Scene.— Würzburg; a garden in the environs. 1512.
Festus,
Paracelsus,
Michal.
Paracelsus.
Come close to me, dear friends; still closer; thus!
Close to the heart which, though long time roll
Ere it again beat quicker, pressed to yours,
As now it beats—perchance a long, long time—At least henceforth your memories shall
Quiet and fragrant as befits their home.
Nor shall my memory want a home in yours—Alas, that it requires too well such
Forgiving love as shall embalm it there!
For if you would remember me aright,
As I was born to be, you must
All fitful strange and moody
Which e'er confused my better spirit, to
Only on moments such as these, dear friends!—My heart no truer, but my words and
More true to it: as Michal, some months hence,
Will say, "this autumn was a pleasant time,"For some few sunny days; and
Its bleak wind, hankering after pining leaves.
Autumn would fain be sunny;
I would
Liker my nature's truth: and both are frail,
And both beloved, for all our frailty.
Michal. Aureole!
Paracelsus.
Drop by drop! she is weeping like a child!
Not so!
I am content—more than content;
Nay, autumn wins you best by this its
Appeal to sympathy for its decay:
Look up, sweet Michal, nor esteem the
Your stained and drooping vines their grapes bow down,
Nor blame those creaking trees bent with their fruit,
That apple-tree with a rare
Of peeping blooms sprinkled its wealth among!
Then for the winds—what wind that ever
Shall vex that ash which overlooks you both,
So proud it wears its berries?
Ah, at length,
The old smile meet for her, the lady of
Sequestered nest!—this kingdom,
Alone by one old populous green
Tenanted by the ever-busy flies,
Grey crickets and shy lizards and quick spiders,
Each family of the silver-threaded moss—Which, look through near, this way, and it appearsA stubble-field or a cane-brake, a
Of bulrush whitening in the sun: laugh now!
Fancy the crickets, each one in his house,
Looking out, wondering at the world—or best,
Yon painted snail with his gay shell of dew,
Travelling to see the glossy balls high
Hung by the caterpillar, like gold lamps.
Michal.
In truth we have lived carelessly and well.
Paracelsus.
And shall, my perfect pair!—each, trust me,
For the other; nay, your very hair, when mixed,
Is of one hue.
For where save in this
Shall you two walk, when I am far away,
And wish me prosperous fortune?
Stay: that
Shall never wave its tangles lightly and softly,
As a queen's languid and imperial
Which scatters crowns among her lovers, but
Shall be reminded to predict to
Some great success!
Ah see, the sun sinks
Behind Saint Saviour's: wholly gone, at last!
Festus.
Now,
Aureole, stay those wandering eyes awhile!
You are ours to-night, at least; and while you
Of Michal and her tears,
I thought that
Could willing leave what he so seemed to love:
But that last look destroys my dream—that
As if, where'er you gazed, there stood a star!
How far was Würzburg with its church and
And garden-walls and all things they contain,
From that look's far alighting?
Paracelsus. I but
And looked alike from simple joy to
The beings I love best, shut in so
From all rude chances like to be my lot,
That, when afar, my weary
To lose awhile its care in soothing
Of them, their pleasant features, looks and words,—Needs never hesitate, nor
Encroaching trouble may have reached them too,
Nor have recourse to fancy's busy
And fashion even a wish in their
Beyond what they possess already here;
But, unobstructed, may at once
Itself in them, assured how well they fare.
Beside, this Festus knows he holds me
Whom quiet and its charms arrest in vain,
One scarce aware of all the joys I quit,
Too filled with airy hopes to make
Of soft delights his own heart garners up:
Whereas behold how much our sense of
That's beauteous proves alike!
When Festus
That every common pleasure of the
Affects me as himself; that I have
As varied appetite for joy
From common things; a stake in life, in short,
Like his; a stake which rash pursuit of
That life affords not, would as soon destroy;—He may convince himself that, this in view,
I shall act well advised.
And last, because,
Though heaven and earth and all things were at stake,
Sweet Michal must not weep, our parting eve.
Festus.
