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 THE 
 
 TEMPLE 
 
 CLASSICS 
 
 Edited by 
 
 ISRAEL 
 
 GOLLANCZ 
 
 M.A.
 
 A1,TERIVS MON. SIT (^)VI SVVS ESSf. POTEST 
 
 AVRr,OA,VS PHUAt'fVS 
 
 AB HOHENHLTM, 
 
 Qua t^tui lltluna iJartt £rcmuj /iurnit. 
 *fte oajof tjir ora IxJu.rum ptur-itna itmnum 
 Duanu ,/iuJio per Idui Jeat itir 
 
 THE0PHRA5TV5 BOMBAST 
 
 \ DKTVS PARACELSVS 
 
 L!fjfra ntnum ft muHum I'util.l^firo anif 
 
 ^jtra ^uaUr Jena ^f^Aptfimhtj luce Juhiuit: 
 ■P. Chfuiunw , fcaipjit- 

 
 IWVCELSUS 
 
 $S ^ <^ Jfe ^9? 
 
 ROBERT 
 
 ^ i^ 's(:> ck ?fe 
 
 BROWNING 
 
 .V' 
 
 I 
 
 •A^DCCCXCVLllPUBLlSHeD bV ';j-M-DeJHT' 
 •J\ND-CO: Al/DIMC- MOOSe-LOJSDOM-C-C-
 
 I 
 
 PARACELSUS j J '^ g^ 
 
 1835 
 
 PART I 
 
 PARACELSUS ASPIRES 
 
 Scene. — Wiir-zburg ; a garden in the 
 environs. i 5 1 2 
 
 Festus, Paracelsus, Michal 
 
 Paracelsus. Come close to me, dear friends ; Para- 
 still closer ; thus ! celsus 
 Close to the heart which, though long time ,^ ^^ . 
 
 roll by hisfrien 
 
 Ere it again beat quicker, pressed to yours, 
 As now it beats — perchance a long, long time — 
 At least henceforth your memories shall make 
 Quiet and fragrant as befits their home. 
 Nor shall my memory want a home in yours — 
 Alas, that it requires too well such free 
 I'orgiving love as shall embalm it there ! 
 I' or if you would remember me aright, 10 
 
 As I was born to be, you must forget 
 '\ll fitful, strange and moody waywardness 
 Which e'er confused my better s])irit, to dwell 
 Only on moments such as these, dear friends I
 
 2 PARACELSUS 
 
 He dis My heart no truer, but my words and ways 
 
 courses More true to it : as Michal, some months 
 
 , ° hence, 
 
 au umn ^.^^ ^_^^^ ^ ^j^.^ autumn was a pleasant time,' 
 
 For some few sunny days ; and overlook 
 Its bleak wind, hankering after pining leaves. 
 Autumn would fain be sunny ; I would look 20 
 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 mute 
 Appeal to sympathy for its decay : 
 Look up, sweet Michal, nor esteem the less 
 Your stained and drooping vines their grapes 
 
 bow down. 
 Nor blame those creaking trees bent with their 
 
 fruit. 
 That apple-tree with a ^X^nfter-birth 30 
 
 Of peeping blooms sprinkled its wealth among ! 
 Then for the winds — what wind that ever raved 
 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 this 
 Sequestered nest! — this kingdom, limited 
 Alone by one old populous green wall 
 Tenanted by the ever-busy flies. 
 Grey crickets and shy lizards and quick spiders, 
 Each family of the silver-threaded moss — 40 
 Which, look through near, this way, and it 
 
 appears 
 A stubble-field or a cane-brake, a marsh
 
 PARACELSUS 3 
 
 Of bulrush whitening in the sun : laugh now ! He 
 Fancy the crickets, each one in his house, pictures 
 
 Looking out, wondering at the world — or best, f^-|.^ 
 Yon painted snail with his gay shell of dew, friends 
 Travelling to see the glossy balls high up during his 
 
 Hung by the caterpillar, like gold lamps. absence 
 
 Michal. In truth we have lived carelessly 
 
 and well. 
 Paracelsus. And shall, my perfect pair! — 
 
 each, trust me, born 50 
 
 For the other ; nay, your very hair, when 
 
 mixed, 
 Is of one hue. For where save in this nook 
 Shall you two walk, when I am far away. 
 And wish me prosperous fortune ? Stay : that 
 
 plant 
 Shall never wave its tangles lightly and softly. 
 As a queen's languid and imperial arm 
 Which scatters crowns among her lovers, but you 
 Shall be reminded to predict to me 
 Some great success ! Ah, see, the sun sinks 
 
 broad 
 Behind Saint Saviour's: wholly gone, at last! Tjo 
 Fcslus. Now, Aureole, stay those wandering 
 
 eyes awhile ! 
 You arc ours to-night, at least ; and while you 
 
 fij)oke 
 Of Michal and her tears, I thought that none 
 Could willing leave what he so seemed to love : 
 But that last look destroys my dream — that look 
 As if, where'er you ga/cd, there stood a star ! 
 How far was Wiirzburg with its church and spire 
 And garden-walls and all things they contain, 
 From that look's far alighting ?
 
 4 PARACELSUS 
 
 and Paracelsus. I but spoke 
 
 strives to And looked alike from simple joy to see 70 
 
 '^^^th"'^^ The beings I love best, shut in so well 
 
 From all rude chances like to be my lot, 
 That, when afar, my weary spirit, — disposed 
 To lose awhile its care in soothing thoughts 
 Of them, their pleasant features, looks and 
 
 words, — 
 Needs never hesitate, nor apprehend 
 Encroaching trouble may have reached them too, 
 Nor have recourse to fancy's busy aid 
 And fashion even a wish in their behalf 
 Beyond what they possess already here ; 80 
 
 But, unobstructed, may at once forget 
 Itself in them, assured how well they fare. 
 Beside, this Festus knows he holds me one 
 Whom quiet and its charms arrest in vain. 
 One scarce aware of all the joys I quit, 
 Too filled with airy hopes to make account 
 Of soft delights his own heart garners up : 
 Whereas behold how much our sense of all 
 That 's beauteous proves alike ! When I'^stus 
 
 learns 
 That every common pleasure of the world 90 
 Affects me as himself; that I have just 
 As varied appetite for joy derived 
 From common things ; a stake in life, in short. 
 Like his ; a stake which rash pursuit of aims 
 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.
 
 PARACELSUS 5 
 
 Festus. True : and the eve is deepening, and Festus 
 
 ^' ^' . '"^ Se"s 
 
 As little anxious to begin our talk ^j^j^ ^^^^ 
 
 As though to-morrow 1 could hint of it 
 
 As we paced arm-in-arm the cheerful town 
 
 At sun-dawn ; or could whisper it by fits 
 
 (Trithemius busied with his class the while) 
 
 In that dim chamber where the noon-streaks peer 
 
 Half-frightened by the awful tomes around ; 
 
 Or in some grassy lane unbosom all 
 
 From even-blush to midnight : but, to-morrow ! 
 
 Have I full leave to tell my inmost mind ? no 
 
 We have been brothers, and henceforth the world 
 
 Will rise between us : — all my freest mind ? 
 
 'Tis the last night, dear Aureole ! 
 
 Paracelsus. Oh, say on ! 
 
 Devise some test of love, some arduous feat 
 To be performed for you : say on ! If night 
 Be spent the while, the better ! Recall how oft 
 My wondrous plans and dreams and hopes and 
 
 fears 
 Have — never wearied you, oh no! — as I 
 Recall, and never vividly as now. 
 Your true affection, born when liinsiedeln 120 
 And its green hills were all the world to us ; 
 And still increasing to this night which ends 
 My further stay at Wijrzburg. Oh, one day 
 You shall be very proud ! Say on, dear friends ! 
 
 Festus. In truth ? 'Tis for my proper peace, 
 indeed. 
 Rather than yours; for vain all jjrojects seem 
 To stay your course : I said my latest hope 
 Is fading even now, A story tells 
 Of some far embassy despatched to win
 
 6 PARACELSUS 
 
 Para- The favour of an eastern king, and how 130 
 celsus 'X'he gifts they offered proved but dazzling dust 
 protests j.j^^^ ^^^^^ j.j^^^ ore-beds native to his clime. 
 
 Just so, the value of repose and love, 
 I meant should tempt you, better far than I 
 You seem to comprehend ; and yet desist 
 No whit from projects where repose nor love 
 Has part. 
 
 Paracelsus. Once more ? Alas ! As I fore- 
 told. 
 
 Festus. A solitary briar the bank puts forth 
 To save our swan's nest floating out to sea. 
 
 Paracelsus. Dear Festus, hear me. What is 
 it you wish ? 140 
 
 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 long 
 And patient cherishing of the self-same spirit 
 It now would quell ; as though a mother hoped 
 To stay the lusty manhood of the child 
 Once weak upon her knees. I was not born 
 Informed and fearless from the first, but shrank 
 From aught which marked me out apart from 
 men : 151 
 
 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 aims 
 Save those your earnest words made plain to me, 
 Now that I touch the brink of my design.
 
 PARACELSUS 7 
 
 When I would have a triumph in their eyes, i6o He chides 
 A glad cheer in their voices — Michal weeps, the 
 And Festus ponders gravely ! ^f Festus 
 
 Festtis. When you deign 
 
 To hear my purpose . . . 
 
 Paracelsus. Hear it ? I can say 
 
 Beforehand all this evening's conference 1 
 'Tis this way, Michal, that he uses : first, 
 Or he declares, or I, the leading points 
 Of our best scheme of life, what is man's end 
 And what God's will ; no two faiths e'er agreed 
 As his with mine. Next, each of us allows 
 Faith should be acted on as best we may ; 170 
 Accordingly, I venture to submit 
 My plan, in lack of better, for pursuing 
 The path which God's will seems to authorise. 
 Well, he discerns much good in it, avows 
 This motive worthy, that hope plausible, 
 A danger here to be avoided, there 
 An oversight to be repaired : in fine 
 Our two minds go together — all the good 
 Approved by him, I gladly recognise, 
 All he counts bad, I thankfully discard, 180 
 And naught forbids my looking up at last 
 I'or some stray comfort in his cautious brow. 
 Wiicn, lo ! I learn that, spite of all, there lurks 
 Some innate and inex])licable germ 
 Of failure in my scheme ; so that at last 
 It all amounts to this — the sovereign jiroof 
 That we devote ourselves to God, is seen 
 In living just as though no God there were ; 
 A life which, ])rompted by the sad and lilinl 
 I'" oily of man, Festus abhors the most; 100 
 
 liut which these tenets sanctify at once,
 
 8 PARACELSUS 
 
 Festus Though to less subtle wits it seems the same, 
 persists Consider it how they may. 
 
 in his Mkhal. Is it so, Festus ? 
 
 "" ^ He speaks so calmly and kindly : is it so ? 
 
 Paracelsus. Reject those glorious visions of 
 God's love 
 And man's design ; laugh loud that God should 
 
 send 
 Vast longings to direct us ; say how soon 
 Power satiates these, or lust, or gold ; I know 
 The world's cry well, and how to answer it. 
 But this ambiguous warfare . . . 
 
 Festus. . . . Wearies so 200 
 
 That you will grant no last leave to your friend 
 To urge it ? — for his sake, not yours ? I wish 
 To send my soul in good hopes after you ; 
 Never to sorrow that uncertain words 
 Erringly apprehended, a new creed 
 111 understood, begot rash trust in you, 
 Had share in your undoing. 
 
 Paracelsus. Choose your side. 
 
 Hold or renounce : but meanwhile blame me not 
 Because I dare to act on your own views. 
 Nor shrink when they point onward, nor espy 210 
 A peril where they most ensure success. 
 
 Festus. Prove that to me — but that ! Prove 
 you abide 
 Within their warrant, nor presumptuous boast 
 God's labour laid on you ; prove, all you covet 
 A mortal may expect ; and, most of all, 
 Prove the strange course you now affect, will 
 
 lead 
 To its attainment — and I bid you speed, 
 Nay, count the minutes till you venture forth !
 
 PARACELSUS 9 
 
 You smile ; but I had gathered from slow He 
 
 thought— If^f^ 
 
 Much musing on the fortunes of my friend — 220 ^ J 
 Matter I deemed could not be urged in vain ; 
 But it all leaves me at my need : in shreds 
 And fragments I must venture what remains. 
 Michcil. Ask at once, Festus, wherefore he 
 
 should scorn , . . 
 Festus. Stay, Michal : Aureole, I speak 
 guardedly 
 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 alone 
 Am I aware your passionate heart long since 230 
 Gave birth to, nourished and at length matures 
 This scheme. 1 will not speak of Liinsiedeln, 
 Where I was born your elder by some years 
 Only to watch you fully from the first : 
 In all beside, our mutual tasks were fixed 
 Even then — 'twas mine to have you in my view 
 As you had your own soul and those intents 
 Which filled it when, to crown your dearest wish, 
 With a tumultuous heart, you left with me 239 
 Our childhood's home to join the favoured few 
 Whom, here, Trithemius condescends to teach 
 A portion of his lore : and not one youth 
 Of those so favoured, whom you now despise, 
 Came earnest as you came, resolved, like you. 
 To grasp all, and retain all, and deserve 
 15y patient toil a wide renown like his. 
 Now, this new ardour which sup])lant8 the old 
 I watched, too ; 'twas significant and strange, 
 In one matched to his soul's content at length
 
 lo PARACELSUS 
 
 traces With rivals in the search for wisdom's prize, 250 
 the To see the sudden pause, the total change ; 
 growing p^yni contest, the transition to repose — 
 of Para- 1" '"O"^ pressing onward as his fellows pressed, 
 celsus To a blank idleness, yet most unlike 
 The dull stagnation of a soul, content. 
 Once foiled, to leave betimes a thriveless quest. 
 That careless bearing, free from all pretence 
 Even of contempt for what it ceased to seek — 
 Smiling humility, praising much, yet waiving 
 What it professed to praise — though not so well 
 Maintained but that rare outbreaks, fierce and 
 brief, 261 
 
 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 go 
 His shivered sword, of one about to spring 
 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 uttermost 270 
 Your strength, in furtherance of a certain aim 
 Which — while it bore the name your rivals gave 
 Their own most puny efforts — was so vast 
 In scoi)e that it included their best flights, 
 Combined them, and desired to gain one prize 
 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 dream 
 This purpose, with the sages of the past. 
 Have struck upon a way to this, if all 280 
 
 You trust be true, which following, heart and 
 soul.
 
 PARACELSUS n 
 
 You, if a man may, dare aspire to know : and de- 
 
 And that this aim shall differ from a host signates 
 
 Of aims alike in character and kind, 
 Mostly in this, — that in itself alone 
 Shall its reward be, not an alien end 
 Blending therewith ; no hope nor fear nor joy 
 Nor woe, to elsewhere move you, but this pure 
 Devotion to sustain you or betray : 
 Thus you aspire. 
 
 Paracelsus. You shall not state it thus : 290 
 I should not differ from the dreamy crew 
 You speak of. I profess no other share 
 In the selection of my lot, than this 
 My ready answer to the will of God 
 Who summons me to be his organ. All 
 Whose innate strength supports them shall 
 
 succeed 
 No better than the sages. 
 
 Festus. Such the aim, then, 
 
 God sets before you ; and 'tis doubtless need 
 That he appoint no less the way of praise 
 Than the desire to praise ; for, though I liold 300 
 With you, the setting forth such ])raisc to be 
 The natural end and service of a man, 
 And hold such ])raise is best attained when man 
 Attains the general welfare of his kind — 
 Yet this, the end, is not the instrument. 
 Presume not to serve God apart from such 
 Appointed channel as he wills shall gather 
 Tmjierfect tributes, for that sole oiiedicncc 
 Valued perchance ! He seeks not that his altars 
 Blaze, careless how, so that they do but blaze. 310 
 Su|)pose this, then ; that God selected you 
 To KNOW (heed well your answers, for my faith
 
 12 PARACELSUS 
 
 but Shall meet implicitly what they affirm) 
 questions I cannot think you dare annex to such 
 his smgle- Selection auuht beyond a steadfast will, 
 _„rnncp An intense hoi)e ; nor let your gifts create 
 Scorn or neglect of ordinary means 
 Conducive to success, make destiny 
 Dispense with man's endeavour. Now, dare 
 
 you search 
 Your inmost heart, and candidly avow 320 
 
 Whether you have not rather wild desire 
 For this distinction than security 
 Of its existence ? whether you discern 
 The path to the fulfilment of your purpose 
 Clear as that jiurpose — and again, that purpose 
 Clear as your yearning to be singled out 
 For its pursuer. Dare you answer this ? 
 
 Paracelsus \_after a pause~\. No, I have 
 
 nought to fear ! Who will may know 
 The secret'st workings of my soul. What 
 
 though 
 It be so ? — if Indeed the strong desire 330 
 
 Eclipse the aim in me ? — if splendour break 
 Upon the outset of my path alone. 
 And duskest shade succeed ? What fairer seal 
 Shall 1 require to my authentic mission 
 Than this fierce energy ? — this instinct striving 
 Because its nature is to strive ? — enticed 
 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 force 34" 
 
 That works within me ? Is it for human will 
 To institute such impulses ? — still less, 
 To disregard their promj)tings ! What should I
 
 PARACELSUS 13 
 
 Do, kept among you all ; your loves, your cares, Para- 
 
 Your life— all to be mine ? Be sure that God ^^^^ 
 
 Ne'er dooms to waste the strength he deigns j^-^ 
 
 impart ! mission 
 
 Ask the geier-eagle why she stoops at once 
 
 Into the vast and unexplored abyss, 
 
 What full-grown power informs her from the 
 first, 
 
 Why she not marvels, strenuously beating 350 
 
 The silent boundless regions of the sky ! 
 
 Be sure they sleep not whom God needs ! Nor 
 fear 
 
 Their holding light his charge, when every hour 
 
 That finds that charge delayed, is a new death. 
 
 This for the faith in which I trust ; and hence 
 I can abjure so well the idle arts 
 
 These pedants strive to learn and teach ; Black 
 
 Arts, 
 Great Works, the Secret and Sublime, forsooth — 
 Let others prize : too intimate a tie 
 Connects me with our God ! A sullen fiend 360 
 To do my bidding, fallen and hateful sprites 
 To help me — what arc these, at best, beside 
 God helping, God directing everywhere, 
 So that the earth shall yield her secrets up, 
 And every object there be charged to strike, 
 Teach, gratify iicr master God appoints ? 
 And I am young, my Festus, happy and free ! 
 I can devote myself; I have a life 
 To give ; I, singled out for this, the One ! 
 Think, think! the wide i'.ast, where all Wisdom 
 sprung ; 37° 
 
 The bright South, where she dwelt ; the hope- 
 ful North,
 
 14 PARACELSUS 
 
 Festus All are passed o'er — it lights on me ! 'I'is 
 questions ^\^^^^Q 
 
 j.^^j New hopes should animate the world, new light 
 method ,,, ,,',,- i- . 
 
 Should dawn from new reveahngs to a race 
 
 Weighed down so long, forgotten so long ; thus 
 
 shall 
 
 The heaven reserved for us at last receive 
 
 Creatures whom no unwonted splendours blind, 
 
 But ardent to confront the unclouded blaze 
 
 Whose beams not seldom blessed their pilgrimage, 
 
 Not seldom glorified their Hfe below. 380 
 
 Festus. My words have their old fate and 
 
 make faint stand 
 
 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 there 
 
 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 skill 390 
 
 Pronounced inextricable, true ! — but left 
 
 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 torch 
 
 From runner still : this way success might be. 
 
 But you have coupled with your enterprise, 
 
 An arbitrary self-repugnant scheme 
 
 Of seeking it in strange and untried paths. 
 
