Faustus (eBook)

At rise, we see the portico of FAUSTUS's home. Large double doors open onto a room hung with tinsel and streamers, a party scene gotten up as a fantasy. FAUSTUS's wife is involved in decoration. FAUSTUS enters and looks around. Pause. He holds a sheet of paper in his hand. FAUSTUS: It seems a very dream. WIFE: It is a dream. Delightful, as it is temporary. FAUSTUS: Temporary. WIFE: How otherwise? FAUSTUS: To what do you refer? WIFE: Have I mistook you? FAUSTUS: What is it you indict of transience? WIFE: Of transience-the dcor. FAUSTUS: The dcor, indeed. WIFE: Which, you remark, will serve but the day's brief turn . . . FAUSTUS: . . . of course . . . WIFE: . . . divert the child, and then . . . FAUSTUS: How is the boy? WIFE: He would be thrilled to find you at this unaccustomed hour. What has released you . . . ? FAUSTUS: . . . WHERE is Fabian . . . ? WIFE: I believe he marshals the festivities. I beg your pardon, are you anxious for his news? FAUSTUS: What news? WIFE: Today is Friday . . . FAUSTUS: Yes . . . WIFE: He generally brings the gazette. Are you cold, Faustus? The day is cold. FAUSTUS: The chill livens the mind. Life grows in the cold. Does it not? WIFE: It grows however you should bid. FAUSTUS: My bidding cannot alter its growth. WIFE: But it shall affect how I perceive it. FAUSTUS: I believe I have completed my work. (Of the paper in his hand) Here is the long-sought, un-sought, oft-rejected, indeed, denied, yet, insistent, true conclusion. Which LIKE shy love, LIKE unremarked merit was found to've been present all along. The essence of the enterprise, which, but humility, which, I will not say Suffering, but trial, fatigue, and disillusionment chastised me sufficiently to grasp. WIFE: You have completed your work . . . FAUSTUS: I believe I have found not the conclusion I sought, but, perhaps, the truth, or the shadow of the truth- subject, I believe, to but slight revision, I see the end of my work. WIFE: Your most sanguine of expectations could not put the end sooner than years. FAUSTUS: So indeed I thought. WIFE: Then how . . . ? FAUSTUS: It rests in the rendition of the false. Which, LIKE a bridal veil, could not be lifted by force-solely through devotion. (He hands her the paper.) WIFE: I cannot follow it. The argument's beyond me. FAUSTUS: Then take me on faith, and pardon me. WIFE: . . . for what conceivable sin? FAUSTUS: . . . to leach attention from another's feast. How is the child? WIFE: He loves you. You repeat yourself. FAUSTUS: Then you may claim a forfeit. WIFE: Your soul. FAUSTUS: Have I not given it? WIFE: How can you live without your soul? FAUSTUS: It flourishes without me. While within it was bound by my vice, and vanity, each step for its supposed cultivation only brought it blight. Since consecrated, I observe it to grow strong. Its reproofs are of the most gentle, and its instructions delight. WIFE: What has it taught you? FAUSTUS: To yield, to wait, to hope, to believe. In fine, it has taught gratitude. WIFE: Smile, then, on your faults, as those do who love you. For all must wax and wane. FAUSTUS: Indeed? WIFE: Must I quote you the Moon? FAUSTUS: Oh, simple and good soul, are you not my salvation? WIFE: As you are mine. FAUSTUS: Who counted himself honored merely to be your support. WIFE: Do we not profit, nay, thrive, nay, delight in your...