True: and the eve is deepening, and we
As little anxious to begin our
As though to-morrow I could hint of
As we paced arm-in-arm the cheerful
At sun-dawn; or could whisper it by fits(Trithemius busied with his class the while)In that dim chamber where the noon-streaks
Half-frightened by the awful tomes around;
Or in some grassy lane unbosom
From even-blush to midnight: but, to-morrow!
Have I full leave to tell my inmost mind?
We have been brothers, and henceforth the
Will rise between us:—all my freest mind?'T is the last night, dear Aureole!
Paracelsus. Oh, say on!
Devise some test of love, some arduous
To be performed for you: say on!
If
Be spent the while, the better!
Recall how
My wondrous plans and dreams and hopes and
Have—never wearied you, oh no!—as
Recall, and never vividly as now,
Your true affection, born when
And its green hills were all the world to us;
And still increasing to this night which
My further stay at Würzburg.
Oh, one
You shall be very proud!
Say on, dear friends!
Festus.
In truth? 'T is for my proper peace, indeed,
Rather than yours; for vain all projects
To stay your course:
I said my latest
Is fading even now.
A story
Of some far embassy despatched to
The favour of an eastern king, and
The gifts they offered proved but dazzling
Shed from the ore-beds native to his clime.
Just so, the value of repose and love,
I meant should tempt you, better far than
You seem to comprehend; and yet
No whit from projects where repose nor
Has part.
Paracelsus. Once more?
Alas!
As I foretold.
Festus.
A solitary briar the bank puts
To save our swan's nest floating out to sea.
Paracelsus.
Dear Festus, hear me.
What is it you wish?
That I should lay aside my heart's pursuit,
Abandon the sole ends for which I live,
Reject God's great commission, and so die!
You bid me listen for your true love's sake:
Yet how has grown that love?
Even in a
And patient cherishing of the self-same
It now would quell; as though a mother
To stay the lusty manhood of the
Once weak upon her knees.
I was not
Informed and fearless from the first, but
From aught which marked me out apart from men:
I would have lived their life, and died their death,
Lost in their ranks, eluding destiny:
But you first guided me through doubt and fear,
Taught me to know mankind and know myself;
And now that I am strong and full of hope,
That, from my soul,
I can reject all
Save those your earnest words made plain to me,
Now that I touch the brink of my design,
When I would have a triumph in their eyes,
A glad cheer in their voices—Michal weeps,
And Festus ponders gravely!
Festus. When you
To hear my purpose . . .
Paracelsus. Hear it?
I can
Beforehand all this evening's conference!'T is this way,
Michal, that he uses: first,
Or he declares, or I, the leading
Of our best scheme of life, what is man's
And what God's will; no two faiths e'er
As his with mine.
Next, each of us
Faith should be acted on as best we may;
Accordingly,
I venture to
My plan, in lack of better, for
The path which God's will seems to authorize.
Well, he discerns much good in it,
This motive worthy, that hope plausible,
A danger here to be avoided,
An oversight to be repaired: in
Our two minds go together—all the
Approved by him,
I gladly recognize,
All he counts bad,
I thankfully discard,
And nought forbids my looking up at
For some stray comfort in his cautious brow.
When, lo!
I learn that, spite of all, there
Some innate and inexplicable
Of failure in my scheme; so that at
It all amounts to this—the sovereign
That we devote ourselves to God, is
In living just as though no God there were;
A life which, prompted by the sad and
Folly of man,
Festus abhors the most;
But which these tenets sanctify at once,
Though to less subtle wits it seems the same,
Consider it how they may.
Michal. Is it so,
He speaks so calmly and kindly: is it so?
Paracelsus.
Reject those glorious visions of God's
And man's design; laugh loud that God should
Vast longings to direct us; say how
Power satiates these, or lust, or gold;
I
The world's cry well, and how to answer it.
But this ambiguous warfare . . .
Festus. . . .
Wearies
That you will grant no last leave to your
To urge it?—for his sake, not yours?
I
To send my soul in good hopes after you;
Never to sorrow that uncertain
Erringly apprehended, a new
Ill understood, begot rash trust in you,
Had share in your undoing.