 What books are in the desert ? Writes the sea 
 
 The secret of her yearning in vast caves 401
 
 PARACELSUS 15 
 
 Where yours will fall the first of human feet ? and 
 
 Has wisdom sat there and recorded aught reproves 
 
 You jiress to read ? Why turn aside from her j-gigctjon 
 
 To visit, where her vesture never glanced, of the 
 
 Now — solitudes consigned to barrenness wisdom 
 
 By God's decree, which who shall dare impugn ? of the 
 
 Now — ruins where she paused but would not stay, P^^' 
 
 Old ravished cities that, renouncing her, 
 
 She called an endless curse on, so it came : 410 
 
 Or worst of all, now — men you visit, men, 
 
 Ignoblest troops who never heard her voice 
 
 Or hate it, men without one gift from Rome 
 
 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 Stagirite 
 
 Your rivals throng, the sages : here stand you ! 
 
 Whatever you may protest, knowledge is not 
 
 Paramount in your love ; or for her sake 420 
 
 You would collect all help from every source — 
 
 Rival, assistant, friend, foe, all would merge 
 
 In the broad class of those who showed her 
 
 haunts. 
 And those who showed tliem not. 
 
 Paracelsus. What shall 1 say ? 
 
 Festus, from childhood I have been ])Ossessed 
 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 ill 
 I'lxprcKses what would I convey: but rather 
 1 will believe an angel ruled me thus, 430 
 
 Than that my soul's own workings, own high 
 
 nature. 
 So became manifest. I knew not then 
 
 I
 
 i6 PARACELSUS 
 
 Para- What whispered in the evening, and spoke out 
 celsus At midnight. If some mortal, born too soon, 
 ^. ^.° Were laid away in some great trance — the ages 
 timations Coming and going all the while — till dawned 
 of a great His true time's advent; and could then record 
 destiny The words they spoke who kept watch by his 
 bed,— 
 Then I might tell more of the breath so light 
 Upon my eyelids, and the fingers light 440 
 
 Among my liair. Youth is confused ; yet never 
 So dull was I but, when that spirit passed, 
 I turned to him, scarce consciously, as turns 
 A water-snake when fairies cross his sleep. 
 And having this within me and about me 
 While Einsiedeln, its mountains, lakes and woods 
 Confined me — what oppressive joy was mine 
 When life grew plain, and I first viewed the, 
 
 thronged, 
 The everlasting concourse of mankind ! 
 Believe that ere I joined them, ere 1 knew 450 
 The purpose of the pageant, or the place 
 Consigned me in its ranks — while, just awake. 
 Wonder was freshest and delight most pure — . 
 'Twas then that least supportable appeared 
 A station with the brightest of the crowd, 
 A portion with the proudest of them all. 
 And from the tumult in my breast, this only 
 Could I collect, that I must thenceforth die 
 Or elevate myself far, far above 
 The gorgeous spectacle. I seemed to long 460 
 At once to trample on, yet save mankind, 
 To make some unexampled sacrifice 
 In their behalf, to wring some wondrous good 
 From heaven or earth for them, to perish, winning
 
 PARACELSUS 17 
 
 Eternal weal in the act : as who should dare Describes 
 Pluck out the angry thunder from its cloud, his early 
 That, all its gathered flame discharged on him, ^f^^^ 
 No storm might threaten summer's azure sleep : 
 Yet never to be mixed with men so much 
 As to have part even in my own work, share 470 
 In my own largess. Once the feat achieved, 
 I would withdraw from their oflScious praise, 
 Would gently put aside their profuse thanks. 
 Like some knight traversing a wilderness, 
 Who, on his way, may chance to free a tribe 
 Of desert-people from their dragon-foe ; 
 When all the swarthy race press round to kiss 
 His feet, and choose him for their king, and yield 
 Their poor tents, pitched among the sand- 
 hills, for 479 
 His realm : and he points, smiling, to his scarf 
 Heavy with riveled gold, his burgonet 
 Gay set with twinkling stones — and to the East, 
 Where these must be displayed ! 
 
 Fettus. Good : let us hear 
 
 No more about your nature, ' which first shrank 
 From all that marked you out apart from men ! ' 
 Paracelsus. I touch on that ; tiicse words but 
 analyse 
 The first mad impulse : 'twas as brief as fond, 
 l""or as I gazed again upon the show, 
 I soon distinguished here and there a shape 
 Palm-wreathed and radiant, forehead and full 
 eye. 490 
 
 Well ])lea8ed was 1 their state should thus at 
 
 once 
 Interpret my own thoughts : — * Pjchold the clue 
 To all,' I rashly said, * and what I pine 
 
 It
 
 i8 PARACELSUS 
 
 his To do, these have accomplished : we are peers, 
 unfitness They know and therefore rule : I, too, will 
 
 aTms k"o^ ■ ' 
 
 You were beside me, Festus, as you say ; 
 
 You saw me plunge in their pursuits whom fame 
 
 Is lavish to attest the lords of mind. 
 
 Not pausing to make sure the prize in view 
 
 Would satiate my cravings when obtained, 500 
 
 But since they strove I strove. Then came a 
 
 slow 
 And strangling failure. We aspired alike. 
 Yet not the meanest plodder, Tritheim counts 
 A 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 over 
 That struggle ; suffice it, that I loathed myself 
 As weak compared with them, yet felt somehow 
 A mighty power was brooding, taking shape 510 
 Within me ; and this lasted till one night 
 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 520 
 
 If thou wouldst share their fortune, choose their 
 
 eyes 
 Unfed by splendour. Let each task present
 
 PARACELSUS 19 
 
 Its petty good to thee. Waste not thy gifts and his 
 
 In profitless waiting for the gods' descent, u^"!^ 
 
 But have some idol of thine own to dress ^^^j^ 
 
 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!' 530 
 
 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 intercourse 
 
 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 : 
 
 'Tis hard for flesh to tread therein, imbued 
 
 With frailty — hopeless, if indulgence first 540 
 
 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 endued 
 
 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 hue 550 
 Thenceforward? — pregnant with vast conse- 
 quence, 
 Teeming with grand result, loaded with fate ? 
 So that when, quailing at the mighty range 
 Of secret truths which yearn for birtii, I haste
 
 20 PARACELSUS 
 
 He rejects To contemplate undazzled some one truth, 
 
 the Its bearings and effects alone — at once 
 ^th °t ^^^^^ ^^^ ^ 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. 560 
 I shall arrive ! what time, what circuit first, 
 I ask not : but unless God sent his hail 
 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 hold 
 Were it the trackless air, and not a path 
 Inviting you, distinct with footprints yet 
 Of many a mighty marcher gone that way. 570 
 You may liave purer views than theirs, perhaps, 
 But they were famous in their day — the proofs 
 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 fruits 
 Are best seen in a dark and groaning earth i 
 Given over to a blind and endless strife 
 With evils, what of all their lore abates ? 
 No ; I reject and spurn them utterly 
 And all they teach. Shall I still sit beside 1 1 
 Their dry wells, with a white lip and filmed ey ■ 
 While in the distance heaven is blue above j- 
 Mountains where sleep the unsunned tarns ? 
 
 Festus. And yet 
 
 As strong delusions have prevailed ere now. 
 Men have set out as gallantly to seek
 
 PARACELSUS 21 
 
 Their ruin. I have heard of such : yourself Festus 
 Avow all hitherto have failed and fallen. yields 
 
 Michal. Nay, Festus, when but as the pilgrims 
 faint 
 Through the drear way, do you expect to see 
 Their city dawn amid the clouds afar ? 590 
 
 Paracelsus. Ay, sounds it not like some old 
 well-known tale ? 
 For me, I estimate their works and them 
 So rightly, that at times I almost dream 
 I too have spent a life the sages' way. 
 And tread once more familiar paths. Perchance 
 I perished in an arrogant self-reliance 
 Ages ago ; and in that act, a prayer 
 For one more chance went up so earnest, so 
 Instinct with better light let in by death. 
 That life was blotted out — not so completely 600 
 But scattered wrecks enough of it remain. 
 Dim memories, as now, when once more seems 
 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 me 
 Than my belief, explained to you or no. 
 ^ Festus. And who am I, to challenge and disjmtc 
 rhat clear belief? I will divest all fear. 
 ' Michal. Then Aureole is God's commissary! 
 he shall 
 fc great and grand — and all for us ! 
 '' Paracelsus. No, sweet! 610 
 
 ■Jot great and grand. If I can serve mankind 
 'Tis well ; but there our intercourse must end: 
 I never will be served by those 1 serve. 
 
 Festus. Look well to this ; here is a plague- 
 spot, here,
 
 22 PARACELSUS 
 
 but Disguise it how you may! 'Tis true, you utter 
 reproves This scorn while by our side and loving us ; 
 
 ^«^<-»^J.t 'Tis but a spot as yet : but it will break 
 contempt ij ' i i u -r i i j 
 
 of love ^"'^^ '1 hideous blotch ir overlooked. 
 
 How can that course be safe which from the first 
 
 Produces carelessness to human love ? 620 
 
 It seems you have abjured the helps which men 
 
 Who overpass their kind, as you would do. 
 
 Have humbly sought ; I dare not thoroughly 
 
 probe 
 
 This matter, lest I learn too much. Let be 
 
 That po])ular praise would little instigate 
 
 Your efforts, nor particular approval 
 
 Reward you ; put reward aside ; alone 
 
 You shall go forth upon your arduous task, 
 
 None shall assist you, none partake your toil. 
 
 None share your triumph : still you must retain 
 
 Some one to cast your glory on, to share 631 
 
 Your rapture with. Were I elect like you, 
 
 I would encircle me with love, and raise 
 
 A rampart of my fellows ; it should seem 
 
 Impossible for me to fail, so watched 
 
 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, 640 
 
 How calmly their sad eyes should gaze reproach ! 
 
 M'lchal. O Aureole, can I sing when all alone. 
 Without first calling, in my fancy, both 
 To listen by my side — even I ! And you ? 
 Do you not fee! this ? Say that you feel this ! 
 
 Paracelsus. I feel 'tis pleasant that my aims, 
 at length
 
 PARACELSUS 23 
 
 Allowed their weight, should be supposed to need and 
 A further strengthening in these goodly helps ! makes 
 My course allures for its own sake, its sole appeal 
 
 Intrinsic worth ; and ne'er shall boat of mine 650 
 Adventure forth for gold and apes at once. 
 Your sages say, ' if human, therefore weak ' : 
 If weak, more need to give myself entire 
 To my pursuit ; and by its side, all else . . . 
 No matter ! I deny myself but little 
 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. 
 Festtis. But do not cut yourself from human 
 weal ! 660 
 
 You cannot thrive — a man that dares affect 
 To s]5end his life in service to his kind 
 For no reward of theirs, unbound to them 
 By any tie ; nor do so. Aureole ! No — 
 There are strange jnmishments for such. Give up 
 ( Although no visible good flow thence ) some part 
 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 lately 670 
 
 Was to rejoice in my success like you ? 
 Whom should I love but both of you ? 
 
 Festus. 1 know not : 
 
 liut know this, you, that 'tis no will of mine 
 You should abjure the lofty claims you make ; 
 And this the cause — I can no longer seek 
 To overlook the truth, that there would be 
 A monstrous spectacle upon the earth,
 
 24 
 
 PARACELSUS 
 
 Michal Beneath the pleasant sun, among the trees : 
 warns — ^ being knowing not what love is. Hear me ! 
 Para- y^^ ^^e endowed with faculties which bear 680 
 against Annexed to them as 'twere a dispensation 
 success To summon meaner spirits to do their will 
 
 And gather round them at their need ; inspiring 
 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 live 
 On objects you prize lightly, but which make 
 Their heart's sole treasure : the affections seem 
 Beauteous at most to you, which we must taste 690 
 Or die : and this strange quality accords, 
 I know not how, with you ; sits well upon 
 That luminous brow, though in another it scowls 
 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 one 
 Of higher order, under other laws 
 Than bind us ; therefore, curb not one bold 
 
 glance ! 
 'Tis best aspire. Once mingled with us all . . . 
 Michal. Stay with us. Aureole ! cast those 
 hopes away, 700 
 
 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 ?
 
 PARACELSUS 25 
 
 Is love like this the natural lot of all ? He tells 
 
 How many years of pain might one such hour how truth 
 O'erbalance ? Dearest Michal, dearest Festus, ^^in 
 What shall I say, if not that I desire 711 
 
 To justify your love ; and will, dear friends, 
 In swerving nothing from my first resolves. 
 See, the great moon ! and ere the mottled owls 
 Were wide awake, I was to go. It seems 
 You acquiesce at last in all save this — 
 If I am like to compass what I seek 
 By the untried career I choose ; and then, 
 If that career, making but small account 
 Of much of life's delight, will yet retain 720 
 Sufficient to sustain my soul : for thus 
 I 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 rise 
 From outward things, whate'cr 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, 730 
 This jK'rfect, clear perception — which is truth. 
 A baffling and perverting carnal mesh 
 Binds it, and makes all error : and to know 
 Rather consists in opening out a way 
 Whence the im])risoned splendour may escape, 
 Than in effecting entry for a light 
 Su])])osed to be without. Watch narrowly 
 The demonstration of a truth, its birth, 
 And you trace back the effluence to its spring 
 And source within us ; where broods radiance 
 vast, 740
 
 outlet 
 
 26 PARACELSUS 
 
 till To be elicited ray by ray, as chance 
 chance Shall favour : chance — for hitherto your sage 
 makes an ]7y^^ .^^f. ^g knows not how those beams are 
 born, 
 As little knows he what unlocks their fount : 
 And men have oft grown old among their books 
 To die case-hardened in their ignorance. 
 Whose careless youth had promised what long 
 
 years 
 Of unremitted labour ne'er performed ; 
 While, contrary, it has chanced some idle day. 
 To autumn loiterers just as fancy free 750 
 
 As the midges in the sun, gives birth at last 
 To truth — produced mysteriously as cape 
 Of cloud grown out of the invisible air. 
 Hence, may not truth be lodged alike in all, 
 The lowest as the highest ? some slight film 
 The interposing bar which binds a soul 
 And makes the idiot, just as makes the sage 
 Some film removed, the happy outlet whence 
 Truth issues proudly ? See this soul of ours ! 
 How it strives weakly in the child, is loosed 760 
 In manhood, clogged by sickness, back compelled 
 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 truth 
 And power emerge, but also when strange chance 
 Ruffles its current ; in unused conjuncture. 
 When sickness breaks the body — hunger, watch- 
 ing* 
 Excess or languor — oftenest death's approach, 
 
 Peril, deep joy or woe. One man shall crawl 770 
 Through life surrounded with all stirring things,
 
 PARACELSUS 27 
 
 Unmoved ; and he goes mad : and from the wreck It is his 
 
 Of what he was, by his wild talk alone, ^^ *o 
 
 You first collect how great a spirit he hid. ^^^ ^^^^ 
 
 Therefore, set free the soul alike in all, 
 
 Discovering the true laws by which the flesh 
 
 Accloys the spirit ! We may not be doomed 
 
 To cope with seraphs, but at least the rest 
 
 Shall cope with us. Make no more giants, God, 
 
 But elevate the race at once ! We ask 780 
 
 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 this 
 
 The sacred knowledge, here and there dispersed 
 
 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? 790 
 
 Who shall succeed if not one pledged like me ? 
 
 Mine is no mad attempt to build a world 
 
 Apart from his, like those who set themselves 
 
 To find the nature of the spirit they bore. 
 
 And, taught betimes that all their gorgeous 
 
 dreams 
 Were only born to vanish in this life. 
 Refused to fit them to its narrow sphere. 
 But chose to figure forth another world 
 And other frames meet for their vast desires,— 
 And all a dream ! Tlius was life scorned ; but 
 
 life 800 
 
 Shall yet be crowned : twine amaranth ! I am 
 
 priest ! 
 And all for yielding with a lively spirit
 
 28 PARACELSUS 
 
 An A poor existence, parting with a youth 
 earnest Like those who squander every energy 
 °^ ^^^ Convertible to good, on painted toys. 
 
 Breath-bubbles, gilded dust ! And though I 
 
 spurn 
 All adventitious aims, from empty praise 
 To love's award, yet whoso deems such helps 
 Important, and concerns himself for me, 
 May know even these will follow with the rest — 
 As in the steady rolling Mayne, asleep 8ii 
 
 Yonder, is mixed its mass of schistous ore. 
 My own affections laid to rest awhile. 
 Will waken purified, subdued alone 
 By all I have achieved. Till then — till then . , . 
 Ah, the time-wiling loitering of a page 
 Through bower and over lawn, till eve shall bring 
 The stately lady's presence whom he loves — 
 The broken sleep of the fisher whose rough coat 
 Enwraps the queenly pearl — these are faint types ! 
 See, see, they look on me : I triumph now 1 821 
 But one thing, Festus, Michal ! I have told 
 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, 830 
 One — when, a ])rince, he rises with his pearl ? 
 Festus, I plunge ! 
 
 Festus. We wait you when you rise !
 
 PART II 
 
 PARACELSUS ATTAINS 
 
 Scene. — Constantinople ; the house of a Greek 
 Conjurer. 1521 
 
 Paracelsus 
 
 Over the waters in the vaporous West Para- 
 
 The sun goes down as in a sphere of gold celsus 
 
 Behind the arm of the city, which between, j^jg gains 
 With all that length of domes and minarets. 
 Athwart the splendour, black and crooked runs 
 Like a Turk verse along a scimitar. 
 There lie, sullen memorial, and no more 
 Possess my aching sight ! 'Tis done at last. 
 Strange — and the juggles of a sallow cheat 
 Have won me to this act ! 'Tis as yon cloud 10 
 Should voyage unwrecked o'er many a mountain- 
 top 
 And break upon a molehill. I have dared 
 Come to a pause with knowledge ; scan for 
 
 once 
 The heights already reachetl, without regard 
 To the extent above ; fairly com])utc 
 All 1 have clearly gained ; tor once excluding 
 A brilliant future to supj)ly and jierfect 
 
 39
 
 3° 
 
 PARACELSUS 
 
 and All half-gains and conjectures and crude hopes : 
 inscribes And all because a fortune-teller wills 19 
 
 his Ufe's j^jg credulous seekers should inscribe thus much 
 results rj^^j^^j^ previous life's attainment, in his roll, 
 Before his promised secret, as he vaunts, 
 Make up the sum : and here amid the scrawled 
 Uncouth recordings of the dupes of this 
 Old arch-genethliac, lie my life's results ! 
 
 A few blurred characters suffice to note 
 A stranger wandered long through many lands 
 And reaped the fruit he coveted in a few 
 Discoveries, as appended here and there. 
 The fragmentary produce of much toil, 30 
 
 In a dim heap, fact and surmise together 
 Confusedly massed as when acquired ; he was 
 Intent on gain to come too much to stay 
 And scrutinise the little gained : the whole 
 Slipt in the blank space 'twixt an idiot's gibber 
 And a mad lover's ditty — there it lies. 
 
 And yet those blottlngs chronicle a life — 
 A whole life, and my life ! Nothing to do, 
 No problem for the fancy, but a life 
 Spent and decided, wasted past retrieve 40 
 
 Or worthy beyond peer. Stay, what does this 
 Remembrancer set down concerning ' life ' ? 
 ' " Time fleets, youth fades, life is an empty 
 
 dream," 
 It is the echo of time ; and he whose heart 
 Beat first beneath a human heart, whose speech 
 Was copied from a human tongue, can never 
 Recall when he was living yet knew not this. 
 Nevertheless long seasons pass o'er him
 
 PARACELSUS 31 
 
 Till some one hour's experience shows what He con- 
 nothing, 49 templates 
 It seemed, could clearer show; and ever after, 
 An altered brow and eye and gait and speech 
 Attest that now he knows the adage true 
 " Time fleets, youth fades, life is an empty 
 dream." ' 
 
 Ay, my brave chronicler, and this same hour 
 As well as any : now, let my time be ! 
 
