michael comes down to the foot of the steps and addresses the congregation; the other three Angels standing above him.

Children of men, lift up your hearts. Laud and magnify God, the everlasting Wisdom, the holy, undivided and adorable Trinity.

Praise Him that He hath made man in His own image, a maker and craftsman like Himself, a little mirror of His triune majesty.

For every work of creation is threefold, an earthly trinity to match the heavenly.

First: there is the Creative Idea; passionless, timeless, beholding the whole work complete at once, the end in the beginning; and this is the image of the Father.

Second: there is the Creative Energy, begotten of that Idea, working in time from the beginning to the end, with sweat and passion, being incarnate in the bonds of matter; and this is the image of the Word.

Third: there is the Creative Power, the meaning of the work and its response in the lively soul; and this is the image of the indwelling Spirit.

And these three are one, each equally in itself the whole work, whereof none can exist without other; and this is the image of the Trinity.

Look then upon this Cathedral Church of Christ: imagined by men’s minds, built by the labour of men’s hands, working with power upon the souls of men; symbol of the everlasting Trinity, the visible temple of God.

As you would honour Christ, so honour His Church; nor suffer this temple of His Body to know decay.

PREFACE

In my previous Canterbury play, The Zeal of Thy House, the problem was to supply a supernatural interpretation of a piece of human history. In the present play, the problem is exactly reversed: it is a question of supplying some kind of human interpretation of a supernatural legend. This means that the supernatural elements in the two stories have called for quite different handling. In the former case, they affected only the moral, and not the machinery, of the fable; take away the visible angels, and the course of William of Sen’s fall and repentance remains essentially unaltered. But in whatever way we retell the tale of Faustus, the supernatural element is the story. For the “two-hours’ traffic of our stage,” we must indulge in the “willing suspension of disbelief.” We must accept magic and miracle as physical realities; we must admit the possibility of genuine witchcraft, of the strange legal transaction by which a man might sell his soul to Satan, of the actual appearance of the Devil in concrete bodily shape. The Faustus legend is dyed in grain with the thought and feeling of its period; nothing could be more characteristic than its odd jumble of spirituality and crude superstition; of scripture and classical myth; of Catholic theology and anti-clerical humanism; of the adventurous passion for, and the timorous distrust of learning. We may put what allegorical or symbolical construction we like on this fantastical piece of diabolism; but to enjoy it as drama, we must contrive to put ourselves back in spirit to the opening years of the sixteenth century. Accordingly, the better to induce this frame of mind in the spectator, I have deliberately reverted to the setting and machinery of the early Renaissance stage, with its traditional “mansions,” its conventional Heaven and Hell-mouth, and its full apparatus of diabolical masquerade.

The picturesque figure of the Devil has a perennial attraction for the playwright, although, theologically speaking, he is apt to make hay of any story into which he intrudes. The fact is, the Devil is a character of very mixed origin; as Mrs. Malaprop would say, he is, “like Cerberus, three gentlemen at once.” There is, to begin with, the “fallen seraph” of ancient Talmudic tradition; the rebel created for better things, and suffering torment in everlasting exile from God’s presence. It is his dark angelic melancholy that makes the splendour of Marlowe’s Mephistopheles and Milton’s Satan. Under whatever name he appears, this personage is but one among an uncounted legion of the lost. Although the existence of a chief devil is postulated (whether called Satan, Lucifer, Beelzebub or what not), each evil spirit is conceived of as being a separate personality, rather than summing up in himself the essence of all evil.

Secondly, and inextricably confused, by name and exploits, with the conception of the fallen angels, we have “the Devil”—the absolute spirit of Evil, set over against God, who is the absolute Good. His origin appears to be Persian, and he properly belongs to that dualistic cosmogony which divides the rulership of the world equally between light and darkness, Ormuzd and Ahriman. In Mediaeval theatrical practice, any devil one may choose to bring upon the stage is apt to assume this generalised character of incarnate Evil, whatever references he may make to his diabolic superiors, and however many demonic companions he may summon to his assistance. For the purpose of dramatic symbolism one has to assume that any devil may symbolise “the Devil,” and be treated accordingly. Goethe’s Mephistopheles has this universality of evil; and in him the poet typifies his own conception of what Evil is, “der Geist der stets verneint.”

Thirdly, there is the “merry devil”—a mocking spirit, who probably derives, complete with horn and hoof, from the classical Pan and his satyrs. This lively personage endeared himself deeply to the Mediaeval playgoer, who, in any performance of religious drama, confidently looked forward to the Devil as the “comic turn.” Squibs and crackers and poltergeist antics were always part of “Old Hornie’s” repertoire; and thus we find the stately Mephistopheles of Marlowe condescending to play vulgar tricks upon the Pope and souse a Horse-courser in a dirty pond. That kind of thing was expected of the Devil, and, had it been omitted from the play, the pit would no doubt have demanded its money back. Trickery and mischief fit in more appropriately with the character of Goethe’s Mephistopheles than with Marlowe’s; and indeed, towards the end of the long second part of Faust, it becomes difficult to remember that the Devil is the father of all Evil; he bears so strong an appearance of being merely an amiable gentleman with a slightly sardonic sense of humour. But indeed, as Marlowe, Milton, Goethe, and every other writer who has meddled with the Devil has discovered, the chief difficulty is to prevent this sympathetic character from becoming the hero of the story.

It is hopeless, at this time of day, to disentangle the stage presentation of the Devil from its inherited inconsistencies, or to make every detail of it fit neatly into a rigid theological system. Nor is it possible to do away altogether with the inherent unreason that attends the practice of Art Magic. If, as we are so often told, religion and magic were formed out of the same raw material, nothing could be more remarkable and impressive than the difference, in the finished article, between the rational severity of the one and the incoherent irrationality of the other. It must be remembered that the Mediaeval magician did not, generally speaking, set to work to call up devils in the name of Beelzebub; he called them up in the name of the Trinity. However sordid, vile or ridiculous the end for which he summoned the spirits, the ultimate sanction invoked to attain that end was the power of God and His angels. In the very act of denying and defying God, he surrounded himself with every protection that the name of God could afford against the consequences of the act. In their more blasphemous excesses, his conjurations were spells, explicitly compelling God, by the power of His own name, to perform the conjurer’s will. It is this curious dissociation of the power from the source of power that characterises magic as opposed to sacrament. The magical power is, in fact, considered to inhere in the divine name itself, and to operate automatically and independently of the divine authority. Thus the ancient manuals of conjuration present us with the somewhat inconsequent spectacle of a magician urgently calling upon God to protect and assist him in the carrying-out of such agreeable little bedevilments as the diseasing of his neighbour’s cattle, the debauching of his neighbour’s wife, or even the consort and enjoyment of delectable she-devils in bodily form. Whether, indeed, a generation so addicted as our own to the cherishing of mascots and the reckless abuse of ideological formulae is entitled to cast the stone of scorn at its Mediaeval forebears is matter for consideration.

But when we have allowed for all its fantastical trappings and illogical absurdities, the legend of Faustus remains one of the great stories of the world; a perpetual fascination to the poet, whose task it is to deal with the eternities. For at the base of it lies the question of all questions: the nature of Evil and its place in the universe. Symbolise Evil, and call it the Devil, and then ask how the Devil comes to be. Is he, as the Manichees taught, a power co-equal with and opposed to God? Or, if God is all-powerful, did He make the Devil, and if so, why, and with what justification? Is the Devil a positive force, or merely a negation, the absence of Good? In what sense can a man be said to sell his soul to the Devil? What kind of man might do so, and, above all, for what inducement? Further, what meaning are we to place upon the concept of hell and damnation, with which the whole concept of the Devil is intimately bound up?

Questions such as these are answered by every generation in the light of its own spiritual needs and experience. And for each writer, when he has determined his own interpretation of the central mythus, there is, of course, the added technical interest of discovering how many features of the original legend offer themselves as valuable factors in his system of symbolism.

In the true spirit of the Renaissance, the legendary Faustus sells his soul for the satisfaction of intellectual curiosity and the lust of worldly power. Marlowe accepts those inducements as valid, and, though his sympathies are very much with Faustus, does not shrink from the tragical end of the story. Faustus is damned in accordance with the terms of the bond, and the sombre close of the drama is unrelieved by any ray of hope. In this play, there is scarcely any trace of the conventional Mediaeval hell of physical fire and brimstone; the famous speech of Mephistopheles embodies a purely spiritual concept of damnation:

For Goethe, it was impossible to accept the idea that desire for knowledge could be in itself an evil thing. Though Faustus signs the bond, Mephistopheles is cheated in the end, and Faustus goes to Heaven. This game of cheat-the-devil is in full accordance with the spirit of the early moralities; these often finish with a judgment scene, conducted by Our Lady in the strictest legal form, in which the Devil is tripped up over the terms of a compact, rather in the manner of Shylock in The Merchant of Venice. Goethe conceives of the Devil as a necessary part of God’s plan for the world: he is the power “der reizt und wirkt und muss als Teufel schaffen.” The deadly sin is to give up striving and rest content, and the Devil is the irritant that keeps man at work. Goethe’s Faust learns to use his infernal power to a good end, and finds contentment only in devotion to the service of man. It is while busily engaged in a work of public usefulness that he finds himself ready to say to the fleeting moment: “Verweile doch, du bist so schön”; and the comment of the angels is:

To endeavour to do again what greater poets have already magnificently done would be folly as well as presumption; and I have tried to offer a new presentment of Faustus. All other considerations apart, I do not feel that the present generation of English people needs to be warned against the passionate pursuit of knowledge for its own sake: that is not our besetting sin. Looking with the eyes of to-day upon that legendary figure of the man who bartered away his soul, I see in him the type of the impulsive reformer, over-sensitive to suffering, impatient of the facts, eager to set the world right by a sudden overthrow, in his own strength and regardless of the ineluctable nature of things. When he finds it is not to be done, he falls into despair (or, to use the current term, into “defeatism”) and takes flight into phantasy.

His escape takes a form very common in these times: it is the nostalgia of childhood, of the primitive, of the unconscious; the rejection of adult responsibility and the denial of all value to growth and time. Time has been exercising the minds of many writers of late. It has been suggested that it is pure illusion, or at most a cross-section of eternity, and that we may be comforted for the failures of our manhood by remembering that the youthful idealists we once were are our permanent and eternal selves. This doctrine is not really even consoling; since, if our youth is co-eternal with our age, then equally, our age is co-eternal with our youth; the corruptions of our ends poison our beginnings as certainly as the purity of our beginnings sanctifies our ends. The Church has always carefully distinguished time from eternity; as carefully as she has distinguished the Logos from the Father. It is true that we must become as little children and that “except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.” But that is not to be done by attempting to turn time backwards, or deny its validity in a material universe. “How can a man be born when he is old? Can he enter the second time into his mother’s womb and be born?” The answer is that he cannot. “That which is born of the flesh is flesh, and that which is born of the spirit is spirit.” Time and eternity are two different things, and that which exists temporally must admit the values of time. Against the exhortation to take refuge in infantilism we may set the saying of Augustine of Hippo concerning Christ: “Cibus sum grandium; cresce et manducabis Me”—“I am the food of the full-grown; become adult, and thou shalt feed on Me.”

Has Evil any real existence, viewed sub specie aeternitatis? I have suggested that it has not; but that it is indissolubly linked with the concept of value in the material and temporal aspect of the universe. It is this issue which Faustus refuses to face; rather than grapple with the opposition of good and evil, he dissociates himself from common human experience. The results to his soul of this attempt to escape reality are displayed in a final judgment scene, where (with a rigid legal exactitude which, I feel sure, the Mediaeval mind would heartily approve) the Devil is cheated of his bond, but receives his precise due. The notion of the Devil as being set in charge of the place of purgation, as well as of the place in which all evil is consumed, was familiar enough to the Middle Ages, as is clearly seen in the Wakefield Pageant of The Harrowing of Hell, where Christ rebukes Satan in the words:

Of the original Faustus legend, certain episodes are reproduced in some form or another in practically all treatments of the subject: Faustus’ raising of Mephistopheles; his “disputations” with him concerning the nature of God; his twenty-four years’ bond to Hell; his journeys to Rome, where he plays tricks upon the Pope, and to the Court of Charles V, where he assists the Imperial armies to achieve their victories in Italy; his having Helen of Troy for his paramour; and the final scene in which the Devil comes to claim his own. His servant, Christopher Wagner, is also traditional. One version recounts how Faustus sought to marry “a beautiful servant-girl,” but was prevented by Mephistopheles, on the ground that marriage was a sacrament, and therefore an action pleasing to God and contrary to the terms of the bond. This episode forms the basis for the First Part of Goethe’s Faust.

The central part of the story is chiefly taken up with a long series of disconnected marvels and miracles, mostly of a purely mischievous and puckish sort, as when Faustus swallows a wagon of hay and a span of horses, makes flowers bloom at Christmas, cuts off his own leg and restores it, draws wine from a table, or attends the Pope’s banquet invisible and beats the guests about the head. None of this episodic material offers much opportunity to the dramatist for anything but “inexplicable dumb show and noise”; it is the beginning and the end of the tale that constitute its eternal appeal. In a version designed to be played in the restricted period of an hour and forty minutes, it has been necessary to exclude all merely episodic matter, and to concentrate on those incidents which are capable of being compressed into a reasonably coherent dramatic structure.

The Devil to Pay was originally produced in the Chapter House at the Canterbury Cathedral Festival, 10-17 June, 1939, under the management of the Friends of Canterbury Cathedral, with the following cast of professional and amateur players:

The Devil to Pay was first presented in London by the Daniel Mayer Company Limited at His Majesty’s Theatre on July 20th, 1939, with the following cast:

SCENE I (Mansion 1)

Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I shall never be ready in time. Lisa! Lisa! (shuffling to table). So much to do since my master gave up theology and took to astrology and physic. “Ioth, Aglanabroth, El, Aniel, Anathiel, Anazim”—what terrible great hard words! (Sets down lantern, dropping cabbage.) Alas! what’s that? Oh, it’s only the cabbage. (Grovels for it, dropping sword.) Heaven be praised! I thought it was the precious Holy Water. (Stands clutching all his parcels and holding book close to lantern.) “Craton, Muriton, Agarion, Pentessaron”—Bless me! I have forgotten the mandrakes—no, I remember, I put them in my pocket. (Attempts to verify the mandrakes, dropping stockfish.) Lisa!

[Enter Lisa, left.

Oh, my poor Wagner! How dreadfully burdened you are. Here, let me take some of those things. (Picking up stockfish.) What’s this for? Friday’s dinner?

It’s a present from the poor fishmonger whose horoscope we cast free of charge. And this cabbage is from the old peasant we cured of the itch. I do hope I’ve got everything.

I’m sure you have quite enough.

This is a flask of Holy Water from the River Jordan itself. Set it on the shelf. Carefully. It has been blessed by the Pope. And you must take these lamps and fill them with the very best consecrated oil. I’ll put the Doctor’s sword over here.

[Wanders away, still clutching book, and leans sword against wall, right.

Were there many at his lecture to-night?

Yes, a great many. But I’m sure the most part of them care nothing for the brave things he tells them about Gemini and Capricorn and the movements of the planets. They only want to learn how to get rich, or to beg him to cure their diseases. There was a whole rag-tag and bob-tail besieging him at the door. In his place I wouldn’t be troubled with them.

He is so kind. He will always help them if he can. He can’t bear to see any one suffer (at table, collecting lamps).

So he sent me on ahead to prepare the room for him. We are to do great things to-night. Don’t take the lantern. I need it to study my book.

But all the candles are lit.

So they are! I didn’t notice. (Importantly.) But then, I’m so very busy. Now where in the world did I put the chalk? I’m sure I had a piece somewhere.

I expect it’s in your pocket.

I believe you’re right. What a clever girl you are, Lisa, and so very, very pretty.

Foolish Wagner!

Don’t you think you could call me Christopher? (Pleadingly.) It isn’t a bad name. Do please try. It would make me so happy. I’m very fond of you, Lisa.

Foolish Christopher (skipping nimbly out of reach). Now, you mustn’t waste time. Find your chalk and get on with your work, or you won’t be ready when Dr. Faustus comes.

The chalk? Yes, I’m sure it’s here, but it seems to be mixed up with something. (Pulling bundle of roots from his pocket.) Of course—the mandrakes. They must be hung in the chimney to dry.

What strange-looking things! Put them in my apron. (He tries to kiss her; she holds the lantern between them.) Now, be a good Christopher and study your great book.

[Exit, left, with lantern and lamps.

Sometimes I think she doesn’t take me seriously. Well, I must get on. (Kneels and writes in circle, book in hand.) The anagrams of God in the five points of the pentacle. IHS, El, Ya, Alpha, Omega. So. And the names of God between the points. Adonai. Emmanuel. Panthon. Tetragrammaton. Messias. So. And between the lamps in the circle, five signs of the Cross. One, two, three——

[Re-enter Lisa, with lamps.

I have filled the lamps. What are you writing there?

Ah, that is a secret. Give them to me—so, one at each point of the star. These are high and mighty matters, and not for girls to know about. It’s all written in this book, that was given to Dr. Faustus by the great conjurer, Cornelius Agrippa. To-morrow, we shall be richer and more powerful than the Emperor. We shall have spirits to fetch and carry for us——

What? You will not . . . He doesn’t mean to . . . Oh, Christopher! There will be no danger to Dr. Faustus?

Of course not. No danger can pass this circle. Besides, I shall be there to protect him. How brave it will be! We shall be masters of all the treasure in the world. We shall heal all the troubles of mankind with a wave of the wand. We shall prank ourselves in costly apparel, and you and I will be married, Lisa, and fly to the court of the Grand Cham on the back of a winged basilisk. Tell me, dear Lisa, tell me——

I hear the Doctor coming.

[Enter Faustus, Mansion 1. He wears a great cloak over his doctor’s gown. Lisa runs to greet him.

Oh, sir! how late you are! And how wet! Give me your cloak. I’m sure you must be tired to death. Sit down and rest. I will have a fine hot supper ready for you in a moment.

Thanks, Lieschen, thanks. But I shall need no supper. I have work to do.

[Takes off his cloak and doctor’s cap. Lisa hangs them up.

No supper! Why, you have eaten nothing all day.

My work must be done fasting. (He sits on a chair.) Bring me a bowl of water, and the robe, slippers and girdle you will find in my chamber. Is everything ready, Wagner?

[Exit Lisa, left.

Yes, sir. I have this moment finished the circle.

See that it is accurately drawn. One of your spelling mistakes, or a touch of your usual absent-mindedness, might land us both in a very queer place. (Wagner, alarmed, checks all his hieroglyphics again by the book.) Oh, God, I am sick at heart. When I see how ill this world is governed, and all the wretchedness that men suffer, I would give my immortal soul to be done with it all.

Heaven forbid. What a thing to say! When you think how easily your immortal soul might go wriggling away through a gap in the circle, like a rabbit through a fence. Or my soul, for that matter.

[He carefully touches up a point of the pentacle.

Don’t be alarmed. You will be safe enough if you stay where I put you and don’t lose your head and run away.

[Re-enter Lisa with slippers, bowl and napkin. She puts the bowl on the floor while she removes Faustus’ shoes and puts on his slippers.

That will do. Leave it to me. I see you have drawn out the figure of the sun’s eclipse.

Yes, sir. But I don’t altogether understand it. The moon gives light to the earth. Why then do we see her black?

The moon has no light of herself. When she passes between the earth and the sun she shows but as a mass of dark matter, as your head does, between me and that candle.

[He washes his hands in the bowl Lisa holds for him.

I see. And if the sun were to pass between us and the moon, would he show dark also?

No; for he is the very source of the light, and in him is no darkness at all. My robe and girdle, Lieschen.

Oh, sir! I don’t like the look of that robe, and the girdle with all the strange words upon it. They are too much like what you have there upon the floor. I am afraid of them. Will you not sit and have your supper like a Christian, and leave these fearful conjuring tricks to ignorant, unhappy men who know no better?

What is all this? Have you been talking, Wagner?

What do you need with riches and power and the court of the Grand Cham, and wicked spirits and basilisks—you that are happy in your great wisdom and learning?