Paracelsus. Choose your side,
Hold or renounce: but meanwhile blame me
Because I dare to act on your own views,
Nor shrink when they point onward, nor espyA peril where they most ensure success.
Festus.
Prove that to me—but that!
Prove you
Within their warrant, nor presumptuous
God's labour laid on you; prove, all you covetA mortal may expect; and, most of all,
Prove the strange course you now affect, will
To its attainment—and I bid you speed,
Nay, count the minutes till you venture forth!
You smile; but I had gathered from slow thought—Much musing on the fortunes of my friend—Matter I deemed could not be urged in vain;
But it all leaves me at my need: in
And fragments I must venture what remains.
Michal.
Ask at once,
Festus, wherefore he should scorn . . .
Festus.
Stay,
Michal:
Aureole,
I speak
And gravely, knowing well, whate'er your error,
This is no ill-considered choice of yours,
No sudden fancy of an ardent boy.
Not from your own confiding words
Am I aware your passionate heart long
Gave birth to, nourished and at length
This scheme.
I will not speak of Einsiedeln,
Where I was born your elder by some
Only to watch you fully from the first:
In all beside, our mutual tasks were
Even then—'t was mine to have you in my
As you had your own soul and those
Which filled it when, to crown your dearest wish,
With a tumultuous heart, you left with
Our childhood's home to join the favoured
Whom, here,
Trithemius condescends to teachA portion of his lore: and not one
Of those so favoured, whom you now despise,
Came earnest as you came, resolved, like you,
To grasp all, and retain all, and
By patient toil a wide renown like his.
Now, this new ardour which supplants the oldI watched, too; 't was significant and strange,
In one matched to his soul's content at
With rivals in the search for wisdom's prize,
To see the sudden pause, the total change;
From contest, the transition to repose—From pressing onward as his fellows pressed,
To a blank idleness, yet most
The dull stagnation of a soul, content,
Once foiled, to leave betimes a thriveless quest.
That careless bearing, free from all
Even of contempt for what it ceased to seek—Smiling humility, praising much, yet
What it professed to praise—though not so
Maintained but that rare outbreaks, fierce and brief,
Revealed the hidden scorn, as quickly curbed.
That ostentatious show of past defeat,
That ready acquiescence in contempt,
I deemed no other than the letting
His shivered sword, of one about to
Upon his foe's throat; but it was not thus:
Not that way looked your brooding purpose then.
For after-signs disclosed, what you confirmed,
That you prepared to task to the
Your strength, in furtherance of a certain
Which—while it bore the name your rivals
Their own most puny efforts—was so
In scope that it included their best flights,
Combined them, and desired to gain one
In place of many,—the secret of the world,
Of man, and man's true purpose, path and fate.—That you, not nursing as a mere vague
This purpose, with the sages of the past,
Have struck upon a way to this, if
You trust be true, which following, heart and soul,
You, if a man may, dare aspire to know:
And that this aim shall differ from a
Of aims alike in character and kind,
Mostly in this,—that in itself
Shall its reward be, not an alien
Blending therewith; no hope nor fear nor
Nor woe, to elsewhere move you, but this
Devotion to sustain you or betray:
Thus you aspire.
Paracelsus. You shall not state it thus:
I should not differ from the dreamy
You speak of.
I profess no other
In the selection of my lot, than
My ready answer to the will of
Who summons me to be his organ.
Whose innate strength supports them shall
No better than the sages.
Festus. Such the aim, then,
God sets before you; and't is doubtless
That he appoint no less the way of
Than the desire to praise; for, though I
With you, the setting forth such praise to
The natural end and service of a man,
And hold such praise is best attained when
Attains the general welfare of his kind—Yet this, the end, is not the instrument.
Presume not to serve God apart from
Appointed channel as he wills shall
Imperfect tributes, for that sole
Valued perchance!
He seeks not that his
Blaze, careless how, so that they do but blaze.