 Now ! I can go no farther ; well or ill, 
 'Tis done. I must desist and take my chance. 
 I cannot keep on the stretch : 'tis no back- 
 shrinking — 
 For let but some assurance beam, some close 
 To my toil grow visible, and I proceed 60 
 
 At any price, though closing it, to die. 
 I'llse, here I pause. The old Greek's prophecy 
 Is like to turn out true : ' I shall not quit 
 His chamber till I know what I desire ! ' 
 Was it the light wind sang it o'er the sea ? 
 
 An end, a rest ! strange how the notion, once 
 I encountered, gathers strength by moments ! Rest I 
 Where has it kept so long ? this throbbing brow 
 To cease, this beating heart to cease, all cruel 
 And gnawing thoughts to cease ! To dare let 
 down 70 
 
 My strung, so high-strung brain, to dare unnerve 
 My harassed o'ertasked frame, to know my ])lacc. 
 My portion, my reward, even my failure, 
 Assigned, made sure for ever ! To lose myself 
 Among the conmion creatures of the world.
 
 32 
 
 PARACELSUS 
 
 leaving To draw some gain from having been a man, 
 the event Neither to hope nor fear, to live at length ! 
 to God jTygjj jj, failure, rest ! But rest in truth 
 
 And power and recompense ... I hoped that 
 
 once ! 
 
 What, sunk insensibly so deep ? Has all 80 
 Been undergone for this ? This the request 
 My labour qualified me to present 
 With no fear of refusal ? Had I gone 
 Slightingly through my task, and so judged lit 
 To moderate my hopes ; nay, were it now 
 My sole concern to exculpate myself. 
 End things or mend them, — why, I could not 
 
 choose 
 A humbler mood to wait for the event ! 
 No, no, there needs not this ; no, after all. 
 At worst I have performed my share of the 
 
 task : 90 
 
 The rest is God's concern ; mine, merely this, 
 To know that I have obstinately held 
 By my own work. The mortal whose brave foot 
 Has trod, unscathed, the temple-court so far 
 That he descries at length the shrine of shrines, 
 Must let no sneering of the demons' eyes. 
 Whom he could pass unquailing, fasten now 
 Upon him, fairly past their power ; no, no — 
 He must not stagger, faint, fall down at last. 
 Having a charm to baffle them ; behold, 100 
 He bares his front : a mortal ventures thus 
 Serene amid the echoes, beams and glooms ! 
 If he be priest henceforth, if he wake up 
 The god of the place to ban and blast him there, 
 Both well ! What's failure or success to me ?
 
 I 
 
 II 
 
 PARACELSUS 33 
 
 I have subdued my life to the one purpose He tells 
 
 Whereto I ordained it ; there alone I spy sacrSices 
 
 No doubt, that way I may be satisfied. 
 
 Yes, well have I subdued my life ! beyond 
 The obligation of my strictest vow, no 
 
 The contemplation of my wildest bond. 
 Which gave my nature freely up, in truth. 
 But in its actual state, consenting fully 
 All passionate impulses its soil was formed 
 To rear, should wither ; but foreseeing not 
 The tract, doomed to perpetual barrenness, 
 Would seem one day, remembered as it was, 
 Beside the parched sand-waste which now it is, 
 Already strewn with faint blooms, viewless then. 
 I ne'er engaged to root up loves so frail 120 
 
 I felt them not ; yet now, 'tis very plain 
 Some soft spots had their birth in me at first. 
 If not love, say, like love : there was a time 
 When yet this wolfish hunger after knowledge 
 Set not remorselessly love's claims aside. 
 This heart was human once, or why recall 
 I Cinsiedeln, now, and Wiir/.burg which the Maync 
 Forsakes her course to fold as with an arm ? 
 
 And Festus — my poor Festus, with his praise 
 And counsel and grave fears where is he now 
 With the sweet maiden, long ago his bride ? 131 
 I surely loved them — that last night, at least, 
 When we . . . gone ! gone ! the better. I am 
 
 saved 
 The sad review of an ambitious youth 
 Choked by vile lusts, unnoticed in their birth, 
 But let grow up and wind around a will
 
 34 
 
 PARACELSUS 
 
 of the Till action was destroyed. No, I have gone 
 tyranny Purging my path successively of aught 
 of his "Wi-aring the distant likeness of such lusts. 
 
 I have made life consist of one idea : 140 
 
 Ere that was master, up till that was born, 
 
 I bear a memory of a pleasant life 
 
 Whose small events I treasure ; till one morn 
 
 I ran o'er the seven little grassy fields, 
 
 Startling the flocks of nameless birds, to tell 
 
 Poor Festus, leaping all the while for joy. 
 
 To leave all trouble for my future plans, 
 
 Since I had just determined to become 
 
 The greatest and most glorious man on earth. 
 
 And since that morn all life has been forgotten ; 
 
 All is one day, one only step between 151 
 
 The outset and the end : one tyrant all- 
 
 Absorbing aim fills up the interspace, 
 
 One vast unbroken chain of thought, kept up 
 
 Through a career apparently adverse 
 
 To its existence : life, death, light and shadow, 
 
 The shows of the world, were bare receptacles 
 
 Or indices of truth to be wrung thence, 
 
 Not ministers of sorrow or delight : 
 
 A wondrous natural robe in which she went. 160 
 
 For some one truth would dimly beacon me 
 
 From mountains rough with pines,and flit and wink 
 
 O'er dazzling wastes of frozen snow, and tremble 
 
 Into assured light in some branching mine 
 
 Where ripens, swathed in fire, the liquid gold — 
 
 And all the beauty, all the wonder fell 
 
 On either side the truth, as its mere robe ; 
 
 I see the robe now — then I saw the form. 
 
 So far, then, I have voyaged with success, 
 
 So much is good, then, in this working sea 170
 
 PARACELSUS 35 
 
 Which parts me from that happy strip of land : and of 
 
 But o'er that happy strip a sun shone, too ! ^^e bitter- 
 
 And fainter gleams it as the waves grow rough, f^^yj.g 
 
 And still more faint as the sea widens ; last 
 
 I sicken on a dead gulf streaked with light 
 
 From its own putrefying depths alone. 
 
 Then, God was pledged to take me by the hand ; 
 
 Now, any miserable juggle can bid 
 
 My pride depart. All is alike at length : 
 
 God may take pleasure in confounding pride i8o 
 
 By hiding secrets with the scorned and base— 
 
 I am here, in short : so little have I paused 
 
 Throughout ! I never glanced behind to know 
 
 If I had kept my primal light from wane, 
 
 And thus insensibly am — what I am ! 
 
 Oh, bitter ; very bitter ! 
 
 And more bitter. 
 To fear a deeper curse, an inner ruin. 
 Plague beneath plague, the last turning the first 
 To light beside its darkness. Let me weep 189 
 My youth and its brave hojjcs, all dead and gone. 
 In tears which burn ! Would I were sure to win 
 Some startling secret in their stead, a tincture 
 Of force to flush old age with youth, or breed 
 Gold, or imprison moonbeams til! thoy change 
 To opal shafts! — only that, hurling it 
 Indignant back, I might convince myself 
 My aims remained supreme and ])ure as ever ! 
 I'-vcn now, why not desire, for mankind's sake. 
 That if I fail, some fault may be the cause, 
 That, though I sink, another may succeed ? 200 
 O God, the despicable heart of us ! 
 Shut out this hideous mockery from my heart !
 
 36 PARACELSUS 
 
 He fears 'Twas politic in you, Aureole, to reject 
 some- Sint^lc rewards, and ask. them in the lump ; 
 thing Y\t all events, once launched, to hold straight on : 
 For now 'tis all or nothing. Mighty profit 
 Your gains will bring if they stop short of such 
 Full consummation ! As a man, you had 
 A certain share of strength ; and that is gone 
 Already in the getting these you boast. 210 
 
 Do not they seem to laugh, as who should say — 
 ' Great master, we are here indeed, dragged forth 
 To light ; this hast thou done : be glad ! Now, 
 
 seek 
 The strength to use which thou hast spent in 
 getting! 
 
 I ' 
 
 And yet 'tis much, surely 'tis very much. 
 Thus to have emptied youth of all its gifts. 
 To feed a fire meant to hold out till morn 
 Arrived with inexhaustible light ; and lo, 
 I have heaped up my last, and day dawns not ! 
 And I am left with grey hair, faded hands, 220 
 And furrowed brow. Ha, have I, after all, • 
 Mistaken the wild nursling of my breast ? 
 Knowledge it seemed, and power, and recom- 
 pense ! 
 Was siie who glided through my room of nights. 
 Who laid my head on her soft knees and smoothed 
 The damp locks, — whose sly soothings just began 
 When my sick spirit craved repose awhile — 
 God ! was I fighting sleep off for death's sake ? 
 
 God ! Thou art mind ! Unto the master-mind 
 Mind should be precious. Spare my mind alone ! 
 All else I will endure ; if, as I stand 231
 
 PARACELSUS 37 
 
 Here, with my gains, thy thunder smite me down, and cries 
 
 I bow me ; 'tis thy will, thy righteous will ; *° ^°^ *° 
 
 T » IT' \ ■ ^- A J A- renew 
 
 1 o erpass lire s restrictions, and i die ; j^^^^^ 
 
 And if no trace of my career remain 
 
 Save a thin corpse at pleasure of the wind 
 
 In these bright chambers level with the air. 
 
 See thou to it ! But if my spirit fail. 
 
 My once proud spirit forsake me at the last, 239 
 
 Hast thou done well by me ? So do not thou ! 
 
 Crush not my mind, dear God, though I be 
 
 crushed ! 
 Hold me before the frequence of thy seraphs 
 And say — ' I crushed him, lest he should disturb 
 My law. Men must not know their strength : 
 
 behold 
 Weak and alone, how he had raised himself! ' 
 
 But if delusions trouble me, and thou. 
 Not seldom felt with rapture in thy help 
 Throughout my toils and wanderings, dost 
 
 intend 
 To work man's welfare through my weak 
 
 endeavour, 
 To crown my mortal forehead with a beam 250 
 I'Vom thine own blinding crown, to smile, and 
 
 guide 
 This puny hand and let the work so wrought 
 Be styled my work, — hear me ! I covet not 
 An influx of new j)Ower, an angel's sou/ ; 
 It were no marvel then — l)ut I have reac/ied 
 Thus far, a man ; let me conclude, a man ! 
 Give but one hour of my first energy. 
 Of that invincible faith, but only one! 
 That I may cover with an eagle-glance
 
 38 PARACELSUS 
 
 Aprile The truths I have, and spy some certain way 260 
 speaks To mould them, and completing them, possess 1 
 Yet God is good : I started sure of that, 
 And why dispute it now ? I '11 not believe 
 But some undoubted warning long ere this 
 Had reached me : a firc-labarum was not deemed 
 Too much for the old founder of these walls. 
 Then, if my life has not been natural, 
 It has been monstrous : yet, till late, my course 
 So ardently engrossed me, that delight, 
 A pausing and reflecting joy, 'tis plain, 270 
 
 Could find no place in it. True, I am worn ; 
 But who clothes summer, who is life itself? 
 God, that created all things, can renew ! 
 And then, though after-life to please me now 
 Must have no likeness to the past, what hinders 
 Reward from springing out of toil, as changed 
 As bursts the flower from earth and root and 
 
 stalk. ? 
 What use were punishment, unless some sin 
 Be first detected ? let me know that first ! 
 No man could ever offend as I have done . . . 280 
 
 [^jI voice from ivithin.~] 
 
 I hear a voice, perchance I heard 
 
 Long ago, but all too low, 
 
 So that scarce a care it stirred 
 
 If the voice were real or no : 
 
 I heard it in my youth when first 
 
 The waters of my life outburst : 
 
 But, now their stream ebbs faint, I hear 
 
 That voice, still low, but fatal-clear — 
 
 As if all poets, God ever meant
 
 PARACELSUS 39 
 
 Should save the world, and therefore lent and tells 
 Great gifts to, but who, proud, refused 291 °' *|*^ 
 To do his work, or lightly used failed 
 
 Those gifts, or failed through weak en- 
 deavour. 
 So, mourn cast off by him for ever, — • 
 As if these leaned in airy ring 
 To take me ; this the song they sing. 
 
 ' Lost, lost ! yet come, 
 
 With our wan troop make thy home. 
 
 Come, come ! for we 
 
 Will not breathe, so much as breathe 300 
 
 Reproach to thee. 
 
 Knowing what thou sink'st beneath. 
 
 So sank we in those old years. 
 
 We who bid thee, come ! thou last 
 
 Who, living yet, hast life o'erpast. 
 
 And altogether we, thy peers. 
 
 Will pardon crave for thee, the last 
 
 Whose trial is done, whose lot is cast 
 
 With those who watch but work no more. 
 
 Who gaze on life but live no more. 310 
 
 Yet we trusted thou shouldst speak 
 
 The message which our li])s, too weak. 
 
 Refused to utter, — shouldst redeem 
 
 Our fault : such trust, and all a dream ! 
 
 Yet we chose thee a birth])Iacc 
 
 Where the richness ran to flowers : 
 
 Couidst not sing one song for grace ? 
 
 Not make one blossom man's and ours? 
 
 Must one more recreant to his race 
 
 Die with unexerted ])Ower8, 320 
 
 And join us, leaving as he found
 
 40 PARACELSUS 
 
 He The world, he was to loosen, bound ? 
 
 greets Anguish ! ever and for ever ; 
 
 ^f""^" Still beginning, ending never. 
 
 ce sus Ygj^ jQgj .jn(i i^st one, come ! 
 
 How couldst understand, alas, 
 
 What our pale ghosts strove to say, 
 
 As their shades did glance and pass 
 
 Before thee night and day ? 
 
 Thou wast blind as we were dumb : 330 
 
 Once more, therefore, come, O come! 
 
 How should we clothe, how arm the spirit 
 
 Shall next thy post of life inherit — 
 
 How guard him from thy speedy ruin ? 
 
 Tell us of thy sad undoing 
 
 Here, where we sit, ever pursuing 
 
 Our weary task, ever renewing 
 
 Sharp sorrow, far from God who gave 
 
 Our powers, and man they could not save ! ' 
 
 Aprile enters. 
 
 Ha, ha ! our king that wouldst be, here at last? 
 Art thou the poet who shall save the world ? 341 
 Thy hand to mine ! Stay, fix thine eyes on 
 
 mine ! 
 Thou wouldst be king ? Still fix thine eyes on 
 
 mme 
 
 Pararelsus. Ha, ha! why crouchest not? Am 
 I not king ? 
 So torture is not wholly unavailing ! 
 Have my fierce spasms compelled thee from thy 
 
 lair ? 
 
 Art thou the sage I only seemed to be, 
 Myself of after-time, my very self
 
 PARACELSUS 41 
 
 With sight a little clearer, strength more firm, Each 
 Who robes him in my robe and grasps my crown miscon- 
 For just a fault, a weakness, a neglect ? 351 Q^jjgj. 
 
 I scarcely trusted God with the surmise 
 That such might come, and thou didst hear the 
 
 while ! 
 Aprile. Thine eyes are lustreless to mine ; my 
 
 hair 
 Is soft, nay silken soft : to talk with thee 
 Flushes my cheek, and thou art ashy-pale. 
 Truly, thou hast laboured, hast withstood her 
 
 lips. 
 The siren's ! Yes, 'tis like thou hast attained ! 
 Tell mc, dear master, wherefore now thou 
 
 comest ? 
 I thought thy solemn songs would have their 
 
 meed 360 
 
 In after-time; that I should hear the earth 
 Exult in thee and echo with thy praise. 
 While I was laid forgotten in my grave. 
 
 Paracelsus. Ah (lend, I know thee, I am not 
 
 thy dupe ! 
 Thou art ordained to follow in my track, 
 Reaping my sowing, as I scorned to reaj) 
 The harvest sown by sages passed away. 
 Thou art the sober searcher, cautious strivcr. 
 As if, except through me, thou hast searched 
 
 or striven ! 
 Ay, tell the world! Degrade me after all, 370 
 To an aspirant after fame, not truth — 
 To all but envy of thy fate, be sure ! 
 
 Apr'de. Nay, sing them to me ; I shall envy 
 
 not : 
 Thou shall be king ! Sing thou, and I will sit
 
 42 PARACELSUS 
 
 Aprile Beside, and call deep silence for thy songs, 
 tells his And worship thee, as I had ne'er been meant 
 fate -^-"p |-jj| jj^y throne : but none shall ever know ! 
 Sing to me ; for already thy wild eyes 
 Unlock my heart strings, as some crystal-shaft 
 Reveals by some chance blaze its parent fount 380 
 After long time : so thou reveal'st my soul. 
 All will Hash forth at last, with thee to hear ! 
 Paracelsus. (His secret! I shall get his 
 secret — fool ! ) 
 I am he that aspired to know : and thou ? 
 Apr'tle. 1 would love infinitely, and be loved ! 
 Paracelsus. Poor slave! I am thy king indeed. 
 Apr'tle. Thou deem'st 
 
 That — born a spirit, dowered even as thou, 
 Born for thy fate — because I could not curb 
 My yearnings to possess at once the full 
 Enjoyment, but neglected all the means 390 
 
 Of realising even the frailest joy, 
 Gathering no fragments to appease my want, 
 Yet nursing up that want till thus I die — 
 Thou deem'st I cannot trace thy safe sure march 
 O'er perils that o'erwhelm me, triumphing. 
 Neglecting nought below for aught above. 
 Despising nothing and ensuring all — 
 Nor that I could (my time to come again) 
 Lead thus my spirit securely as thine own. 
 Listen, and thou shalt see I know thee well. 400 
 I would love infinitely . . . Ah, lost ! lost ! 
 Oh ye who armed me at such cost, 
 How shall I look on all of ye 
 With your gifts even yet on me ? 
 Paracelsus. (Ah, 'tis some moonstruck creature 
 after all !
 
 PARACELSUS 43 
 
 Such fond fools as are like to haunt this den : how he 
 
 They spread contagion, doubtless : yet he seemed ]^?J*JJ^^g 
 
 To echo one foreboding of my heart carved 
 
 So truly, that ... no matter ! How he stands 
 
 With eve's last sunbeam staying on his hair 410 
 
 Which turns to it as if they were akin : 
 
 And those clear smiling eyes of saddest blue 
 
 Nearly set free, so far they rise above 
 
 The painful fruitless striving of the brow 
 
 And enforced knowledge of the lips, firm-set 
 
 In slow despondency's eternal sigh ! 
 