Child, the greater the wisdom, the greater the sorrow. The end of all our knowledge is to learn how helpless we are. Divinity, philosophy, astrology—I have studied them all. There are no springs of comfort in that barren desert of doctrine. Physic but lays a patch to the old garment; the stuff itself is rotten, warp and woof; the corruption eats deeper than our drugs can reach. (Violently.) What is this folly about riches and worldly delights? Do you think I care for such toys? But if magical power can aid me to resolve the mystery of wickedness, lay bare the putrefying sore at the heart of creation, break and remake the pattern of the inexorable stars——I have frightened you. Fetch me my robe, and do not meddle with what you cannot understand. There, I know you mean well, but do not vex me now.

[Exit Lisa, left, removing bowl and shoes.

Wagner, why do you not attend to your work, instead of chattering to Lisa?

[Takes off his gown and lays it on the chair.

I have worked very hard indeed. I have purchased the lamps, ordered the oil, taken your sword to be ground, brought home the Jordan water, finished the circle and learnt a great many very long and difficult names out of this book. I hoped you would be pleased with me.

[Re-enter Lisa with robe and girdle and puts them on Faustus.

Why, so I am. You are an honest, industrious fellow—and if your heart is a better organ than your head, it was not you that had the making of them. Thank you, child. Now run away, and never trouble your pretty head about us. And remember, no matter what you may hear, you must not cross the threshold of this room to-night. On no pretence whatsoever. Do you hear me?

Yes, sir. May God and His holy angels protect us all.

[Exit, left, taking Faustus’ gown.

Now, Wagner, to work! Bring the book to me.

This is empty. Will you have the blessed water from the Jordan?

[He lays the book on the table.

Yes. But make haste; for this spirit will not come save he be called between the ninth hour and midnight.

[Wagner brings flask and fills the stoup which Faustus holds.

In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti, exorcizo te, creatura aquae, ut fias aqua exorcizata ad effugandam omnem potestatem inimici. Amen.

Amen.

[While Wagner puts back the flask and changes it by means of the trick shelf, Faustus sprinkles the water within the circle.

Asperges me Domine hyssopo et mundabor, lavabis me et supra nivem dealbabor. Gloria Patri et Filio et Spiritui Sancto.

Sicut erat in principio et nunc et semper et in saecula saeculorum. Amen. (He puts back the stoup and now brings the sword, naked, to Faustus, who has meanwhile taken the book from the table and opened it.) Must I put out the lights, Master?

Put them all out, and bring me a lighted taper.

Oh, Master, it’s going to be very dark and not at all comfortable. I don’t think I care very much about being rich and powerful and riding on b-b-basilisks. D-d-don’t you think it would be better to stop all this, and have a nice little astrology lesson or something?

Take courage, Wagner. Thou wilt not desert me now? There must be some meaning in this tormented universe, where light and darkness, good and evil forever wrestle at odds; and though God be silent or return but a riddling answer, there are spirits that can be compelled to speak.

[Wagner returns, carrying the taper.

Now follow me into the circle, and see that thou close it well after we have passed over.

[They step into the circle through a gap left in the figure, which Wagner closes carefully with chalk.

Light the lamps.

My hand trembles. (He lights the lamps.) Oh, dear! what will become of us? Ugh! Something brushed past my face, like a bat. Would I were well out of this.

[He extinguishes the taper.

Be silent. Stand back to back with me and be sure you let neither hand nor foot stray beyond the circle. Now we begin.

In the name of the most high God, maker of Heaven and earth and of all things under the earth, Ioth, Aglanabroth, El, Abiel, Anathiel, Amazim, Messias, Tolimi, Ischiros, Athanatos, I require of Thee, O Lord, by the seal of Solomon and by the ineffable name wherewith he did bind the devils and shut them up, Adonai, Aglai, Tetragrammaton, grant me Thy virtue and power, to cite before me Thy spirits which were thrown down from Heaven, and in especial that spirit which is called Mephistopheles, that he may come and speak with me, and dispatch again at my command, without hurt to my body, soul and goods, and diligently fulfil the will of me Thy exorcist. Fiat, fiat, fiat. Amen.

[Thunder.

[Here Faustus may hand the book to Wagner unnoticed, and so be relieved of it.

I conjure thee, Mephistopheles, by the unspeakable name of God, and by His virtue and power, and by Him that harrowed Hell; I conjure and exorcise thee, by angels and archangels, by thrones, dominations, principalities and powers, by virtues, by cherubim and seraphim, and by the name of thy master, Lucifer, Prince of the East, that thou do come to us, here visibly before this circle, and that thou do make answer truly, without craft or deceit, unto all my demands and questions.

[Thunder again, and Hell-mouth opens with a great noise and a red light.

In the name of Him that liveth and reigneth for ever, and hath the keys of hell and of death, come hither to me, Mephistopheles.

[Enter Mephistopheles out of Hell, in the form of a lion with the tail of a serpent and the feet of a bull.

Oh, help! help! Heaven defend us! We are lost! We’re undone. (He springs out of the circle and runs off, left. Flame and an explosion drive him back. A peal of diabolical laughter is heard.) Mercy! Help! what shall I do?

Spirit, I charge thee, hurt him not.

Enough. Let him go. Away with thee, mannikin! Thy master and I have business together.

[Wagner runs out.

And thou, Mephistopheles, put off this ugly shape, fit only to frighten children. Stand before me in the semblance of a man.

With pleasure. Nothing easier. (He takes off his lion’s head and tosses it negligently into Hell-mouth.) And now, sir, what can I do for you, to justify the expenditure of so many big words and this great exhibition of fi-fo-fum?

Answer me truly first concerning thyself. What art thou?

Truly, you should know best, since you called me by name. But indeed, I am not particular. I will answer to anything you like to call me, for my name is legion, and Evil is one of my names.

Tell me, then, thou Evil, who made thee?

He that made all things.

What? did God make thee? Was all the evil in the world made by God? Beware what thou sayest; I know thee for a false and lying spirit.

That is a most unjust accusation. What lies have I ever told? There is no need for lying, seeing that mankind are such fools.

How so?

Why, tell them the truth and they will mislead themselves by their own vanities and save me the trouble of invention. I sat by Eve’s shoulder in the shadow of the forbidden tree. “Eat,” said I, “and you shall become like God.” She and her silly husband ate, and it was so. Where was the lie? Was it my fault if they persuaded themselves that God was everything they hankered to be—all-good, all-wise, all-powerful and possessed of everlasting happiness?

Is not God all these things?

Is He these things? Look at the world He made, and ask yourself, what is He like that made it? Would you not say it was the work of a mad brain, cruel and blind and stupid—this world where the thorn chokes the flower, where the fox slays the fowl and the kite the fox, where the cat torments the mouse for pastime before she kills it for sport? Where men, made truly enough in the image of their Maker, rend, ravish and torture one another, lay waste the earth, burn up provinces for a title or a handful of dirty metal, persecute for a pater-noster, and send a fellow-fool to the rack for the shape of his nose or the name of his mother’s father? War, fire, famine, pestilence—is He all-good that delights in these, or all-powerful that likes them not and endures them? Ask thyself this.

I have asked it a hundred times without thy prompting. It is as though my own heart spoke to me. Man’s cruelty is an abomination—but how can one justify the cruelty of God?

Is He all-wise, that had not the wits to keep out of the mess He had made, but must needs meddle with this business of being a man, and so left matters worse than He found them? Why, He could not even speak His mind plainly, but all He said was so fumblingly expressed, men have been by the ears ever since, trying to make out His meaning. And was not that a prime piece of folly, to show up His nature thus—base and ignorant as any carpenter’s son, too poor in spirit to argue in His own defence, too feeble to save His own skin from the hangman? Everlasting happiness? What happiness do you find in the history of the Man of Sorrows? By their fruits ye shall know them.

It was He that said that.

So He did, in one of His more unguarded moments.

And yet, Mephistopheles, His very name has power to conjure thee from the bowels of hell.

The power is not in the name. That name is powerful only because you believe in its power. Believe in your own power, and you can command me without any tricks of conjuration.

Wilt thou then come when I call? Wilt thou stay with me and be my servant, and do and bring me all things whatsoever I shall desire?

I shall always be with you, John Faustus. You have only to think upon me, and I shall be there.

And do my bidding?

With all my power.

Not harming me in any manner?

You need have no more fear of me than of yourself.

Come hither to me then, and shake hands upon the compact.

By all means—if you will first come out of the circle.

How can the circle hold thee back, since it has no power but by me, and I say, Come!

Very well argued. But the fact is, you and your servant have so drowned the place with Jordan water that I don’t care about it. I am very susceptible to chills, and I should infallibly get cramp in my hoofs. Besides, my Master Lucifer forbids me to enter the circle.

And wherefore?

For the better encouragement of superstition. But come—command me something. A few sacks of gold, perhaps, or a little supper. You must be famished with all this nonsense of prayer and fasting.

Well, then, bring me food.

Ho, there, my merry devils. Food and wine for your master. Music, ho!

[Music. Enter, right and left, Devils dancing, with platters of fruit, etc., and one with a goblet of wine, which they present to Faustus.

Drink, master, drink! What! Does the cursed fruit of the tree stick in thy throat still? Drink, and drown that devil’s gift of knowledge, from whence spring all the cares that afflict mankind. Drink—for the kingdom, the power and the glory are within thy grasp. Only stretch out thy hand and fear not.

Spirit, I fear thee not. Give me the cup.

First sheathe that sword; my delicate devils wince

Like women to see cold iron.

Like women to see cold iron.Give me the cup.

[As Faustus stretches his hand beyond the protection, Mephistopheles catches him by the wrist and pulls him out of the circle. Thunder; and all the lamps are immediately extinguished.

If God’s so harsh a stepfather to His sons

Then must we turn adventurers, and carve out

Our own road to salvation. Here’s to change! (Drinks.)

O the wine’s brave; it dances in the blood

And whirls in the brain, glowing and giving life

As though the vintagers had put in prison

The very sun, and pressed him with the grapes

Till all the vats ran fire.

Till all the vats ran fire.And so it should,

Seeing what cellars it came from.

Seeing what cellars it came from.God’s old realm,

Like an estate farmed by a bankrupt, dwindles

The sluggard way to ruin; her rank hedgerows

Drop down their brambles over the sour ditch;

Bindweed, tough tares, and tangling restharrow choke

Her furrows, where the plough stands idle, rust

Reddening the share; and in her hungry fields

Only the blind mole and the skipping coney

Drive their dark tunnels ’twixt the thistle and thorn.

We’ll starve at home no longer. The soul’s a world,

And hath her hemispheres, as the world hath,

Where thoughts put forth like galleons, leaving behind

These weedgrown crumbling harbours shoaled with time,

To sail new seas, steer by strange stars, cross over

Unknown meridians, and by pathless coasts

Explore her dusky Indias.

Explore her dusky Indias.Well, well, well—

I have heard young men speak thus.

I have heard young men speak thus.Young men speak thus?

I am not old, Mephistopheles. I have grown

A little grey, perhaps, with study and labour,

But I’m not old at all.

But I’m not old at all.Go to, go to.

[He leads Faustus to the mirror.

You are older than you should be. Mark you, mark

How lean men grow who try to save the world.

That line betwixt the brows—what wrote it there

But squinnying close at books, and frowning down

Your nose at ignorance? And the sour folds

At the corner of the mouth, the virtuous stamp

That Pharisees wear like phylacteries,

Proclaiming at what dear and grudged expense

They are chaste and sober; and the red-rimmed eyes

That weep to see how men enjoy their lusts,

Being so strangely happier than the godly.

I have wept for the woes of men, fighting like beasts,

Tortured like helpless beasts.

Tortured like helpless beasts.Let that alone,

The remedy makes it worse. Beast wars with beast

And slays and leaves no rancour. Heartbreak comes

With man’s self-consciousness and righteous hate,

When one ferocious virtue meets another

As quarrelsome as itself, good savaging good

Like so many angry lobsters in a basket

Pinching each other’s claws off. Now, behold

What you now are, and what you might have been

In the innocent world, if man had never meddled

With virtue and the dismal knowledge of God.

[The image of Faustus fades from the mirror and the image of the Young Faustus takes its place. It mimics Faustus.

Is that myself, or the young fair Apollo

Stepped from his golden chariot and new bathed

In springs of Thessaly? It moves like me

And its lips mimic mine with silent speech.

Can it be I indeed?

[As he turns to question Mephistopheles the image of Helen appears in the mirror behind the image of Faustus in the place where Mephistopheles stands behind the real Faustus.

Can it be I indeed?Look then again.

O wonder of the world! O soul! O beauty

Beyond all splendour of stars!

[As Faustus moves towards the mirror, Mephistopheles moves to intercept him, and at the same time the image of Helen moves, so that as the image of Faustus clasps Helen, Faustus finds himself clutching Mephistopheles.

Beyond all splendour of stars!Hence! Let me pass!

[He breaks from Mephistopheles. As he touches the mirror, the vision vanishes. Thunder again.

Hell and confusion! Damned, damned juggling tricks,

Nothing but sorcery!

Nothing but sorcery!What did you expect

When you called me up?

When you called me up?Bring her to me again

In the living flesh.

In the living flesh.Fool, she is not for you

Nor any man. Illusion, all illusion!

For this is Grecian Helen, hell-born, hell-named,

Hell in the cities, hell in the ships, and hell

In the heart of man, seeking he knows not what.

You are too careful of your precious soul

To lay fast hold on Helen. She is mirage

Thrown on the sky by a hot reality

Far below your horizon.

Far below your horizon.Can you not bring me

Where Helen is?

Where Helen is?I might—but at a cost

You might not wish to pay. In any case

Not as you are. If you would play the lover

You must look the part. Throw off this foolish weed!

Lights there!

[The candles are lit of their own accord.

Lights there!Bring forth apparel for your master,

Faustus the conjurer, Faustus the magician,

Faustus the master of the words of power,

Prince of the prince of the air!

[Devils enter and take Faustus’ robe and apparel him richly.

Prince of the prince of the air!And bring him gold

To fill his purse. He must live delicately.

[Gold brought in a shining dish.

All the lost treasure of the world is ours,

That men have sweated, toiled, fought, died to gain,

And wasted—the pirate’s and the gambler’s spoil,

The miser’s hoard, the harlot’s wage, the grudged

Profits of usury, the assassin’s fee,

The politician’s bribe, the nation’s wealth

Blown from the belching cannon—all flow down

Through veins and vessels of their native earth

In one red stream to the hot heart of hell,

Gushing and hissing—listen!

[Appropriate noises from Hell-mouth.

Gushing and hissing—listen!The roar of the furnace!

Hark how the anvils clang in that black stithy

To the hammer-strokes forging the chains of gold

For the neck of the world, bars, ingots, cataracts

Of ringing coin! Power, power, for thy bold hand—

Take it and use it!

Take it and use it!Alms, for the love of God,

For sweet St. Charity, pity the poor blind.

[Faustus stands arrested, with the gold in his hands.

That is what God allows; will you allow it?

No, by the powers of Hell! If God permits

Such suffering in this damnable world, He’s blind,

Deaf, mad, cruel, helpless, imbecile or dead!

[He rushes to entrance, Mansion 1.

Look, here is gold—gold to thy heart’s desire—

No man shall want, if Faustus can prevent it.

[He flings money out to the beggar. Cries without.

Lucifer, Lucifer! the bird is caught—

You may turn off the lights and put the cat out

And shut the door and go downstairs to bed.

I shall not be home for supper.

[Laughter. Hell-mouth closes. Re-enter Faustus.

I shall not be home for supper.These virtuous fools!

O, power is grateful to the heart—to change

Sorrow to happiness in a twinkling—blot

The word “Despair” out of life’s lexicon,

And make joy blossom in the desert sand.

Bring me swift horses—bring me the wings of the wind!

We’ll fly to the wide world’s four distracted corners

Like a great gust of laughter, scattering delight.

We’ll do—what will we not do, Mephistopheles?

We will forget old sins—we’ll break the cross,

Tear the usurper Christ from His dark throne

And this time bury Him deep and well, beyond

All hope of resurrection.

[Knocking at entrance, left.

All hope of resurrection.Hush! who’s there?

O master, dear master, how is it with you? If you are not carried off body and bones into Hell, speak to me!

All’s well, Wagner. Wait. I will let thee in presently. Listen, Mephistopheles. You must stay with me, be known as my servant, show yourself only in your human shape, and not alarm my household too much.

I am entirely at your service.

Here, take my cloak. (He puts his cloak on Mephistopheles.) Try to look a little more respectable. You would be more convincing in a stout pair of boots.

I will procure boots immediately.

And hark’ee. See that you offer no offence to Lieschen. She is a good, modest, virtuous child.

Set your mind at rest. On such as her I have no power.

And be gentle with my poor Wagner. So. I will open the door. (Crossing left, he turns and adds in a fierce whisper.) Tuck your tail up! (At entrance.) Come in, Wagner.

[Enter Wagner.

O Doctor, Doctor, praise God you’re safe and sound. Lisa and I have been so frightened. Such dreadful noises—and the thunder—the whole house shook. We’ve been saying our prayers in the kitchen. Do forgive me for being so foolish and cowardly. I thought you were killed and the devil had eaten you, so I came to see if I could do anything. Has the devil gone away? The room smells shockingly of sulphur.

There’s nobody here but this—gentleman, whom I have engaged to be my personal attendant.

How do you do, sir? God be with you. (Calling off.) It’s all right, Lisa. The devil’s gone. (To Mephistopheles.) What a dreadful night to arrive in. Are you wet? Perhaps you would like to change your shoes? I could lend you slippers. It’s so unwise to sit in damp feet. What size do you . . .? Oh, I beg your pardon (to Faustus). How thoughtless of me. I didn’t notice the poor creature was so afflicted.

You are too officious.

It’s very kind of you, but I came—by the underground way.

I see. Well (anxious to do something), the room is very untidy. Shall I help you off with your robe, Doctor? Dear me, it’s off already. What a fine suit of clothes you have got!

Help! Help! . . . Hand over the money! . . . Thieves! Murder! . . . Strike him down . . . Give me the gold . . . Ah! would you! . . . Down with you! (Noise of fighting.)

Help, watchman, help! Watch! Watch!

What is all that?

The effects of your benevolence, I fancy.

[Enter Lisa, left.

Alas! alas! Here’s a poor old blind man been set upon and robbed under our windows and a whole crowd of ruffians quarrelling for the money. I saw three men stabbed. (Noise increases.) Oh, mercy.

Are men mad to abuse the gifts we give them? (He rushes off, Mansion 1, drawing his sword as he goes.) What is God about?

I don’t understand all this.

Indiscriminate charity is a device of the devil.

Oh, Wagner, who’s that?

The Doctor’s servant, so please you.

I don’t like him. I’m afraid of him. Who is he?

Bless me, Lisa, where are your manners? (Lisa drops Mephistopheles a reluctant curtsey and escapes, left.) You must excuse her. We have all been upset by the thunderstorm. (With holy-water stoup.) Oh, dear, this is empty again. (He hands it to Mephistopheles.) Do you mind holding it while I fill it up?

[Goes up to shelf, back.

Pray don’t apologise. Women have their fancies. I get along very well with them as a rule, but every so often, the nicest girls will take a positive dislike to me. I’ve no idea why.

Very strange—but as you say, girls are quite unaccountable. Please hold it carefully. This is very special Holy Water from the——

[Re-enter Faustus, Mansion 1.

The watch have arrested them all—Wagner! leave that alone!

[He is too late. The water steams up and bubbles over the bowl, which Mephistopheles lets fall.

Holy Mary! Heaven deliver us! Oh, sir, sir; I fear me you are gotten into very ill company.

So that cat’s out of the bag!

What will you do, Wagner? Will you quit my service?

No, Doctor, no. I’ll not leave you alone to face danger again. I’m sorry for what I did. But from henceforth I’ll be as brave as a lion.

Thanks, my faithful Wagner.

Why, that’s a bold fellow, to be ready to live cheek by jowl with the devil.