Suppose this, then; that God selected
To know (heed well your answers, for my
Shall meet implicitly what they affirm)I cannot think you dare annex to
Selection aught beyond a steadfast will,
An intense hope; nor let your gifts
Scorn or neglect of ordinary
Conducive to success, make
Dispense with man's endeavour.
Now, dare you
Your inmost heart, and candidly
Whether you have not rather wild
For this distinction than
Of its existence? whether you
The path to the fulfilment of your
Clear as that purpose—and again, that
Clear as your yearning to be singled
For its pursuer.
Dare you answer this?
Paracelsus[after a pause].
No,
I have nought to fear!
Who will may
The secret'st workings of my soul.
What
It be so?—if indeed the strong
Eclipse the aim in me?—if splendour
Upon the outset of my path alone,
And duskest shade succeed?
What fairer
Shall I require to my authentic
Than this fierce energy?—this instinct
Because its nature is to
By the security of no broad course,
Without success forever in its eyes!
How know I else such glorious fate my own,
But in the restless irresistible
That works within me?
Is it for human
To institute such impulses?—still less,
To disregard their promptings!
What should
Do, kept among you all; your loves, your cares,
Your life—all to be mine?
Be sure that
Ne'er dooms to waste the strength he deigns impart!
Ask the geier-eagle why she stoops at
Into the vast and unexplored abyss,
What full-grown power informs her from the first,
Why she not marvels, strenuously
The silent boundless regions of the sky!
Be sure they sleep not whom God needs!
Nor
Their holding light his charge, when every
That finds that charge delayed, is a new death.
This for the faith in which I trust; and henceI can abjure so well the idle
These pedants strive to learn and teach;
Black Arts,
Great Works, the Secret and Sublime, forsooth—Let others prize: too intimate a
Connects me with our God!
A sullen
To do my bidding, fallen and hateful
To help me—what are these, at best,
God helping,
God directing everywhere,
So that the earth shall yield her secrets up,
And every object there be charged to strike,
Teach, gratify her master God appoints?
And I am young, my Festus, happy and free!
I can devote myself;
I have a
To give;
I, singled out for this, the One!
Think, think! the wide East, where all Wisdom sprung;
The bright South, where she dwelt; the hopeful North,
All are passed o'er—it lights on me! 'T is
New hopes should animate the world, new
Should dawn from new revealings to a
Weighed down so long, forgotten so long; thus
The heaven reserved for us at last
Creatures whom no unwonted splendours blind,
But ardent to confront the unclouded blaze.
Whose beams not seldom blessed their pilgrimage,
Not seldom glorified their life below.
Festus.
My words have their old fate and make faint
Against your glowing periods.
Call this, truth—Why not pursue it in a fast retreat,
Some one of Learning's many palaces,
After approved example?—seeking
Calm converse with the great dead, soul to soul,
Who laid up treasure with the like intent—So lift yourself into their airy place,
And fill out full their unfulfilled careers,
Unravelling the knots their baffled
Pronounced inextricable, true!—but
Far less confused.
A fresh eye, a fresh hand,
Might do much at their vigour's waning-point;
Succeeding with new-breathed new-hearted force,
As at old games the runner snatched the
From runner still: this way success might be.
But you have coupled with your enterprise,
An arbitrary self-repugnant
Of seeking it in strange and untried paths.
What books are in the desert?
Writes the
The secret of her yearning in vast
Where yours will fall the first of human feet?
Has wisdom sat there and recorded
You press to read?
Why turn aside from
To visit, where her vesture never glanced,
Now—solitudes consigned to
By God's decree, which who shall dare impugn?
Now—ruins where she paused but would not stay,
Old ravaged cities that, renouncing her,
She called an endless curse on, so it came:
Or worst of all, now—men you visit, men,
Ignoblest troops who never heard her
Or hate it, men without one gift from
Or Athens,—these shall Aureole's teachers be!
Rejecting past example, practice, precept,
Aidless'mid these he thinks to stand alone:
Thick like a glory round the
Your rivals throng, the sages: here stand you!
Whatever you may protest, knowledge is
Paramount in your love; or for her
You would collect all help from every source—Rival, assistant, friend, foe, all would
In the broad class of those who showed her haunts,
And those who showed them not.
