The Fiery Angel

by Valery Bruisov

  We all laughed at this conceit, while Mephistophilis added, in the same vein:

  “Poor Melchior, Balthazar and Kaspar, you haven’t been too lucky! During your life you were baptised by the apostle Thomas, who himself didn’t believe too well in Jesus Christ, and after your death you have been placed to rest in a temple that knows no rest itself!”

  Having inspected the Cathedral, we went to the ancient church of Saint Cunibert, then to Saint Ursula, then to Saint Gereon, to the remains of the Roman wall, and so forth—to all the noteworthy places of the City of Köln. Everywhere my companions found something witty or comical to say, but whereas in the words of Doctor Faustus there was more a kindly humour, Mephistophilis preferred pungent sarcasm. In general this new turn over the well-known scenes with my two indefatigable companions somewhat dispersed the black cloud of despondency, that had again enveloped the horizons of my soul, and when, after a prolonged walk, we all became very tired, I accepted with pleasure the suggestion of Mephistophilis to step into the nearest tavern and drink a quart of wine.

  In the tavern we took a place in the corner, near a window, and, while the host and his servants roasted a goose for us and served the wine, I began to question my new friends in more detail, as to who they were and whither bound. Mephistophilis answered me thus:

  “My friend and protector, Doctor Faustus, having grown weary of the burden of hearsay knowledge—for he is of the most learned—desired to put personally to the proof the question whether the world be organised according to the principles of science, or no. And on our way, journeying through countries and inspecting towns, we have at the same time had proof that everywhere wine makes men drunk, and everywhere men run after women.”

  Doctor Faustus added sadly:

  “You would do better to say that, in all latitudes, happiness cannot be bought with money, nor love obtained by force.”

  I asked in what countries they had been, and Mephistophilis readily gave me a long list:

  “First of all”—he said—“we visited Italy, saw Milan, Venice, Padua, Florence, Naples and Rome. In Rome, my friend was powerfully envious of His Holiness, and strongly reproached me with not having made him Pope. Then we went to Pannonia and Greece. In Greece, my friend deplored the fact that he had not lived in the times of Achilles and Hector. Then by sea we crossed to Egypt, where I showed the doctor the pyramids, and he at all costs desired to be a Pharaoh. From Egypt we journeyed to Palestine, but I am not too fond of that country, and we migrated to Constantinople, to the Sultan Soliman, the most glorious of all the rulers of the world, and had I not restrained the doctor he would undoubtedly have adopted the faith of Mahomet. From Constantinople we proceeded to Muscovy; and Doctor Faustus demonstrated his learning at the court of Princess Helena, but did not want to stay there on account of the fierce frosts. Now we are travelling the cities of the German lands: we have been to Vienna, Munich, Augsburg, Prague, Leipzig, Nürnberg and Strassburg. Further, we are going on to Trier, and afterwards we shall travel to France and England.”

  While Mephistophilis was rendering me all this itinerarius, wine was brought for us, and at the glasses of Rheinwein our conversation livened. I still endeavoured to worm out of my new acquaintances to what extent they were making game of me, and to what extent speaking the truth, but they were both very evasive in their answers. Mephistophilis continually cracked jokes, and slipped out of all questions like a snake, but Doctor Faustus spoke little, as if nothing in the world interested him, he denied nothing, but also he confirmed nothing. However, when, having learned that Doctor Faustus was not a stranger to practising magic, I described to him my journey to Agrippa of Nettesheim, the doctor listened to my narrative with apparent curiosity, and in reply spoke as follows:

  “I have read the compositions of Agrippa, and he seems to me a very painstaking, but not gifted man. He occupied himself with magic, just as he might have concerned himself with history, or any other science. It is the same as if a man sought by taking pains to achieve the perfection of Homer or the profundity of Plato. All the compositions of Agrippa are based not on experiment in magic, which alone opens the door to this science, but only on a thorough study of various books—nothing more.”