Why, so must every Christian man. And the devil we see is less terrible than the devil we don’t see (shaking Mephistopheles off). But there’s no need to be familiar. (To Faustus) And what happens next, if you please?

We’re off to Rome, to beard God in His own stronghold.

Are you going by sea, or—underground?

Through the air, my lad. By enchantment.

Those winged dragons you are always talking about.

Just as well. You were always a very poor sailor.

You and Lisa can do as you like. Come, Mephistopheles!

[He goes out, right.

Poor Lisa! She won’t like this very much. (Turning suddenly.) Here, you! Clear up all this mess. And look sharp. I’m going to pack.

[Exit.

Well, I’ll be—blessed!

[He claps his hands. Music, and enter four Devils, who clear the stage. Mephistopheles goes out by the same way as Faustus.

SCENE II (Mansion 3)

Here we are at last—safely in Rome! It has been a long journey from Wittenberg.

Long and wearisome! I’m so grateful to you, kind Wagner, for coming with me, instead of flying away on the winged dragon with Dr. Faustus and—that other, terrible man.

I shouldn’t dream of letting you travel unprotected. Besides, I have thought it all over and decided that winged dragons are all right for learned philosophers, but plain folk like you and me do best on the beaten track. (Looking about him.) What a fine city Rome is, to be sure! A hundred times bigger than Wittenberg.

How shall we ever find the Doctor out, in this great labyrinth of streets and houses?

We shall find him, never fear. During all these months he will certainly have become very great and famous. This wide square must be the market-place. Let’s sit down here and rest, and presently we will ask some passer-by to direct us to the Doctor’s lodging.

[They sit down, left. Enter, from Mansion 3, a Cardinal and a Priest conversing; they come down centre.

If such be the case, then His Holiness should be told about it. And in the meantime, by all means speak to the people.

I assure Your Eminence, it is as I say. The whole city is disturbed by the miracles of Dr. Faustus.

There! what did I tell you?

Where does he come from?

From Wittenberg, they say, some twelve months since. His learning is undoubtedly great and his wealth unlimited; though how he came by them, God or the devil knows. He distributes gold to all and sundry, heals the sick, raises the dead, and corrupts the minds of the poor by his vile, atheistical talk. The churches are deserted. Sundays and week-days, the people throng to the lectures of Dr. Faustus.

O Father! If you know Dr. Faustus, pray tell me where he is to be found.

What! Is this another of them? Away, shameless girl.

The less you have to do with John Faustus the better. His life is scandalous, his followers godless—

Heretical—

Idolaters—

Sorcerers—

Whoremongers—

Devil-worshippers—

Apostate—

Excommunicate—

And irretrievably damned!

No, no! if you knew him you would not say such things. He is good and kind.

The most learned man in Christendom.

He is the open enemy of God and Holy Church.

And known to be in league with the devil. (As Wagner winces at this home-thrust.) Will you deny it?

Alas!

If Dr. Faustus commands the spirits it is to a good and pious end. He is very clever, and knows how to bind the devil to the service of God.

You are sadly deceived. It is forbidden to cast out devils by Beelzebub. Nor will a good end justify such vile and wicked means.

Come away, Lisa. They are jealous of him. We will ask somebody else.

Besides, Eminence, the end he seeks is very dangerous.

[Various Townsfolk begin to drift in, Mansion 3 and left. Mephistopheles enters and stands, right, showing in pantomime that he overhears the conversation of Cardinal and Priest.

He preaches everywhere that he can abolish pain and suffering from the world. And what, pray, would become of religion, if there were no such thing as suffering?

What, indeed? Who would repent of sin, if he did not fear to suffer in this world. Or if pain and sickness were not there, to put him in mind of his latter end?

Nobody would go to confession, or pay for masses, or indulgences, or prayers for the sick. There would be no pilgrimages, no alms-giving, no thank-offerings, no rich bequests to the Church. And what would happen to us, I should like to know? No sin, no sermon; no cross, no cardinal; no pain, no Pope!

[Mephistopheles withdraws again.

Quite so; but I should not stress that point in your address. Begin now. I will go and acquaint His Holiness with all this.

[Priest mounts the rostrum, left.

Give ear, good people. The reverend father has somewhat to say to you.

[Exit Cardinal, Mansion 3. Faustus and Mephistopheles enter unnoticed at back of Crowd, who gather right.

Citizens of Rome! Sons and daughters of Holy Church! It has come to the ears of His Holiness the Pope that many among you are led away by the abominable doctrines of one John Faustus—(cheers for Faustus)—a charlatan, a sorcerer, a man of lewd and evil life (cries of dissent) who would delude you by the promise to do away with toil and labour, with poverty, pain and suffering, and ensure to every man health, wealth and long days upon the earth. (Renewed cheers.) Alas, my children, why will you be deceived? Do you not know that toil and suffering were ordained by God for the sins of Adam? And that only by suffering are you made worthy to enter into the joys of Heaven? Do you think there is any way to salvation, except by the cross whereon our Saviour suffered for the sins of all? (Murmurs of doubt.) All of you will come to die some day—and how will you answer then for a life spent in sloth and luxury? Will it be easy, think you, to put off that proud and stubborn flesh that no suffering has mortified, no sorrow subdued? Let not the lust of gold corrupt you, for it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter into the Kingdom of Heaven. Turn away your hearts from idols; embrace the cross and repent; return to the bosom of Holy Church, to whom alone it is given to bind and loose and free you from the domination of evil. If this fellow Faustus seeks to persuade you from your allegiance to the Church, it is that he may destroy your souls. He is a damned soul, burning in a hell of hatred, and would drag you all down along with him to damnation.

That is a lie!

Who dares to say so?

I say so. I am John Faustus.

Silence, thou rascal!

I will not be silent. I tell you to your face that your Church is corrupt, your doctrine a lie and your God a cruel tyrant.

[Murmurs among the crowd. Mephistopheles whispers in Faustus’ ear.

Out of thine own mouth, atheist! Do you hear this fellow blaspheme against God and His Holy Church?

The Church? Hark to the sly priest with his own axe to grind! The Church is rich and you are poor. Her prelates go in rich robes, and you in stinking rags. Wherefore? Ask him that preaches the money out of your pockets to keep him and his greasy brethren in idleness. He cares nothing for your souls, but only for the gold he can squeeze out of you.

It is false.

It is true. Ask my servant here, that heard him say as much to the Cardinal.

Shame! shame! . . . Down with the idle priests!

Why should you slave to enrich these blood-suckers?

Blood-suckers! . . . Horse-leeches! . . . Down with the priests! . . . Sack the monasteries! . . . Come on! . . . Sack! slay! . . . Away with them! etc.

Beware! Touch not God’s anointed!

[Crowd hesitates.

Think, before you call down the terrible vengeance of Heaven. What saith the Scripture? Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live. Faustus is a witch and a sorcerer, and his servant is the devil incarnate. By their fruits ye shall know them. They work the works of darkness, and their gifts shall bring, not blessings, but a curse. Is that not so?

It is so. We were poor, and Faustus gave us gold. Now my husband has left his home and gone to live wantonly with harlots.

I was a cripple and lived by begging. Faustus cured me, and now I must work to live.

I was barren, and Faustus laid his spells upon me, and now I have borne a child that is possessed by seven devils.

I loved my wife, and she died. Faustus raised her from the dead and lo! she is become a shrew, a vixen, the veriest termagant in Rome.

Thou art a beast to say so. Take that, coward!

[She beats her husband. Laughter and commotion.

Ungrateful dogs!—

Hark, how he turns upon you now!

Down with him! . . . Sorcerer! . . . Witch! . . . Burn him! . . . Drown him! . . . Tear him to pieces! . . . Witch! Witch! Witch!

[A rush is made against Faustus.

Mephistopheles!

Back, little men! (The Crowd is frozen into immobility.) You cannot move hand or foot to harm my master.

What’s this? . . . I am paralysed . . . I am turned to stone . . . I can’t lift my arm . . . I can’t put my foot down . . . etc.

A nice lot of fools you look! A most edifying regiment of wax-works! And Master Priest there, fixed on one foot, like an image of Hermes in a garden-pool! Pray, sir, are you afflicted with a sudden cramp? Why not take counsel of Dr. Faustus, that is so eminent a physician? Shall I tickle them for you, master? Shall I twist their bones? Shall I put fire under their tails?

Enough! release them, Mephistopheles.

[The Crowd put down their arms and legs again and stand rubbing themselves foolishly.

O men, men! Why will you quarrel and fight? Why seek to harm me, that have only loved you and laboured for your good? I would free you from the burden of fear and pain and poverty that God has laid upon you. Listen to me. If God made all things, He made the evil that torments you, and why should you serve so cruel a master? If He made not all things, He is not God, and you may defy Him as I do. Be men! Rouse yourselves! Throw off this bondage of superstition, and learn to know your friends from your foes. I am not your enemy. God is the enemy of us all——

[Enter, Mansion 3, the Pope, carrying a crucifix in his hand, and with Cardinal in attendance.

Then learn to face the enemy. Speak on, my child.

I stand here for God.

I stand here for God.The Holy Father!

Stand, then, old man, and hear what I would spit

Into God’s teeth, were we set face to face

Even in the Courts of Heaven. God’s heart is evil,

Vengeful and tyrannous. He hates the flesh,

The sweet flesh that He made; He treads down beauty

In the winepress of His wrath, pashing it out

To the sour wine of sacrifice; His eye

Is jaundiced to behold such happiness

As men may snatch out of a tortured world.

Look on the symbol in thy hand—the sceptre

Thou rul’st with in His name—it is the yardstick,

The very measure of the devilish hatred

He bears to man, were man His very Son.

Men! I stand here for man, and in man’s name

[He springs upon the Pope and snatches the crucifix from him.

Defy God’s rule, break His accursed sceptre

And smite His regent down.

[He lifts the crucifix to slay the Pope, the Crowd exhibit horror, but are held back by Mephistopheles.

And smite His regent down.O master, master!

You here? Stand aside!

Oh, Doctor, dear Doctor! for shame! What! Strike an old man—helpless—unresisting?

[Faustus pauses in some confusion.

Oh, no! how could you dream of it? You will not. I know you will not. Not the devil himself could change your kind heart so. And you will not break the image of our dear Lord, who loved us so well and gave His life for us!

[During this speech, Mephistopheles retreats and the Crowd closes threateningly in on Faustus.

O Lisa, Lisa!

[He looks about him, sees the menacing looks of the Crowd and goes on in an exhausted voice:

I too love men; but they are all against me.

They hug their chains; the sacrificial iron

Cankers them at the core. I am not afraid

To suffer; for their sakes I would be damned

Willingly, so I first might do away

Suffering for ever from the pleasant earth.

And here stands power, like a smooth engine, ready

For good or ill alike. Being powerful,

I might be happy—might I not be happy?—

But still the cry of the poor is in my ears

Intolerably. (To the Pope): You they call Holy Father—

A kind, compassionate title, “Holy Father”—

Will you be blind to truth? God, having power,

Uses it like a devil; if He were good

He would turn back the ruthless wheel of time

To the golden age again. I am not God,

But can command the devil’s power to serve

Good ends. Which is the devil—God, or I?

Do you be judge between us.

Do you be judge between us.O my poor child,

How much unhappiness is in store for thee!

For thou art taken in the toils of God,

That are more delicate than the spider’s thread,

More strong than iron; and though thou wander far

As hell from Heaven, His cunning hand shall twitch

The line, and draw thee home. There is no rest

For such as thee, that bear upon their hearts

The brand of God, and, warring against God,

Make war upon themselves. Thou must be patient,

For God is very patient. Dost thou think

I cannot feel thy griefs? I am the Pope,

Set on a tower above the plains of time

To watch how evil is at odds with good,

And to abide the issue, helpless, save

As prayer and wisdom and the grace of God

Shall give me strength. Hard it is, very hard,

To travel up the slow and stony road

To Calvary, to redeem mankind; far better

To make but one resplendent miracle,

Lean through the cloud, lift the right hand of power

And with a sudden lightning smite the world perfect.

Yet this was not God’s way, Who had the power,

But set it by, choosing the cross, the thorn,

The sorrowful wounds. Something there is, perhaps,

That power destroys in passing, something supreme,

To whose great value in the eyes of God

That cross, that thorn, and those five wounds bear witness.

Son, go in peace; for thou hast sinned through love;

To such sin God is merciful. Not yet

Has thy familiar devil persuaded thee

To that last sin against the Holy Ghost

Which is, to call good evil, evil good.

Only for that is no forgiveness—Not

That God would not forgive all sins there are,

Being what He is; but that this sin destroys

The power to feel His pardon, so that damnation

Is consequence, not vengeance; and indeed

So all damnation is. I will pray for thee.

And you, my children, go home, gird your loins

And light your lamps, beseeching God to bring

His kingdom nearer, in what way He will.

[Exeunt Pope, Cardinal and Priest, Mansion 3. Crowd go out left and right. Manent Faustus, Lisa, Wagner and Mephistopheles.

Go in peace, old gentleman, go in peace! Did ever a man use so many words to confess his own incompetence? That fellow has no business in Peter’s seat—he ought to be in Parliament. Come, Master—will you take the road to Calvary, and sup at the Skull-and-Crossbones?

I am tired, tired, Mephistopheles. Follow Christ? That way is too long and too uncertain.

His way was folly and failure. I told you so, and now the Pope confirms it. Take your own way, in the devil’s name, and shake a little sense into mankind.

My way frightens them. They have not even the heart to be grateful for my gifts.

Well, they are the devil’s gifts after all. Perhaps it’s true that they don’t turn out very well. I’m sure people were very grateful in Wittenberg. Don’t you remember? All those presents of fish and vegetables? I had hard work to carry them home.

Won’t you come back to Wittenberg and heal the sick with your drugs and simples as you did before? Indeed, indeed you were happier then.

Much happier, Lisa.

If you were happy, why did you send for me?

Will you kindly go away and stop interfering?

[Mephistopheles retreats.

They are waiting for you, Doctor, and longing for your return—all the poor and the sorrowful, and the mothers with their sick children. They love you so much—we all love you in Wittenberg.

Do they love me, Lisa? Do you think that is happiness, after all? To take the easy way—to love and be beloved, and not trouble to understand or get things altered? Perhaps. Every day the same sun rises, and year by year the spring returns. Have the swallows built again under the eaves of my window?

Oh, yes! Before we left home there were five speckled eggs in the nest.

There is peace in those quiet streets, cool and deep beneath the leaning gables. Let us go home, and find a little love before we die. They love me in Wittenberg. . . . Do you love me, Lisa?

Alas! I think I have loved you all my life.

Oh, God!

Didn’t you know that? Any fool could have seen it.

Poor child! You should find a better lover. I am growing old, Lisa. I have forgotten how to love.

I am a fool indeed. But that’s nothing new.

You are the most wonderful man in all the world—far too great and good for me.

Hush! that is foolishness. But a very sweet foolishness. Look at me. Your eyes are like quiet pools with the stars reflected in them.

Cheer up, fool. I know how to deal with this.

I don’t want any of your help.

But she does. Do you think he cares twopence for her?

My head aches. I am homesick. Take me in your arms and comfort me.

With all my heart.

Hush-a-bye, baby, on the tree-top! Do you call this love?

What else do you call it?

Childishness. All men are fretful children when they can’t get their own way. Love? Fiddlesticks!

Does it ache much?

Not now. There is rest in your presence, because there is rest in your soul.

Rest, indeed? We’ll see about that. Sacripant! Belphegor!

[Calling off.

What was that song you used to sing while the bread was a-baking? All about Kings and Queens?

That little, nursery song?

Here’s a soul drowsing into Paradise. Whips! Whips!

[Enter Helen, right, with Devils attending her.

Master, where are your eyes?

Gadfly! Let me sleep.

Nay, dream on if you will. Sloth is a sin and serves my purpose; though there are merrier ways to be damned.

Away with you to hell. Be off, I say. (He sees Helen.) O my soul!

John Faustus!

Call me across a void of empty stars

And I shall hear.

And I shall hear.O love, hast thou forgotten?

Not till the seas run dry; not till the centre

Kiss the circumference, and time’s iron hand

Crack the great axle of the world asunder!

O Helen, Helen, Helen, I have loved thee

Before time was.

Before time was.Come back, sweet love, come back!

Master, beware! ’Tis witchcraft.

Master, beware! ’Tis witchcraft.It is the voice

Of all the world’s desire.

Of all the world’s desire.Oh, he is lost.

[She falls into the arms of Wagner, who helps her off.

In what miraculous dream, in what far land,

Under what magic boughs, did thou and I

Lie once, and watch the sun shift through the leaves

Glinting the golden apples, when Troy town

Was yet unbuilt, that now is but a song

Almost beyond all memory? When did we learn

Immortal love? What unimagined page

Of scripture holds our legendary names,

Faustus and Helen?

Faustus and Helen?My name is Helen now;

God’s wrath, and ruin of distressful stars

Have made me so accurst. But once, ah, once

Adam lay on my breast and called me Lilith—

Long, long ago, in the old, innocent garden

Before Eve came, bringing her gift of knowledge

And shame where no shame was. The sons of Eve

Are all ashamed of me.

Are all ashamed of me.Are all athirst

For thee, thou star of more than mortal hope

To men!

To men!Shame and desire eat out their hearts,

For they are Adam’s seed. And thou wast Adam,

Whose boyhood love was mine. So, when I call,

Thou canst not choose but turn to me again

From the very arms of Eve. Bone of thy bone

Is she, earth of the earth; she gives thee rest,

As the kind earth shall rest thy bones at last.

I am the fire in the heart, the plague eternal

Of vain regret for joys that are no more.

Wherefore no more? I have returned to thee

Across the barren ways of world and time;

My soul is in thy breast. Take me to thee,

That we may love and laugh in innocence

With the everlasting gods! Devils, stand back!

I will to Helen. In the tremendous name

Of power ineffable, by the seven-fold seal

Of Adonai, back!

[The Devils restrain him still.

Of Adonai, back!What barrier’s here

My witchcraft cannot break?

My witchcraft cannot break?The bitter knowledge

Of good and evil. None may touch my lips

While on his own hangs still the fatal taste

Of Eve’s sharp apple.

Of Eve’s sharp apple.Paris had thy kiss.

Paris cast back the apple to the gods,

Whose ringing discord jarred the towers of Troy

In ruin down.

In ruin down.And so will I; let ruin

Roar like a cataract and drown the world!

Knowledge, begone! All part and lot in Eve

I here renounce. Thou, Mephistopheles,

Serpent of Eden, take thy curse again,

Undo the sin of Adam, turn the years

Back to their primal innocence. By thine oath

Sworn in the mouth of hell, and by the power

Of all my magical art, I do command thee!

Softly, softly. What a hurry you are in! You impetuous young lovers want everything done in a moment. Take away the knowledge of good and evil? That’s rather an unusual order.

Can it be done, or no?

Oh, it can be done. Everything can be done. But we have to charge a price for that sort of thing.

Quick. Name it. What price?

The usual price. Your soul.

Take it. Sin and soul together.

And we can’t sell you eternal youth upon freehold. I could manage a twenty-four years’ lease if that would suit you.

It would be worth it, were it twenty-four hours or twenty-four minutes.

Very well. It’s a bargain. (Calling off towards Hell-mouth.) Ho, there! Bring me the bond.

[Helen vanishes, the stage darkens.

Drawn in the name of John Faustus and of me, Mephistopheles. He to abjure and renounce the worship and service of God, and to enjoy in exchange eternal youth and primal innocence for four-and-twenty years; at the end of which term he, the said John Faustus, shall become forfeit to the Devil, and be carried away, soul and spirit, body and bones, to Hell.

Quickly! Where is Helen gone? The air grows thick. My senses swim. The walls of Rome swoon into darkness about me.

Walls of Rome? Nonsense! You are in your own study at Wittenberg. See! There are the lit candles (the candles on the walls are lit). And your magic mirror (the mirror becomes luminous). And your servants about you.

[Wagner and Lisa creep in to stand beside Faustus.

Where is the bond? I will sign it with my blood.

Master, think again.

For thy dear soul’s sake, take Christ’s way, not this way.

[The image of Helen is seen in the mirror.