Paracelsus. What shall I say?
Festus, from childhood I have been
By a fire—by a true fire, or faint or fierce,
As from without some master, so it seemed,
Repressed or urged its current: this but
Expresses what would I convey: but ratherI will believe an angel ruled me thus,
Than that my soul's own workings, own high nature,
So became manifest.
I knew not
What whispered in the evening, and spoke
At midnight.
If some mortal, born too soon,
Were laid away in some great trance—the
Coming and going all the while—till
His true time's advent; and could then
The words they spoke who kept watch by his bed,—Then I might tell more of the breath so
Upon my eyelids, and the fingers
Among my hair.
Youth is confused; yet
So dull was I but, when that spirit passed,
I turned to him, scarce consciously, as turnsA water-snake when fairies cross his sleep.
And having this within me and about
While Einsiedeln, its mountains, lakes and
Confined me—what oppressive joy was
When life grew plain, and I first viewed the thronged,
The everlasting concourse of mankind!
Believe that ere I joined them, ere I
The purpose of the pageant, or the
Consigned me in its ranks—while, just awake,
Wonder was freshest and delight most pure—'T was then that least supportable appearedA station with the brightest of the crowd,
A portion with the proudest of them all.
And from the tumult in my breast, this
Could I collect, that I must thenceforth
Or elevate myself far, far
The gorgeous spectacle.
I seemed to
At once to trample on, yet save mankind,
To make some unexampled
In their behalf, to wring some wondrous
From heaven or earth for them, to perish,
Eternal weal in the act: as who should
Pluck out the angry thunder from its cloud,
That, all its gathered flame discharged on him,
No storm might threaten summer's azure sleep:
Yet never to be mixed with men so
As to have part even in my own work,
In my own largess.
Once the feat achieved,
I would withdraw from their officious praise,
Would gently put aside their profuse thanks.
Like some knight traversing a wilderness,
Who, on his way, may chance to free a
Of desert-people from their dragon-foe;
When all the swarthy race press round to
His feet, and choose him for their king, and
Their poor tents, pitched among the sand-hills,
His realm: and he points, smiling, to his
Heavy with riveled gold, his
Gay set with twinkling stones—and to the East,
Where these must be displayed!
Festus. Good: let us
No more about your nature, "which first shrank"From all that marked you out apart from men!"Paracelsus.
I touch on that; these words but
The first mad impulse: 't was as brief as fond,
For as I gazed again upon the show,
I soon distinguished here and there a
Palm-wreathed and radiant, forehead and full eye.
Well pleased was I their state should thus at
Interpret my own thoughts:—"Behold the clue"To all," I rashly said, "and what I pine"To do, these have accomplished: we are peers."They know and therefore rule:
I, too, will know!"You were beside me,
Festus, as you say;
You saw me plunge in their pursuits whom
Is lavish to attest the lords of mind,
Not pausing to make sure the prize in
Would satiate my cravings when obtained,
But since they strove I strove.
Then came a
And strangling failure.
We aspired alike,
Yet not the meanest plodder,
Tritheim countsA marvel, but was all-sufficient, strong,
Or staggered only at his own vast wits;
While I was restless, nothing satisfied,
Distrustful, most perplexed.
I would slur
That struggle; suffice it, that I loathed
As weak compared with them, yet felt somehowA mighty power was brooding, taking
Within me; and this lasted till one
When, as I sat revolving it and more,
A still voice from without said—"Seest thou not,"Desponding child, whence spring defeat and loss?"Even from thy strength.
Consider: hast thou gazed"Presumptuously on wisdom's countenance,"No veil between; and can thy faltering hands,"Unguided by the brain the sight absorbs,"Pursue their task as earnest blinkers do"Whom radiance ne'er distracted?
Live their life"If thou wouldst share their fortune, choose their eyes"Unfed by splendour.
Let each task present"Its petty good to thee.
Waste not thy gifts"In profitless waiting for the gods' descent,"But have some idol of thine own to dress"With their array.