  As best I could, I defended the importance of Agrippa, for in truth I consider the “De Occulta Philosophia” a triumph of the human intellect, but Mephistophilis, interrupting, put an end to our discussion with these words:

  “Perspire though you may, gentlemen, over formulae, and however much you may exercise yourselves over experiments in magic, you will none the less be able to catch in your toils only some pitiable denizen of the world of demons, for whose sake it was not even worth while to labour. For, as far as the more powerful ones are concerned, it is not for you to measure forces with them if not Adam, nor Solomon, nor Albertus Magnus was able to shackle them! Well, let us stop philosophising and systematising: truly I cannot bear a learned mien any longer; let us be gay: have we not promised it to our guest!”

  The frequenters in the tavern were fairly numerous, and Mephistophilis, suddenly transforming his serious air to the appearance of a real saltimbanco, addressed himself to those present with some quip, offering to sing a song. A few approached us, while Mephistophilis, seating himself on the table and in a ringing and tolerably pleasant voice, began to sing rollicking couplets of which I remember only the refrain, in which the whole hall soon joined:

  “Wein! Wein!

  Von dem Rhein!”

  Having finished the song, Mephistophilis turned to his listeners with this proposal:

  “Gentle sirs, we have visited your city on our travels, and are very pleased with its situation, and now we should like to express our gratitude to you in some way. Please permit us to treat each of you to a fair bunch of young grapes!”

  Everyone took his words for a joke, for the spring was just beginning, and there could not have been even one green leaf on the vines, but Mephistophilis, with a half-jesting, half-serious air, set himself to the execution of his promise. He took in his hands two trays, lifting them up as high as the window, which, owing to the closeness of the room, was slightly open, and now said, with a comically mysterious air, some meaningless words that sounded like incantations. The spectators roared with laughter at seeing these antics—as if they had been part of the patter of an amusing haukler, but in a few moments Mephistophilis placed the trays on the table and they proved to be filled with bunches of white and purple grapes.

  I, of course, never doubted that in this miracle was concealed only the cunning of a dexterous conjurer, but at the same time I was astonished no less than the others and an exclamation of surprise escaped us all involuntarily. Mephistophilis invited everyone to try his fare, and those who dared to do so were able to convince themselves that the grapes gave the impression of being quite fresh. For some time Mephistophilis was the object of general admiration, for he was looked on not without a sort of sacred awe, as a sorcerer or miracle worker, and, folding his arms on his breast, he stood amidst the crowding burghers like an idol, with the proud face of a Lucifer.

  When, however, the first surprise had passed, someone remarked that such a deed could not have been accomplished without the aid of the Powers of Darkness, and this opinion was supported by the tavern attendant, for it was by no means to his taste that the guests should regale themselves with magically obtained victuals. A drunken yokel even advanced towards Mephistophilis with clenched fists, and began to demand with oaths that he should at once kiss the cross, and confirm himself a good Christian. A third fellow, apparently a student from the Bursary, began to warn everyone that the grapes might prove poisoned.

  Mephistophilis listened for some time to the swearing and abuse with a proud air, but then suddenly answered everyone thus:

  “If, you drunkards, you do not find my grapes to your taste, then you shall have none of them!”

  Having said this, he threw the corner of his cloak over the trays, and, when he lifted it—the grapes wer
e gone, utterly, and we might all have thought we had seen and tasted their fruit only in our imagination.

  Then there arose an indescribable tumult, for everyone flew into a rage at once, and threw themselves upon us to thrash us. They howled in our faces that we were swindlers, and that we should be handed over to the city authorities, while fists were raised already even above our heads, and we bade fair to fare badly, for we were hunted into a corner. I had already gripped the hilt of my sword, thinking that I should have to defend my dignity with arms, but the intervention of the innkeeper, who did not wish this establishment to become an arena of murder, somehow quietened the brawl. Mephistophilis threw a large coin on the table, and we reached the door escorted by the attendant, to the accompaniment of very unflattering shouts.