I come, I come, sweet Helen. Mephistopheles! The bond! Make haste.

[Hell-mouth opens. Enter a Devil with the bond.

It is here.

A pen—give me a pen. Where is the table?

Here.

[Two Devils enter, bearing a board, which they offer to Faustus, kneeling, as though for a table.

Pluck forth thy dagger. Prick thine arm. Write.

[Faustus pricks his arm. Mephistopheles puts the pen into his hand.

See how the red stream runs upon the table like letters written in fire. Homo, fuge—Flee, O man. What, shall I turn back now? (Thunder.) A dreadful voice cries in my ear: Flee from the wrath to come! O, whither shall I fly?

Fly to the arms of God.

To the arms of love. Sweet Helen, receive my soul. (He signs the bond. Thunder again.) So, it is done.

Done! And so clap hands on the bargain. (Diabolic laughter. Mephistopheles tosses the bond to the Devil, who returns with it to Hell. Hell-mouth shuts.) Come now, go to thy Helen as a new-made man.

How now? What wilt thou do to me?

Have courage, my master, my bold conjurer, my masterful great magician. See, it’s as simple as walking through a mirror. In with you, in with you!

[Mephistopheles pushes Faustus before him into the mirror, and Helen and the Young Faustus walk out of it.

Oh, I am free!

I am free! Come, Helen, to my arms!

[As Young Faustus embraces Helen and carries her off, right, Mephistopheles carries away the old body of Faustus behind the mirror, which grows dark.

He has fled from us into a dream. He has left the world empty. I am afraid of this thing that looks with his eyes and speaks with his voice.

It is Faustus and not Faustus. A stranger—yet I feel as though I had known him a long time.

It is the shadow of an imagination. . . . How still the town is! No stir of wheel or footfall; no chime of the clock; no watchman’s voice.

And how dark! but not with the darkness of night. It is like the dusk and silence that creep before an eclipse.

My sun is eclipsed for ever.

Poor Lisa! I know by my own heart how sorrowful you must be.

And I know by mine how bitterly I have hurt you. Forgive me, Christopher. We cannot help ourselves.

Please don’t trouble about me. It really isn’t worth it. It was presumptuous of me to set my hopes so high. One must expect disappointment in this world. (Stoutly.) And you know I am very absent-minded. I shall quite often forget to be miserable.

Dear, good Christopher. What a comfort you are! . . . I’m sorry. I feel so desolate. I can’t help crying.

There, there!

[He puts his arm round her and pats her shoulder consolingly. Mephistopheles slithers in and speaks in his ear.

Christopher, Christopher! Shall I bring her to your bed?

What the devil? . . .

[Lisa sees Mephistopheles and springs away with a faint shriek.

So it’s you again!

Clever lad! Now’s your chance. Say the word, and I’ll tumble her into your arms like a ripe plum.

Don’t be disgusting.

Oh, but you want her, Christopher.

No, I don’t. Not if she doesn’t want me. You needn’t think she’d listen to you. Anything you brought me wouldn’t be Lisa at all, but something nasty in her shape. I know your tricks by heart. They’re all in the conjuring book.

What’s he saying, Christopher?

A lot of filthy nonsense. Don’t mind him.

I’ve been thinking what to do. Since our dear master is out of his mind, we must stay close to him and perhaps find some way to restore him.

To be sure we will.

And we will try and do his work—help the poor and heal the sick with the remedies he taught us. And when God sees what we are doing, He will say: That is the real Faustus; that’s what he really meant to do. Faustus is still doing good by his servants’ hands.

I always said you were clever. I should never have thought of that.

So you see, our work will plead for our master’s soul.

Of course it will.

You flatter yourselves. I can’t understand how men can be such fools.

Very likely not. There’s a great deal you can’t understand, you nasty, ignorant, dirty-minded demon. So hold your tongue and be damned to you!

That is a very superfluous wish. Good evening.

Hi! Stop! What have you done with Dr. Faustus?

We are just starting on a grand tour of the world. The Duchess Helen accompanies us. You might call it a little honeymoon trip. Constantinople. The Pyramids. Morocco. Persia. The Caucasus. The Earthly Paradise. All carried out in first-class style; a chariot-de-luxe with six dragons——

You don’t say so. Then you can saddle me a chimaera—two chimaeras; and see that one of them is trained to carry a lady.

Certainly, certainly. Shall I charge them to your account, or the Doctor’s?

You will include transport and service under your all-in terms. Did you bring our baggage from Rome?

I’m afraid it was overlooked in the hurry.

Then fetch it. At once. Do you hear, you lazy devil?

Immediately.

[Wagner’s and Lisa’s baggage is wafted in from the direction of Rome. Noise of wheels and trampling, off, right.

Excuse me, the chariot is at the door.

[Mephistopheles hurries off, Mansion 1.

Come, Lisa. Dry your eyes. Be brave. Needs must when the devil drives. (Cracking of whips, with snorting and trampling, off, right.) There’s no time to waste in virtuous foot-slogging. Come Heaven, come Hell, we’ll follow our Master Faustus.

[Exeunt Wagner and Lisa, Mansion 1.

Stand back, there. Give them their heads.

Up with you, Lisa. My stirrup, Mephistopheles.

To the four winds—away!

[The infernal cavalcade is heard to rise in the air and fly off.

SCENE III (Mansion 2)

Yes, sir. Certainly, sir. No difficulty at all, sir. Everything is quite in order.

[He comes down and on, left, and walks briskly across to Mansion 2, sorting a sheaf of papers as he goes. At the entrance to the Mansion, he bumps, in a preoccupied way, into Mephistopheles coming out, and apologises without looking at him.

Sorry; my fault.

[Exit into Mansion.

Stuck-up snob! Can’t even recognise an old companion who’s come down in the world. (Coming down-stage; in the voice of an impatient man summoning a waiter.) Demons! demons! . . . the service is getting very slack. . . . Oh, for Satan’s sake, hurry up there!

[Enter a Devil, right.

The fool wants another job done. A trifle for the Empress. Flowers out of season with ripe fruit and blossom on the same branch. Fetch it and look sharp. . . . Where from? How the devil should I know? Try the Hesperides. (Exit Devil, left; Mephistopheles sits down and registers fatigue.) This is the worst term of hard labour I ever undertook. If my four-and-twenty years were not up to-night, I should go on strike.

[Re-enter, Mansion 2, Azrael, with a baby in his arms.

Good morning, my lord Azrael.

Why, it’s Mephistopheles! Good morning. And how’s the world with you? You’re looking a little exhausted.

Yes, I dare say. What’s that you’ve got there? Contraband?

No, no. Nobody you’ve any claim on. A sweet and pious soul, born anew as a little child into the Kingdom of our Father. Do you want to see her papers? (Mephistopheles extends his hand in grim silence.) Suspicious old devil, aren’t you?

So that’s who it is.

One of your failures, Mephistopheles. Nothing for you there at all. Not so much as a whiff of Purgatory fire. Only a brief educational course in the heavenly kindergarten. Satisfied?

All right. Just as well. We’re run off our hoofs already. My client Faustus——

Yes. You’ve been keeping our department pretty busy too. We were working overtime to deal with all those poor souls parted from their bodies at the battle of Pavia. That was your show, wasn’t it?

And a damned good show, too. I had fifteen legions of devils fighting on the Emperor’s side, to say nothing of a magical tempest and a great quantity of heavy artillery forged in our own works. To-day, we propose to sack Rome, with lavish accompaniments of loot, rape, and carnage. All this, if you please, by the orders of Faustus, who was once so tender-hearted, he would rescue the fly from the spider. What do you think of that?

A truly remarkable exhibition of primal innocence.

Primal innocence? Primitive brutishness. The fellow’s grown mischievous as an ape, lecherous as a goat, giddy as a peacock, cruel as a cat, and currish as a cross-bred tyke. Since first man fell into sophistication I have found no way to ruin him so effective as his restoration to a state of nature.

Indeed? Most interesting.

It’s the greatest discovery of the age. Though the work it entails is apt to be a little trying.

[Enter Devil, left, with flowering and fruited branch. He hands it to Mephistopheles, and exit.

This kind of nonsense is merely trivial. But when Faustus takes a fancy to do vulgar conjuring tricks——

Such as?

Such as swallowing a load of hay and a span of horses; or breaking off his own limbs and strewing them about the place like a dissipated daddy-long-legs; or drawing wine from the table-top, to astonish a parcel of drunken louts in a beer-cellar—well! I do feel the whole thing’s rather infra dig.

You are of Lucifer’s household. Your professional pride must sustain you.

[Mephistopheles gives a short, vexed laugh. Enter, from Mansion 2, Faustus, in the body of his transformation, and Wagner reading a book. Wagner has aged considerably in the intervening twenty four years.

Here comes your master, all agog for fresh marvels.

Hey, Mephistopheles! Why are you idling there? How fare our troops? Is the siege well begun?

It is begun.

Fumitory mingled with treacle, and tormentil, to allay the fever.

With what success?

Already the walls of Rome totter at the blast of our cannon. By every gunner stands an able fiend to aim the shot and set hell-fire to the match. From the bottomless pit, our sappers delve their way deep below mine and counter-mine.

Ha!

Herb of grace is a mithridate to combat the plague.

The Emperor’s army go to the assault as though the devil were in them.

So they ought, so they ought. What forces have you dispatched?

Halphas, the mighty earl, strides like a stork before his six-and-twenty legions of the damned. And Salmack, lord of corruption, marquess of hell, whose throne is in the sepulchre; where his strokes light, the maggot and the worm make holiday.

Hoarhound, pimpernel and pellitory are good for stinking sores.

Procell, the strong duke, is there, with eight-and-forty legions; Haborim and Labolas and all the captains of destruction.

Brave, brave! This news delights me. What joy can equal the swift tumult of war—shock of arms, shouting of men, crash of cannon, the whole world piled together pell-mell in a quick confusion! We must behold it, Mephistopheles. The Emperor is coming. I have promised that thou wilt show him all manner of fine things in a vision.

So. There will be more work for me and my people.

Who is that? Send him away, Mephistopheles. I am afraid of him. The smell of death is upon his garments.

I am Azrael, angel of the souls of the dead; and where war goes, I must follow.

Don’t talk about death. I don’t like it. What are you doing here?

I am carrying to Heaven a soul that once was dear to thee.

Whose soul?

Hast thou forgotten Lisa, the little maid that loved thee?

Lisa? Is Lisa dead? Wagner, do you hear this?

I know it, master. She died in my arms but now.

What killed her?

She went in thy name into all the plague-stricken quarters of this city, nursing the sick with the skill that Faustus taught her, when Faustus felt pity for men. The sickness took her and she died, and her last prayer was for thee.

Alas, alas! Poor Lisa. Oh, Wagner, I can never be happy again. Why am I so vexed and thwarted? I gave all I had for happiness. I gave—what was it I gave? I have forgotten . . . I only sought to be happy, and how can I be happy now that Lisa is gone?

She brought happiness to all who knew her, and that was her happiness and mine.

All the same, you would have done better to take my advice.

Art thou an authority upon happiness, thou shadow of an immortal grief? Master, I was never wise; but age and time have instructed me. To aim at happiness is to miss the mark; for happiness is not an end at all. It is something that comes of itself, when we are busy about other matters.

Poor, pretty Lisa. She was kind to me. She looked after all my wants. What will become of me now?

Thou wilt go to thine own place, Faustus. But her place is with the angels in Heaven.

[Exit up to Heaven.

I must work, I must work. So much to do, and so little time, now that I am all alone to do it. (He wanders away, right, reading his book.) Yarrow for green wounds; master-wort is a sovereign remedy for all diseases. . . .

[He sits down and remains, absorbed in his studies.

My heart is broken. Nothing is left in all the world but sorrow. (His eye lights on the branch Mephistopheles is holding, and his wandering fancy flits off in a new direction.) That’s pretty. What is it?

Surely you remember. It is the present you wanted to give to the Empress.

Oh, the Empress? She will be here presently. Hark’ee, Mephistopheles, the Empress is a fair woman, a blithe and buxom lady. She must be mine, d’ye hear me? I must and will possess her. Thou shalt bring her to me to-morrow.

To-morrow?

Yes, to be sure. I say, thou shalt bring her to-morrow.

There will be no to-morrow for you, master.

What’s that?

Must I remind you of the terms of our bargain? I have served you diligently these four-and-twenty years. To-night the compact ends.

What then, devil, what then?

Why then you must die, and be forfeit, body and soul, to hell.

Death and hell? Death and hell? Don’t speak those words. They madden me. I’ll not hear them.

Stop your ears and welcome. But die you must and be damned.

Never believe it. There’s no such thing as death, nor hell neither—save for a few such lubber-fiends as thou, to do the bidding of Faustus. Sin, death, age, sorrow—all that was a foolish dream, and fled like a dream for ever. Death comes with creaking bones and a sick carcase. Look at me, Mephistopheles. Have I aged a hair in four-and-twenty years? Not I. Then what’s all this talk of death? It touches me not. I am the everlasting youth of the world. I am John Faustus. (Flourish without.) Here comes the Emperor, with my lady the Empress. Give me that bough. Make haste.

[Enter the Emperor and Empress, attended.

Is Dr. Faustus of Wittenberg here in presence?

Good morrow and good fortune to your Imperial Majesties. Health, wealth and honour attend your Grace. And on you, most exquisite, beautiful and benign lady, may Venus bestow the plenitude of her favours. Be you ever fair and fruitful as this golden bough, fresh-plucked for your delight from the garden of the Earthly Paradise.

Thanks, gentle doctor.

We are much beholden to you. Tell us now. Is this promised spectacle ready, whereof you have reported such marvels?

Whenever you will. Command my master, and he shall command me.

We know thee, Mephistopheles, as a cunning artificer and a spirit of great ingenuity. What are you able to show us?

Whatsoever you please to desire, of things near or far; past, present, or things to come.

Then let us see and speak with Socrates, the wisest sage of antiquity.

Oh, no! Socrates was an elderly, ugly monster, with a snub nose and a scolding wife. Show us rather Adonis; or Apollo singing to his lyre, and attended by the nine Muses.

Nay, madam; I am neither Adonis nor Apollo. Would you make a jealous husband of me?

Give me leave, I pray you. Indeed, my good lord, I insist.

Do you so? Then will I demand to look upon fair Helen of Troy, whose beauty set fire to the world. That is a fair revenge, is it not, Dr. Faustus?

Your Majesty is more beautiful than ever Helen was.

Fie, fie, sir. The flattery is too gross.

The truth is, madam, that by a delicate sorcery my master hath had the fair Helen to his paramour. But he grew weary and left her twenty years since, and now has no value for her.

Value? What does that mean? Helen was a troublesome baggage.

Man’s delight is ever in the unattainable. When he is innocent, he longs for knowledge; when he is grown wise, he hankers after innocence. Between Lilith and Eve, Adam is unfaithful to both, and there is no contenting him.

But, mark you, Helen is mine for all that.

We would not for the world offend you. Say no more.

Yet your Majesty shall have his will; for every man is fated, once at least in his life, to look on Helen.

Plantain or rosa solis—what herb shall we lay to a corroding ulcer?

Enough. We will think upon some other device.

Do you choose, my lord. But I will not hear of Socrates or Diogenes, or any such old, crabbed philosopher.

Why then, since I am Emperor and hold half the world in fee, let me see Alexander the Great, weeping because he had no more worlds to conquer.

Tush, these are trifles. Alexander is dead and his conquests forgotten. I have better than that to show you.

[Enter a Secretary of State, with a letter.

Anything, so it be diverting. (To the Secretary.) How now?

Here is urgent news, sire, from Rome. Your Imperial armies, leagued with the Constable of Bourbon, have this night attacked the city, with intent to seize the Vatican and overthrow the Pope.

[Sensation.

To overthrow the Pope?

Alas! this is sacrilege!

How came the news so soon?

Sire, this is what we would show you. My couriers, sped by a magical device, have brought the message on the wings of the wind. My arms, my arts are at your service. We shall have as merry a battle as ever we had at Pavia.

This will not do. Who writes the letter?

The captain of your lanskers.

Read what he says.

“The Pope is the Emperor’s worst enemy. This war is of his making, and the insult to our master must be avenged. For the honour of God he must be hanged, though I have to do it with my own hand.”

Worse and worse.

True; the old fox has brought it upon himself. He has intrigued against me with France, with Venice and with Milan. He has roused up the Holy League to oppose me—me, that have ever been the champion of the Church. Nevertheless——

Why do you hesitate? Sweep him out of the way. You have the power—take all you can and keep it.

We have never sought for conquest. Yet what is our own by right and inheritance we must and will defend.

Sire, if a poor ignorant devil may venture an opinion, there is but one question here. Who is to be master of Europe? Germany is yours; Spain and the Netherlands are yours. England is rotten with decay; she will truckle to the stronger power. France alone is your foe, and you cannot control France while your hands are tied by Rome. Crush the Pope and make Germany secure against France, and you may be sovereign of the world.

Security? Yes. Chancellor, what do you say? The Pope is our spiritual sovereign?

Then, sire, let him not meddle with the temporal arm. That belongs to Caesar, and the Emperor is Caesar’s heir. The Church that appeals to Caesar’s weapons is sold to Caesar already, and must abide the arbitration of Caesar.

Excellent, excellent. “Render unto Caesar——” I couldn’t have quoted Scripture better myself.

Yet how can we prevail, if God be not on our side?

Are we so sure that God takes sides? He sits in the centre like the sun and rules our orbits whether we will or no.

Well spoken, Wagner. God will not care, He makes His profit either way.

We may dwell on the light side or the dark side. That is all.

Here’s a wealth of my astronomy at second-hand.

Right or wrong: if we attack the Pope the world will condemn us. And how then?

Use policy, sir, use policy.

I am weary of all this. Let’s have the show.

Master, you are very right. (To the Emperor). Say nothing, know nothing, watch how the battle goes. If your armies are defeated, hang your generals. If they are victorious, rebuke them in public and reward them secretly. Deny the deed and wink at it. Learn to be ignorant, for ignorance is the master-weapon of policy.

You are tedious with your policy.

As to the outcome of the fight, I will answer for it. Dr. Faustus will assist you by his art. (Aside to the Chancellor.) And what better ally can you have in war than a profound scientific knowledge coupled with a total innocence of all moral responsibility?

You may think such things, but not say them.

There to the South, under the sun, lies Rome—

Would that the sun’s rays, journeying hence, could show us

What his bright eye beholds!

What his bright eye beholds!Why, so they can,

My magical arts to aid.

My magical arts to aid.The camomile

Was consecrate in Egypt to the sun;

It cureth ague and the melancholy.

Turn your back to the light, and look up northward,

Where the pale clouds lie like a silver screen.

See where the shadows waver, cast by the sun,

As spectres move on the Brocken.

As spectres move on the Brocken.I see! I see!

O wonderful!

O wonderful!The ramparts of a city—

The tumult of armed men—banners and lances—

Now they advance—now they retreat—the gunners

Stand to their cannon—

Stand to their cannon—They touch the linstock now—

The brazen mouths belch fire—

The brazen mouths belch fire—The smoke rolls over—

Up, winds, and send the echo! Let us hear

The terrible voice, the glorious voice of war!

[Confused noise, and chambers shot off within.

The wall is breached! Our lanskers storm the gap,

Crying, God save the Emperor!

Crying, God save the Emperor!Stones and chains

Are hurled upon them!

Are hurled upon them!Haro! still they go forward—

No, they give ground!

No, they give ground!Locked to and fro they sway—

They are repulsed again.

They are repulsed again.The town’s defenders

Make sortie through the breach.

Make sortie through the breach.Now, now our hosts,

The hosts of hell stride out between the armies!

A smother of smoke hides all.

A smother of smoke hides all.They march, they march,

The tall, infernal seraphim! O brave!

Raim, that once ruled as a throne in Heaven

Now like a raven spreads his sable pinions

And drives all backward.

And drives all backward.Focalor the duke

On griffin wings hovers before the Romans,

And by his art calls up the inky Styx

Bubbling about their feet; bogs of delusion

Snare them about.

Snare them about.They stumble and go down

Held in the stinking marsh. The water drowns them!