Know, not for knowing's sake,"But to become a star to men for ever;"Know, for the gain it gets, the praise it brings,"The wonder it inspires, the love it breeds:"Look one step onward, and secure that step!"And I smiled as one never smiles but once,
Then first discovering my own aim's extent,
Which sought to comprehend the works of God,
And God himself, and all God's
With the human mind;
I understood, no less,
My fellows' studies, whose true worth I saw,
But smiled not, well aware who stood by me.
And softer came the voice—"There is a way:"'T is hard for flesh to tread therein, imbued"With frailty—hopeless, if indulgence first"Have ripened inborn germs of sin to strength:"Wilt thou adventure for my sake and man's,"Apart from all reward?" And last it breathed—"Be happy, my good soldier;
I am by thee,"Be sure, even to the end!"—I answered not,
Knowing him.
As he spoke,
I was
With comprehension and a steadfast will;
And when he ceased, my brow was sealed his own.
If there took place no special change in me,
How comes it all things wore a different
Thenceforward?—pregnant with vast consequence,
Teeming with grand result, loaded with fate?
So that when, quailing at the mighty
Of secret truths which yearn for birth,
I
To contemplate undazzled some one truth,
Its bearings and effects alone—at
What was a speck expands into a star,
Asking a life to pass exploring thus,
Till I near craze.
I go to prove my soul!
I see my way as birds their trackless way.
I shall arrive! what time, what circuit first,
I ask not: but unless God send his
Or blinding fireballs, sleet or stifling snow,
In some time, his good time,
I shall arrive:
He guides me and the bird.
In his good time!
Michal.
Vex him no further,
Festus; it is so!
Festus.
Just thus you help me ever.
This would
Were it the trackless air, and not a
Inviting you, distinct with footprints
Of many a mighty marcher gone that way.
You may have purer views than theirs, perhaps,
But they were famous in their day—the
Remain.
At least accept the light they lend.
Paracelsus.
Their light! the sum of all is briefly this:
They laboured and grew famous, and the
Are best seen in a dark and groaning
Given over to a blind and endless
With evils, what of all their lore abates?
No;
I reject and spurn them
And all they teach.
Shall I still sit
Their dry wells, with a white lip and filmed eye,
While in the distance heaven is blue
Mountains where sleep the unsunned tarns?
Festus. And
As strong delusions have prevailed ere now.
Men have set out as gallantly to
Their ruin.
I have heard of such:
Avow all hitherto have failed and fallen.
Michal.
Nay,
Festus, when but as the pilgrims
Through the drear way, do you expect to
Their city dawn amid the clouds afar?
Paracelsus.
Ay, sounds it not like some old well-known tale?
For me,
I estimate their works and
So rightly, that at times I almost dreamI too have spent a life the sages' way,
And tread once more familiar paths.
PerchanceI perished in an arrogant
Ages ago; and in that act, a
For one more chance went up so earnest,
Instinct with better light let in by death,
That life was blotted out—not so
But scattered wrecks enough of it remain,
Dim memories, as now, when once more
The goal in sight again.
All which, indeed,
Is foolish, and only means—the flesh I wear,
The earth I tread, are not more clear to
Than my belief, explained to you or no.
Festus.
And who am I, to challenge and
That clear belief?
I will divest all fear.
Michal.
Then Aureole is God's commissary! he
Be great and grand—and all for us!
Paracelsus. No, sweet!
Not great and grand.
If I can serve mankind'T is well; but there our intercourse must end:
I never will be served by those I serve.
Festus.
Look well to this; here is a plague-spot, here,
Disguise it how you may! 'T is true, you
This scorn while by our side and loving us;'T is but a spot as yet: but it will
Into a hideous blotch if overlooked.
How can that course be safe which from the
Produces carelessness to human love?
It seems you have abjured the helps which
Who overpass their kind, as you would do,
Have humbly sought;
I dare not thoroughly
This matter, lest I learn too much.
Let
That popular praise would little
Your efforts, nor particular
Reward you; put reward aside;
You shall go forth upon your arduous task,
None shall assist you, none partake your toil,
None share your triumph: still you must
Some one to cast your glory on, to
Your rapture with.