 Has he, too, missed life's end, and learned the 
 
 cause ?) 
 I charge thee, by thy fealty, be calm ! 
 Tell me what thou wouldst be, and what I am. 
 Apnle. I would love infinitely, and be loved. 420 
 First: I would carve in stone, or cast in brass, 
 The forms of earth. No ancient hunter lifted 
 Up to the gods by his renown, no nymph 
 Supposed the sweet soul of a woodland tree 
 Or sa])phirine spirit of a twilight star, 
 Should be too hard for me : no shepherd-king 
 Regal for his white locks ; no youth who stands 
 Silent and very calm amid the throng, 
 His right hand ever hid beneath his robe 
 Until the tyrant jiass ; no lawgiver, 430 
 
 No swan-soft woman rubbed with lucid oils 
 Given by a god for love of her — too hard ! 
 livery passion sprung from man, conceived by 
 
 man, 
 Would I express and clothe it in its right form, 
 Or blend with others struggling in one form, 
 Or show repressed by an ungainly form. 
 Oh, if you marvelled at some mighty spirit
 
 44 PARACELSUS 
 
 and With a fit frame to execute its will — 
 painted, Kven unconsciously to work its will — 
 and sung Yqu should be moved no less beside some strong 
 Rare spirit, fettered to a stubborn body, 441 
 Endeavouring to subdue it and inform it 
 With its own splendour ! All this I would do : 
 And I would say, this done, 'His sprites created, 
 God grants to each a sphere to be its world, 
 Appointed with the various objects needed 
 To satisfy its own peculiar want ; 
 So, I create a world for these my shapes 
 Fit to sustain their beauty and their strength ! ' 
 And, at the word, I would contrive and paint 450 
 Woods, valleys, rocks and plains, dells, sands 
 
 and wastes. 
 Lakes which, when morn breaks on their quiver- 
 ing bed, 
 Blaze like a wyvern flying round the sun. 
 And ocean isles so small, the dog-fish tracking 
 A dead whale, who should find them, would 
 
 swim thrice 
 Around them, and fare onward — all to hold 
 The offspring of my brain. Nor these alone : 
 Bronze labyrinth, palace, pyramid and crypt, 
 Baths, galleries, courts, temples and terraces, 459 
 Marts, theatres and wharfs — all filled with men, 
 Men everywhere ! And this performed in turn, 
 When those who looked on, pined to hear the 
 
 ho])es 
 And fears and hates and loves which moved the 
 
 crowd, 
 I would throw down the pencil as the chisel. 
 And 1 would speak ; no thought which ever stirred 
 A human breast should be untold ; all passions,
 
 PARACELSUS 45 
 
 All soft emotions, from the turbulent stir express- 
 
 Within a heart fed with desires like mine, *"S ^" 
 
 To the last comfort shutting the tired lids ' 
 
 Of him who sleeps the sultry noon away 470 
 Beneath the tent-tree by the wayside well : 
 And this in language as the need should be, 
 Now poured at once forth in a burning flow. 
 Now piled up in a grand array of words. 
 This done, to perfect and consummate all, 
 Even as a luminous haze links star to star, 
 I would supply all chasms with music, breathing 
 Mysterious motions of the soul, no way 
 To be defined save in strange melodies. 
 Last, having thus revealed all I could love, 480 
 Having received all love bestowed on it, 
 I would die : preserving so throughout my course 
 God full on me, as I was full on men : 
 He would approve my prayer, ' I have gone 
 
 through 
 The loveliness of life ; create for me 
 If not for men, or take me to thyself, 
 Eternal, infinite love ! ' 
 
 If thou hast ne'er 
 Conceived this mighty aim, this full desire. 
 Thou hast not passed my trial, and thou art 
 No king of mine. 
 
 Paracelsus. Ah me ! 
 
 Apr'ile. But thou art here ! 490 
 
 Thou didst not gaze like me upon that end 
 Till thine own powers for comjjassing the bliss 
 Were blind with glory ; nor grow mad to grasp 
 At once the prize long jjaticnt toil should claim. 
 Nor spurn all granted short of that. And I 
 Would do as thou, a second time : nay, listen !
 
 46 PARACELSUS 
 
 He Knowing ourselves, our world, our task so great, 
 should Our time so brief, 'tis clear if we refuse 
 have rpj^^ means so limited, the tools so rude 
 the best To execute our ])urpose, life will fleet, 500 
 
 of his And we shall fade, and leave our task undone, 
 means We will be wise in time: what though our work 
 Be fashioned in despite of their ill-service. 
 Be crippled every way ? 'Twere little praise 
 Did full resources wait on our goodwill 
 At every turn. Let all be as it is. 
 Some say the earth is even so contrived 
 That tree and flower, a vesture gay, conceal 
 A bare and skeleton framework. Had we means 
 Answering to our mind ! But now I seem 510 
 Wrecked on a savage isle : how rear thereon 
 My palace? Branching palms the props shall be, 
 Fruit glossy mingling ; gems are for the East ; 
 Who heeds them ? I can pass them. Serpents' 
 
 scales. 
 And painted birds' down, furs and fishes' skins 
 Must help me ; and a little here and there 
 Is all I can aspire to : still my art 
 Shall show its birth was in a gentler clime. 
 ' Had I green jars of malachite, this way 
 I 'd range them : where those sea-shells glisten 
 
 above, 5^° 
 
 Cressets should hang, by right : this way we set 
 The purple carpets, as these mats are laid. 
 Woven of fern and rush and blossoming flag.' 
 Or if, by fortune, some completer grace 
 Be spared to me, some fragment, some slight 
 
 sample 
 Of the prouder workmanship my own home 
 
 boasts.
 
 PARACELSUS 47 
 
 Some trifle little heeded there, but here prizing 
 
 The place's one perfection — with what joy *"^ 
 
 Would I enshrine the relic, cheerfully -^ ^f 
 
 Foregoing all the marvels out of reach ! 530 gggd 
 
 Could I retain one strain of all the psalm 
 
 Of the angels, one word of the fiat of God, 
 
 To let my followers know what such things are ! 
 
 I would adventure nobly for their sakes : 
 
 When nights were still, and still the moaning sea, 
 
 And far away I could descry the land 
 
 Whence I departed, whither I return, 
 
 I would dispart the waves, and stand once more 
 
 At home, and load my bark, and hasten back, 
 
 And fling my gains to them, worthless or true. 540 
 
 ' Friends,' I would say, 'I went far, far for them. 
 
 Past the high rocks the haunt of doves, the 
 
 mounds 
 Of red earth from whose sides strange trees 
 
 grow out. 
 Past tracts of milk-white minute blinding sand, 
 Till, by a mighty moon, I tremblingly 
 Gathered these magic herbs, berry and bud. 
 In haste, not pausing to reject the weeds. 
 But happy plucking them at any price. 
 To me, who have seen them bloom in their own 
 soil, 549 
 
 They are scarce lovely : plait and wear them, you ! 
 And guess, from what they arc, the springs that 
 
 fed them. 
 The stars that sparkled o'er them, night by night. 
 The snakes that travelled far to sip their dew ! ' 
 Thus for my higher loves ; and thus even weakness 
 Would win me honour. But not these alone 
 Should claim my care ; for common life, its wants
 
 48 PARACELSUS 
 
 not And ways, would I set forth in beauteous hues : 
 ruined, as Xhe lowest hind should not possess a hope, 
 
 now, by ^ ^^.^^^ ^^^ j . ^ be by him, saying better 
 ^trS^ure Than he his own heart's language. I would live 
 For ever in the thoughts I thus explored, 561 
 As a discoverer's memory is attached 
 To all he finds; they should be mine henceforth. 
 Imbued with me, though free to all before : 
 For clay, once cast into my soul's rich mine. 
 Should come up crusted o'er with gems. Nor 
 
 this 
 Would need a meaner spirit, than the first ; 
 Nay, 'twould be but the selfsame spirit, clothed 
 In humbler guise, but still the selfsame spirit : 
 As one spring wind unbinds the mountain snow 
 And comforts violets in their hermitage. 571 
 
 But, master, poet, who hast done all this. 
 How didst thou 'scape the ruin whelming me ? 
 Didst thou, when nerving thee to this attempt. 
 Ne'er range thy mind's extent, as some wide hall. 
 Dazzled by shapes that filled its length with light;. 
 Shapes clustered there to rule thee, not obey, ', 
 That will not wait thy summons, will not rise 
 Singly, nor when thy practised eye and hand 
 Can well transfer their loveliness, but crowd 580 
 By thee for ever, bright to thy despair ? 
 Didst thou ne'er gaze on each by turns, and ne'er 
 Resolve to single out one, though the rest 
 Should vanish, and to give that one, entire 
 In beauty, to the world ; forgetting, so, 
 Its peers, whose number baffles mortal power ? 
 And, this determined, wast thou ne'er seduced 
 By memories and regrets and passionate love.
 
 PARACELSUS 49 
 
 To glance once more farewell ? and did their eyes His fall 
 Fasten thee, brighter and more bright, until 590 ^"" "^^ 
 Thou couldst but stagger back unto their feet. 
 And laugh that man's applause or welfare ever 
 Could tempt thee to forsake them ? Or when years 
 Had passed and still their love possessed thee 
 
 wholly, 
 When from without some murmur startled thee 
 Of darkling mortals famished for one ray 
 Of thy so-hoarded luxury of light. 
 Didst thou ne'er strive even yet to break those 
 
 spells 
 And prove thou couldst recover and fulfil 
 Thy early mission, long ago renounced, 600 
 
 And to that end, select some shape once more ? 
 And did not mist-like influences, thick films. 
 Faint memories of the rest that charmed so long 
 Thine eyes, float fast, confuse thee, bear thee ofi^. 
 As whirling snow-drifts blind a man who treads 
 A mountain ridge, with guiding spear, through 
 
 storm ? 
 >ay, though I fell, I had excuse to fall ; 
 ?ay, I was tempted sorely : say but this, 
 Dear lord, Aprile's lord ! 
 
 Paracelsus. Clasp me not thus, 609 
 
 Aprile ! That the truth should reach me thus I 
 
 VVe are weak dust. Nay, clasp not or I faint! 
 
 /Iprile. My king! and envious thoughts could 
 
 outrage thee ? 
 Lo, I forget my ruin, and rejoice 
 In thy success, as thou! Let our God's ])raise 
 Go bravely through the world at last ! What care 
 Through me or thee? I feel thy breath. Why, 
 
 tears ?
 
 50 PARACELSUS 
 
 Para- Tears in the darknesR, and from thee to me ? 
 celsus Paracelsus. Love me henceforth, Aprile, while 
 awakens j j^..^^^ 6i8 
 
 To love ; and, merciful God, forgive us both ! 
 We wake at length from weary dreams ; but both 
 Have slept in fairy-land : though dark and drear 
 Appears the world before us, we no less 
 Wake with our wrists and ankles jewelled still. 
 I too have sought to know as thou to love — 
 Excluding love as thou refusedst knowledge. 
 Still thou hast beauty and I, power. We wake : 
 What penance canst devise for both of us ? 
 
 Aprile. I hear thee faintly. The thick dark- 
 ness ! Even 
 Thine eyes are hid. 'Tis as I knew : I speak, 
 And now I die. But I have seen thy face ! 630 
 O poet, think of me, and sing of me ! 
 But to have seen thee and to die so soon ! 
 
 Paracelsus. Die not, Aprile! We must never 
 part. 
 Are we not halves of one dissevered world, 
 Whom this strange chance unites once more ? 
 
 Part ? never ! 
 Till thou the lover, know ; and I, the knower. 
 Love — until both are saved. Aprile, hear ! 
 We will accept our gains, and use them — now ! 
 God, he will die upon my breast ! Aprile ! 
 
 Aprile. To speak but once, and die ! yet by 
 his side. 640 
 
 Hush! hush! 
 
 Ha ! go you ever girt about 
 With phantoms, powers ? I have created such, 
 But these seem real as I. 
 
 Paracelsus. Whom can you see
 
 PARACELSUS 51 
 
 Through the accursed darkness ? Para- 
 
 ^prile. Stay ; I know, celsus 
 
 1 know them : who should know them well as I ? ^"^'"^ 
 White brows, lit up with glory ; poets all ! 
 Paracelsus. Let him but live, and I have my 
 
 reward ! 
 Apr'tle. Yes ; I see now. God is the perfect 
 poet, 
 Who in his person acts his own creations. 649 
 Had you but told me this at first ! Hush ! hush ! 
 Paracelsus. Live ! for my sake, because of 
 my great sin, 
 To help my brain, oppressed by these wild words 
 And their deep import. Live ! 'tis not too late. 
 I have a quiet home for us, and friends. 
 Michal shall smile on you. Hear you ? Lean 
 
 thus, 
 And breathe my breath. I shall not lose one word 
 Of all your sjx'ech, one little word, Aprile ! 
 Apr'tle. No, no. Crown me ? I am not one 
 of you ! 
 'Tis he, the king, you seek. I am not one. 
 Paracelsus. Thy spirit, at least, Aprile ! Let 
 me love ! 6rx3 
 
 I have attained, and now I may depart.
 
 PART III 
 
 PARACELSUS 
 
 Scene. — Basil ; a chamber In the house 
 o/" Paracelsus. 1526 
 
 Paracelsus, Festus 
 
 A Paracelsus. Heap logs and let the blaze laugh 
 renewal out ' 
 
 "'^liSi's ^'""'' . True, true! 
 
 'Tis very fit all, time and chance and change 
 Have wrought since last we sat thus, face to face 
 And soul to soul — all cares, far-looking fears. 
 Vague apprehensions, all vain fancies bred 
 By your long absence, should be cast away. 
 Forgotten in this glad unhoped renewal 
 Of our affections. 
 
 Paracelsus. Oh, omit not aught 
 
 Which witnesses your own and Michal's own 
 Affection : spare not that ! Only forget ro 
 The honours and the glories and what not, 
 It pleases you to tell profusely out. 
 
 Festus. Nay, even your honours, in a sense, I 
 waive : 
 The wondrous Paracelsus, life's dispenser, 
 Fate's commissary, idol of the schools 
 And courts, shall be no more than Aureole still, 
 Still Aureole and my friend as when we parted
 
 PARACELSUS 53 
 
 Some twenty years ago, and I restrained RecoUec- 
 
 As best I could the promptings of my spirit ii?"vi i 
 Which secretly advanced you, from the first, 20 
 To the pre-eminent rank which, since, your own 
 Adventurous ardour, nobly triumphing. 
 Has won for you. 
 
 Paracelsus. Yes, yes. And Michal's face 
 Still wears that quiet and peculiar light 
 Like the dim circlet floating round a pearl ? 
 
 Feslus. Just so. 
 
 Paracelsus. And yet her calm sweet counten- 
 ance. 
 Though saintly, was not sad ; for she would sing 
 Alone. Does she still sing alone, bird-like. 
 Not dreaming you are near ? Her carols dropt 
 In flakes through that old leafy bower built under 
 The sunny wall at Wiirzburg, from her lattice 31 
 Among the trees above, while 1, unseen. 
 Sat conning some rare scroll from Tritheim's 
 
 shelves 
 Much wondering notes so simple could divert 
 My mind from study. Those were happy days. 
 Respect all such as sing when all alone ! 
 
 Festus. Scarcely alone : her children, you may 
 guess. 
 Arc wild beside her. 
 
 Paracelsus. Ah, those children quite 
 
 Unsettle the pure picture in my mind : 
 A girl, she was so perfect, so distinct : 40 
 
 No change, no change ! Not but this added grace 
 May blend and harmonise with its comjjecrs, 
 And Michal may become her motherhood ; 
 I'ut 'tis a change, and I detest all change. 
 And most a change in aught I loved long since.
 
 54 PARACELSUS 
 
 Festus So, Michal — you have said she thinks of nic ? 
 recalls Festus. O very proud will Michal be of you ! 
 ear^ ^"''^gi"^ ^ow we sat, long winter-nights, 
 hopes of ii^cheniing and wondering, shaping your presumed 
 Para- Adventure, or devising its reward ; 50 
 
 celsus Shutting out fear with all the strength of hope. 
 For it was strange how, even when most secure 
 In our domestic peace, a certain dim 
 And flitting shade could sadden all ; it seemed 
 A restlessness of heart, a silent yearning, 
 A sense of something wanting, incomplete — 
 Not to be put in words, perhaps avoided 
 By mute consent — but, said or unsaid, felt 
 To point to one so loved and so long lost. 59 
 And then the hopes rose and shut out the fears — 
 How you would laugh should I recount them now ! 
 I still predicted your return at last 
 With gifts beyond the greatest of them all, 
 All Tritheim's wondrous troop ; did one ot 
 
 which 
 Attain renown by any chance, I smiled, 
 As well aware of who would prove his peer. 
 Michal was sure some woman, long ere this, 
 As beautiful as you were sage, had loved . . . 
 Paracelsus. Far-seeing, truly, to discern so 
 much 
 In the fantastic projects and day-dreams 70 
 
 Of a raw restless boy ! 
 
 Festus. Oh, no : the sunrise 
 
 Well warranted our faith in this full noon ! 
 Can I forget the anxious voice which said 
 < Festus, have thoughts like these ere shaped 
 
 themselves 
 In other brains than mine I have their possessors
 
 PARACELSUS 55 
 
 Existed in like circumstance ? were they weak and 
 As I, or ever constant from the first, change 
 
 Despising youth's allurements and rejecting j^^ f^^^^ 
 
 As spider-films the shackles I endure ? in him 
 
 Is there hope for me ? ' — and I answered gravely 
 As an acknowledged elder, calmer, wiser, 8i 
 More gifted mortal. O you must remember. 
 For all your glorious . . . 
 
 Paracehus. Glorious ? ay, this hair, 
 
 These hands — nay, touch them, they are mine ! 
 
 Recall 
 With all the said recallings, times when thus 
 To lay them by your own ne'er turned you pale 
 As now. Most glorious, are they not ? 
 
 Festus. Why — why — 
 
 Something must be subtracted from success 
 So wide, no doubt. He would be scrupulous, 
 
 Who should object such drawbacks. Still, still, 
 
 Aureole, 9° 
 
 You are changed, very changed ! 'Twere losing 
 
 nothing 
 To look well to it : you must not be stolen 
 From the enjoyment of your well-won meed. 
 Parnrelsus. My friend ! you seek my pleasure, 
 
 ])a8t a doubt : 
 You will best gain your point, by talking, not 
 Of me, but of yourself. 
 
 Festus. Have I not said 
 
 All touching Michal and my children ? Sure 
 You know, by this, full well how Aennchen looks 
 Gravely, while one (lis])arts her thick brown hair ; 
 And Aureole's glee when some stray gannet 
 
 builds 'oo
 
 56 PARACELSUS 
 
 Para- Amid the birch-trees by the lake. Small hope 
 celsus Have I that he will honour (the wild imp) 
 r'"h^^ f ^^^^ namesake. Sigh not ! 'tis too much to ask 
 hit own That all we love should reach the same proud 
 achieve- fate. 
 
 ment But you are very kind to humour me 
 By showing interest in my quiet life ; 
 You, who of old could never tame yourself 
 To tranquil pleasures, must at heart despise . . . 
 Paracelsus. Festus, strange secrets are let out 
 by death 
 Who blabs so oft the follies of this world : no 
 And I am death's familiar, as you know. 
 I helped a man to die, some few weeks since, 
 Warped even from his go-cart to one end — 
 The living on princes' smiles, reflected from 
 A mighty herd of favourites. No mean trick 
 He left untried, and truly well-nigh wormed 
 All traces of God's finger out of him : 
 Then died, grown old. And just an hour before. 
 Having lain long with blank and soulless eyes, 
 He sat up suddenly, and with natural voice 120 
 Said that in spite of thick air and closed doors 
 God told him it was June ; and he knew well. 
 Without such telling, harebells grew in June ; 
 And all that kings could ever give or take 
 Would not be precious as those blooms to him. 
 Just so, allowing I am passing sage. 
 It seems to me much worthier argument 
 Why pansies,! gygg that laugh, bear beauty's prize 
 From violets, eyes that dream — (your Michal's 
 choice) — 
 
 ^ Citrinula (flammula) herba Paracelso multum famili- 
 aris. — DoRN.
 
 PARACELSUS 57 
 
 Than all fools find to wonder at in me 130 He 
 
 Or in my fortunes. And be very sure speaks 
 
 I say this from no prurient restlessness, lectures 
 
 No self-complacency, itching to turn. 
 Vary and view its pleasure from all points, 
 And, in this instance, willing other men 
 May be at pains, demonstrate to itself 
 The realness of the very joy it tastes. 
 What should delight me like the news of friends 
 Whose memories were a solace to me oft, 
 As mountain-baths to wild fowls in their iiight? 
 Ofter than you had wasted thought on me 141 
 Had you been wise, and rightly valued bliss. 
 But there 's no taming nor repressing hearts : 
 God knows I need such! — So, you heard me 
 speak ? 
 Festus. Speak ? when ? 
 