I see not this—only a mist of blackness

Shot through with flame.

Shot through with flame.Ha! the defenders rally!

Rank upon rank they crowd the wall. Our armies

Falter—

Falter—The day is lost!

Falter—The day is lost!Strike, Halphas, strike,

Lord of the legions, builder and destroyer

Of towers!

[A great explosion.

Of towers!Well done! well done!

Of towers!Well done! well done!A monstrous mine

Bursts in the breach, and blows them all to pieces!

Arms, bodies, stones and fragments, nightmare faces,

And shattered engines tumbled together, falling—

O, fearful!

O, fearful!In! in! in! the town is taken!

Our hosts rush on—they carry all before them—

Swords out and forward pikes! The streets run blood,

The horses trample the fallen!

The horses trample the fallen!The Pope is fled

To the castle of Sant’ Angelo—

To the castle of Sant’ Angelo—They surround him—

Brands! brands! and fire in the city!

Brands! brands! and fire in the city!Enough! no more!

Visions away! The Emperor’s arms prevail.

Congratulations to your Majesty;

You are master now of Europe.

You are master now of Europe.Is the show ended?

I was enjoying myself. Begin again.

Nothing more is needed. Your Majesty knows exactly where you stand. Write quickly now to your general, forbidding him to attack, and to all your brother sovereigns, explaining that the thing was done without your knowledge.

Put the letters in hand immediately.

Innocence and ignorance, most ravishing and blessed qualities, what should we do without you? If we have not set Europe at odds for four hundred years, my name is not Mephistopheles.

Will not the Pope take vengeance for this?

Never fear it. He is bound hand and foot. See where he stalks, a pallid phantom, the sport and puppet of Empire.

[The Phantom of the Pope appears, led in chains by Devils.

John Faustus! John Faustus!

Touch me not. Spare me. Let me go.

Courage, master. He cannot harm you. . . . There was a Pope once, scourged Faustus to the heart. He carries the sting in his memory. . . . Up, I say! What are you grovelling for?

Thou fool! This night shall thy soul be required of thee.

[The Phantoms pass away.

Aha! did you hear that? The old fool dares to threaten me! Punish him, Mephistopheles! Away, old rogue! I will have you beaten, tortured, smothered in sulphur! Up, devils, and after him!

Master, be quiet.

Poor soul! he is distracted.

Leave him to me. (He shakes Faustus into subjection as one would shake a dog.) Come now. What will your friends think of you? Never mind the Pope. (Faustus growls angrily at the name.) I say, be quiet. Never mind him. (To the Empress.) Fear nothing, madam. This fit takes him at times, but his bark is worse than his bite. (To Faustus.) Peace, now. Consider. Is there no other entertainment we can show the Emperor? Some handsome compliment? Some pageant of victory?

Yes, yes. I am ready. What would your Majesty like to see?

Master, we will show him the thing he asked for, the longing of his inmost heart. Music, strike up!

[Music plays.

The sun is fled, and darkness folds the earth

Like the chill shade that steals before the eclipse.

[Wagner springs to his feet, dropping his book with a crash.

Rise up, thou star of evening, called by night

Hesperus, but in the morning, Lucifer,

And sometimes Venus, lady of love.

And sometimes Venus, lady of love.O master,

Look to thy soul, the sands are all run out.

[Enter the vision of Helen, veiled and carrying a wreath of laurel.

What wondrous shape is this, that gliding moves

So like a goddess, and in her hand holds forth

The glittering laurel?

The glittering laurel?Learn and mark well her name.

She is all things to all men; and unto thee

The spirit of power, that like the will o’ the wisp

Flits on the waters of time, and lures men on

To victory or to death. She is the promise

Of golden phantasy, the worm in the brain,

The song in the soul; she is the world’s desire.

Gaze on her face, for men have died for her,

Great cities perished, gallant ships gone down,

Thrones and dynasties crumbled away to dust

For a glance of her eye. She is the unattained,

The unattainable.

The unattainable.Crowns for the victor, crowns,

Riches and wisdom, honour and glory and blessing.

O, my heart burns. Unveil, thou wonder of women.

Beware, beware! It is glamour!

Beware, beware! It is glamour!Have thy will.

Behold the face of Helen.

Behold the face of Helen.Keep off! She is mine!

Stand back and let me not!

Stand back and let me not!Master, forbear!

[Faustus throws Wagner down. Exit Mephistopheles, back.

Give place, I say!

Give place, I say!O Heaven!

Give place, I say!O Heaven!Look to thyself!

Will you lay hand upon the Emperor?

Treason! treason!

[Crowd rushes in and surrounds them. In the confusion, Helen is carried up back-stage by the Emperor and the Chancellor, and held in one of the entrances, with her back to the audience. As she goes, she drops the laurel wreath near Wagner. Empress in the arms of her ladies, left.

Treason! treason!Vile sorcerer!

Treason! treason!Vile sorcerer!Murderous dog!

Down with him! Down!

Down with him! Down!Help, Mephistopheles!

[His cry momentarily arrests the action. Mephistopheles reappears above Hell-mouth, right, flourishing the bond.

Faustus, the four-and-twenty years are past,

My service done. The devil claims his own.

Hell and damnation!

[He is dragged down upon the fore-stage. Azrael comes down out of Heaven and enters, left, bearing a black pall.

Hell and damnation!Wagner! Lisa! Christ!

Save me! Have pity!

Save me! Have pity!Strike now!

Save me! Have pity!Strike now!Bondsman of hell,

Die and be damned!

Die and be damned!Take that!

Die and be damned!Take that!O I am slain!

[As Faustus falls among the Crowd, there is a loud cry up-stage.

She’s fled! Helen is vanished! Melted away

Clean from our hands—only her garments left!

O sorcery!

[He comes down a little, holding Helen’s cloak.

O sorcery!Princes and earthly powers

Pass like a pageant, and make room for death.

Cover the face of Faustus.

[Azrael and Wagner cover Faustus with the pall, and Azrael kneels beside the body, still with his back to the audience.

Cover the face of Faustus.O dear master,

Now art thou gone to find reality.

May God remember all thy willing manhood,

Not thy refusal. This thy golden dream

Shall dwell with me; and I will be thine heir,

Hoping that hope may yet outdo despair.

[Exit Wagner carrying the laurel wreath. The stage empties of all except Azrael and Mephistopheles, who now comes down.

Thank you, Azrael. I will trouble you for that soul. You needn’t think you can sneak off with it. I saw you. It’s bought and paid for. Here is the bond. Be good enough to hand it over.

Just a moment. Things must be done in an orderly way. The man is dead, and I have taken his soul in charge. That is my office. If you think you have any claim on the property, produce your evidence.

There you are. Laugh that off.

It appears to be properly executed. Always supposing your client’s soul was his to sell.

And whose else should it be?

God’s, Who redeemed it.

Nonsense. You can’t get away with a legal quibble like that. The deed’s watertight, and you know it.

Well, you can take the soul on the security of the bond. But I shall enter a caveat, and appeal to the High Court.

[He hands the bag over.

You can enter anything you like. Come now, my little master, my high-and-mighty magician, let’s have a look at you. You’ve given me trouble enough. Let’s see how you like it when I’m the master! Believe me, my friend, I’ll make it hot for you. (He opens the bag and pulls out a Black Dog.) Here! What’s this? What’s happened to it? You rascally, cogging angel! You cozening celestial sharp and shyster! This isn’t the right soul!

It’s all the soul he’s got.

It’s a fraud! I’ve been tricked! That damned charlatan Faustus has cheated me. What’s the use of a thing like this?

That’s your affair. Caveat emptor.

It was a perfectly good soul when I bought it. And now, look at it!

It does seem to be rather out of repair. What have you been doing to it?

Great Lucifer! I like that. I been doing to it?

You’ve had it these twenty-four years. If that’s the way you treat the King’s property——

I’ll not stand it. God never plays fair. But I’ve got a clear case. I’ll have the law of you——

I’ll sue you for damages——

I’ll have my rights, I tell you. I will have justice!

[Without pause or shift of furniture, the action passes to the next Scene.

SCENE IV

Who calls on justice?

Who calls on justice?I, Mephistopheles.

I am defrauded of my rightful due,

Payment for four-and-twenty years of hard

Devoted, scrupulous, vigorous, swift, exacting,

Skilled and assiduous labour, by John Faustus

The conjurer of Wittenberg, and this

Smug-faced angel of yours.

Smug-faced angel of yours.Sir, I protest!

The fraud is all the other way. This fellow

Contracted with John Faustus for his soul,

Payable in exchange for value received,

The bond, post-dated, falling due to-day;

Which soul, I took in charge at Faustus’ death

In execution of my official duty,

Lock, stock, and barrel as it stood. He claimed

The same upon his bond, which seemed in order

So far as such things go. I handed over

The goods to him, entering a caveat

In the King’s name, as to the ownership,

Since it might well appear the vendor had

No title to give, barter, sell, exchange,

Mortgage or pawn or otherwise dispose of

Crown property. Well and good. But in the interim

(To wit, the four-and-twenty years expired)

This Mephistopheles, by his own act——

That I deny. It was the act of Faustus

Or Azrael, or God, or all of them——

Had so deformed the soul that it is useless

To God or him, Faustus or any one.

Therefore he claims: and first, against myself

That I did not deliver the true soul

But something substituted; or if I did,

Then against Faustus, for a wilful damage

Executed upon the soul, whereby

He should escape the explicit provision

Made by the bond; lastly, against the Crown,

That if it prove that Faustus or myself

Were acting in this matter as the King’s agent,

The Crown may quit the claim. To all of which

I answer by a counter-claim for damage

Done to the goods by Mephistopheles—

A wrong to Faustus, and a clear offence

Against God’s peace, His crown and dignity.

Set up my chair of justice in the court

Below there; I will give the cause prompt hearing.

[The Judge comes down.

Olimoth! Belimoth! (To Azrael.) Don’t you trouble, sir,

I’ll see to this. Lymeck! Bealphares!

[Enter Devils both sides.

A seat for Justice!

[Exeunt Devils and re-enter with a chair, etc.

(To Azrael.) This is nothing at all

To all the fetching and carrying, running about,

Materialising and dematerialising

This and that and the other, I’ve had to do

For Faustus—and of all the troublesome clients

Commend me to him.

[The Judge enters.

Commend me to him.Pray, sir, take your seat.

There is the body of the said John Faustus,

This is the bond, and this the soul in question.

[When the Judge has inspected the Soul, the Devils take it into the wings.

Show me the paper.

Show me the paper.Here. (Fussily.) You see it says

“I give my soul”—and “soul” in that connection

Must mean a human soul. I have been in business

Upon this planet several million years,

And it is always so interpreted.

But this alleged——

But this alleged——Stop talking, Mephistopheles.

Give me a moment to peruse the terms.

Why! What is this? “Agree to take away

The knowledge of good and evil”? Come now, my poor

Deluded and benighted imp of darkness,

What did you think would happen to the soul

When you did that to it?

When you did that to it?I did not know;

How should I? Never before, in all my long,

Industrious, strictly dishonourable career,

Have I been put to such a task as that.

It was hard work, but still, I did it.

It was hard work, but still, I did it.Yes:

Your zeal is your undoing. If I say

“Here is a sword of steel; I give it you

On one condition—that you treat it first

With the most powerful corrosive known

To alchemy”—what will the sword be like

By the time you claim it?

By the time you claim it?Well, but if in good faith

I take and treat the sword as you require,

Not knowing how corrosive acts on steel,

Which yet you knew before you gave the order,

Is that an honest bargain?

Is that an honest bargain?And suppose

The sword was borrowed, and belongs in fact

To the armoury of God, what will God say?

You have been swindled, Mephistopheles,

By accident, or by design, your own

Contributory negligence assisting.

Where were your wits? ’Tis true, the foes of God

Are not at any time remarkable

For logic or for common-sense. However,

There must be justice; and the point you urge,

Azrael, is well taken, since all souls

Are God’s indeed. Therefore these charges come

To rest on Faustus, who to you, and you,

And to God chiefly, is responsible.

We’ll hear the prisoner in his own defence.

Faustus hath made himself into a beast

And has no wit to answer more than a beast.

Truly; but since, in this high court of Heaven

Where time is not, the present, past and future

Are all as one, and answerable together

Eternally to Him that is eternal,

I call the prisoner. Wake, thou that sleepest!

Not as thou art, but as thou wast, John Faustus,

Rise up and answer at the bar of judgment.

[They take away the pall. Faustus wakes in his own body.

Whither away, love? O return, return!

What? Dreaming still on Helen?

What? Dreaming still on Helen?Christ! Christ! Christ!

They have taken away my Lord these many years,

And I know not where they have laid Him. Sir, if you know,

Tell me, for I denied Him, and just now

I heard the crowing of the cock. How long

The night has been! And now the dawn is red

And a great storm coming . . . Hush! for I remember.

I bartered away my soul for ignorance,

In ignorance, not knowing what I did.

There has been cheating somewhere. I was not happy

Those four-and-twenty years. Something was lost

That makes for happiness. Yet I seemed to know

Pleasure of a sort, and pain too—but they slipped

Like water through my fingers, neither perceived

Fully, nor remembered fully, nor assessed

At any quotable value.

At any quotable value.Value exists

Not in the object, but the valuing mind;

The soul’s choice makes the value. Therefore ask

This poor brute soul thou madest for thyself

How it doth reckon value.

[Here a Devil shall show Faustus the Soul and retire again.

How it doth reckon value.I was cheated;

I did not bargain for a soul like this,

But for the primal innocence that was Adam’s

Before he fell to knowledge. Is it sin

To cancel out a sin? Does God love sin

To set such value on it? Or is He helpless

To undo the past; and did the devil speak truth?

All things God can do, but this thing He will not:

Unbind the chain of cause and consequence,

Or speed time’s arrow backward. When man chose

To know like God, he also chose to be

Judged by God’s values. Adam sinned, indeed,

And with him all mankind; and from that sin

God wrought a nobler virtue out for Adam,

And with him, all mankind. No soul can ’scape

That universal kinship and remain

Human—no man; not even God made man.

He, when He hung upon the fatal tree,

Felt all the passion of the world pierce through Him,

Nor shirked one moment of the ineluctable

Load of the years; but from the griefs of time

Wrought out the splendour of His eternity.

There is no waste with God; He cancels nothing

But redeems all.

But redeems all.Serpent, thou didst deceive me!

So Adam said, and Eve; but I spoke truth

To them and thee. I warned thee that the truth

Would but beguile thee, as it beguiles all fools.

Thou askedst, What was I? and I spoke truth;

And who made evil? and I spoke the truth;

And what God was? and there I turned the question

Back upon thee, and thou didst answer it

According to thine own folly; but I spoke truth.

The truth, but not the whole truth, Mephistopheles.

The whole truth is the perfect sphere of Heaven;

The hollow half-truth is the empty dome

That roofs the hall of hell, mocking with echoing

Shards of distorted speech and the fiends’ laughter.

Laughter! I tell you I have split my sides!

These wiseacres, that are too clever to see

A plain fact in broad daylight. Up they come,

Sidling and bridling like a fretful horse,

Showing the white of the eye. “What, that a fact,

That tall, black, ugly fence? It can’t be true,

There must be some way round—the gate, if you please.”

And I am there—Oh, I am always there

To bow, and touch my hat, and take my fee

And open the gate that leads them into the circle,

The ring with the barriers, the closed ring, the place

From which there is no way, no way, no way out.

Love would have found the way, if way there were:

“Father, if it be possible, let this cup

Pass from Me.” But it was not possible, never

Has been nor will be possible. Over the fence

Is the only road. For all the by-ways run

Down to the circle, the closed circle of self

From which there is no way out.

From which there is no way out.There is no way out.

You are too noisy. Silence in the court

The prisoner waits for judgment.

The prisoner waits for judgment.Yes, and I

Wait for my fee, which has been tampered with.

Here is the bond: “I, Faustus, give my soul

For such and such considerations”—all

Duly fulfilled by me; but where’s the soul?

That thing there, which you flatter by the name,

I have no use for; it is not as specified.

If there is justice in this court at all

The devil must have his due.

The devil must have his due.You hear the charge

Preferred against you, on two counts. Imprimis:

That you did sell a soul for which Christ died;

A crime against God’s crown. Next, that the price,

Promised in God’s true gold, was paid in fact

With coin debased and worthless; a civil trespass

Against this gentleman. What have you to say?

I must admit the trespass, and the crime

That caused the trespass. I have no defence

Save ignorance; yet ignorance was itself

The very prize for which the crime was done;

Nor yet is ignorance a defence in law.

Speak thou, O righteous judge, for I am silent.

Poor, empty vessel whence the wine was spilt,

What shall we do with thee? Listen to judgment.

For this last time, God gives thee back again

The power to choose, weighing the good and evil—

A fearful option; yet no other course

Can justice take, since here thou standest bound

In thine own blood, and no remorse of thine

Can raze one jot or tittle from the law.

Hear, then, the dread alternative of choice;

And first, wilt thou, with that dumb changeling soul,

Incapable alike of hell or heaven,

Wander for evermore between the worlds

Unblest, undamned, unknowing?

Unblest, undamned, unknowing?Nor blest nor damned?

Merciful God, what kind of doom is this?

A gentle doom; sorrow shall never touch thee,

Nor pain, nor any question vex thee more;

Yea, though thy loss be wider than the world,

Or than a thousand thousand worlds at once,

Thou shalt not feel nor know it.

Thou shalt not feel nor know it.O, what loss?

A loss beyond all loss: to live content

Eternally, and never look on God;

Never behold the wonder of His face

Fiery with victory, bright above the burning

Wings of the cherubim; never to hear the loud

Exultation of trumpets shatter the sky

For the Lamb’s marriage-feast; nor drink the wine

Of God; nor feel the glad earth thrill to the tread

Of the tall, strong, unresting angels’ feet;

Nor know the dream of desire, that is beyond

All happiness; nor ever more to find

Beauty in sunlight, or the flowery fields,

Or in man’s heart; nor ever laugh again.

No, no, no, no!

No, no, no, no!Does ignorance not suffice thee?

Wilt thou have knowledge after all, John Faustus?

Take back thy soul, then, and fulfil the bond;

Go down with Mephistopheles to hell,

And through the bars of those relentless gates

Gaze on the glory of the Lord far off

And know that He is terrible and just.

No choice but this?

No choice but this?No other choice at all.

Either to lose God and not know the loss,

Nor even to remember God exists;

Or see the glories that I may not share,

And in the sharp hell of a lost desire

Burn on unquenchably.

Burn on unquenchably.So stands the choice.

O lost, lost, either way!

O lost, lost, either way!Excuse my laughter;

Justice hath pinned thee now in a cleft stick.

Writhe, my good friend, my toad beneath the harrow;

’Twill serve thee little, but no matter—squirm

For my amusement. How do you like this game?

You’re playing with cogged dice, cully—all sides alike.

Lend me an angel, we’ll toss for it; heads I win

And tails you lose. If you call “God!” and win,

Then I win you; and if you lose the throw,

Then you lose God; why then, call “tails,” and get

The tail of the dog there. Maybe this will teach you

To play chuck-farthing with your soul!

To play chuck-farthing with your soul!I stand

Between the devil and the deep seas of God

On a road that leads nowhither. This is strange—

The love of God urges my feet towards hell,

The devil that seeks to have me flings me back

Into God’s arms. Are you two allies, then,

Playing into each other’s hands, and grinning

Friendship across my frontiers? I will have

The truth of this, although the stink reek up

And blast the airs of Heaven! Thou, Mephistopheles,

Answer again, and this time all the truth,

Art thou God’s henchman or His master? Speak!

Who made thee?

Who made thee?God, as the light makes the shadow.

Is God, then, evil?

Is God, then, evil?God is only light,

And in the heart of the light, no shadow standeth,

Nor can I dwell within the light of Heaven

Where God is all.

Where God is all.What art thou, Mephistopheles?

I am the price that all things pay for being,

The shadow on the world, thrown by the world

Standing in its own light, which light God is.