  When we were already in the street, Doctor Faustus said severely to Mephistophilis:

  “How is it that you are not bored with repeating ever one and the same jokes! There is an imp in you that cannot live an hour without some prank. Your face probably gets tired of remaining serious, and has to screw of itself into a grimace from time to time. To remember all your urchin’s tricks fills me with shame!”

  Mephistophilis answered with exaggerated respect:

  “What is there to be done, kind doctor, we can’t all be investigators of elements like you, and besides, did we not promise to amuse our comrade!”

  Faustus resumed:

  “And what if the host had not interceded for us, we should have made acquaintance with Kölnish fists!”

  Mephistophilis opposed:

  “Rubbish! I should have played on them the same joke as I did on the drunkards in the Auerbach cellar in Leipzig, and we should have doubled the fun.”

  In order to change the subject, I asked Mephistophilis how one should regard the trick he had shown: was it the quickness of the hand, or the deceit of the eye—but he replied to me:

  “You are mistaken, it is neither the one nor the other, but a knowledge of how to use the laws of nature. It is probably known to you that the year is divided between two parts of the earth, so that while we have winter here, there is summer in the Sabaean Indies—and vice versa. All that remains further is to have at one’s disposal a small spirit capable of flying fast, and, without difficulty, during any month, he will fetch any fruit, from thence where it ripens at the other end of the world.”

  As always when Mephistophilis was speaking, one could not tell whether he spoke to make fun of one, or whether the words came from his heart, but I did not insist on explanations. By that time we had reached the cross-roads where we were to part, and, obeying a sudden impulse, for my new acquaintances occupied my curiosity in great degree, I spoke thus, addressing myself to Doctor Faustus:

  “Dear doctor! This morning I willingly performed your request—not one I was quite accustomed to receiving—that I should serve you as guide. This evening, in my turn I should like to make you a request, perhaps an indiscreet one. You tell me that you intend to continue your journey, and are travelling to the City of Trier. But I too must travel thither. Will you not allow me to join you, though, of course, I shall bear all my expenses myself? A fair sword will never be a hindrance on the road, and my melancholy should be compensated for by the continual gaiety of your companion.”

  As soon as I delivered this speech, the face of Mephistophilis, which was capable of changing its expression as a chameleon changes its skin, became haughty and contemptuous, as that of a ruler speaking to some flatterer of the court, and he said to me:

  “Excuse us, Master Rupprecht, we need neither coin nor sword. We travel two, and have no place for a third. You will do better to arrange yourself with a caravan of traders.”

  I had not had time to answer this insult when Faustus, who hitherto had displayed only the extremest gentleness, flew into a violent rage, and shouted at his friend angrily, as only a master might, at his dog:

  “Be silent, and allow me to choose my companions myself! Do you think it is pleasant to me to see ever near me only your grimacing face? My God, it will be happiness to hear near one a live human voice!”

  Mephistophilis laughed at these angry words of Doctor Faustus, as if they had been some merry jest, and replied:

  “Your duty, doctor, is to give orders, mine to obey, and I am your obedient servant until a certain change occurs in our relationship. If I refused the gentleman, it was only because I was afraid of disturbing you, for I, personally, am glad to have a comrade—a fair bottle companion and an ardent arguer. For wine and logic are my weaknesses, without them life is no life for me.”

  Then, turning to me, Mephistophilis added:

  “We start our journey to-morrow at dawn, and you will find us at the hostelry of ‘The Three Kings’.”

  After that we politely took leave of one another, and walked off in opposite directions.

  It was still early, and it came into my mind to walk to the house of the Wissmanns, and to steal, though even secretly, a glance through their window, but I noticed at once that my yesterday’s decision to leave, and my adventures of the day, had completely fogged the image of Agnes within my soul, and in vain I sought in my heart the traces of my former friendly feelings towards her, as one seeks the trace of light drawings in the sand, effaced by the powerful waves of the tide. So that I was not curious enough even to find out the fate of Agnes, and to this day I do not know whether her brother sent her to a nunnery for her sins, or limited himself to a domestic punishment, or, believing my story, forgave her altogether. I never saw Agnes again, and never spoke of her with anyone, and only, in beginning these notes, brought once more to life her image, which was resting peacefully in one of the coffins in a dark corner of my memory.