 Paracelsus. When but this morning at my 
 class ? 
 There was noise and crowd enough. I saw 
 
 you not. 
 Surely you know 1 am engaged to till 
 The chair here ? — that 'tis part of my proud fate 
 To lecture to as many thick-skulled youths 
 As please, each day, to throng the theatre, 150 
 To my great reputation, and no small 
 Danger of Basil's benches long unused 
 To crack beneath such honour ? 
 
 Festus. I was tlicre ; 
 
 I mingled with the throng : shall I avow 
 Small care was mine to listen? — too intent 
 On gathering from the murmurs of the crowd 
 A full corroboration of my hopes ! 
 What can I learn about your powers ? but they
 
 58 PARACELSUS 
 
 and Know, care for nought beyond your actual state, 
 perplexes Your actual value ; yet they worship you, i6o 
 th^h"^ Those various natures whom you sway as one ! 
 irony ^"'^ ^'"^ ^ S*'* ^ ^"""^ ^ ^^'^^^ attend . . . 
 
 Paracelsus. Stop, o' God's name : the thing 's 
 by no means yet 
 Past remedy ! Shall I read this morning's labour 
 — At least in substance ? Nought so worth 
 
 the gaining 
 As an apt scholar ! Thus then, with all due 
 Precision and emphasis — you, beside, are clearly 
 Guiltless of understanding more, a whit. 
 The subject than your stool — allowed to be 
 A notable advantage. 
 
 Festtts. Surely, Aureole, 170 
 
 You laugh at me 1 
 
 Paracelsus. I laugh ? Ha, ha ! thank heaven, 
 I charge you, if 't be so ! for I forget 
 Much, and what laughter should be like. No 
 
 less. 
 However, I forego that luxury 
 Since it alarms the friend who brings it back. 
 True, laughter like my own must echo strangely 
 To thinking men ; a smile were better far ; 
 So, make me smile ! If the exulting looks 
 You wore but now be smiling, 'tis so long 
 Since I have smiled ! Alas, such smiles are 
 born 180 
 
 Alone of hearts like yours, or herdsmen's souls 
 Of ancient time, whose eyes, calm as their flocks. 
 Saw in the stars mere garnishry of heaven. 
 And in the earth a stage for altars only. 
 Never change, Festus : I say, never change ! 
 Festus. My God, if he be wretched after all !
 
 PARACELSUS 59 
 
 Paracelsus. When last we parted, Festus, you Festus 
 
 declared, cannot 
 
 — Or Michal, yes, her soft lips whispered words Q^iugnd 
 I have preserved. She told me she believed 
 I should succeed (meaning, that in the search 190 
 I then engaged in, I should meet success) 
 And yet be wretched : now, she augured false. 
 Festus. Thank heaven ! but you spoke 
 
 strangely : could I venture 
 To think bare apprehension lest your friend, 
 Dazzled by your resplendent course, might find 
 Henceforth less sweetness in his own, could move 
 Such earnest mood in you ? Fear not, dear 
 
 friend. 
 That I shall leave you, inwardly repining 
 Your lot was not my own ! 
 
 Paracelsus. And this for ever ! 
 
 For ever! gull who may, they will be gulled ! 200 
 They will not look nor tliink ; 'tis nothing new 
 In them : but surely he is not of them ! 
 My Festus, do you know, I reckoned, you — 
 Though all beside were sand-blind — you, my 
 
 friend. 
 Would look at me, once close, with piercing eye 
 Untroubled by the false glare that confounds 
 A weaker vision : would remain serene. 
 Though singular amid a ga])ing throng. 
 I feared you, or I had come, sure, long ere this. 
 To I'.insiedeln. Well, error lias no end, 210 
 And K basis is a sage, and Basil boasts 
 A tribe of wits, and I am wise and blest 
 Past all dispute ! 'Tis vain to fret at it. 
 I have vowed long ago my worshipjK-rs 
 Shall owe to their own deep sagacity
 
 6o PARACELSUS 
 
 Para- All further information, good or bad. 
 celsus Small risk indeed my reputation runs, 
 explains Unless perchance the glance now searching me 
 Be fixed much longer ; for it seems to spell 
 Dimly the characters a simpler man 220 
 
 Might read distinct enough. Old Eastern books 
 Say, the fallen prince of morning some short space 
 Remained unchanged in semblance; nay, his brow 
 Was hued with triumph : every spirit then 
 Praising, his heart on flame the while : — a tale ! 
 Well, Festus, what discover you, I pray ? 
 
 Fes t us. Some foul deed sullies then a life 
 which else 
 Were raised supreme ? 
 
 Paracelsus. Good : I do well, most well ; 
 Why strive to make men hear, feel, fret them- 
 selves 229 
 With what is past their power to comprehend ? 
 I should not strive now : only, having nursed 
 The faint surmise that one yet walked the earth. 
 One, at least, not the utter fool of show, 
 Not absolutely formed to be the dupe 
 Of shallow plausibilities alone : 
 One who, in youth, found wise enough to choose 
 The happiness his riper years approve, 
 Was yet so anxious for another's sake. 
 That, ere his friend could rush upon a mad 
 And ruinous course, the converse of his own, 240 
 His gentle spirit essayed, prejudged for him 
 The perilous path, foresaw its destiny. 
 And warned the weak one in such tender words, 
 Such accents — his whole heart in every tone — 
 That oft their memory comforted that friend 
 When it by right should have increased despair :
 
 PARACELSUS 6i 
 
 — Having believed, I say, that this one man He 
 Could never lose the light thus from the first f^^f^^ 
 His portion — how should I refuse to grieve y^^^ failed 
 At even my gain if it disturb our old 250 
 
 Relation, if it make me out more wise ? 
 Therefore, once more reminding him how well 
 He prophesied, I note the single flaw 
 That spoils his prophet's title. In plain words, 
 You were deceived, and thus were you deceived — 
 I have not been successful, and yet am 
 Most miserable ; 'tis said at last ; nor you 
 Give credit, lest you force me to concede 
 That common sense yet lives upon the world ! 
 Festus. You surely do not mean to banter me ? 
 Paracelsus. You know, or — if you have been 
 wise enough 261 
 
 To cleanse your memory of such matters — knew, 
 As far as words of mine could make it clear. 
 That 'twas my purpose to find joy or grief 
 Solely in the fulfilment of my plan 
 Or plot or whatsoe'er it was ; rejoicing 
 Alone as it proceeded ])rosperous]y. 
 Sorrowing then only when mischance retarded 
 Its progress. That was in those Wiirzburg 
 
 days ! 
 Not to prolong a theme I thoroughly hate, 270 
 I have pursued this plan with all my strength ; 
 And having failed therein most signally. 
 Cannot object to ruin utter and drear 
 As all-excelling would have been the prize 
 Had fortune favoured me. I scarce have right 
 To vex your frank good spirit late so glad 
 In my supposed prosjierity, 1 know, 
 And, were I lucky in a glut of friends,
 
 62 PARACELSUS 
 
 and pro- Would well agree to let your error live, 
 phesies Nay, strengthen it with fables of success. 280 
 
 exDOsm-e ^"'' """^ ^^ "° condition to refuse 
 
 The transient solace of so rare a godsend, 
 My solitary luxury, my one friend : 
 Accordingly I venture to put off 
 The wearisome vest of falsehood galling me, 
 Secure when he is by. I lay me bare, 
 Prone at his mercy — but he is my friend ! 
 Not that he needs retain his aspect grave ; 
 That answers not my purpose ; for 'tis like. 
 Some sunny morning — Basil being drained 290 
 Of its wise population, every corner 
 Of the amphitheatre crammed with learned clerks. 
 Here Qicolampadius, looking worlds of wit, 
 Here Castellanus, as profound as he, 
 Munsterus here, Frobenius there, all squeezed 
 And staring, — that the zany of the show, 
 Even Paracelsus, shall put off before them 
 His trappings with a grace but seldom judged 
 Expedient in such cases : — the grim smile 
 That will go round! Is it not therefore best 300 
 To venture a rehearsal like the present 
 In a small way ? Where are the signs I seek. 
 The first-fruits and fair sample of the scorn 
 Due to all quacks ? Why, this will never do ! 
 Festus. These are foul vapours, Aureole ; 
 
 nought beside ! 
 The effect of watching, study, weariness. 
 Were there a spark of truth in the confusion 
 Of these wild words, you would not outrage thus 
 Your youth's companion. I shall ne'er regard 
 These wanderings, bred of faintness and much 
 
 study. 310
 
 PARACELSUS 63 
 
 'Tis not thus you would trust a trouble to me, Festus 
 To Michal's friend. still ^^^ 
 
 Paracelsus. I have said it, dearest Festus ! ^^^ ^^ ^ 
 For the manner, 'tis ungracious probably ; 
 You may have it told in broken sobs, one day, 
 And scalding tears, ere long : but I thought best 
 To keep that off as long as possible. 
 Do you wonder still ? 
 
 Festus. No ; it must oft fall out 
 
 That one whose labour perfects any work. 
 Shall rise from it with eye so worn that he 
 Of all men least can measure the extent 320 
 Of what he has accomplished. He alone 
 Who, nothing tasked, is nothing weary too. 
 May clearly scan the little he effects : 
 But we, the bystanders, untouched by toil, 
 Estimate each aright. 
 
 Paracelsus. This worthy Festus 
 
 Is one of them, at last ! 'Tis so with all ! 
 First, they set down all progress as a dream ; 
 And next, when he whose quick discomfiture 
 Was counted on, accomplishes some few 
 And doubtful steps in his career, — behold, 330 
 Tliey look for every inch of ground to vanish 
 Ik-neath his tread, so sure they sj)y success ! 
 
 Festus. Few doubtful steps ? when death re- 
 tires before 
 Your presence — when the noblest of mankind. 
 Broken in body or subdued in soul. 
 May through your skill renew their vigour, raise 
 The shattered frame to jiristine stateiiness? 
 When men in racking pain may purchase dreams 
 Of what dcliglits them most, swooning at once 
 Into a sea of bliss or rajit along 340
 
 64 PARACELSUS 
 
 Para- As in a flying sphere of turbulent light ? 
 celsus When we may look to you as one ordained 
 insists rp^ ^^^^ ^j^^ jj^^l^ ^^^^^ l^^jl jjggjjge^ jjg frees 
 
 Our Luther's burning tongue the fettered soul ? 
 When . . . 
 
 Paracelsus. When and where, the devil, did 
 you get 
 This notable news ? 
 
 Festus. Even from the common voice ; 
 
 From those whose envy, daring not dispute 
 The wonders it decries, attributes them 
 To magic and such folly. 
 
 Paracelsus. Folly ? Why not 
 
 To magic, pray ? You find a comfort doubtless 
 In holding, God ne'er troubles him about 351 
 Us or our doings : once we were judged worth 
 The devil's tempting ... I offend : forgive me, 
 And rest content. Your prophecy on the whole 
 Was fair enough as prophesyings go ; 
 At fault a little in detail, but quite 
 Precise enough in the main ; and hereupon 
 I pay due homage : you guessed long ago 
 (The prophet ! ) I should fail — and I have failed. 
 
 Festus. You mean to tell me, then, the hopes 
 which fed 360 
 
 Your youth have not been realised as yet ? 
 Some obstacle has barred them hitherto ? 
 Or that their innate . . . 
 
 Paracelsus. As I said but now, 
 
 You have a very decent prophet's fame. 
 So you but shun details here. Little matter 
 Whether those hopes were mad, — the aims they 
 
 sought. 
 Safe and secure from all ambitious fools ;
 
 PARACELSUS 65 
 
 Or whether my weak wits are overcome He 
 
 By what a better spirit would scorn : I fail. wishes 
 
 And now methinks 'twere best to change a theme ^? <^j'^"£® 
 T J r I L LI J the theme 
 
 1 am a sad tool to have stumbled on. 371 
 
 I say confusedly what comes uppermost ; 
 
 But there are times when patience proves at fault, 
 
 As now : this morning's strange encounter — you 
 
 Beside me once again ! you, whom I guessed 
 
 Alive, since hitherto (with Luther's leave) 
 
 No friend have I among the saints at peace, 
 
 To judge by any good their prayers effect. 
 
 I knew you would have helped me — why not he, 
 
 My strange competitor in enterprise, 380 
 
 Bound for the same end by another path, 
 
 Arrived, or ill or well, before the time. 
 
 At our disastrous journey's doubtful close ? 
 
 How goes it with Aprile ? Ah, they miss 
 
 Your lone sad sunny idleness of heaven, 
 
 Our martyrs for the world's sake ; heaven shuts 
 
 fast : 
 
 The poor mad poet is howling by this time ! 
 
 Since you are my sole friend then, here or theie, 
 
 I could not quite repress the varied feelings 389 
 
 This meeting wakens ; they have had their vent. 
 
 And now forget them. Do the rear-mice still 
 
 Hang like a fretwork on the gate (or what 
 
 In my time was a gate) fronting the road 
 
 From Linsiedcin to Lachen ? 
 
 I'estus. Trifle not : 
 
 Answer me, for my sake alone ! You smiled 
 
 Just now, when I supposed some deed, unworthy 
 
 Yourself, might blot the else so bright result ; 
 
 Yet if your motives iiave continued ]Hire, 
 
 Your will unfaltering, and in spite of this, 
 
 E
 
 66 PARACELSUS 
 
 but You have experienced a defeat, why then 400 
 Festus is I say not you would cheerfully withdraw 
 still un^ fMom contest — mortal hearts arc not so 
 
 fashioned — 
 But surely you would nc'ertlieless withdraw. 
 You sought not fame nor gain nor even love, 
 No end distinct from knowledge, — I repeat 
 Your very words : once satisfied that knowledge 
 Is a mere dream, you would announce as much. 
 Yourself the first. But how is the event ? 
 You are defeated — and I find you here ! 
 
 Paracelsus. As though ' here ' did not signify 
 
 defeat ! 410 
 
 I spoke not of my little labours here, 
 But of the break-down of my genera! aims : 
 For you, aware of their extent and scope, 
 To look on these sage lecturings, approved 
 By beardless boys, and bearded dotards worse. 
 As a fit consummation of such aims, 
 Is worthy notice. A professorship 
 At Basil ! Since you see so much in it. 
 And think my life was reasonably drained 
 Of life's delights to render me a match 420 
 
 For duties arduous as such post demands, — 
 Be it far from me to deny my power 
 To fill the ])etty circle lotted out 
 Of infinite space, or justify the host 
 Of honours thence accruing. So, take notice, 
 This jewel dangling from my neck preserves 
 The features of a prince, my skill restored 
 To plague his people some few years to come : 
 And all through a pure whim. He liad eased 
 
 the earth 429 
 
 For me, Init that the droll despair which seized
 
 PARACELSUS 67 
 
 The vermin of his household, tickled me. Para- 
 
 I came to see. Here, drivelled the physician, ^^y^^^ 
 
 Whose most infallible nostrum was at fault ; ^^ gj^. 
 
 There quaked the astrologer, whose horoscope perience 
 
 Had promised him interminable years ; 
 
 Here a monk fumbled at the sick man's mouth 
 
 With some undoubted relic — a sudary 
 
 Of the Virgin ; while another piebald knave 
 
 Of the same brotherhood (he loved them ever) 
 
 Was actively preparing 'neath his nose 440 
 
 Such a sufFumigation as, once fired. 
 
 Had stunk the patient dead ere he could groan. 
 
 I cursed the doctor and upset the brother, 
 
 Brushed past the conjurer, vowed that the first 
 
 gust 
 Of stench from the ingredients just alight 
 Would raise a cross-grained devil in my sword. 
 Not easily laid : and ere an hour the prince 
 Slept as he never slept since prince he was. 
 A day — and I was posting for my life, 449 
 
 Placarded through the town as one whose spite 
 Had near availed to stop the blessed effects 
 Of the doctor's nostrum which, well secondetl 
 By the sudary, and most by the costly smoke — 
 Not leaving out the strenuous ])rayers sent up 
 Hard by in the abbey — raised the prince to lite : 
 To the great reputation of the seer 
 Who, confident, exjK-cted all along 
 The glad event — the doctor's recompense — 
 Mucii largess from his highness to the monks — 
 And the vast solace of his loving peo])le, 460 
 Whose genera! satisfaction to increase. 
 The prince was jileascd no longer to defer 
 The burning of some dozen heretics
 
 68 PARACELSUS 
 
 typical Remanded till God's mercy should be shown 
 of many Touching his sickness : last of all were joined 
 such Ample directions to all loyal folk 
 
 To swell the complement by seizing me 
 Who — doubtless some rank sorcerer — endea- 
 voured 
 To thwart these pious offices, obstruct 
 The prince's cure, and frustrate heaven by help 
 Of certain devils dwelling in his sword. 471 
 
 By luck, the prince in his first fit of thanks 
 Had forced this bauble on me as an earnest 
 Of further favours. This one case may serve 
 To give sufficient taste of many such, 
 So, let them pass. Those shelves support a pile 
 Of patents, licences, diplomas, titles 
 From Germany, France, Spain, and Italy; 
 They authorise some honour ; ne'ertheless, 
 I set more store by this Erasmus sent ; 480 
 
 He trusts me ; our Frobenius is his friend, 
 And him *I raised' (nay, read it) *froni the 
 
 dead.' 
 I weary you, I see. I merely sought 
 To show, there 's no great wonder after all 
 That, while I fill the class-room and attract 
 A crowd to Basil, I get leave to stay, 
 And therefore need not scruple to accept 
 The utmost they can offer, if" I please : 
 For 'tis but right the world should be prepared 
 To treat with favour e'en fantastic wants 490 
 Of one like me, used up in serving her. 
 Just as the mortal, whom the gods in part 
 Devoured, received in place of his lost limb 
 Some virtue or other — cured disease, I think ; 
 You mind the fables we have read together.
 
 PARACELSUS 69 
 
 Feslus. You do not think. I comprehend a He is 
 
 ^ord. fT''°kin 
 
 The time was, Aureole, you were apt enough soe^akine 
 To clothe the airiest thoughts in specious breath ; 
 But surely you must feel how vague and strange 
 These speeches sound. 499 
 
 Paracelsus. Well, then : you know my hopes ; 
 I am assured, at length, those hopes were vain ; 
 That truth is just as far from me as ever ; 
 That I have thrown my life away ; that sorrow 
 On that account is idle, and further effort 
 To mend and patch what 's marred beyond 
 
 repairing, 
 As useless : and all this was taught your friend 
 By the convincing good old-fashioned method 
 Of force — by sheer compulsion. Is that plain ? 
 
 Fes/us. Dear Aureole, can it be my fears were 
 just ? 
 Gotl wills not . . . 509 
 
 Paracelsus. Now, 'tis this I most admire — 
 The constant talk men of your stamp keep up 
 Of God's will, as they style it ; one would swear 
 Man had but merely to uplift his eye. 
 And see the will in question charactered 
 On the heaven's vault. 'Tis hardly wise to moot 
 Such topics : doubts are many and faith is weak. 
 I know as much of any will of God 
 As knows some dumb and tortured brute what 
 
 Man, 
 His stern lord, wills from the perplexing blows 
 That plague him every way ; but there, of course, 
 Where least he suffers, longest he remains — 521 
 My case ; and for such reasons I plod on, 
 Subdued but not convinced. I know as little
 
 70 PARACELSUS 
 
 He Why 1 deserve to fail, as why I hoped 
 confesses Better things in my youth. 1 simply know 
 to certain j ^^ ^^ master here, but trained and beaten 
 delights ^"^o the path I tread ; and here I stay, 
 Until some further intimation reach mc, 
 Like an obedient drudge. Though I prefer 
 To view the whole thing as a task imposed 530 
 Which, whether dull or pleasant, must be done — 
 Yet, I deny not, there is made provision 
 Of joys which tastes less jaded might affect ; 
 Nay, some which please me too, for all my pride — 
 Pleasures that once were pains : the iron ring 
 Festering about a slave's neck grows at length 
 Into the flesh it eats. I hate no longer 
 A host of petty vile delights, undreamed of 
 Or spurned before ; such now supply the place 
 Of my dead aims : as in the autumn woods 540 
 Where tall trees used to flourish, from their roots 
 Springs up a fungous brood sickly and pale. 
 Chill mushrooms coloured like a corpse's cheek. 
 Festus. If I interpret well your words, I own 
 It troubles me hut little that your aims. 
 Vast in their dawning and most likely grown 
 Extravagantly since, have bafBed you. 
 Perchance I am glad ; you merit greater praise ; 
 Because they are too glorious to be gained, 
 You do not blindly cling to them and die ; 550 
 You fell, but have not sullenly refused 
 To rise, because an angel worsted you 
 In wrestling, though the world holds not your 
 
 peer ; 
 And though too harsh and sudden is the change 
 To yield content as yet, still you pursue 
 The ungracious path as though 'twere rosy-strewn.
 