So first, when matter was, I was called Change,

And next, when life began, I was called Pain,

And last, when knowledge was, I was called Evil;

Nothing myself, except to give a name

To these three values, Permanence, Pleasure, Good,

The Godward side of matter, life and knowledge.

Thus far, then, have I come to learn the truth

I taught my servant, many years ago:

“The sun can cast no shade; only the dark

Dead body of earth or moon can make eclipse

Of his perpetual radiance.” Thus I told him,

Being blind to my own parable; but he,

Knowing no syllable of sun or moon,

Walked in the light of the true innocence

To the end I sought for. Pity my blindness, sir,

For His dear sake that healed the blind and cast

The devils out——

The devils out——Hast thou learned nothing yet?

He’ll not reverse the past. The past is here

And thou must answer it.

And thou must answer it.O, by the Name

And power of Him that harrowed hell——

And power of Him that harrowed hell——Thou fool!

Thou juggling sorcerer! Thinkest thou with those

Same words wherewith thou once did’st conjure me

To conjure justice?

To conjure justice?Devil, thou didst speak truth,

And with thine own truth will I choke thee now

To the deep of thy false throat. Not in the words

Is power, but in the faith of him that speaks,

And in the person of the very Christ

In Whom stands all the meaning of creation.

Words? They are rags, tags, fluttering remnants blown

Along the winds of fancy; only in Him

Is neither variableness nor shadow of turning.

Sir, I beseech thee, as thou art all truth,

Answer me truly; in this desperate choice

What would God have me do?

What would God have me do?I may not tell thee.

Only the knowledge of the good and evil

Gained once by sin, by double sin rejected,

Restored again by grace, is granted thee

For guidance. Thou must choose and choose alone.

Why, this is better than a circus! Round

And round again till you’re giddy, faster and faster

Round the closed circle. I met you first in a circle——

You should know something of circles. You’re well inside

Dodging the ring-master there, with the hoop in his hand

And the lash at your heels. Faster and faster, Faustus,

Round and round, and then—the crack of the whip

And through the hoop you go. So, Faustus, choose

In the devil’s name.

In the devil’s name.In the name of the most high God

Choose, Faustus, and for ever.

Choose, Faustus, and for ever.I have chosen.

I will go down with Mephistopheles

To the nethermost pit of fire unquenchable

Where no hope is, and over the pathless gulf

Look up to God. Beyond that gulf I may

Never pass over, nor any saint nor angel

Descend to me. Nevertheless, I know

Whose feet can tread the fire as once the water,

And I will call upon Him out of the deep,

Out of the deep, O Lord.

Out of the deep, O Lord.Art now so bold

To call down God, thou that aforetime didst

With cowardly conjurations call up devils?

Then tell me: art thou able to be baptised

With Christ’s most bitter baptism, or to drink

The cup that all His shuddering mortal flesh

Shrank from, yet drank, down to the dark dregs, driven

By the strong spirit?

By the strong spirit?I dare not say I am able.

Yet I say this: that nothing thou canst do

Shall threat me from the quest of Christ eternal.

Yea, though thou stand with thy keen sword made bare

To keep me from Him, and have at thy command

In ninefold rank the terrible hosts of Heaven,

Yet will I seek Him. If I go down to hell

He is there also; or if He stand without,

My hands shall batter against hell’s brazen gates

Till the strong bars burst asunder and let Him in.

Then will I seize Him, then fall down before Him,

Cling to His garments, hold Him fast by the feet,

Cry in His ear, “I will not let Thee go

Except Thou bless me. Even the unjust judge

Heard the poor widow, and Thou shalt hear me!

Spare not Thy rod, for Thou hast borne the rod,

Quench not Thy fire, for Thou didst pass through fire,

Only be with me!”

Only be with me!”This is brave indeed!

Mock me not, nothingness; I have found courage

In Him that never feared to look on sorrow,

And though He slay me, I will trust in Him.

Then, Faustus, thou art mine!

Then, Faustus, thou art mine!Thine here and now,

But wheresoever and whensoever, God’s.

Sir, I am ready.

Sir, I am ready.Come on, my violent friend.

The kingdom of Heaven suffereth violence,

And violent men may take it by assault

In the last breach of despair. Thus all things come

To their own place at last, the tares to the burning

And the good grain to God.

(To Mephistopheles.) Thou hast claimed thine own.

It is thine. Burn it. Touch not my good grain,

I shall require it at thy hand some day;

And for thou knowest that thy time is short,

Be diligent.

Be diligent.I’ll warrant thee for that.

Open the gates there!

[Hell-mouth opens.

Open the gates there!Faustus, look on me;

Through the harsh mask of judgment read my soul,

And when I meet thee at the gates of hell,

Know me again.

Know me again.Slay me, but leave me not.

Lo! I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee

Even to the world’s end. Take him, Mephistopheles,

And purge him throughly, till he find himself,

As I have found him mine. God is not robbed;

And I will bring mine own as I did sometime

From the deep of the sea again.

From the deep of the sea again.From the deep of the sea.

[Faustus is led away by Mephistopheles to Hell, Azrael and the Dog accompanying him. The Judge goes up into Heaven.

Deep calleth unto deep with the noise of the cataracts.

Out of the deep have I called unto Thee, O Lord; Lord,

hear my voice.

Sheol is naked before Him, and Abaddon hath no covering.

O let Thine ears consider well the voice of my complaint.

They lie in the hell like sheep, death gnaweth upon them;

their beauty shall consume in the sepulchre.

But God hath delivered my soul from the place of hell, for

He shall receive me.

[The Judge being now come up into Heaven, the gates are opened with a great light. Faustus at Hell’s mouth sees the glory of Heaven.

Return, return, O Shulamite; return, return, that we may

look upon thee.

If any man’s work shall be burned, he shall suffer loss.

Where their worm dieth not, and their fire is not quenched.

But he himself shall be saved, yet so as by fire.

[Faustus follows Mephistopheles into Hell, and the Dog with him. Hell-mouth is shut upon them.

Multitudes, multitudes in the valley of decision; for the day of the Lord is near in the valley of decision.

That which the palmer-worm hath left hath the locust eaten; and that which the locust hath left hath the canker-worm eaten.

A fire devoureth before them, and behind them a flame burneth.

Multitudes, multitudes, in the valley of decision.

Rend your heart and not your garments, and turn unto the Lord your God;

And I will restore unto you the years which the locust hath eaten.

Multitudes, multitudes—I beheld, and lo! a great multitude,

Ten thousand times ten thousand, and thousands of thousands.

Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honour, and glory, and blessing;

Blessing and honour, and glory, and power, be unto Him that sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb, for ever and ever. Alleluia. Amen.

A Nativity Play in One Act

NOTE TO PRODUCERS

He That Should Come was originally written for broadcasting, and its adaptation for the stage has presented certain difficulties, owing to the difference between the two media. The main dialogue seemed to require little alteration; the trouble begins with the background and subsidiary characters.

The intention of the play is to show the birth of Christ against its crowded social and historical background, and for that purpose it was necessary to make real to the audience the bustling and variegated life of an autonomous province in the great, sprawling, heterogeneous Roman Empire of the first century. The inn was to be shown crowded with as many and various types as possible—the orthodox Pharisee, with his rigidly national religious views; the Hellenised Jew, with his liberal outlook influenced by contact with Rome; the Greek, with his intellectual pliability and sceptical detachment; the trader, treading warily on thorny political ground and anxious to give offence to nobody; the peasant, earning a precarious livelihood amid the hurly-burly of conflicting forces perpetually threatening his small security; behind them all, the ruthless tyranny of a self-made Oriental despot, ruling a strange mixed province of strict Jews in the south and fierce heathen tribes in the north; and behind him again, the iron strength of Rome, legal, military, and imperial, caring nothing for internal politics or religious disputes so long as her tributaries kept the peace and paid the taxes.

To obtain this effect, the scene was laid, not with particular reference to the traditional cave at Bethlehem, but in an Oriental inn of the usual kind, consisting of a two-storied rectangular building surrounding an open courtyard, somewhat after the style of a college quadrangle. In the centre of the courtyard was a raised platform, on which the travellers sat or lay, surrounded by their luggage. The ground floor of the building consisted of a series of vaulted stables carrying the chambers on the first floor, over which was a flat roof. The inn had a gate, which was barred at night against marauders. The inn is supposed to be situated on the road going up from Bethlehem to Jerusalem.

It thus became possible to introduce all the necessary characters quite plausibly into this common courtyard. For the purpose of a broadcast, the crowded condition of the inn was sufficiently indicated by introducing a few allusions to the throng of travellers and by fading in a babble of voices at appropriate points in the dialogue. Attention was easily focused on one point or another of the scene by conveying the suggestion of the character picking his way among the assembled travellers, and by inserting a line to announce his arrival at the gate, the stable, the Centurion’s post, and so forth.

This scene, so excellently suitable for a broadcast, at once offers difficulties in the theatre, where the crowd of travellers has not merely to be indicated, but to be seen in action and kept continually on the stage. Having once introduced the characters, you cannot move them off and leave the stage clear, because it is the whole point of the story that the inn was crowded to suffocation and that there was no clear space. In consequence, the stage being thus crowded and obliged to remain crowded, it becomes very difficult to move the actors naturally from one point to another, or to give the “background characters” anything sensible to do without distracting attention from the speakers. A subsidiary difficulty was to bring the various groups, as they became important to the action, into a sufficiently commanding position and not leave them isolated up-stage or blocked in inconvenient doorways to right and left.

I have coped with these difficulties as well as I could, bearing in mind that the play may be acted by repertory or amateur companies having at their disposal stages of widely varying dimensions and lighting equipment. The play as here arranged allows for the largest stage and the largest company that are likely to be available. There are fifteen characters necessary for the performance of the dialogue; to these I have added nine subsidiary characters to bring the cast up to twenty-four. These, with a proper allowance of baggage and other properties, should be enough to produce a quite convincing crowd on a stage of reasonable dimensions. The actual “crowding-space” of the stage will be governed by the size of the central rostrum, where this is available, and the scenery or curtains can be brought in accordingly.

Where the stage is insufficiently large to accommodate the full cast, the minor characters can be cut down at will, and the “background” dialogue altered to fit the situation. The guiding principle to be taken is to ask: How many people will give an effect of real crowding on this particular stage? and to work from that figure. Where the smallness of the stage or of the available company requires the cast to be limited to the fifteen principal characters, the Landlady’s call for a midwife can be answered from off-stage, as though from the upper storey of the inn.

In the absence of built scenery, the play can very suitably be performed in curtains; an inner set of these can be bunched so as to suggest the archways alluded to in the text. The stage directions allow for either one or two archways on either side, according to the depth of the stage. Where there are two, the directions “right” and “left” should be taken to refer to the lower entrances and the directions in brackets (R.U.) and (L.U.) to the upper entrances.

If the play is performed in a church without scenery or curtains, it is suggested that the entrance to the choir should be screened off and opened to display the tableau of the Holy Family. The exits right and left can then be suitably made into the aisle or transept as the case may be, whose arches will supply the appropriate suggestion.

What is done with the Kings during the main action of the play depends upon the means at the producer’s disposal. I have made one or two suggestions, according as the building is furnished with one or more sets of front curtains and with more or less elaborate front-of-house lighting. If the play is given in a church without curtain, the Kings might very suitably enter from the west door, through the darkened nave, and be lit by a single spot or a strong electric torch till the time comes to light the whole scene. It would then be symbolically appropriate that they should make their exit eastward, if possible, up either side of the choir towards the Sanctuary, with the light of a torch going before them to represent the Star.

The action of the play should take about an hour. If it is found too long, the Greek Gentleman’s Song and the second verse of the Soldiers’ Marching Song may be cut. In the original broadcast the long speeches of the Kings were also omitted; but this cut is not recommended. As accompaniment to the songs, a harp, lute, guitar (if that is the best available), or other plucked string instrument will give the right effect; orchestral or organ accompaniments are quite unsuitable. A piano would do at a pinch; a harpsichord still better.

The whole effect and character of the play depend on its being played in an absolutely natural and realistic style. Any touch of the ecclesiastical intonation or of “religious unction” will destroy its intention. The whole idea in writing it was to show the miracle that was to change the whole course of human life enacted in a world casual, inattentive, contemptuous, absorbed in its own affairs and completely unaware of what was happening: to illustrate, in fact, the tremendous irony of history. It may be found advisable to make this point clear to the actors before they start, lest some preconceptions as to what is or is not “reverent” in a Nativity Play should hamper the freedom of their performance. I feel sure that it is in the interests of a true reverence towards the Incarnate Godhead to show that His Manhood was a real manhood, subject to the common realities of daily life; that the men and women surrounding Him were living human beings, not just characters in a story; that, in short, He was born, not into “the Bible,” but into the world. That an audience will take the play in this spirit is proved to me by the various letters I received after the first broadcast. As one man in a country village put it, “It’s nice to think that people in the Bible were folks like us.” And another correspondent: “None of us realised before how much we had just accepted the story without properly visualising it. It . . . brought home to us as never before the real humanity of Jesus.” There will always be a few voices raised to protest against the introduction of “reality” into religion; but I feel that the great obstacle in the path of Christianity to-day is that to so many it has become unreal, shadowy, “a tale that is told,” so that it is of the utmost importance to remind people by every means in our power that the thing actually happened—that it is, and was from the beginning, closely in contact with real life.

I found that the broadcasting company really enjoyed playing in this little piece of “real-life” drama, and hope that it will prove itself “good theatre” in a different medium. Since I have had no chance to try out the adaptation with actors upon a stage, I shall be very glad if producers will let me or my agents know how it works out in practice, and what devices their ingenuity has used to get over the obvious “snags” in presentation, so that, if necessary, I may revise the text in the light of their experience.

Dorothy L. Sayers.

He That Should Come was first performed in the original broadcast version on the London National Transmission from Broadcasting House on Christmas Day, 1938, with the following cast:

The present version has been adapted for Stage Performance by the author. The music may be had on loan from Dorothy Allen, 32 Shaftesbury Avenue, W.1 (acting in association with Messrs. Pearn, Pollinger & Higham Ltd.), to whom all applications for performing rights should be addressed.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

Caspar, King of Chaldea, an aged man.

Melchior, King of Pamphylia, a man in the prime of life.

Balthazar, King of Ethiopia, a young negro.

The Jewish Merchant, a stout man with a plummy voice.

The Pharisee, a tall, thin and severe man.

The Young Greek Gentleman, a suave young man, with a foreign accent.

The Jewish Gentleman, the “Oxford Graduate” of the period.

The Roman Centurion, the very best type of non-commissioned officer.

The Landlord, a square-built, husky-voiced person, with a wholesome terror of the law.

The Landlady, a harassed woman with a shrill voice.

Joseph, a mild, courteous man, with the plain dignity of the skilled artisan.

Mary, a serene, sweet-voiced woman, with an air of great stillness about her.

1st Shepherd, an elderly peasant.

2nd Shepherd, a middle-aged peasant.

3rd Shepherd, a young peasant.

Two Roman Soldiers—A Husband and Wife—A Father, Mother and Little Boy—A Manservant—A Maidservant.

PROLOGUE

[Enter Caspar. He speaks out of the darkness, right.

What traveller is that,

Sitting and singing beside the desert fountain,

Challenging with his frail music

This blinding silence of silver midnight,

Brighter than moonlight, whiter than sunlight,

This unaccustomed miracle of sevenfold starlight?

I am a Greek,

Born in the West, on the shores of the Mediterranean,

A European, in fact. I am not afraid of a thing

Merely because it is unaccustomed. Our instinct

Is to challenge destiny. That is why I am here.

There is a muttering among the oracles,

A song in the poets’ mouths. They tell of a child

That shall shake off the iron yoke of necessity,

Bring back the golden age and the brave Saturnian reign.

He hath set up his sceptre in the sky; very well;

It is my duty to find out the truth about this;

I am a ruler, I owe my people the truth;

And on my people’s behalf I have ridden hither,

Melchior, King of Pamphylia, surnamed “the Just,”

Following the Star.

I am an astrologer; I have watched from the high towers

Nightly the signs of heaven stride

Through the houses of fate in the turning horoscope.

I have seen this new star turn and burn

Slowly out of the east, leaping from cusp to cusp,

Till now it sits ruling the house of life;

And I have asked myself what god should be born

From this astonishing conjunction. Therefore am I come,

Caspar, King of Chaldea, surnamed “the Wise,”

Following the Star.

Listen! the sound of bells—

Another traveller comes, riding upon a camel,

With a train of swift camels. His face is as the night,

His eyeballs glint white in the night of his face. Who’s there?

[Enter Balthazar, right, and speaks out of the darkness.

Out of the darkness, out of the desert,

Beyond the secret springs of the Nile

I have seen the fire of desire flare in the zenith

Scaring the crocodiles under the shadow of the pyramids.

The dusky gods have trembled, the witch-dancers are struck down

In the midst of their dances.

A cry is gone up in the halls of the dead, from the seven gates of the dead,

The cry of Isis over Osiris slain,

The birth-cry of Horus.

This is the end or else the beginning of all things,

And sorrow either way, between a cry and a cry;

[He comes into the light.

Therefore I come, seeking the soul of sorrow,

Balthazar, King of Ethiopia, surnamed “the Servant,”

Following the Star.

Yonder it stands, and yonder, by my reckoning,

The City of Jerusalem, a twelve-days’ journey hence.

Strangely are we met, Wisdom, Justice, and Service,

Following the Star, seeking we know not what.

Magi, my brothers, let us take counsel of the crystal—

I hold it in my dark hand, shining against the darkness of my hand;

Let the crystal display to us what shall be the end of the journey.

[He kneels down.

Will he come, will he speak at last, the ultimate wisdom,

The unalterable truth behind and above the appearance?

I have studied all the philosophies, and now I am old;

Every day I care less about life and death, sorrow and happiness—

I ask only that what we see shall correspond to something,

Beautiful or terrible, but constant in some way or other.

We build the house of thought, stone upon stone,

And just as we have finished the topmost pinnacle

There comes a grinning doubt and pulls away the foundation.

One has to assume something before one can think at all,

If it is only the validity of one’s own thinking,

Or one’s immediate perceptions,

Or the numerical proposition that two and two make four.

Give me a single integer and I will build up the universe,

Star upon flaming star, and the singing orbits of planets,

And the springing sap, and the life in the blood, and splendour,

Beauty and love and grief and the promise of immortality—

Only, it is from the universe that I deduce the integer

From which to deduce the universe again;

And thus all knowledge is only a vicious circle

Ceaselessly spinning upon the axis of nothing.

Nor can I even be sure that everything,

Including myself, is nothing,

Since it is in myself that I find the all and the nothing;

And it may be that nothingness is in itself an illusion,

The last illusion of all.

[Caspar kneels.

I will accept the illusions;

I do not mind whether they are illusions or not,

I am not interested in dogma, I want a religion that works;

What I look for is good government,

A reasonable way of life, within the terms of the illusion.

If there is nothing at the end of it, be it so—there is nothing;

But in the meantime, can we not achieve a little decency,

A little dignity,

A pattern of some kind, such as we make so easily

For a curtain or a cornice, which does not matter at all,

But cannot make for our lives, which matter a great deal,

Or, at any rate, seem to matter? Always we hope for a formula,

The master-word, the philosopher’s stone, the elixir of life,

The abracadabra that settles everything—

The formula of empire, the formula of liberty,

The formula of isolation, the formula of collective security,

The formula of discipline, the formula of self-expression,

And all the rest of it.

Always we are disappointed, always there are complications,

There does not seem to be any simple rule

To make things go smoothly.

We have wasted too much time in quarrelling and asking questions;

Let us put our trust in a personality

Capable of commanding our loyalty—strength

And leadership, and calm hands ordering everything,

And the government shall be upon his shoulder, lord of lords, and king of kings.

[Melchior kneels.

How much you need to content you!

The wisdom that sets the soul beyond the reach of suffering,

The power to abolish suffering. I am more humble;

I do not mind being ignorant and unhappy—

All I ask is the assurance that I am not alone,

Some courage, some comfort against this burden of fear and pain.

I am a servant, born of the seed of Ham,

The oppressed, the accurst;

My skin is black with the punishing fury of the sun.

