CHAPTER I
Doctor John Faustus, whose parentage howsoever hitherto informed, is known to be base, his father when he was at the best, but the son of a poor Farmer, his Mother the daughter of one of the same condition, born in a small village called Kundling in Slesia, brought up in literature at Gracovia, after at Wittenberg, whose life made him famous, and death notorious: being thus tormented and torn in pieces, at the time appointed betwixt the Devils and him, moved by this example woeful and lamentable enough, the hearts of the Students and Scholars which were witnesses of his distraughture, that with an inward terror of conscience vexed and tormented, they departed and declared the whole volumes of his detestable life, which afore his Tragedy was thus acted, were not known. Christopher Wagner, his familiar servant unto whom he had committed the secrets of his bosom, and had intimated unto him whatever his four and twenty years’ familiarity with the black Art, and more black Devils had taught him: He after the death of his thus slain Master musing at everything thus done, everything thus done being wonderful: (as men do whom fear makes passionate and meditation of former loss urgeth a latter augment of fresh sorrows): in a distraughtful fury (the Company of Students being departed, which were eye witnesses of the Doctor’s lamentable end) conveyed himself unto his Master’s Library, viewing with sorrowful eyes the only Monuments of his life, the disputations betwixt him and Mephostophiles, his answers and demands, and else whatsoever questions moved or disputed of betwixt the Devils and him, and memorials of his Heavens and Hells voyages, his conveyance with many the like comical journeys. The boy of a sudden fell into a deep considering of his former merriments, sports and delights, in so much that in this conceit he flung out of this study, as if he meant to bury the remembrance of these matters by contempt and negligence: coming into the same Hall wherein his Master’s latest Tragedy was performed, sighing for his want, he remembered (for as then he lately read it) how that one Article to the which his Master had bound Mephostophiles was, that after his death he should be a Spirit in nature and essence as others were. The Wag at this began to smile (oh how such things seeming pleasant make fools’ hearts merry) conceiving with himself how to make his once Master become his man, and to have the number of his spiritual followers doubled, scorning the alonely attendance of one servant. To this therefore he determined a time for the raising of his Master’s spirit: and therewith he fell to read earnestly of other matters, so long that he began to leave as wearied and wearied began to muse. Suddenly the air began to receive an alteration and change with a thick foggy mist, as if it would have shut up the desired day from man’s view, the winds raged, the thunder lifted up his voice above the common strain, hail and rain immediately following, and all these but the ordinary presages of an appearing Spirit. At this Kit began to tremble, not as afraid of that which came, but struck with inward horror of conscience, thinking that no other time had been appointed to be his doomsday. Suddenly (for always such haps are sudden) the doors flew open as if they would have fled from flying, and in all pomp entered as it were the Prologue of a Comedy, a fellow so short and little as if he should be of one year, and yet not so brief as ill-favoured, in his hands a Club, on his head a Crown of Laurel, riding upon a low Mule, his name was Gomory, a strong and mighty Duke, the ruler of six and twenty Legions: and next in bravery appeared Volac, a great Governor, in the shape of a Boy with wings like an Angel of Hell, seeming to be of old rusty iron, riding upon a Dragon with four heads, in his hands he held a flaming Torch to give light to the after-comers and beholders: next after him appeared Asmoday, a King mighty and puissant, ragged and bristled like a Boar on foot, bearing a banner or a lance. After him issued Lucifer the King of the Orient with the four Monarchs of his dominions, betwixt them were two mighty Spaniels which drew in a fiery Cart Doctor John Faustus, whom if reason had not better ruled Wagner would have saluted, for so natural was his semblance, so lively his countenance, as if it had either been a new Faustus, or not the old murdered Faustus, but the fear which his Master’s harm put him in, cast him besides the renewing of his old acquaintance, after these came divers others with trumpets and excellent melody.
This right marvellous triumph thus presented, each one did his humble obeisance, the best beginning (though good there were none) and in the end with huge tumult and echoing of trumpets they crowned him a King, which when they had done, with the like ceremonies they conveyed out again the Doctor whom his wretchedness made a King, and his new King-ship nothing. Wagner started as if he had now begun to marvel, amazed at this merry Interlude, having recovered his memory again, he began softly to speak to himself in such-like manner. Is this (quoth he) the honour my Master hath in Hell? Is this the reverence with which the Fiends infernal use to entertain such guests? O ye Spirits of Hell, and ye even now revived Emperors of great Limbus, from whence have you drawn this extraordinary humanity, is it to scorn poor Faustus or to mock Wagner that you shew such reverence to a vile object, what then would they do to Wagner who is worthy to have a fitter servant than their King? At these words he blushed exceedingly, and began to rage very grievously with his conscience’s terror, and with some few tears repenting his irreligious conclusion, rose up from the ground, and supposing it to be but an illusion, dream, or a temptation, or else some conceit proceeding from his moist and melancholic fantasy, overpressed with too many vapours, raised up by continual thought into his Pores: wherefore he went forthwith into the streets (so much he distrusted himself) and demanded whether it rained, hailed, or thundered, and it was answered that it neither rained, hailed, nor thundered. Wagner, albeit he was newly revived from a fear, and scarcely thoroughly wakened from this his great terror, yet with this comical jest his decayed spirits began to recover their old strength and power, turning these great braveries of Devils into a merriment, and his conceived fear into a mere fancy. This was the first time that ever Faustus appeared unto his servant Wagner, who recited this unto his companions as a matter of great truth and little moment.