scheme. His words and his writings operated prodigiously upon the minds of all those who would much rather be confused than think clearly. This is the case with the greater part of mankind; and, as the hours of life glide away very pleasantly when self-love is tickled, it was impossible that he should be without disciples, for he flattered every body. Our monk did not confine his researches to man alone; for he descended to the more ignoble beasts of the earth, allotted to them their qualities by examining their faces and the structure of their bodies, and imagined that he had made a wonderful discovery when he proved—from the mighty claws, the teeth, and the aspect of the lion, and from the tender, light fabric of the hare—why the lion was not a hare, and the hare a lion. He was strangely surprised that he had succeeded in pointing out so clearly the appropriate and unalterable signs of brute nature, and to be able to apply them to man,—although society has so much accustomed the latter to mask his features, that they are rarely to be seen in their primitive state. Not satisfied with these triumphs,
our monk descended even into the kingdoms of the dead—tore skulls from the graves, and the bones of animals from the muck-heaps; and showed his visitors why the dead were dead, and, from their bones, how it was impossible that they should be otherwise than dead. In a word, he proved, clearly and unanswerably, that death never yet came without a cause.
The Devil was well aware of the general infatuation, and perceived that, while he and Faustus sat at dinner in the public room, some of the company, and even the innkeeper himself, were surveying them with the utmost attention; and were communicating to each other, in whispers, the result of their observations, and showing the profiles which they had secretly taken. The fame of the wonderful monk had long since reached the ears of Faustus; but he had hitherto paid so little attention to it, that he now hardly knew what to make of these signs and whisperings. When they arrived in the market-place, they were surprised by a new and extraordinary spectacle. This resort was the true school for physiognomists. Every
one there could single out his man, lay his visage upon the balance, and weigh out the powers of his mind. Some stood gazing at horses, asses, goats, swine, dogs, and sheep. Others held between their fingers spiders, butterflies, grasshoppers, and other insects, and endeavoured to ascertain what their instinct might be from an attentive survey of their exterior. Some were employed in judging, from the weight of jaw-bones or the sharpness of teeth, to what animals they belonged. But when Faustus and the Devil advanced among them, each man desisted from his occupation, and began to cry out, “What a nose! what eyes! what a searching glance! what a soft and beautiful curve of the chin! what strength! what intuition! what penetration! what a cleanly-made figure! what a vigorous and majestic gait! what strength of limb! how uniform and harmonious is his whole frame!” “I would give I know not what for the autographs of the gentlemen,” said a weaver, “in order that I might judge, by their handwriting, of the quickness of their thoughts.” The Devil happening to knit his brows from impatience of
this folly, one of the physiognomists instantly said, “The internal force of the lion, which the gentleman possesses, has been aroused by some external provocation, or some trifling thought.”
Faustus was laughing at all this, when suddenly a beautiful female looked down upon him from a window, and cried, in sweet amazement: “Holy Catherine! what a noble head! what soft and angelic pensiveness in the eyes! what a sweet and lovely physiognomy!” These melodious words sunk into the heart of Faustus. He looked up to the window: her eyes met his for a moment ere she drew herself back. Faustus whispered to the Devil: “I will not quit this town till I have possessed that maiden: what voluptuousness beams in her eyes!” They had scarcely entered a side street, when one of the physiognomists came up and asked them very civilly for “the physiognomy of their writing,” assuring them that no stranger had hitherto refused him this favour, and he hoped and trusted that they would not. He thereupon pulled out his album, and offered it to Faustus, at the same time producing pen and ink.
Faustus. Not so fast, my friend; one good turn deserves another. Tell me, first, who the maiden is that I this moment saw at the window of yonder house, and whose countenance is so celestial.
Physiognomist. Ah! she is an angel in every sense of the word. Our illustrious master has often assured us, that her eyes are the very mirrors of chastity, her lovely mouth only formed to express the inspiration of a heart filled with heavenly ideas; that her brow is the polished shield of virtue, against which all temptations, all earthly sin, will be shivered; that her nose snuffs the odours of the fields of bliss; and that she is the most perfect cast of ideal beauty ever yet permitted to appear in the world.
Faustus. Truly, you have depicted her to me with more than earthly colours; and now tell me her situation in life, and her name.
Physiognomist. She is the daughter of a physician; but her father and mother being lately dead, she lives by herself on her own property. Her name is Angelica.