About my palaces the jungle creeps and whines,

Famine and plague are my fireside companions,

And beyond the circle of the fire, the glare of hungry eyes.

The lion sits by the water-hole, where the women go down to wash,

In the branches crouches the leopard.

I look out between the strangling branches of the vine and see

Fear in the east, fear in the west; armies

And banners marching and garments rolled in blood.

Yet this is nothing, if only God will not be indifferent,

If He is beside me, bearing the weight of His own creation;

If I may hear His voice among the voices of the vanquished,

If I may feel His hand touch mine in the darkness,

If I may look upon the hidden face of God

And read in the eyes of God

That He is acquainted with grief.

Gather the rays of the Star into the crystal.

Look, and see the shape of things afar off.

Listen, and hear the shadows speak in the crystal.

[A murmur of movements and voices behind the tableaux curtains or gauzes.

See! the light stirs and blurs to a pale cloud in the crystal—

Like an opal, with green fire darting and parting at the core!

Look and listen! the life of the world is born in the heart of the crystal.

[The spot is gradually dimmed down upon the Three Kings, who may then make their exit in the black-out, or, if preferred, they may remain upon the stage throughout the action of the play.

If gauzes are available, the lights behind them will be brought up slowly on the dimmers as the spot fades during the Kings’ last three lines, and the gauzes taken up in succession during the opening conversation in the inn.

Where there are no gauzes, the tableaux curtains will be opened at cue on the fully-lit scene.

Suggested Lighting: Steel in the front spots; blue and white in No. 3 batten; steel arena flood on check centre for star over stable; amber flood shining down staircase left (L.U.) and steel flood through doorway to gate, right; red light in braziers, reinforced by spots if necessary. The impression to be conveyed is of an unroofed courtyard on a brilliant star-light night.

The Stable of the Nativity can be lit by a white batten, or by a couple of baby spots centred upon the Holy Child.

[The voices of the travellers are heard before the curtains are opened. The four following pages must be played at top speed.

Landlord! Landlord!

Three of us and six servants, and see that the brown mule gets a good rub down.

Landlord! Landlord!

T’ch, t’ck! Git over there!

Held up twice between here and Jericho. What the Government thinks it’s doing. . . .

Best of three!

My belt against your Persian dagger.

Look sharp, my lad, with that jug of wine.

Yes, sir! Yes, sir! Coming in a minute.

Really, Ezra, am I to stand here all night?

[The curtains open. The centre of the stage is occupied by a rectangular platform, its down-stage edge lying just behind the curtain line. A passage runs round the back and both sides at stage level. At the back are three archways, leading to the stables; their entrances (R.B., C.B. and L.B.) are concealed by rough hangings of sacking. Similar archways, at the sides of the stage, lead, on the right to the gateway of the inn, on the left to a staircase going up to the roof. (Note.—If the depth of the stage permits, there may be two of these entrances either side, in which case the lower right entrance will lead to the gate, and the upper left to the stairs. See p. 217.) Behind the centre archway at the back is the Stable of the Nativity, the floor of which is raised somewhat above the level of the platform. Both platform and passage-way are obstructed by baggage of every description—mattresses, saddle-bags, saddles, cooking utensils, and so forth. On the right, the Greek Gentleman has just entered, and is working his way centre. Near right entrance sprawl a couple of Roman Soldiers, entertaining themselves with a dice-box and a large pot of beer. Well down, and a little right of centre, the Pharisee is sitting, with the Landlord in attendance. Just above centre, a Peasant Father and Mother have established themselves with their Little Boy; a Maidservant is filling their pitcher with water and giggling at Father. Right of centre the respectable Husband and Wife are standing surrounded by luggage, and looking rather helpless. Above and left of them stands the Merchant, and a little above between them and the family party stands the Roman Centurion, checking over the papers of the Jewish Gentleman. Right back a Manservant is carrying a bundle of fodder into the stable. All through the opening dialogue the Pharisee sits severely silent, reading a scroll.

Of course not, my dear. (He beckons to the Maidservant.) Here, girl, here! (The Girl is being chucked under the chin by the Father, and pays no attention.)

Give over, now, do!

Now then, you lazy baggage! Water and towels for the party upstairs.

Yes, madam. (She hurries off, left (L.U.).)

The service in these inns is disgraceful!

Is there nobody here to attend to a lady?

Wife, here’s a lady wants you.

Gentleman upstairs wants these cleaned. (She dumps a cloak and a pair of boots into his arms. He takes them off, right (R.U.).) Yes, madam? (She attends to Wife.)

Sorry to keep you waiting, sir. We’re run off our feet with the rush.

Mother! Mother! I want a piece of cake.

[Centurion goes centre and speaks to Greek Gentleman.

Cake, indeed! You’ll wait till supper’s ready.

Native of Bethlehem? Heaven forbid! We’re going on to Jerusalem. (He comes down to Merchant.)

Give us a hand with the pack-saddle, can’t you? (They go up towards stable, back (L.B.). The Centurion has meanwhile crossed right, and is watching the Soldiers at their game.)

The gods to aid! (Throws dice.) Venus, by Bacchus!

Curse it! You’ve cleaned me out. (Drinks.)

That’s no reason to swill all the beer. (Snatches pot from him. Scuffle.)

Find us a nice quiet spot, away from those drunken soldiers.

[Her Husband leads her across left, above Merchant and his baggage.

Steady, hoss, steady. So-ho there!

Hey, you! Take those damned camels where my horse can’t wind ’em! (He dashes out (R.B.).)

Taxes! that’s what it means, more taxes! Why else should they take a census? Just idle curiosity on the part of the Imperial Government?

Well, sir, I imagine they must find occupation for the staff at the Home Office. Besides, the Emperor takes a great interest in vital statistics.

Vital statistics my foot! They mean to clap on a poll-tax, you see if they don’t. As if we weren’t squeezed and badgered enough already, what with Imperial taxes and the King’s taxes, customs, excise, land-tax, house-tax, and now this monstrous new stamp-duty on sales. Trade, sir, trade is the life-blood of the country, and they’re strangling it, deliberately doing all they can to strangle it, with these iniquitous exactions. But there! I can tell by your speech you’re a foreigner. Perhaps they manage things better where you come from. (Sits on Husband’s baggage, left.)

I am a Greek, sir; Philip is my name. I am travelling to Jerusalem with letters of introduction to the King’s historian. I dabble a little in letters—oh, very amateurishly, I assure you—and have foolishly undertaken to write a trifling study of social and economic conditions in the Roman provinces. Anything I can learn about the effect of legislation on commerce is of great assistance to my ignorance.

[Landlord re-enters right (R.U.) and checks papers with Centurion; they move up back.

Well, you can put it in your book, sir, that the effect of this kind of legislation is disastrous. I don’t mince words, I say disastrous. Between the King and the Emperor, we’re between the upper and the nether millstones. The King pampers the labouring classes at the expense of respectable citizens, and the Emperor makes it his business to thrust a crowbar into the wheels at every opportunity. . . .

Confound you, sir, that’s my bag you’re sitting on. (He jerks his luggage away and returns up left.)

. . . It’s a scandal to disturb honest tradesmen at the busiest time of the year, and send them trapesing up and down the country, just to get themselves registered at some infernal village where they had the misfortune to be born. Here’s weeks of valuable time wasted—not to mention the peril to life and limb.

[Landlady works up and off, left (L.U.).

Certainly the roads are in a shocking state—and terribly congested.

[Jewish Gentleman comes out of stable (L.B.) and goes in again (R.B.).

Congested? That’s nothing. They’re not safe, my good sir, they’re not safe! Bandits and revolutionaries lurking in every thicket. My heart was in my mouth all the way, and we passed some most ruffianly-looking characters in the hill-country near Beth-Horon. I suppose, by the way, you don’t know anybody who’s travelling back in that direction, and would permit me to join his company?

I’m afraid not. I’m a stranger here myself, you know. But we might ask the Roman centurion over there. He seems to be checking up on the arrivals.

Thank you, thank you, that’s an excellent suggestion. Will you add to your kindness by accompanying me? I don’t like the look of some of these people—I’m sure they’d pick your purse as soon as look at you. (They move up centre. To Wife) Excuse me, madam, I wish to speak to the Centurion. (To Husband) Allow me, sir. (They grudgingly make way for him.) This place is dreadfully overcrowded. (He encounters Manservant and Father, returning from the stable, their shoulders laden with a pack-saddle, goatskins, cooking utensils, etc.) Pray let me pass, my good fellows. (They shove past him, thrusting him aside upon the Boy, who utters a sharp yell.) Oh, I beg your pardon, I didn’t see your little boy; I hope I’ve not hurt him.

Some people want all the place to themselves!

[In the meantime, the Centurion has moved across with the Landlord to the left upper corner of the stage, and is as far off as ever. The Merchant, with a despairing cry, darts after him in this new direction, and becomes involved with the Landlady and the Maidservant, who enter left (L.U.), bringing some cooked food to the Husband and Wife.

Dear, dear, I’m sorry. How clumsy of me! Pardon, pardon.

Granted, I’m sure.

[The Centurion and Landlord come halfway down by passage, left; the Merchant following. The Greek Gentleman, smiling imperturbably, insinuates himself neatly through the crowd in the Merchant’s wake, and everybody thinks him charming.

Good evening, Captain. Can you spare me just a moment of your time?

In one minute, sir. Here, landlord, all these papers seem to be in order. I shouldn’t think there’d be any more arrivals now. You’d better close the gates.

Yes, Captain. Thank you, Captain. I don’t see how we could take anybody else if they did come. (Shouting.) Porter, bar the gates!

There’s another party here wants to come in.

What’s that?

There’s a party here with a donkey. I’ve told ’em there ain’t no room.

All right, I’ll come myself. (He comes down left and starts to cross behind Pharisee, turning as he goes to speak to the Centurion.) There wasn’t anything further, was there, Captain?

No, that’s all right. Carry on.

[Exit Landlord, right.

Now, Master Merchant, what can I do for you?

I was wondering, Captain, whether you knew of anyone who would be returning by way of Beth-Horon?

Well, let me see, now. Why, yes, there’s a young gentleman going through that way to-morrow as far as Lydda. I forget his name, but you’ll find him somewhere about, wearing a Roman dress and a green cloak.

Thank you, Captain, thank you. I am going to Lydda myself.

[Re-enter, right, Landlord. He backs in, making expostulatory gestures. Joseph follows, pleading with him. Mary comes quietly behind Joseph.

Is he a wealthy gentleman, with plenty of armed servants? Do you think he would permit me to join his party?

No, no, no, I tell you.

Yes, but do listen a moment. . .

[Landlady works across to them.

Couldn’t say, I’m sure, sir. You’d better ask him. (His eye has been caught by the little disturbance on the other side of the stage.) Excuse me, the landlord seems to be having a spot of bother over there. I’ll have to go and keep an eye on it. Now then, good people, out of my way, please! (He strides unceremoniously across the centre of the stage.)

Clear the way for the Captain!

Look out, here’s the Centurion coming.

Beg your pardon, Captain. (Aside.) Damn your Roman insolence!

Hey?

Nothing, Captain.

[Meanwhile the Merchant and the Greek Gentleman have wandered off left to look for the Jewish Gentleman.

I’m sorry, my good man, I tell you it’s absolutely impossible.

I implore you, good host, in the name of all the Prophets. . .

Be reasonable, man. I don’t mean it unkindly. It can’t be done, that’s all. We’re packed right out—aren’t we, wife?

Packed out? I should think we were. I’m sure I don’t know how we shall manage as it is. Not an inch of space down here, as you can see for yourselves, and they’re sleeping on the roof head to tail like herrings in a basket. Indecent, I call it. The Government’s got no right to land poor innkeepers in such a pickle.

Now then, ma’am. What’s the trouble here?

Good soldier, can you help us to find a lodging for the night? We have sought everywhere in the town, and this is our last hope.

And I’m telling him, Captain, we haven’t so much as a corner. They’ll have to push on to Jerusalem.

It’s only five miles, and it’s a big place.

Alas! sir, it’s very late and a bad road. Will you not persuade this worthy couple to give us a shake-down somewhere? We are not particular. As you see, we are humble folk, and there are only the two of us.

Yes, and like to be three of you before long, I reckon.

Indeed, that’s true. My wife is in no fit state to travel farther. Besides, our journey ends here.

Captain, you can see we are not to blame——

Wait a bit, wait a bit. Let’s get this straight. You, good master, what’s your name?

I am called Joseph ben Heli, and this is Mary, my wife.

Trade?

Carpenter.

Place of residence?

Nazareth in Galilee.

Lineage?

Of the house and lineage of David.

Of David, eh? And this is the city of David?

Yes, Captain.

And therefore the proper place for you to get yourselves registered?

Yes, Captain.

I see. Well, it does seem a bit hard to move you on, especially as your good lady is so near her time. What do you say, landlord? Can’t you shift some of the baggage and give them shelter under the arches?

[During the following conversation, Manservant and Maidservant bring in three braziers, placing one for the Mother, who uses it to cook supper, one just below the Husband and Wife, and the third near the Pharisee.

Don’t see how we can, sir. We’ve got all the servants of these ladies and gentlemen bedded down there as it is. You couldn’t put a pin between ’em. It’s not my fault if people will travel with such a lot of attendants. Inconsiderate, I call it, but there you are.

How about the stables? Is there any room there?

Well, I dunno about that. Let me see now—it means getting their ass in as well. Could you lie along of the ass, mistress?

Yes, indeed we could. She’s a quiet good creature and gives no trouble, does she, Joseph?

None whatever. Thank you kindly. A stable would be far better than nothing.

I haven’t promised anything yet. Let me put on my thinking cap. We can’t move the camels, nor yet put the young gentleman’s stallion in with the mares. Perhaps we could——No! that won’t work.

Could we make room for the captain’s gelding along of the merchant’s she-asses—if you didn’t mind, sir—

Not in the least. By all means.

That’s a good idea. Then we could put these people and their donkey in with old Ibrahim’s draught-ox. How would that suit you?

Excellently. We are greatly obliged to you.

It is most kind of you. We are sorry to be putting you to all this extra trouble on our account.

That’s all right. Don’t like to think of you with nowhere to lay your heads. Especially under the circumstances, eh, wife?

It’s not that anybody wants to seem disobliging——

Of course not, of course not. Well, that’s all settled. I’m sure you’ll manage capitally. Good night to you. (He joins the Soldiers and confers with them.)

Good night, Captain.

[Here the Merchant reappears, left (L.U.), followed by the Greek Gentleman. They move along the passage-way at the back.

Now you come along with me. I’ll have some clean straw put down for you. (Calling off right.) Take the ass round to the stable! (Hoofs heard off right and round to centre back.) Mind how you go; you’ll have to pick your way a bit. (They move up back and across among the piled-up baggage in the passage-way.) It’s just across here and under the——

[The Merchant falls over a pack-saddle, into the Landlord’s arms.

Ouf! you might look where you’re going, sir!

I’m extremely sorry, Landlord. Could you tell me . . . Oh, dear! (He is out of breath.)

Landlord, we are looking for a young gentleman in a green cloak. Have you by any chance seen such a one?

[Jewish Gentleman emerges from stable, R.B.

This’ll be him, sir, just coming through the archway.

Oh, thank you, thank you!

Don’t mention it. (He enters the centre stable with Mary and Joseph.)

[Landlady has meanwhile worked away left.

Sir! Pray, one moment, young gentleman!

Hullo!

Your pardon, sir. This good merchant wishes to ask you—(with a change of tone) Now, by all the gods of Olympus! If it isn’t my old friend Yussuf!

Philip! by all the Prophets! What on earth are you doing here? (They come down right.)

Just travelling about. Studying social history and all that. Writing a little verse, and tinkering about with a magnum opus that will never get finished.

The same old Philip. Not changed a bit since college days. I’m delighted to see you. Come and sit down and let’s have a yarn.

Forgive me, sir, but I——

Oh, yes, I forgot. This honest merchant wants to know if he may have the protection of your company as far as Lydda.

[Meanwhile Landlord may be seen taking straw in to stable, C.B.; Maidservant may take in water, etc., and fasten curtain of sacking across entrance.

Certainly, by all means. The more the merrier. I hope, sir, you’ll join us in a cup of wine.

I am very much obliged, sir.

Here’s a good place to sit in, near this worthy Pharisee. (They all sit by Pharisee.) I trust we do not disturb you, sir. Thank you. Shockingly crowded this place is to-night, and I entirely agree with you, merchant, that travelling’s no joke these days.

Terrible, sir, terrible! Times are hard enough, goodness knows, without Caesar taking it into his head to number the people. Apart from everything else, look at the interruption to business. It’s a sin and a shame——

It is a sin indeed to number the people. It is the sin of King David, to which Satan provoked him. Is it not written in the Book of the Chronicles of the Kings of Israel?

I have not studied the work in question, but I’ll take your word for it.

You may take his word for it, Philip. He is a learned Pharisee, and he ought to know.

Judging by your dress, gentlemen, and by the speech of one of you, you are Romans.

My friend is Greek, but I am as good a Jew as yourself, sir. I was educated in Rome, certainly, and prefer to dress in the fashion.

God deliver us from the fashions of Rome—where they teach our Hebrew youth to sneer at God’s word and bind a foreign yoke and a pagan custom upon our necks in flat defiance of the Law of Moses.

[Throughout this conversation, the Landlord, Landlady, and Servants move unobtrusively about, looking after the travellers, who eat their supper and prepare for the night. Some of this action can be supposed to take place off, left, in attendance on people upstairs; and the Manservant can go in and out of the stables. The Centurion goes centre and stands behind the brazier warming his hands.

Nonsense, sir! Surely one can be a sincere Jew and still live like a gentleman?

Like a gentleman!

Yes, sir. I come of a good house; my father is a magistrate. I shall probably end up as a member of the Sanhedrim myself when the time comes. And when I’m there, be sure I shall press for a more enlightened and cosmopolitan policy.

Indeed, sir! Well, I am Zadok the Pharisee, a follower of Judas the Gaulonite, and I say that your godless Romanising policy is bringing upon this nation the curse due to the backslider and the apostate.

Upon my soul, sir——!

[This little passage of arms attracts the attention of the Centurion. Seeing that it quiets down, he takes no action, but he keeps his eye on it.

Pray, gentlemen, don’t quarrel. I’m a man of peace. I quite see your point, good Master Zadok. You’re bound to look at things from the religious side. But I’m a plain man, and what I object to is the inconvenience. Here I am, torn from my home, put in peril of my life, and goodness knows what’s happening to my business all this time! That scoundrelly Greek—Oh, I beg your pardon, noble sir—that manager of mine is probably making hay of the accounts, and I shall lose all my best customers. I’m a spice-merchant, gentlemen, Aaron ben Isaac is my name, in a pretty big way down at Joppa.

I’m glad you stick to the old-fashioned native name.

Did I say Joppa? I meant Caesarea, of course. Caesarea we call it now, since Herod rebuilt it and made all those modern improvements. A heathen name, of course, but what’s in a name?—and I must say, the King has succeeded in putting the town, on the map. Here’s my card, by the way, if you should happen to be requiring pepper, or perfumes, or anything in that line. I have the honour to supply nutmegs to the Imperial Household.

[The Landlord, with a jug of wine in his hand, is now centre of stage. He serves Husband and prepares to go off left.

Thanks very much. I’d be glad to know of any one who can supply bath-unguents and toilet-waters reasonably. The prices in Jerusalem are positively outrageous. Landlord! bring us some wine here!

[Landlord returns with a jar of wine.

Bath-unguents, indeed! That’s all you young men think about. It was a black day for Jewry when King Herod built the public baths for the corruption of our young men.

[The Centurion, smelling trouble, wanders casually up to the back of the group, with the detached air of a London policeman patrolling a public meeting.

You loll about there all day, oiling your bodies and anointing your hair, reading lascivious heathen poetry, talking blasphemy, and idling away the time with Greek slaves and dancing-girls. May the curse of Korah, Dathan, and Abiram light on King Herod and his baths too! May the earth open and swallow them up!

