The tyrannical king had given orders that the
duke’s children should be placed under the scaffold, so that the blood of their father might drop through the boards upon their white robes. The cries which the wretched parent uttered at the moment his darlings were torn from him struck terror to the hearts of all around. Tristan alone, who was the executioner, and the king’s most intimate friend, looked on with perfect coolness, and felt the sharpness of the axe. Faustus imagined that the groans of the unhappy parent would excite Heaven to avenge outraged humanity. He lifted his tearful eyes towards the bright blue sky, which seemed to smile upon the horrid scene. For a moment he felt himself strongly tempted to command the Devil to rescue the duke from the hands of the executioner; but his troubled and agitated mind was incapable of coming to any resolution. The duke fell upon his knees; he heard the shrieks and lamentations of his children who were beneath the scaffold; his own infamous death no longer occupied his mind; he felt for the last time, and felt only for these unfortunates; big tears hung in his eyes, his lips
trembled; the executioner gave the fatal blow, and the boiling blood of the father trickled down upon the trembling children. Bathed with paternal gore, they were then led upon the scaffold. They were shown the livid headless trunk, were made to kiss it, and then re-conducted to their prison, where they were chained up against the damp wall, so that whenever they took repose the whole weight of their bodies rested on the galling fetters. To increase their misery, their teeth were torn out from time to time.
Faustus, overwhelmed by the frightful scene he had witnessed, returned shuddering to the inn, and commanded the Devil to annihilate the tyrant who thus made a sport of human suffering.
Devil. I will not annihilate him, for that would be against the interest of hell; and why should the Devil put a stop to his cruelties when by some they are viewed with patience? If I were to further the projects of thy blind rage, who would escape thy vengeance?
Faustus. Should I not be performing a noble part, if, like unto another Hercules, I were to
roam the world, and purge its thrones of such monsters?
Devil. Short-sighted man, does not your own corrupt nature prove that you must have these kings? And would not new monsters arise out of their ashes? There would then be no end of murder; the people would be divided, and thousands would fall the victims of civil war. You see here millions of bipeds like yourself, who suffer a man like themselves to despoil them of their property, to flay them alive, and to murder them at his pleasure. Did not they witness the execution of this duke, who died innocent as any lamb? Did they not gaze with pleasure, mingled with agony and grief, upon the tragic spectacle? Does not that prove they deserve their lot, and are unworthy of a better? Could they not crush the tyrant at a blow? If they have the power of relieving themselves in their own hands, wherefore should we pity their sufferings?
Here the disputation ceased.
Faustus shortly afterwards became acquainted with a gentleman of sense and education, who had