 PARACELSUS 71 
 
 'Tis well : and your reward, or soon or late, He 
 Will come from him whom no man serves in vain. ^^'^ °^ 
 Paracelsus. Ah, very fine ! For my part, T j^ng ^ 
 
 conceive charge 
 
 The very pausing from all further toil, 560 
 
 Which you find heinous, would become a seal 
 To the sincerity of all my deeds. 
 To be consistent I should die at once ; 
 I calculated on no after-life ; 
 Yet (how crept in, how fostered, I know not) 
 Here am I with as passionate regret 
 For youth and health and love so vainly lavished, 
 As if their preservation had been first 
 And foremost in my thoughts ; and this strange 
 
 fact 
 Humbled me wondrously, and had due force 570 
 In rendering me the less averse to follow 
 A certain counsel, a mysterious warning — 
 You will not understand — but 'twas a man 
 With aims not mine and yet pursued like mine, 
 With the same fervour and no more success, 
 l\-rishing in my sight ; who summoned me 
 As I would shun the ghastly fate 1 saw. 
 To serve my race at once ; to wait no longer 
 That God should interfere in my behalf. 
 But to distrust myself, put pride away, 580 
 
 And give my gains, imperfect as they were, 
 To men. 1 liave not leisure to explain 
 How, since, a singular scries of events 
 Has raised me to the station you behold. 
 Wherein I seem to turn to most account 
 The mere wreck of the past, — perhaps receive 
 Some feeble glimmering token that God views 
 And may ap])rovc my penance : therefore here
 
 72 PARACELSUS 
 
 which has You find me, doing most good or least harm. 
 
 ''^°"^!''' ^^^ *^ ^°"^^ wonder much and profit little 590 
 
 Basil '^'^ "^'' "^y ^'^^^^ ' °"'y' ^ ^^''*^^ rejoice 
 
 When my part in the farce is shuffled through, 
 
 And the curtain falls: I must hold out till then. 
 
 Festiis. Till when, dear Aureole ? 
 
 Paracelsus. Till I 'm fairly thrust 
 
 From my proud eminence. Fortune is fickle 
 And even professors fall : should that arrive, 
 I see no sin in ceding to my bent. 
 You little fancy what rude shocks apprise us 
 We sin ; God's intimations rather fail 
 In clearness than in energy : 'twere well 600 
 Did they but indicate the course to take 
 Like that to be forsaken. I would fain 
 Be spared a further sample. Here I stand, 
 And here I stay, be sure, till forced to flit. 
 
 Festus. Be you but firm on that head ! long 
 ere then 
 All I expect will come to pass, I trust : 
 The cloud that wraps you will have disappeared. 
 Meantime, I see small chance of such event : 
 They praise you here as one whose lore, already 
 Divulged, eclipses all the past can show, 6io 
 But whose achievements, marvellous as they be. 
 Are faint anticipations of a glory 
 About to be revealed. When Basil's crowds 
 Dismiss their teacher, I shall be content 
 That he depart. 
 
 Paracelsus. This favour at their hands 
 T look for earlier than your view of things 
 Would warrant. Of the crowd you saw to-day, 
 Remove the full half sheer amazement draws. 
 Mere novelty, nought else ; and next, the tribe
 
 PARACELSUS 73 
 
 Whose innate blockish dulness just perceives 620 He 
 
 That unless miracles (as seem my works) analyses 
 
 Be wrought in their behalf, their chance is slight -Jj^jgnr- 
 
 To puzzle the devil ; next, the numerous set 
 
 Who bitterly hate established schools, and help 
 
 The teacher that oppugns them, till he once 
 
 Have planted his own doctrine, when the teacher 
 
 May reckon on their rancour in his turn ; 
 
 Take, too, the sprinkling of sagacious knaves 
 
 Whose cunning runs not counter to the vogue 
 
 But seeks, by flattery and crafty nursing, 630 
 
 To force my system to a premature 
 
 Short-lived development. Why swell the list ? 
 
 Each has his end to serve, and his best way 
 
 Of serving it: remove all these, remains 
 
 A scantling, a poor dozen at the best. 
 
 Worthy to look for sympathy and service, 
 
 And likely to draw profit from my pains, 
 
 Feslus. 'Tis no encouraging picture : still these 
 few 
 Redeem their fellows. Once the germ implanted, 
 Its growth, if slow, is sure. 
 
 Paracelsus. God grant it so ! 640 
 
 I would make some amends : but if I fail, 
 The luckless rogues have this excuse to urge. 
 That much is in my method and my manner, 
 My uncouth habits, my impatient spirit. 
 Which hinders of reception and result 
 My doctrine : much to say, small skill to speak! 
 These old aims suffered not a looking-off 
 Though for an instant ; therefore, only when 
 I thus renounced them and resolved to reaj) 
 Some present fruit~to tcacii mankind some truth 
 So dearly purchased — only then I found 651
 
 74 PARACELSUS 
 
 It is too Such teaching was an art requiring cares 
 late to And qualities peculiar to itself: 
 a ge "-pj^m J.Q possess was one thing — to display 
 
 Another. With renown first in my thoughts, 
 Or po])ular ])raise, I had soon discovered it : 
 One grows but little apt to learn these things. 
 Festus. If it be so, which nowise I believe, 
 There needs no waiting fuller dispensation 
 To leave a labour of so little use. 660 
 
 Why not throw up the irksome charge at once ? 
 Paracelsus. A task, a task! 
 
 But wherefore hide the whole 
 Extent of degradation, once engaged 
 In the confessing vein ? Despite of all 
 My fine talk of obedience and repugnance, 
 Docility and what not, 'tis yet to learn 
 If when the task shall really be performed. 
 My inclination free to choose once more, 
 I shall do aught but slightly modify 
 The nature of the hated task I quit. 670 
 
 In plain words, I am spoiled ; my life still tends 
 As first it tended ; I am broken and trained 
 To my old habits ; they are part of me. 
 I know, and none so well, my darling ends 
 Are proved impossible : no less, no less, 
 Even now what humours me, fond fool, as 
 
 when 
 Their faint ghosts sit with me and flatter me 
 And send me back content to my dull round ? 
 How can I change this soul ? — -this a])paratus 
 Constructed solely for their purposes, 680 
 
 So well adapted to their every want, 
 To search out and discover, prove and ])crfect ; 
 This intricate machine whose most minute
 
 PARACELSUS 75 
 
 And meanest motions have their chai in to me His aim 
 
 Though to none else — an aptitude I seize, be"know' 
 
 An object I perceive, a use, a meaning, ledge 
 
 A property, a fitness, I explain 
 
 And I alone : — how can I change my soul ? 
 
 And this wronged body, worthless save when 
 
 tasked 
 Under that soul's dominion — used to care 690 
 For its bright master's cares and quite subdue 
 Its proper cravings — not to ail nor pine 
 So he but prosper — whither drag this poor 
 Tried patient body ? God ! how I essayed 
 To live like that mad poet, for a while. 
 To love alone ; and how I felt too warped 
 And twisted and deformed ! What should I do, 
 
 liven tho' released from drudgery, but return 
 
 Faint, as you see, and halting, blind and sore. 
 To my old life and die as 1 began ? 700 
 
 I cannot feed on beauty for the sake 
 Of beauty only, nor can drink in balm 
 
 From lovely objects for their loveliness; 
 
 My nature cannot lose her first imprint ; 
 
 I still must hoard and heaj) and class all truths 
 
 With one ulterior purpose : I must know ! 
 
 Would God translate me to his throne, believe 
 
 That I should only listen to his word 
 
 To further my own aim ! For other men, 
 
 Beauty is prodigally strewn around, 710 
 
 And I were ha])])y could I quench as they 
 
 'I'his mad and thriveless longing, and content me 
 
 With beauty for itself alone : alas, 
 
 I have adilrcsaed a frock of heavy mail 
 
 Yet may not join the troo]) of sacred knights ; 
 
 And now the forest-creatures 11 y from me,
 
 prehend 
 
 76 PARACELSUS 
 
 Festus The grass-banks cool, the sunbeams warm no 
 cannot more. 
 
 :.h°J^A ^^^^ follow, dreaming that ere night arrive, 
 I shall o'crtake the company and ride 
 Glittering as they ! 
 
 Festus. I think I apprehend 720 
 
 What you would say : if you, in truth, design 
 To enter once more on the life thus left, 
 Seek not to hide that all this consciousness 
 Of failure is assumed ! 
 
 Paracelsus. My friend, my friend, 
 
 I toil, you listen ; I explain, perhaps 
 You understand : there our communion ends. 
 Have you learnt nothing from to-day's discourse ? 
 When we would thoroughly know the sick man's 
 
 state 
 We feel awhile the fluttering pulse, press soft 
 The hot brow, look upon the languid eye, 730 
 And thence divine the rest. Must I lay bare 
 My heart, hideous and beating, or tear up 
 My vitals for your gaze, ere you will deem 
 Enough made known ? You ! who are you, 
 
 forsooth ? 
 That is the crowning operation claimed 
 By the arch demonstrator — heaven the hall, 
 And earth the audience. Let Aprile and you 
 Secure good places : 'twill be worth the 
 while. 
 Festus. Are you mad. Aureole? What 
 can I have said 
 To call for this ? I judged from your own 
 words. 740 
 
 Paracelsus. Oh, doubtless! A sick wretch 
 describes the ape
 
 PARACELSUS 77 
 
 That mocks him from the bed-foot, and all Para- 
 
 pravelv cclsus 
 
 You thither turn at once : or he recounts f 'rther"^ 
 
 The perilous journey he has late performed, 
 And you are puzzled much how that could be ! 
 You find me here, half stupid and half mad : 
 It makes no part of my delight to search 
 Into these matters, much less undergo 
 Another's scrutiny ; but so it chances 
 That I am led to trust my state to you : 750 
 
 And the event is, you combine, contrast 
 And ponder on my foolish words as though 
 They thoroughly conveyed all hidden here — 
 Here, loathsome with despair and hate and rage ! 
 Is there no fear, no shrinking and no shame ? 
 Will you guess nothing ? will you spare me 
 
 nothing ? 
 Must I go deeper ? Ay or no ? 
 
 Festus. Dear friend . . . 
 
 Paracelsus. True : I am brutal — 'tis a ])art 
 
 of it; 
 The plague's sign — you are not a lazar-haunter. 
 How should you know ? Well then, you think 
 
 it strange 760 
 
 I should profess to have failed utterly, 
 And yet propose an ultimate return 
 To courses void of hope : and this, because 
 You know not what temptation is, nor how 
 'Tis like to ply men in the sickliest part. 
 You are to understand that we who make 
 Sport for the gods, are hunted to the end : 
 There is not one sharj) volley shot at us. 
 Which 'scaped with life, though hurt, we 
 
 slacken pace
 
 78 PARACELSUS 
 
 He And gather by the wayside herbs and roots 770 
 hints at -"Po staunch our wounds, secure from further 
 
 de-rada' ''''"" ' 
 
 "^ tion ^^ ^""^ assailed to life's extremest verge. 
 
 It will be well indeed if I return, 
 
 A harmless busy fool, to my old ways ! 
 
 I would forget hints of another fate, 
 
 Significant enough, which silent hours 
 
 Have lately scared me with. 
 
 Fes/us. Another ! and what ? 
 
 Paracelsus. After all, Festus, you say well : 
 I am 
 
 A man yet : I need never humble me. 
 
 I would have been — something, I know not 
 what ; 780 
 
 But though I cannot soar, I do not crawl. 
 
 There are worse portions than this one of mine. 
 
 You say well ! 
 
 Festus. Ah ! 
 
 Paracelsus. And deeper degradation ! 
 
 If the mean stimulants of vulgar praise. 
 
 If vanity should become the chosen food 
 
 Of a sunk mind, should stifle even the wish 
 
 To find its early aspirations true. 
 
 Should teach it to breathe falsehood like life- 
 breath — 
 
 An atmosphere of craft and trick and lies ; 
 
 Should make it jjroud to emulate, surpass 790 
 
 Base natures in the practices which woke 
 
 Its most indignant loathing once. . . . No, no ! 
 
 Utter damnation is reserved for hell ! 
 
 I had immortal feelings ; such shall never 
 
 Be wholly quenched : no, no ! 
 
 My friend, you wear
 
 PARACELSUS 79 
 
 A melancholy face, and certain 'tis Festus 
 
 There's little cheer in all this dismal work. f"^5i^^^ 
 T, . J • . I L that these 
 
 But was It my desire to set abroach ^^^ ^^j^ 
 
 Such memories and forebodings ? I foresaw sions 
 
 Where they would drive. 'Twere better we 
 
 discuss 800 
 
 News from Lucerne or Zurich ; ask and tell 
 Of Egypt's flaring sky or Spain's cork-groves. 
 Festus. I have thought : trust me, this 
 
 mood will pass away ! 
 I know you and the lofty spirit you bear, 
 And easily ravel out a clue to all. 
 These are the trials meet for such as you. 
 Nor must you hope exemption : to be mortal 
 Is to be plied with trials manifold. 
 Look round ! The obstacles which kept the 
 
 rest 809 
 
 From your aml)ition, have been spurned by you; 
 Their fears, their doubts, the chains that bind 
 
 them all. 
 Were flax before your resolute soul, which 
 
 nought 
 Avails to awe save these delusions bred 
 From its own strength, its selfsame strength 
 
 disguised, 
 Mocking itself. Be brave, dear Aureole ! 
 
 Since 
 The rabbit has his shade to frighten him, 
 The fawn a rustling bough, mortals their cares. 
 And higher natures yet would slight and laugh 
 At these entangling fantasies, as you 
 At trammels of a weaker intellect, — 820 
 
 Measure your mind's iieight by the shade it 
 
 casts !
 
 8o PARACELSUS 
 
 He denies I know you. 
 
 that love Paracelsus. And I know you, dearest Festus ! 
 
 has made ^^^^ j^^^ j^^^ unworthily ; and how 
 
 him bhnd a n j ■ • j w a 
 
 All admiration renders blmd. 
 
 Festus. You hold 
 
 That admiration blinds ? 
 f?? Paracelsus. Ay and alas ! 
 
 ^Festus. Nought blinds you less than ad- 
 miration, friend! 
 Whether it be that all love renders wise 
 In its degree ; from love which blends with 
 
 love — 
 Heart answering heart — to love which spends 
 
 itself 
 In silent mad idolatry of some 830 
 
 Pre-eminent mortal, some great soul of souls, 
 Which ne'er will know how well it is adored. 
 I say, such love is never blind ; but rather 
 Alive to every the minutest spot 
 Which mars its object, and which hate 
 
 ( supposed 
 So vigilant and searching) dreams not of. 
 Love broods on such: what then? When 
 
 first perceived 
 Is there no sweet strife to forget, to change, 
 To overflush those blemishes with all 
 The glow of general goodness they disturb ? 840 
 — To make those very defects an endless 
 
 source 
 Of new affection grown from hopes and fears ? 
 And, when all fails, is there no gallant stand 
 Made even for much proved weak ? no shrink- 
 
 ing-back 
 Lest, since all love assimilates the soul
 
 PARACELSUS 8i 
 
 To what it loves, it should at length become He 
 
 Almost a rival of its idol ? Trust me, sees the 
 
 If there be fiends who seek to work our hurt, weak- 
 T- J J J 1 > • 1 • ■■ ness, but 
 
 i o rum and drag down earth s mightiest spirits only 
 
 Even at God's foot, 'twill be from such as loves the 
 
 love, 850 more 
 
 Their zeal will gather most to serve their cause ; 
 And least from those who hate, who most essay 
 By contumely and scorn to blot the light 
 Which forces entrance even to their hearts : 
 For thence will our defender tear the veil 
 And show within each heart, as in a shrine, 
 The giant image of perfection, grown 
 In hate's despite, whose calumnies were spawned 
 In the untroubled presence of its eyes. 
 True admiration blinds not ; nor am I 860 
 
 So blind. I call your sin exceptional ; 
 It springs from one whose life has passed the 
 
 bounds 
 Prescribed to life. Compound that fault with 
 
 God! 
 I s])eak of men ; to common men like me 
 The weakness you reveal endears you more, 
 Like the far traces of decay in suns. 
 I bid you have good cheer ! 
 
 Pdidcelsus. Prtrclarc ! Oplinif ! 
 
 Think of a quiet mountain-cloistered priest 
 Instructing Paracelsus! yet 'tis so. 
 Come, I will show you where my merit lies. 870 
 Tis in the advance of individual minds 
 That the slow crowd should ground tlieir 
 
 expectation 
 Eventually to follow ; as the sea 
 Waits ages in its bed till some one wave
 
 82 PARACELSUS 
 
 Para- Out of the multitudinous mass, extends 
 celsus l"'i^p cnii)irc of the whole, some feet perhaps, 
 . p , • Over the strij) of sand whicli could confine 
 merit ^^^ fellows so long time : thenceforth the rest, 
 lies Even to the meanest, hurry in at once, 
 
 And so much is clear gained. I shall be glad 
 If all my labours, failing of aught else, 88i 
 
 Suffice to make such inroad and procure 
 A wider range for thought : nay, they do this ; 
 For, whatsoe'er my notions of true knowledge 
 And a legitimate success, may be, 
 I am not blind to my undoubted rank 
 When classed with others : I precede my age : 
 And whoso wills is very free to mount 
 These labours as a platform whence his own 
 May have a prosperous outset. But, alas ! 890 
 My followers — they are noisy as you heard ; 
 But, for intelligence, the best of them 
 So clumsily wield the weapons I 8u])ply 
 And they extol, that I begin to doubt 
 Whether their own rude clubs and pebble- 
 stones 
 Would not do better service than my arms 
 Thus vilely swayed — if error will not fall 
 Sooner before the old awkward batterings 
 Than my more subtle warfare, not half learned. 
 Festus. T would supply that art, then, or 
 withhold 900 
 
 New arms until you teach their mystery. 
 
 Paracelsus. Content you, 'tis my wish ; 
 I have recourse 
 To the simplest training. Day by day I seek 
 To wake the mood, the spirit which alone 
 Can make those arms of any use to men.
 
 PARACELSUS 83 
 
 Of course they are for swaggering forth at once explains 
 Graced with Ulysses' bow, Achilles' shield— w^at he 
 Flash on us, all in armour, thou Achilles ! teach 
 
 Make our hearts dance to thy resounding step ! 
 A proper sight to scare the crows away ! 910 
 
 Festus. Pity you choose not then some 
 other method 
 Of coming at your point. The marvellous art 
 At length established in the world bids fixir 
 To remedy all hindrances like these : 
 Trust to Frobenius' press the precious lore 
 Obscured by uncouth manner, or unfit 
 For raw beginners ; let his types secure 
 A deathless monument to after-time ; 
 Meanwhile wait confidently and enjoy 
 The ultimate effect : sooner or later 920 
 
 You shall be all-revealed. 
 