  Arriving home, I paid off Martha, who did not let slip the opportunity to shed a few tears, gave her for safe keeping various heavy articles such as books, packed the others finally and threw myself into bed, after a day full of curious adventures. I was up at the appointed hour, in the early morning, and, throwing my travelling bag over my shoulder, I hastened to “The Three Kings,” one of the best hostelries in the town. At the gate stood a strong, covered coach, harnessed with four good horses, and Doctor Faustus and Mephistophilis were standing on the porch, ordering the disposition of the last packages.

  The doctor greeted me kindly, and Mephistophilis slyly, but he could never manage without his sly joke. My modest bundle we hung behind the body of the coach, then Doctor Faustus and I got inside, and Mephistophilis on to the box, next to the driver. Soon was heard the cracking of the whip, the horses pulled, and the coach rolled along the Bonn road towards the Severin gates, carrying me away, perhaps for ever, from the City of Köln, where I had passed the most remarkable days of my life.

  Chapter the Twelfth

  How I journeyed with Doctor Faustus and how I sojourned at the Castle of the Count von Wellen

  ONLY when the walls of the town had long been left behind, and my glance involuntarily began to drink in the distant spring fields—did I suddenly realise the incongruity of my position, and, surveying myself as if from outside, in a coach belonging to strangers, in the company of strangers, for some strange reason journeying to Trier—I inwardly laughed. In truth, pace after pace, step after step, Fate had forced me to descend into depths so far removed from all my previous plans and intentions, that my former life now appeared to me as a snowy peak behind clouds.

  However, having long ago made it a rule never to regret any action once committed, I tried to turn also this journey with Doctor Faustus so that its most profitable side should be towards me. Little by little, despite the shaking of the coach, for its body was not hung on leather straps as is nowadays contrived for the comfort of travellers, I succeeded in drawing my companion into animated conversation. And soon I was able to discard any thought of regret that I had undertaken the journey, for Doctor Faustus proved a most remarkable conversationalist. We talked together de omni re scibili, if one may use the favourite expression of Pico di Mirandola, and
I had opportunity to discover that the spheres of grammatica and natural philosophy, mathematics and physics, astronomy and judiciary astrology, the sciences appertaining to medicine and to law, theology, magic, political economy and other arts were all equally well-known to my companion, as an orchard is known to a good husbandman. At first I disputed some of the remarks of the doctor, then interrupted his speech with occasional interjections, but finally our conversation transformed itself into a monologue, in which I preferred the part of a respectful listener. Thus it continued until Mephistophilis, turning his grimacing face to us from the box, cut through my attention with the spear point of some stupid joke.

  This happened as we were nearing the hamlet of Brühl, where we rested our horses and spent a few hours in some bad hostelry. Here we met with some Lollards, who, entering into conversation with us, started to praise the headway made by Lutheranism and such-like teachings, pointing to the growing strength of the Schmalkalden Union of the Protestants, now scarcely less powerful in Germany than the Emperor himself, to the daring of the English king, who had declared himself holy head of the body temporal of the Church in place of the Pope, to the deeds of the Swedish and Danish kings, who had confiscated from the clergy all their age-old properties, and, lastly, to the stubborn resistance against the Catholic army set up by the new prophet Iohann Buckholdt at Münster. Mephistophilis, joining in the discussion, hotly defended the dignity of the Holy Church, and said, among other things:

  “These new heresies make progress only because the princes sense gain in them, as dogs sense roast meat, and, as for Luther himself, a merry fellow of a devil leads him by the nose. In the end, after all these new faiths and new catechisms, Christianity will become so shallow that the Prince of Hell will find it far easier to fish his fish from the shore.”