Your wine, gentlemen. (Whispering.) Sir, I implore you not to talk so loudly. King Herod’s spies are everywhere. And the centurion is standing just behind you.

Serve to the gentlemen. Your health, sirs. Personally I’m all for King Herod. He may be a bit of an autocrat, but he’s done a lot for the country. How about his big housing schemes in Samaria, and Caesarea with its great new harbour and up-to-date drainage system?

That’s a fact. You wouldn’t know the old place.

I must make a point of visiting it.

Look at the Jordan Valley Waterworks. Look at the Temple in Jerusalem. Look at the theatres and amphitheatres the King has built and endowed——

Nothing would induce me to look at them. Play-acting and wild-beast shows are an abomination in the sight of the Lord. Immoral, irreligious, and thoroughly un-Jewish.

Yes, they are un-Jewish. Our national attitude to the Arts is deplorable. King Herod is the only Jew in the country who cares twopence about cosmopolitan culture.

Thank God for it. Nothing is so demoralising as art and culture. As for Herod, he is no true Israelite. He is an Edomite, a son of Ishmael, and, what’s more, an unbeliever. He breaks the Law of Moses by letting the barbarians in the provinces put up graven images to him. And you, Aaron ben Isaac, who complain of the Imperial taxes, have you forgotten that it is unlawful to pay tribute to Caesar?

[The Centurion at this point really does take notice.

Hush, hush, sir, for Heaven’s sake!

Here, I say! Hadn’t you better be careful?

You have no spirit. You are slaves, sold by Herod into the bondage of Rome—and all you can do is to sit there grumbling feebly about taxation and interruptions to business. What room will there be for such as you in the great day of redemption when the Lord’s Messiah comes?

And what will your Messiah do when he does come?

God of Abraham! I knew there’d be trouble. I’m sure, Captain, the gentleman means no harm. Don’t hold it against me. This is a respectable house.

Of course, of course, Captain. And anyway, I wasn’t saying anything. I swear I haven’t uttered a syllable against the Emperor or King Herod either. I never suggested the taxes were illegal. I only said they came heavy on a man, and so they do—but there’s nothing treasonable in that.

That’s what taxes are for—to give us something to grumble about. Eh, Captain? Sit down, man, and have a drink.

That’s right. Captain. Fill for the Captain, landlord.

Thank you kindly, sir. I don’t mind if I do. Cheer up, landlord, we’re not going to crucify you yet awhile.

No, sir. Thank you, sir. (He retires, left.)

[Sound of singing and marching off, back.

Your health, sir! The gods be favourable to you. Cheer up, Master Merchant. So long as the taxes are paid, Rome can put up with a grumble or two.

Yes, yes, of course——

And, after all, we do give you something to show for the money.

Undoubtedly. Baths and theatres and drainage systems, and other worldly luxuries that our fathers did very well without.

Better than that, sir. Peace and security. Listen!

[The Roman Soldiers join in for a bar or two.

[The song dies away off right, past the gate.

Those are the lads of the Sixth, going up to keep order in Jerusalem. Good luck to ’em. And to King Herod too, say I. Regular good army man, is King Herod.

[The Merchant endorses these sentiments with eager nods.

Judaea was in a pretty mess till he took it over. He and the Emperor together have kept order these thirty years. No invasions, no civil wars, peace and prosperity and a reasonable check kept on bandits and insurgents. What more do you want?

Peace is not everything. Prosperity is not everything. (The Merchant tugs anxiously at his sleeve, but he continues.) We want liberty for our nation and liberty for our religion.

Bless my heart, what do you think liberty means? Liberty to cut one another’s throats—as you were doing before Rome stepped in and put a stop to it? There’s no liberty in civil disorder. Liberty means freedom to go safely about your business and behave yourselves like good citizens. And you’ll only get that under a strong central government. Do you think your Christ or Messiah or whatever you call him is going to beat Rome at that game?

When the Messiah comes——

Need we argue about the Messiah?

No, no, of course not. Let’s keep clear of politics.

Yes, but what is the Messiah?

When the Messiah comes, he will restore the kingdom to Israel and smite the heathen with a rod of iron.

[Merchant groans.

I can’t understand you Jews. Can’t you live and let live? Nobody minds your worshipping what you please and how you please. The Emperor’s very keen on religious toleration. We’ve got temples in Rome to all sorts of odd foreign deities, you’d be surprised; and if you liked to put one up there to your Jehovah, or whatever you call him, there’s no reason why he and our Jove shouldn’t get on capitally together.

The Lord God of Heaven is One God and One alone. We can make no compromise with idols.

It seems to me you want all the religious liberty for yourselves and none for other people. Well, it’s no affair of mine. But if your Messiah is proposing to start a war of religion——

Really, now, really. Do let’s leave the Messiah out of it. So far as I know, he isn’t even born yet.

Very sensible of him. If he takes my advice he’ll put off being born for quite a little bit. King Herod has done a very tidy job keeping order in this province and he has no use at all for Messiahs and insurrections. Good evening. (He marches off left, and is seen to speak to the Landlord, who follows him off.)

[Legionaries heard again, singing: “Beef and beer.”

Heaven preserve us! my heart was in my mouth. All this treasonable talk——

Zadok, do you never think that this stiff-necked resistance may end by destroying our nation?

Your easy toleration will end by destroying our souls. How long, O Lord, how long? (He stalks stiffly away, and settles down left.)

[As the Landlady passes on some errand, the 1st Soldier puts his arm round her. She pushes him off. Laughter.

Men like that are a public danger.

[Knocking off, right, and sounds of argument with the Porter.

Oh, dear me! Are the soldiers coming in? Bear witness, gentlemen, I never saw him before.

[Landlady extricates herself from the Soldiers and hurries off, right. Merchant retires to remote corner down left, below Pharisee.

Now then, now then, what do you want at this time of night? It’s no good, I tell you, my man. We’re full up. Can’t take anybody else. You needn’t start arguing. We’re full up.

Excuse me, ma’am. My mate and me only looked in to see if we could buy a drop o’ beer.

Beer? Good gracious me, what next? This is an inn for travellers, not a jug-and-bottle department. You must go to the wine-shop in the next street.

[Shepherds edge in after her.

The wine-shop’s shut, ma’am, and we thought if you’d be so good as to oblige us——

Nonsense. You must knock the wine-merchant up—or go without, much better for you. Get along now and don’t hang about the doorway. You smell of the sheepfolds. Be off with you!

Oh, for Heaven’s sake, woman, stop screaming!

Oh, dear! That’s the young gentleman from Rome. Now he’ll be vexed. (Coming down.) I’m sure I’m very sorry, sir; it’s these common shepherds, pushing in here, wanting to buy beer, as if this was a vulgar alehouse. I’ve told them as plain as I could——

I heard you. Your voice, sweet hostess, goes through my head like a knife through a melon. Can’t you give these honest lads their beer and have done with it?

[Shepherds advance hopefully.

We don’t sell beer.

You grasp the idea, lads, don’t you? We don’t sell beer. What are you? Shepherds?

Yes, sir. We weren’t wishful to be troublesome. Me and my two sons be keepin’ our sheep on the hills yonder, and, it bein’ a cold sort o’ night, Sam and me come along to get a little drop to our supper.

I see. Well, I haven’t got any beer, but here’s wine, if that’ll suit you. Sit down and have a quick one before you go.

Thank you, sir. Very good of you, sir.

[They gather about the Jewish Gentleman—he gives them wine.

All right, hostess, that will do. (Exit Landlady, working off, left (L.U.).) Now, tell me, my good friends, how are things going with you? Do you rub along pretty well? Or do you want a rebellion against the Government, and a new Messiah and all that kind of thing? You can talk quite freely to us. We shan’t give you away. My friend here is studying social conditions, aren’t you, Phil?

Yes; I am very much interested in your Jewish religion and politics; but they are terribly complicated. This, for instance, your Messiah as you call him—what does that word mean, Yussuf?

Christos in Greek, Christ, the Anointed One.

[During this long conversation, the rest of the travellers settle down to sleep. The 1st Soldier stands sentinel at the door, right; the other goes to sleep. The lights in the other two braziers die down, leaving only the group of the two Gentlemen and the Shepherds clearly lit, and a beam of moonlight on the stable door. Dim down front spots and No. 3 batten gradually.

Ah, yes. Messiah, Christ, I understand. Now, this anointed one—what is he? A king or a priest? Or is he some kind of hero or demi-god, after the fashion of our Hercules?

My dear man, these shepherds have never heard of Hercules.

Never mind. I like to get the reactions of the common people to all these academic questions. What do you think of Christ, my good friends?

Well, sir, I don’t rightly know. Some say he’s to be a great prince, born of the royal house of David—him that was a king in Israel, you know, sir, long ago, wonderful rich and powerful, notwithstanding he began life as a poor shepherd, no better than us. But others say he’ll be a mighty chieftain, more after the style of Judas the Maccabean, and lead a great rebellion against Rome. But I do hope and trust it won’t be that way, sir—not in our time, anyway.

You don’t want a rebellion, then?

That I do not, sir. Rebellions and civil wars and such never do no good to us poor folk.

Come now, Father, I don’t know. They say the Messiah will restore the kingdom and do away with oppression and taxes, and bring back the good old days, with milk and honey for everybody.

[About this point, Joseph comes out of stable door (C.B.). He quietly wakes the Maidservant, who goes off left (L.U.), to look for Landlady. Joseph returns to stable.

Why, so he may; but there’ll be a sight of poor souls ruined and slaughtered first. No; life’s hard enough on the poor, as it is, without no wars. We’re well enough off as we are, with King Herod. You’ll find, sir, it’s mostly the upper classes as complains about King Herod’s government. He don’t bear too hard on the farmers, all things considered. Of course some of the tax-gatherers puts the screw on cruel, but, saving your presence, gentlemen, I think they mostly gets their orders from the Emperor, and him living ’way off in Rome, maybe he don’t quite know the way they go on here.

Maybe, when Messiah comes, he’ll explain matters to the Emperor. You know, sirs, there’s some say he won’t be a king at all—but a poor, good man, the servant of the people. Something more in the nature of a prophet, like, same as Elias, or it might be Nathan, what spoke and rebuked King David when he behaved so unjust to Uriah the Hittite.

[Enter Landlady, left (L.U.), with lantern. She goes briskly in at stable door (C.B.).

Yes, or a holy priest, more after the fashion of Aaron or Melchisedek, as will take away sin and bring the people back to righteousness—for there’s a sad deal of worldly living these days, and men don’t keep the Law as they did. Some of the young people don’t seem to believe in nothing but dancing and going to prize-fights and having a good time.

That’s right. And there’s a young chap I know, that’s employed in the theatre, as they call it, at Jerusalem, says the goings-on there is something shocking—men dressed up like women with masks on, acting heathen pieces full of smut and nastiness, and tumblers and chariot-races, and a terrible deal of betting and gambling. It ain’t right, to our way of thinking. I expect Messiah will put a stop to all that.

[The Centurion reappears, left, and passes silently across the back of the stage, the moonlight catching his helmet as he goes past the stable. He goes out, right.

Ay, so he will, I dare say. But he won’t do it by making wars. People don’t act holier in war-time, they acts more sinful. And what with soldiers stravaguing up and down, looting and pillaging and destroying the cattle and the crops, it’s a bad business for everyone. No, we don’t want no more wars.

Upon my word, Yussuf, your countrymen seem to be very sensible fellows. Here’s to you, shepherds, and I hope, when your Messiah comes, he’ll turn out to be a prince of peace. If you ask my opinion——

[Landlady comes briskly out of stable door, with Joseph following.

There now, didn’t I tell you so?

Hullo! what’s the matter with our good hostess now?

It’s no good talking that way to me, Joseph ben Heli; this is an inn, not a lying-in hospital. Of all the tiresome things! No, indeed I can’t help you—I’ve got far too much to do. Perhaps there’s some one among the company that can oblige. Excuse me, ladies, is there anybody here that’s a midwife?

Eh, what? Yes, my missus is a very good hand in that line. Wake up, Hepzibah, you’re wanted.

[Mother gets up.

What is it? (Father whispers.) Oh, yes, of course.

Very good of you, I’m sure. I wouldn’t have had this happen for the world. It all comes of being soft-hearted and letting people in against one’s better judgment. She’s in the stable over there, in the far corner—you’ll know it by the brown ox being there. Here, take this lantern.

I’ll carry the lantern to light the kind midwife.

Indeed, my good man, you’ll do no such thing. We don’t want any husbands hanging around. This is a woman’s job. Oh, dear! oh, dear! we shall none of us get any sleep to-night. And I don’t suppose for one moment you thought to bring any proper swaddling-clothes with you.

Yes, ma’am, indeed we came provided. The midwife will find everything needful in our saddle-bags.

[Mother disappears into stable. The family group settles down again.

Well, that’s a mercy. Bless me, what an upset!

Sweet mistress, do I gather we’re expecting an addition to the company?

Yes, indeed, sir, and I’m sure I’m very sorry for all this disturbance. It’s this man’s wife been taken with her pains, sir, and I really don’t wonder, riding up all the way from Nazareth, and over these bad roads. It’s a wicked thing, sir, isn’t it, that decent folk should be jostled about and sent travelling willy-nilly, just because the Government takes it into its head to have a census.

Ah! it’s a shame, that it is.

Very trying indeed.

We had to bed them down in the stable—along with the ox and the ass—and where we’re to put the child, I really don’t know. There isn’t a cradle in the place. I had one, but I gave it to my daughter when she married. You’ll have to use the manger, that’s all. I’ll go and find you some old sacking to line it with.

God will reward you for all your kindness.

Oh, well, it’s all in the day’s work, I suppose.

[Exit Landlady, left (L.U.).

We’d better be getting along to the sheep now. Thank you kindly for the wine, sir. Good luck to you, Master Carpenter. May your good lady have a light childbirth.

Ay, truly, and bring you a bonny baby to bless you.

I thank you both from my heart.

[Exeunt Shepherds, right. Gate is noisily barred after them.

Take courage, good man. These things happen every day. It’s sure to be all right. Here, I’ll have a wager with you. What odds will you lay me it’s a boy?

It would be robbing you, young sir. I know it will be a boy.

Hark at him! Every father is certain it will be a boy.

And every Jewish mother is certain it will be the Messiah. Isn’t that so, carpenter?

That is so.

And what are you going to call your Messiah when you get him?

His name shall be called Jesus; for he was so named of an angel before he was conceived in the womb.

Jesus? and what does that mean?

Oh, it’s quite a common Jewish name. It means liberator, a deliverer, a saviour—that sort of thing.

He is to be called Jesus, because he shall save his people from their sins. The angel said so to his mother.

He seems to have been a very communicative and explicit angel. What else did he say to your wife?

He said, “The Holy Ghost shall come upon thee and the power of the most High shall overshadow thee; therefore that holy thing that shall be born of thee shall be called the Son of God.”

The son of a god. The expression seems very familiar. Our Greek mythology is full of such tales. Personally, I am an agnostic, but I am always willing to learn. Pray tell me, carpenter, did the god manifest himself in a shower of gold, as Jupiter did to Danae?

Be quiet, Philip. The God of Israel is nothing like your heathen deities. He is a spirit, and works, not after the flesh, but after the spirit. Besides, your own philosophers will tell you that your Olympic myths are themselves no more than symbols of the working of the spirit upon the flesh.

So they say, indeed. But I believe the whole thing is nothing but a pack of fairy-tales.

I don’t know, Philip. Sometimes I have wondered whether the Son of God, when He comes, might not fulfil your prophecies as well as ours. The hearts of all men have felt obscurely that God should somehow reveal Himself—walk as a man with men—I do not know. Does not Aeschylus speak somewhere of a Zeus that should know human suffering?

Yes; in the Eumenides. But I thought your God was rather an exclusive deity, and never troubled Himself about any but His chosen people.

I know. But we insist very loudly that He is God of the whole earth. One would expect Him to take some interest in the outlying portions of His dominions. What do you say, carpenter?

[Pharisee gets up and comes across, right.

I do not know at all, sir. I am a plain ignorant man. I try only to do my duty and obey the word of God without asking too many questions. But here is a Pharisee coming across to us. He is no doubt learned in the Scriptures. Perhaps he can tell us.

Why, if it isn’t my old friend Zadok. You seem to be restless, sir. I hope our talk hasn’t disturbed you.

The snoring of Aaron ben Isaac the merchant is a curse more intolerable than all the ten plagues of Egypt. The bellowing of fat bulls of Bashan is silence by comparison.

You have come in time to settle a theological argument. My friend here says that the God of Israel is lord of the whole earth, and in consequence the Messiah will be the saviour of the Gentiles as well as of the Jews. Do you support that opinion?

Certainly not. It is blasphemous and ridiculous. He will set his foot upon the necks of the nations, and the heathen will be cast into outer darkness with wailing and gnashing of teeth. I hope you are answered. This inn seems to be very noisy to-night. I am going outside to try and get a little peace and quietness. (He goes out by door to stair, left (L.U.), passing Landlady, who goes into stable (C.B.).)

What a very dogmatic person! It must be marvellous to feel so positive about everything. I never feel certain of anything.

That is the malady of you Greeks—you are blown about with every wind. Ours is to shut ourselves up tight in tradition and exclude every breath of fresh air. If only we could somehow wed the purity of our religion to the intellectual vigour of your philosophy! Well, never mind. Sing to us, Philip, and take our minds off our worries.

Will it not disturb the company?

If they can sleep through each other’s snoring, they can sleep through anything. Sing softly.

Very well. (Sings.) “Golden Apollo——” (He breaks off; to Joseph, politely.) You will excuse my singing about Apollo. The words are of no importance, but the tune is pretty. (Sings.)

[The Centurion comes in, right, and speaks to the Sentry, who wakes his companion to go on guard in his place. The Centurion picks his way slowly across the stage, lending momentary attention to the song and going to stand by entrance, left.

[Merchant rolls over with a loud snore and snort; they all laugh.

There is the comment of the commercial mind. You may rive his ears, but never his heart. Try again.

There is no more to that song. Take the lute yourself.

I will sing you an old Jewish tale. (Sings. After verse 1, the other two join in the chorus.)

[An ox lows.

Listen! What was that?

Only an ox lowing. Sing the next verse.

[Centurion goes out, left.

[An ass brays.

Listen again.

It is only the braying of an ass. Go on. Never mind the competition.

Well sung, all! There is nothing like music to pass the time away. How goes the night?

[Centurion reappears, left (L.U.).

It is the dark hour before the dawn. Hark!

[The cry of the Child is heard.

That sounds more like it. Congratulations, carpenter.

[Enter Landlady from stable.

Here comes our good hostess, grinning from ear to ear. How about it, mistress? What’s the news?

Come hither, Master Carpenter, and see! Your good lady is lighter of a splendid son.

Praise be to God!

I should have lost my bet. Congratulations again. So you were lending a hand after all, hostess? You seem very much pleased about it all.

[Centurion works his way down on left.

Well, sir, when it comes to babies, even innkeepers has their feelings. And the dear mother is such a sweet person—it’s a pleasure to do anything for her. A beautiful child, and both doing fine. Come along, father, and have a look. You’ll be that proud you won’t know yourself.

The dayspring from on high hath visited us.

[Joseph follows the Landlady into the stable. The Centurion crosses briskly left to right in front of the platform.

Well, well—that bit of excitement’s over. Hullo, Centurion, you still on the prowl? Have you heard the glad tidings? The carpenter’s wife has presented him with a son.

The gods be favourable to the boy!

And there you are! Kingdoms rise and fall, wars are waged, politicians wrangle, trade suffers, poor men starve, philosophers exchange insults and agree in nothing except that times are very evil and mankind rapidly going to the dogs. And yet, when one more soul is born into this highly unsatisfactory world, everybody conspires to be delighted.

And every time his parents are persuaded that he’s going to turn out something wonderful, whereas, if they only knew it, he’s destined, as likely as not, to finish up between two thieves on Crucifixion Hill. It all makes me feel very old and disillusioned.

Don’t you worry, sir. You’ll get younger as you get older.

At any rate, I suppose we can now hope for a little sleep.

[Knocking at the gate.

Oh, Hades!

Now then, what the devil do you want?