 Pardcelsits. The old dull question 
 
 In a new form ; no more. Thus: I possess 
 Two sorts of knowledge ; one — vast, shadowy, 
 Hints of the unbounded aim I once ])ursued : 
 The other consists of many secrets, caught 
 While bent on nobler ])rize, — perhaps a few 
 Prime princijjles which may conduct to much : 
 These last I offer to my followers here. 
 Now, bid me chronicle llie lirst of these, 
 My ancient study, and in effect you bid 930 
 
 Revert to the wild courses just abjured : 
 I must go find them scattered through the 
 
 world. 
 Then, for the principles, they are so simjjlc 
 ( I'eing chiefly of the overturning sor*), 
 That one time is as projKT to ])roj)ound them 
 As any other — to-morrow at my class,
 
 84 PARACELSUS 
 
 and Or half a century hence embalmed in print, 
 defends For if mankind intend to learn at all, 
 , h' f 1 hey must begin by giving faith to them 
 lecturing And acting on them : and I do not see 940 
 
 But that my lectures serve indifferent well : 
 No doubt these dogmas fall not to the earth. 
 For all their novelty and rugged setting. 
 I think my class will not forget the day 
 I let them know the gods of Israel, 
 Aetius, Oribasius, Galen, Rhasis, 
 Serapion, Avicenna, Averrcies, 
 Were blocks ! 
 
 Festus, And that reminds me, 1 heard 
 
 something 
 About your waywardness : you burned their 
 
 books. 
 It seems, instead of answering those sages. 950 
 Paracelsus. And who said that ? 
 Festus. Some I met yesternight 
 
 With OEcolampadius. As you know, the 
 
 purpose 
 Of this short stay at Basil was to learn 
 His pleasure touching certain missives sent 
 For our Zuinglius and himself. 'Twas he 
 Apprised me that the famous teacher here 
 Was my old friend. 
 
 Paracelsus. Ah, I forgot : you went . . • 
 
 Festus. From Zurich with advices for the ear 
 Of Luther, now at Wittenberg — (you know, 
 I make no doubt, the differences of late 960 
 
 With Carolostadius) — and returning sought 
 Basil and . . . 
 
 Paracelsus. I remember. Here 's a case, now. 
 Will teach you why I answer not, but burn
 
 PARACELSUS 85 
 
 The books you mention. Pray, does Luther and of 
 
 dream bold 
 
 His arguments convince by their own force . ^'l*^ ' • 
 
 The crowds that own his doctrine ? No, indeed ! Luther 
 His plain denial of established points 
 Ages had sanctified and men supposed 
 Could never be oppugned while earth was under 
 And heaven above them — points which chance 
 
 or time 970 
 
 Affected not — did more than the array 
 Of argument which followed. Boldly deny ! 
 There is much breath-stopping, hair-stiffening 
 Awhile; then, amazed glances, mute awaiting 
 The thunderbolt which does not come : and next, 
 Reproachful wonder and inquiry : those 
 Who else had never stirred, are able now 
 To find the rest out for themselves, perhaps 
 To outstrip him who set the whole at work, 
 — As never will my wise class its instructor. 980 
 And you saw Luther ? 
 
 Festus. 'Tis a wondrous soul ! 
 
 Paracelsus. True : the so-heavy chain which 
 
 galled mankind 
 Ls shattered, and the noblest of us all 
 Must bow to the deliverer — nay, the worker 
 Of our own project — we who long before 
 Had burst our trammels, but forgot the crowd. 
 We should have taught, still groaned beneath 
 
 their load : 
 This he has done and nobly. Speed that may ! 
 Whatever be my chance or my mischance. 
 What benefits mankind must glad me too ; 990 
 And men seem made, though not as I believed, 
 For something better than the times produce.
 
 86 PARACELSUS 
 
 Festus Witness these gangs of peasants your new lights 
 speaks of Pio,-,^ Suabia have possessed, whom Miinzer 
 
 And whom the duke, the landgrave and the 
 
 elector 
 Will calm in blood ! Well, well ; 'tis not my 
 world ! 
 
 Fes/us. Hark ! 
 
 Paracelsus. 'Tis the melancholy wind astir 
 Within the trees ; the embers too are grey : 
 Morn must be near. 
 
 Festus. Best ope the casement : see, 
 
 The night, late strewn with clouds and flying 
 stars, looo 
 
 Is blank and motionless : how peaceful sleep 
 The tree-tops altogether ! Like an asp. 
 The wind slips whispering from bough to bough. 
 
 Paracelsus, Ay ; you would gaze on a wind- 
 shaken tree 
 By the hour, nor count time lost. 
 
 Festus. So you shall gaze : 
 
 Those happy times will come again. 
 
 Paracelsus. Gone, gone. 
 
 Those pleasant times ! Does not the moaning 
 
 wind 
 Seem to bewail that we have gained such gains 
 And bartered sleep for them ? 
 
 Festus. It is our trust 
 
 That there is yet another world to mend loio 
 All error and mischance. 
 
 Paracelsus. Another world ! 
 
 And why this world, this common world, to be 
 A make-shift, a mere foil, how fair soever. 
 To some fme life to come ? Man must be fed
 
 PARACELSUS 87 
 
 With angels' food, forsooth ; and some few traces Para- 
 
 Of a diviner nature which look out celsus 
 
 Through his corporeal baseness, warrant him I^^ch 
 
 In a supreme contempt of all provision comfort 
 
 For his inferior tastes — some straggling marks 
 
 Which constitute his essence, just as truly 1020 
 
 As here and there a gem would constitute 
 
 The rock, their barren bed, one diamond. 
 
 But were it so — were man all mind — he gains 
 
 A station little enviable. From God 
 
 Down to the lowest spirit ministrant. 
 
 Intelligence exists which casts our mind 
 
 Into immeasurable shade. No, no : 
 
 Love, hope, fear, faith — these make humanity ; 
 
 These are its sign and note and character. 
 
 And these I have lost ! — gone, shut from me for 
 
 ever, 1030 
 
 Like a dead friend safe from unkindness more ! 
 See, morn at length. The heavy darkness seems 
 Diluted, grey and clear without the stars ; 
 The shrubs bestir and rouse themselves as if 
 Some snake, that weighed them down all night, 
 
 let go 
 His hold ; and from the Last, fuller and fuller, 
 Day, like a mighty river, flowing in ; 
 But clouded, wintry, desolate and cold. 
 Yet see how that broad ])rickly star-shaped ])lant. 
 Half-down in the crevice, s])reads its woolly leaves 
 All thick and glittering with diamond dew. io.(t 
 And you depart for llinsietleln this day, 
 And we have sj)ent all night in talk like this! 
 if you would have me better for your love, 
 Revert no more to these sad themes. 
 
 I'csliis. One favour,
 
 88 PARACELSUS 
 
 They And I have done. I leave you, deeply moved ; 
 part Unwilling to have fared so well, the while 
 
 My friend has changed so sorely. If this mood 
 Shall pass away, if light once more arise 
 Where all is darkness now, if you see fit 1050 
 To hope and trust again, and strive again, 
 You will remember — not our love alone — 
 But that my faith in God's desire that man 
 Should trust on his support (as I must think 
 You trusted) is obscured and dim through you: 
 For you are thus, and this is no reward. 
 Will you not call me to your side, dear Aureole ?
 
 PART IV 
 
 PARACELSUS ASPIRES 
 
 Scene — Colmar in yf/satia : an Inn. 1528 
 
 Paracelsus, Festus 
 
 Paracelsus [to Johannes Oporinus, his Para- 
 Secrelary\ Sir itur ad asira ! Dear celsus 
 Von Viscnburg BasF^ 
 
 Is scandalised, and poor Torinus jiaralysed. 
 And every honest soul that Basil holds 
 Aghast ; and yet we live, as one may say, 
 .lust as though I>iechtenfels had never set 
 So true a value on his sorry carcass. 
 And learned Piitter had not frowned us dumb. 
 We live ; and shall as surely start to-morrow 
 For Nuremberg, as we drink speedy scathe 
 To Basil in this mantling wine, suffused 10 
 
 A delicate blush, no fainter tinge is born 
 r the shut heart of a bud. Pledge me, good 
 
 John — - 
 ' Basil ; a hot plague ravage it, and Piitter 
 Oppose the plague ! ' l'>ven so ? Do you too 
 
 share 
 Their panic, the reptiles? Ha, ha; faint 
 
 through these, 
 Desist for these ! They manage matters so 
 At Basil, 'tis like: but others may find means 
 
 80
 
 90 PARACELSUS 
 
 He greets To bring the stoutest braggart of the tribe 
 Festus Once more to crouch in silence — means to breed 
 A stupid wonder in each fool again, 20 
 
 Now big with admiration at the skill 
 Which stri])t a vain pretender of his plumes : 
 And, that done, — means to brand each slavish 
 
 brow 
 So deeply, surely, inefFaceably, 
 That henceforth flattery shall not pucker it 
 Out of the furrow ; there that stamp shall stay 
 To show the next they fawn on, what they are. 
 This Basil with its magnates, — fill my cup, — 
 Whom I curse soul and limb. And now despatch, 
 Despatch, my trusty John ; and what remains 30 
 To do, whate'er arrangements for our trip 
 Are yet to be completed, see you hasten 
 This night ; we '11 weather the storm at least : 
 
 to-morrow 
 For Nuremberg ! Now leave us ; this grave 
 
 clerk 
 Has divers weighty matters for my ear : 
 
 [OpoRiNUs^ofj out. 
 And spare my lungs. At last, my gallant Festus, 
 I am rid of this arch-knave that dogs my heels 
 As a gaunt crow a gasping sheep ; at last 
 May give a loose to my delight. How kind. 
 How very kind, my first best only friend ! 40 
 Why, this looks like fidelity. Embrace me ! 
 Not a hair silvered yet ? Right ! you shall live 
 Till I am worth your love ; you shall be proud. 
 And I — but let time show ! Did you not wonder ? 
 I sent to you because our compact weighed 
 Upon my conscience — (you recall the night 
 At Basil, wliich the gods confound ! ) — because
 
 PARACELSUS 91 
 
 Once more I aspire. I call you to my side : tells him 
 You come. You thought my message strange ? ^°'^ Basil 
 
 Festus. So strange Jf^^ "^^^^ 
 
 That I must hope, indeed, yoar messenger 50 
 Has mingled his own fancies with the words 
 Purporting to be yours. 
 
 Paracelsus. He said no more, 
 
 'Tis probable, than the precious folk I leave 
 Said fiftyfold more roughly. Well-a-day, 
 'Tis true ! poor Paracelsus is exposed 
 At last ; a most egregious quack he proves : 
 And those he overreached must spit their hate 
 On one who, utterly beneath contempt. 
 Could yet deceive their topping wits. You heard 
 Bare truth ; and at my bidding you come here 60 
 To sjieed me on my enterprise, as once 
 Your lavish wishes sped me, my own friend ! 
 
 Festus. What is your purpose. Aureole ? 
 
 Paracelsus. Oh, for purpose, 
 
 There is no lack of precedents in a case 
 Like mine ; at least, if not precisely mine, 
 The case of men cast off by those they sought 
 To benefit. 
 
 Festus. They really cast you off? 
 
 I only heard a vague tale of some priest. 
 Cured by your skill, who wrangled at your claim, 
 Knowing his life's worth best ; and how the judge 
 The matter was referred to, saw no cause 71 
 To interfere, nor you to hide your full 
 Contempt of him ; nor he, again, to smother 
 His wrath thereat, which raised so fierce a liamc 
 That Basil soon was made no place for you. 
 
 Paracelsus. The affair of I ,i<'(litenfels ? the 
 shallowest fable,
 
 92 PARACELSUS 
 
 the The last and silliest outrage — mere pretence ! 
 reason j j^new it, I foretold it from the first, 
 
 How soon the stupid wonder you mistook 
 For genuine loyalty — a cheering promise 80 
 Of better things to come — would pall and pass ; 
 And every word comes true. Saul is among 
 The prophets ! Just so long as I was pleased 
 To play off the mere antics of my art, 
 Fantastic gambols leading to no end, 
 I got huge praise: but one can ne'er keep down 
 Our foolish nature's weakness. There they 
 
 flocked, 
 Poor devils, jostling, swearing and perspiring, 
 Till the walls rang again ; and all for me ! 
 I had a kindness for them, which was right ; 90 
 But then I stopped not till I tacked to that 
 A trust in them and a respect — a sort 
 Of sympathy for them ; I must needs begin 
 To teach them, not amaze them, ' to impart 
 The spirit which should instigate the search 
 Of truth,' just what you bade me ! I spoke out. 
 Forthwith a mighty squadron, in disgust, 
 Filed ofl^ — 'the sifted chaff of the sack,' I said. 
 Redoubling my endeavours to secure 
 The rest. When lo ! one man had tarried so 
 long ICX5 
 
 Only to ascertain if I supported 
 This tenet of his, or that ; another loved 
 To hear impartially before he judged, 
 And having heard, now judged ; this bland disciple 
 Passed for my dupe, but all along, it seems. 
 Spied error where his neighbours marvelled most ; 
 That fiery doctor who had hailed me friend. 
 Did it because my by-paths, once proved wrong
 
 PARACELSUS 93 
 
 And beaconed properly, would commend again and the 
 The good old ways our sires jogged safely o'er, no l"^^'^^^ 
 Though not their squeamish sons ; the other gj^g^ 
 
 worthy 
 Discovered divers verses of St. John, 
 Which, read successively, refreshed the soul, 
 But, muttered backwards, cured the gout, the 
 
 stone. 
 The colic and what not. QuuImultaP The end 
 Was a clear class-room, and a quiet leer 
 From grave folk, and a sour reproachful glance 
 From those in chief who, cap in hand, installed 
 The new professor scarce a year before ; 
 And a vast flourish about patient merit 120 
 
 Obscured awhile by flashy tricks, but sure 
 Sooner or later to emerge in splendour — 
 Of which the example was some luckless wight 
 Whom my arrival had discomfited. 
 But now, it seems, the general voice recalled 
 To fill my chair and so efl^ace the stain 
 Basil had long incurred. I sought no better, 
 Only a quiet dismissal from my ))Ost, 
 And from my heart I wished them better suited 
 And better served. Good night to Basil, then ! 
 But fast as I ))roposed to rid the tribe 131 
 
 Of my obnoxious back, I could not spare them 
 The pleasure of a parting kick. 
 
 Festus. You sniilf : 
 
 Despise them as they merit ! 
 
 Paracelsus. If I smile, 
 
 'Tis with as very contempt as ever turned 
 Flesh into stone. This courteous recompense, 
 This graceful . . . Festus, were your nature fit 
 To be defiled, your eyes the eyes to ache
 
 94 PARACELSUS 
 
 Festus At gangrene-blotches, eating poison-blains, 
 asks to 'file ulcerous barky scurf of leprosy 140 
 
 know his Which finds— a man, and leaves— a hideous thing 
 ^ That cannot but be mended by hell fire, 
 
 — I would lay bare to you the human heart 
 Which God cursed long ago, and devils make 
 
 since 
 Their pet nest and their never-tiring home. 
 Oh, sages have discovered we are born 
 For various ends — to love, to know : has ever 
 One stumbled, in his search, on any signs 
 Of a nature in us formed to hate ? To hate ? 
 If that be our true object which evokes 150 
 
 Our powers in fullest strength, be sure 'tis hate ! 
 Yet men have doubted if the best and bravest 
 Of spirits can nourish him with hate alone. 
 I had not the monopoly of fools. 
 It seems, at Basil. 
 
 Festus. But your plans, your plans ! 
 
 I have yet to learn your purpose, Aureole ! 
 Paracelsus. Whether to sink beneath such 
 
 ponderous shame. 
 To shrink up like a crushed snail, undergo 
 In silence and desist from further toil, 
 And so subside into a monument 160 
 
 Of one their censure blasted? or to bow 
 Cheerfully as submissively, to lower 
 My old pretensions even as Basil dictates. 
 To drop into the rank her wits assign me 
 And live as they prescribe, and make that use 
 Of my poor knowledge which their rules allow. 
 Proud to be patted now and then, and careful 
 To practise the true posture for receiving 
 The amplest benefit from their hoofs' appliance
 
 PARACELSUS 95 
 
 When they shall condescend to tutor me ? 170 Paxa- 
 Then, one may feel resentment like a flame celsus 
 Within, and deck false systems in truth's garb, . l- 
 And tangle and entwine mankind with error, old aims 
 And give them darkness for adower and falsehood 
 For a possession, ages : or one may mope 
 Into a shade through thinking, or else drowse 
 Into a dreamless sleep and so die off. 
 But I, — now Festus shall divine ! — but I 
 Am merely setting out once more, embracing 
 My earliest aims again ! What thinks he now ? 
 Festus. Your aims? the aims? — to Know? and 
 
 where is found 181 
 
 The early trust . . . 
 
 Paracelsus. Nay, not so fast ; I say. 
 
 The aims — not the old means. You know they 
 
 made me 
 A laughing-stock ; I was a fool ; you know 
 The when and the how : hardly those means 
 
 again ! 
 Not but they had their beauty ; who should 
 
 know 
 Their passing beauty, if not I ? Still, dreams 
 They were, so let them vanish, yet in beauty 
 If that may be. Stay: thus they pass in song! 
 
 [^Ifc SIII^S. 
 
 Heap cassia, sandal-buds and stripes 190 
 
 Of labdanum, and aloe-balls. 
 Smeared with dull narcl an Indian wipes 
 
 From out her hair : such balsam falls 
 
 Down sea-side mountain iK-destals, 
 From tree-tops where tired winds arc fain, 
 Spent with the vast and howling main, 
 To treasure half their island-gain.
 
 96 PARACELSUS 
 
 Festus And strew faint sweetness from some old 
 protests Egyptian's fine worm-eaten shroud 
 
 Which breaks to dust when once unrolled ; 200 
 Or shredded perfume, like a cloud 
 From closet long to quiet vowed, 
 With mothed and dropping arras hung. 
 Mouldering her lute and books among. 
 As when a queen, long dead, was young. 
 
 Mine, every word ! And on such pile shall die 
 My lovely fancies, with fair perished things, 
 Themselves fair and forgotten ; yes, forgotten, 
 Or why abjure them ? So, I made this rhyme 
 That fitting dignity might be preserved ; 210 
 No little proud was I ; though the list of 
 
 drugs 
 Smacks of my old vocation, and the verse 
 Halts like the best of Luther's psalms. 
 
 Festus. But, Aureole, 
 
 Talk not thus wildly and madly. I am here — 
 Did you know all! I have travelled far, indeed. 
 To learn your wishes. Be yourself again ! 
 For in this mood I recognise you less 
 Than in the horrible despondency 
 I witnessed last. You may account this, joy ; 
 But rather let me gaze on that despair 220 
 
 Than hear these incoherent words and see 
 This flushed cheek and intensely-sparkling eye. 
 Paracelsus. Why, man, I was light-hearted 
 
 in my prime ; 
 I am light-hearted now; what would you have? 
 Aprile was a poet, I make songs — 
 'Tis the very augury of success I want ! 
 Why should I not be joyous now as then ?
 
 PARACELSUS 97 
 
 Festus. Joyous! and how? and what remains Para- 
 for joy? celsus 
 
 You have declared the ends (which I am sick 7^^'^ ^.^^^ 
 
 Of naming) are impracticable. and know 
 
 Paracelsus. Ay, 230 at once 
 
 Pursued as I pursued them — the arch-fool ! 
 
 Listen : my plan will please you not, 'tis like, 
 
 But you are little versed in the world's ways. 
 
 This is my plan — (first drinking its good luck) — 
 
 I will accept all helps ; all I despised 
 
 So rashly at the outset, equally 
 
 With early impulses, late years have quenched : 
 
 I have tried each way singly : now for both ! 
 
 All helps ! no one sort shall exclude the rest. 
 
 I seek to know and to enjoy at once, 240 
 
 Not one without the other as before. 
 