Were I elect like you,
I would encircle me with love, and raiseA rampart of my fellows; it should
Impossible for me to fail, so
By gentle friends who made my cause their own.
They should ward off fate's envy—the great gift,
Extravagant when claimed by me alone,
Being so a gift to them as well as me.
If danger daunted me or ease seduced,
How calmly their sad eyes should gaze reproach!
Michal.
O Aureole, can I sing when all alone,
Without first calling, in my fancy,
To listen by my side—even I!
And you?
Do you not feel this?
Say that you feel this!
Paracelsus.
I feel't is pleasant that my aims, at
Allowed their weight, should be supposed to needA further strengthening in these goodly helps!
My course allures for its own sake, its
Intrinsic worth; and ne'er shall boat of
Adventure forth for gold and apes at once.
Your sages say, "if human, therefore weak:"If weak, more need to give myself
To my pursuit; and by its side, all else . . .
No matter!
I deny myself but
In waiving all assistance save its own.
Would there were some real sacrifice to make!
Your friends the sages threw their joys away,
While I must be content with keeping mine.
Festus.
But do not cut yourself from human weal!
You cannot thrive—a man that dares
To spend his life in service to his
For no reward of theirs, unbound to
By any tie; nor do so,
Aureole!
No—There are strange punishments for such.
Give up(Although no visible good flow thence) some
Of the glory to another; hiding thus,
Even from yourself, that all is for yourself.
Say, say almost to God—"I have done all"For her, not for myself!"Paracelsus. And who but
Was to rejoice in my success like you?
Whom should I love but both of you?
Festus. I know not:
But know this, you, that't is no will of
You should abjure the lofty claims you make;
And this the cause—I can no longer
To overlook the truth, that there would beA monstrous spectacle upon the earth,
Beneath the pleasant sun, among the trees:—A being knowing not what love is.
Hear me!
You are endowed with faculties which
Annexed to them as't were a
To summon meaner spirits to do their
And gather round them at their need;
Such with a love themselves can never feel,
Passionless'mid their passionate votaries.
I know not if you joy in this or no,
Or ever dream that common men can
On objects you prize lightly, but which
Their heart's sole treasure: the affections
Beauteous at most to you, which we must
Or die: and this strange quality accords,
I know not how, with you; sits well
That luminous brow, though in another it
An eating brand, a shame.
I dare not judge you.
The rules of right and wrong thus set aside,
There's no alternative—I own you
Of higher order, under other
Than bind us; therefore, curb not one bold glance!'T is best aspire.
Once mingled with us all . . .
Michal.
Stay with us,
Aureole! cast those hopes away,
And stay with us!
An angel warns me, too,
Man should be humble; you are very proud:
And God, dethroned, has doleful plagues for such!—Warns me to have in dread no quick repulse,
No slow defeat, but a complete success:
You will find all you seek, and perish so!
Paracelsus[after a pause].
Are these the barren firstfruits of my quest?
Is love like this the natural lot of all?
How many years of pain might one such hourO'erbalance?
Dearest Michal, dearest Festus,
What shall I say, if not that I
To justify your love; and will, dear friends,
In swerving nothing from my first resolves.
See, the great moon! and ere the mottled
Were wide awake,
I was to go.
It
You acquiesce at last in all save this—If I am like to compass what I
By the untried career I choose; and then,
If that career, making but small
Of much of life's delight, will yet
Sufficient to sustain my soul: for thusI understand these fond fears just expressed.
And first; the lore you praise and I neglect,
The labours and the precepts of old time,
I have not lightly disesteemed.
But, friends,
Truth is within ourselves; it takes no
From outward things, whate'er you may believe.
There is an inmost centre in us all,
Where truth abides in fulness; and around,
Wall upon wall, the gross flesh hems it in,
This perfect, clear perception—which is truth.
A baffling and perverting carnal
Binds it, and makes all error: and to know Rather consists in opening out a
Whence the imprisoned splendour may escape,
Than in effecting entry for a
Supposed to be without.
Watch
The demonstration of a truth, its birth,
And you trace back the effluence to its
And source within us; where broods radiance vast,
To be elicited ray by ray, as
Shall favour: chance—for hitherto, your
Even as he knows not how those beams are born,
As little knows he what unlocks their fount:
And men have oft grown old among their
To die case-hardened in their ignorance,
Whose careless youth had promised what long
Of unremitted labour ne'er performed:
While, contrary, it has chanced some idle day,
To autumn loiterers just as
As the midges in the sun, gives birth at
To truth—produced mysteriously as
Of cloud grown out of the invisible air.
Hence, may not truth be lodged alike in all,
The lowest as the highest? some slight
The interposing bar which binds a
And makes the idiot, just as makes the
Some film removed, the happy outlet
Truth issues proudly?
See this soul of ours!
How it strives weakly in the child, is
In manhood, clogged by sickness, back
By age and waste, set free at last by death:
Why is it, flesh enthrals it or enthrones?
What is this flesh we have to penetrate?
Oh, not alone when life flows still, do
And power emerge, but also when strange
Ruffles its current; in unused conjuncture,
When sickness breaks the body—hunger, watching,
Excess or languor—oftenest death's approach,
Peril, deep joy or woe.
One man shall
Through life surrounded with all stirring things,
Unmoved; and he goes mad: and from the
Of what he was, by his wild talk alone,
You first collect how great a spirit he hid.
Therefore, set free the soul alike in all,
Discovering the true laws by which the
Accloys the spirit!
We may not be
To cope with seraphs, but at least the
Shall cope with us.
Make no more giants,
God,
But elevate the race at once!
We
To put forth just our strength, our human strength,
All starting fairly, all equipped alike,
Gifted alike, all eagle-eyed, true-hearted—See if we cannot beat thine angels yet!
Such is my task.
I go to gather
The sacred knowledge, here and there
About the world, long lost or never found.
And why should I be sad or lorn of hope?
Why ever make man's good distinct from God's,
Or, finding they are one, why dare mistrust?
Who shall succeed if not one pledged like me?
Mine is no mad attempt to build a
Apart from his, like those who set
To find the nature of the spirit they bore,
And, taught betimes that all their gorgeous
Were only born to vanish in this life,
Refused to fit them to its narrow sphere,
But chose to figure forth another
And other frames meet for their vast desires,—And all a dream!
Thus was life scorned; but
Shall yet be crowned: twine amaranth!
I am priest!
And all for yielding with a lively spiritA poor existence, parting with a
Like those who squander every
Convertible to good, on painted toys,
Breath-bubbles, gilded dust!
And though I
All adventitious aims, from empty
To love's award, yet whoso deems such
Important, and concerns himself for me,
May know even these will follow with the rest—As in the steady rolling Mayne,
Yonder, is mixed its mass of schistous ore.
My own affections laid to rest awhile,
Will waken purified, subdued
By all I have achieved.
Till then—till then . . .
Ah, the time-wiling loitering of a
Through bower and over lawn, till eve shall
The stately lady's presence whom he loves—The broken sleep of the fisher whose rough
Enwraps the queenly pearl—these are faint types!
See, see, they look on me:
I triumph now!
But one thing,
Festus,
Michal!
I have
All I shall e'er disclose to mortal: say—Do you believe I shall accomplish this?
Festus.
I do believe!
Michal. I ever did believe!
Paracelsus.
Those words shall never fade from out my brain!
This earnest of the end shall never fade!
Are there not,
Festus, are there not, dear Michal,
Two points in the adventure of the diver,
One—when, a beggar, he prepares to plunge,
One—when, a prince, he rises with his pearl?
Festus,
I plunge!
Festus. We wait you when you rise!
Paracelsus (1493 - 1541) was a famous alchemist, physician, astrologer, and general occultist.
Born Theophrastus Bombastus von Hohenheim, he took the name Paracelsus later in life, meaning "superior to Celsus", an early Roman physician.
He was also known by the pseudonym Theophrastus Philippus Aureolus Bombastus von Hohenheim.