 Suppose my labour should seem God's own cause 
 
 Once more, as first I dreamed, — it shall not baulk 
 me 
 
 Of the meanest earthliest sensualest delight 
 
 That may be snatched ; for every joy is gain, 
 
 And gain is gain, however small. My soul 
 
 Can die then, nor be taunted — ' what was gained ? ' 
 
 Nor, on the other hand, shoultl pleasure follow 
 
 As though I had not spurned her hitherto. 
 
 Shall she o'ercloud my spirit's rapt com- 
 munion 250 
 
 With the tumultuous past, the teeming future, 
 
 Glorious with visions of a full success. 
 Festus. Success ! 
 
 Paracelsus. And wherefore not? Why 
 
 not prefer 
 
 Results obtained in my best state of being. 
 
 To those derived alone from seasons dark
 
 98 PARACELSUS 
 
 and so As the thoughts they bred ? When I was best, 
 
 fight the my youth 
 
 a e ou Unwasted, seemed success not surest too ? 
 It is the nature of darkness to obscure. 
 I am a wanderer : I remember well 
 One journey, how I feared the track was missed, 
 So long the city I desired to reach 261 
 
 Lay hid ; when suddenly its spires afar 
 Flashed through the circling clouds ; you may 
 
 conceive 
 My transport. Soon the vapours closed again, 
 But I had seen the city, and one such glance 
 No darkness could obscure : nor shall the 
 
 present — 
 A few dull hours, a passing shame or two, 
 Destroy the vivid memories of the past. 
 I will fight the battle out ; a little spent 
 Perhaps, but still an able combatant. 270 
 
 You look at my grey hair and furrowed brow ? 
 But I can turn even weakness to account : 
 Of many tricks I know, 'tis not the least 
 To push the ruins of my frame, whereon 
 The fire of vigour trembles scarce alive. 
 Into a heap, and send the flame aloft. 
 What should I do with age ? So, sickness lends 
 An aid ; it being, I fear, the source of all 
 We boast of: mind is nothing but disease, 
 And natural health is ignorance. 
 
 Festus. I see 280 
 
 But one good symptom in this notable scheme. 
 I feared your sudden journey had in view 
 To wreak immediate vengeance on your foes; 
 *Tis not so : I am glad. 
 
 Paracelsus. And if I please
 
 PARACELSUS 99 
 
 To spit on them, to trample them, what then ? He 
 
 'Tis sorry warfare truly, but the fools sneers 
 
 Provoke it. I would spare their self-conceit ; ^* . 
 T, r 1 1 ,r enemies 
 
 but it they must provoke me, cannot sutler 
 
 Forbearance on my part, if I may keep 
 
 No quality in the shade, must needs put forth 290 
 
 Power to match power, my strength against their 
 
 strength. 
 And teach them their own game with their own 
 
 arms — 
 Why, be it so and let them take their chance ! 
 I am above them like a god, there 's no 
 Hiding the fact : what idle scruples, then, 
 Were those that ever bade me soften it. 
 Communicate it gently to the world. 
 Instead of proving my supremacy, 
 Taking my natural station o'er their head. 
 Then owning all the glory was a man's ! 300 
 — And in my elevation man's would be. 
 But live and learn, though life 's short, learning, 
 
 hard ! 
 And therefore, though the wreck of my past self, 
 I fear, dear Putter, that your lecture-room 
 Must wait awhile for its best ornament. 
 The penitent empiric, who set uj) 
 For somebody, but soon was taught his place ; 
 Now, but too happy to be let confess 
 His error, snutf the candles, and illustrate 
 fiat experietilia corporc vili) 310 
 
 our medicine's soundness in his jMjrson. Wait, 
 Good Piitter ! 
 
 Fcsliu. He who sneers thus, is a god ! 
 
 Paracelsus. Ay, ay, laugh at me ! I am very 
 
 glad 
 
 V
 
 loo PARACELSUS 
 
 Festus You are not gulled by all this swaggering ; you 
 remains Q^n see the root of the matter ! — how I strive 
 ""^^n^hi" ^^ I'"^ ^ Sood face on the overthrow 
 
 faith ^ have experienced, and to bury and hide 
 My degradation in its length and breadth ; 
 How the mean motives I would make you think 
 Just mingle as is due with nobler aims, 320 
 
 The appetites I modestly allow 
 May influence me as being mortal still — 
 Do goad me, drive me on, and fast supplant 
 My youth's desires. You are no stupid dupe : 
 You find me out ! Yes, I had sent for you 
 To palm these childish lies upon you, Festus ! 
 Laugh — you shall laugh at me ! 
 
 Festus. The past, then. Aureole, 
 
 Proves nothing ? Is our interchange of love 
 Yet to begin ? Have I to swear I mean 
 No flattery in this speech or that ? For you, 330 
 Whate'er you say, there is no degradation ; 
 These low thoughts are no inmates of your mind. 
 Or wherefore this disorder ? You are vexed 
 As much by the intrusion of base views. 
 Familiar to your adversaries, as they 
 Were troubled should your qualities alight 
 Amid their murky souls ; not otherwise, 
 A stray wolf which the winter forces down 
 From our bleak hills, suffices to affright 
 A village in the vales — while foresters 340 
 
 Sleep calm, though all night long the famished 
 
 troop 
 Snuff round and scratch against their crazy huts. 
 These evil thoughts are monsters, and will flee. 
 
 Paracelsus. May you be happy, Festus, my 
 own friend !
 
 PARACELSUS loi 
 
 Festus. Nay, further ; the delights you fain Para- 
 would think celsus 
 
 The superseders of your nobler aims, f ?" ^^^^^ 
 
 ^ . . his need 
 
 Though ordinary and harmless stimulants, of the 
 
 Will ne'er content you , . . joys of 
 
 Paracelsus. Hush ! I once despised them, the flesh 
 
 But that soon passes. We are high at first 
 
 In our demand, nor will abate a jot 350 
 
 Of toil's strict value ; but time passes o'er, 
 
 And humbler spirits accept what we refuse : 
 
 In short, when some such comfort is doled out 
 
 As these delights, we cannot long retain 
 
 Bitter contempt which urges us at first 
 
 To hurl it back, but hug it to our breast 
 
 And thankfully retire. This life of mine 
 
 Must be lived out and a grave thoroughly earned : 
 
 I am just fit for that and nought beside. 
 
 I told you once, I cannot now enjoy, 360 
 
 Unless I deem my knowledge gains through joy ; 
 
 Nor can I know, but straight warm tears reveal 
 
 My need of linking also joy to knowledge : 
 
 iSo, on I drive, enjoying all I can, 
 
 And knowing all I can. I speak, of course, 
 
 Confusedly ; this will better explain — feel here I 
 
 Quick beating, is it not? — a fire of tlie heart 
 
 To work off some way, this as well as any. 
 
 So, F'estus sees me fairly launched; his calm 
 
 Compassionate look might have disturbed me 
 
 once, 370 
 
 But now, far from rejecting, I invite 
 
 What bids me jiress the closer, lay myself 
 
 Open before him, and be soothed with ])ity ; 
 
 I hope, if he command hope, and believe 
 
 As he directs me — satiating myself
 
 102 PARACELSUS 
 
 and With his enduring love. And Festus quits me 
 describes To give place to some credulous disciple 
 
 ^'^ Who holds that God is wise, but Paracelsus 
 way of ^^s his peculiar merits : I suck in 
 
 life That homage, chuckle o'er that admiration, 380 
 And then dismiss the fool ; for night is come. 
 And I betake myself to study again, 
 Till patient searchings after hidden lore 
 Half wring some bright truth from its prison ; 
 
 my frame 
 Trembles, my forehead's veins swell out, my 
 
 hair 
 Tingles for triumph. Slow and sure the morn 
 Shall break on my pent room and dwindling lamp 
 And furnace dead, and scattered earths and ores ; 
 When, with a falling heart and throbbing brow, 
 1 must review my captured truth, sum up 390 
 Its value, trace what ends to what begins. 
 Its present power with its eventual bearings, 
 Latent affinities, the views it opens. 
 And its full length in perfecting my scheme. 
 I view it sternly circumscribed, cast down 
 From the high place my fond hopes yielded it. 
 Proved worthless— which, in getting, yet had cost 
 Another wrench to this fast-falling frame. 
 Then, quick, the cup to quaff, that chases sorrow ! 
 I lapse back into youth, and take again 400 
 
 My fluttering pulse for evidence that God 
 Means good to me, will make my cause his own. 
 See ! I have cast oflF this remorseless care 
 Which clogged a spirit born to soar so free, 
 And my dim chamber has become a tent, 
 Festus is sitting by me, and his Mlchal . . . 
 Why do you start ? I say, she listening here,
 
 PARACELSUS 103 
 
 (For yonder — Wiirzburg through the orchard- Festus 
 
 bough ! ) hk°vi him 
 
 Motions as though such ardent words should find g^^ j^g ^q 
 No echo in a maiden's quiet soul, 410 redeem 
 
 But her pure bosom heaves, her eyes fill fast the past 
 With tears, her sweet lips tremble all the while ! 
 Ha, ha ! 
 
 Festus. It seems, then, you expect to reap 
 No unreal joy from this your present course, 
 But rather . . . 
 
 Paracelsus. Death ! To die ! I owe that 
 much 
 To what, at least, I was. I should be sad 
 To live contented after such a fall, 
 To thrive and fatten after such reverse ! 
 The whole plan is a makeshift, but will last 
 My time. 
 
 Festus. And you have never mused and said, 
 ' I had a noble jmrpose, and the strength 421 
 To com])ass it ; but I have stopped half-way. 
 And wrongly given the first-fruits of my toil 
 To objects little worthy of the gift. 
 Why linger round them still ? why clench my 
 
 fault ? 
 Why seek for consolation in defeat. 
 In vain endeavours to derive a beauty 
 I" rom ugliness ? why seek to make the most 
 Of what no ])Ower can change, nor strive instead 
 With mighty effort to redeem the ])a8t 430 
 
 And, gathering up the treasures thus cast down, 
 To hold a steadfast course till 1 arrive 
 At their fit destination and my own ? ' 
 You have never pondered thus ? 
 
 Paracelsus. Have I, you ask ^
 
 I04 PARACELSUS 
 
 He Often at midnight, when most fancies come, 
 answers Would some such airy project visit me : 
 *L,* But ever at the end ... or will you hear 
 The same thing in a tale, a parable ? 
 You and I, wandering over the world wide, 
 Chance to set foot upon a desert coast. 440 
 
 Just as we cry, ' No human voice before 
 Broke the inveterate silence of these rocks ! ' 
 — Their querulous echo startles us ; we turn : 
 What ravaged structure still looks o'er the sea ? 
 Some characters remain, too ! While we read. 
 The sharp salt wind, impatient for the last 
 Of even this record, wistfully comes and goes. 
 Or sings what we recover, mocking it. 
 This is the record ; and my voice, the wind's. 
 
 \_He sings. 
 
 Over the sea our galleys went, 450 
 
 With cleaving prows in order brave 
 To a speeding wind and a bounding wave, 
 
 A gallant armament : 
 Each bark built out of a forest-tree 
 
 Left leafy and rough as first it grew. 
 And nailed all over the gaping sides, 
 Within and without, with black bull-hides, 
 Seethed in fat and suppled in flame, 
 To bear the playful billows' game : 
 So, each good ship was rude to see, 460 
 
 Rude and bare to the outward view. 
 
 But each upbore a stately tent 
 Where cedar pales in scented row 
 Kept out the flakes of the dancing brine. 
 And an awning drooped the mast below, 
 In fold on fold of the purple fine.
 
 PARACELSUS 105 
 
 That neither noontide nor starshine His song 
 
 Nor moonlight cold which maketh mad, 
 Might pierce the regal tenement. 
 
 When the sun dawned, oh, gay and glad 470 
 
 We set the sail and plied the oar ; 
 
 But when the night-wind blew like breath. 
 
 For joy of one day's voyage more. 
 
 We sang together on the wide sea. 
 
 Like men at peace on a peaceful shore ; 
 
 Each sail was loosed to the wind so free. 
 
 Each helm made sure by the twilight 
 star, 
 
 And in a sleep as calm as death, 
 
 We, the voyagers from afar. 
 
 Lay stretched along, each weary crew 
 
 In a circle round its wondrous tent 481 
 
 Whence gleamed soft light and curled rich 
 scent, 
 And with light and jjerfume, music too : 
 
 So the stars wheeled round, and the dark- 
 ness past. 
 
 And at morn we started beside the mast, 
 
 And still each ship was sailing hist. 
 
 Now, one morn, land appeared — a speck 
 Dim trembling betwixt sea and sky : 
 ' Avoid it,' cried our pilot, ' check 
 
 The shout, restrain the eager eye ! ' 490 
 liut the heaving sea was black behind 
 For many a night and many a day. 
 And land, though but a rock, drew nigh ; 
 So, we broke the cedar pales away. 
 Let the purple awning (lap in the wind. 
 
 And a statue bright was on every deck !
 
 io6 PARACELSUS 
 
 His song We shouted, every man of us, 
 
 And steered right into the harbour thus, 
 With pomp and pasan glorious. 
 
 A hundred shapes of lucid stone ! 500 
 
 All day we built its shrine for each, 
 A shrine of rock for every one, 
 Nor paused till in the westering sun 
 
 We sat together on the beach 
 To sing because our task was done. 
 When lo ! what shouts and merry songs ! 
 What laughter all the distance stirs 1 
 A loaded raft with happy throngs 
 Of gentle islanders ! 
 ' Our isles are just at hand,' they cried, 510 
 
 ' Like cloudlets faint in even sleeping ; 
 Our temple-gates are opened wide. 
 
 Our olive-groves thick shade are keeping 
 For these majestic forms ' — they cried. 
 Oh, then we awoke with sudden start 
 From our deep dream, and knew, too late. 
 How bare the rock, how desolate. 
 Which had received our precious freight : 
 
 Yet we called out — ' Depart ! 
 Our gifts, once given, must here abide. 520 
 
 Our work is done ; we have no heart 
 To mar our work,' — we cried. 
 
 Festus. In truth ? 
 
 Paracelsus. Nay, wait : all this in tracings faint 
 On rugged stones strewn here and there, but piled 
 In order once: then follows — mark what follows ! 
 ' The sad rhyme of the men who proudly clung 
 To their first fault, and withered in their pride.'
 
 PARACELSUS 107 
 
 Festus. Come back then, Aureole ; as you It is 
 
 fear God, come ! fo°t irn^ 
 
 This is foul sin ; come back ! Renounce the ^^^^j^ 
 
 past, 
 Forswear the future ; look for joy no more, 530 
 But wait death's summons amid holy sights. 
 And trust me for the event — peace, if not joy. 
 Return with me to Einsiedeln, dear Aureole ! 
 
 Paracelsus. No way, no way ! it would not 
 turn to good. 
 A spotless child sleeps on the flowering moss — 
 'Tis well for him ; but when a sinful man, 
 IZnvying such slumber, may desire to put 
 His guilt away, shall he return at once 
 To rest by lying there ? Our sires knew well 
 (Spite of the grave discoveries of their sons) 540 
 The fitting course for such : dark cells, dim lamps, 
 A stone floor one may writhe on like a worm : 
 No mossy pillow blue with violets ! 
 
 Festus. I see no sym])tom of these absolute 
 And tyrannous passions. You are calmer now. 
 This verse-making can purge you well enough 
 Without the terrible ])enancc you describe. 
 You love me still : the lusts you fear will never 
 Outrage your friend. To Einsiedeln, once more ! 
 Say but the word ! 
 
 Paracelsus. No, no ; those lusts forbid : 
 
 They crouch, I know, cowering with half-shut 
 
 eye 55 1 
 
 Beside you ; 'tis their nature. Thrust yourself 
 
 Between them and their jjrey ; let some fool 
 
 style me 
 Or king or quack, it matters not — then try 
 Your wisdom, urge them to forego their treat !
 
 io8 PARACELSUS 
 
 Festus No, no ; learn better and look deeper, Festus ! 
 charges jf you knew how a devil sneers within me 
 seeking ^^^ile you are talking now of this, now that, 
 his own -^s though we differed scarcely save in trifles ! 
 glory, not Festus. Do wc so differ ? True, change must 
 God's proceed, 560 
 
 Whether for good or ill ; keep from me, which ! 
 Do not confide all secrets : I was born 
 To hope, and you . . . 
 
 Paracelsus. To trust : you know the fruits ! 
 Festus. Listen : I do believe, what you call 
 trust 
 Was self-delusion at the best : for, see ! 
 So long as God would kindly pioneer 
 A path for you, and screen you from the world, 
 Procure you full exemption from man's lot, 
 Man's common hopes and fears, on the mere 
 pretext 569 
 
 Of your engagement in his service — yield you 
 A limitless licence, make you God, in fact, 
 And turn your slave — you were content to say 
 Most courtly praises ! What is it, at last, 
 But selfishness without example ? None 
 Could trace God's will so plain as you, while 
 
 yours 
 Remained implied in it ; but now you fail. 
 And we, who prate about that will, are fools ! 
 In short, God's service is established here 
 As he determines fit, and not your way, 579 
 And this you cannot brook. Such discontent 
 Is weak. Renounce all creatureship at once ! 
 AflRrm an absolute right to have and use 
 Your energies ; as though the rivers should say — 
 ' We rush to the ocean ; what have we to do
 
 PARACELSUS 109 
 
 With feeding streamlets, lingering in the vales, He 
 Sleeping in lazy pools ? ' Set up that plea, [ u / ^^ 
 That will be bold at least ! God's 
 
 Paracelsus. 'Tis like enough, glory is 
 
 The serviceable spirits are those, no doubt, one with 
 
 The East produces : lo, the master bids, — ma.n s 
 They wake, raise terraces and garden-grounds 
 In one night's space ; and, this done, straight 
 begin 591 
 
 Another century's sleej), to the great praise 
 Of him that framed them wise and beautiful. 
 Till a lamp's rubbing, or some chance akin. 
 Wake them again. I am of different mould. 
 I would have soothed my lord, and slaved for him 
 And done him service past my narrow bond, 
 And thus I get rewarded for my pains ! 
 Beside, 'tis vain to talk of forwarding 
 God's glory otherwise ; this is alone 600 
 
 The sphere of its increase, as far as men 
 Increase it ; why, then, look beyond this sphere ? 
 We are his glory ; and if we be glorious, 
 Is not the thing achieved ? 
 
 Festus. Shall one like me 
 
 Judge hearts like yours ? Though years have 
 
 changed you much, 
 And you have left your first love, and retain 
 Its empty shade to veil your crooked ways. 
 Yet I still hold that you have honoured God. 
 And who shall call your course witliout reward ? 
 For, wherefore this repining at defeat 610 
 
 Had trium])h ne'er inured you to high hopes ? 
 I urge you to forsake the life you curse, 
 And what success attends me ? — simply talk 
 Of passion, weakness and remorse ; in short,
 
 no PARACELSUS 
 
 He Anything but the naked truth — you choose 
 
 invokes This so-despised career, and cheaply hold 
 
 Festus My happiness, or rather other men's, 
 contempt ^ •' ^ '^ , 
 
 Once more, return ! 
 
 Paracelsus. And quickly. John the thief 
 Has pilfered half my secrets by this time : 
 And we depart by daybreak. I am weary, 620 
 I know not how ; not even the wine-cup soothes 
 My brain to-night . . . 
 Do you not thoroughly despise me, Festus ? 
 No flattery ! One like you needs not be told 
 We live and breathe deceiving and deceived. 
 Do you not scorn me from your heart of hearts, 
 Me and my cant, each petty subterfuge. 
 My rhymes and all this frothy shower of words, 
 My glozing self-deceit, my outward crust 629 
 Of lies which wrap, as tetter, morphew, furfair 
 Wrapt the sound flesh ? — so, see you flatter not! 
 Even God flatters : but my friend, at least. 
 Is true. I would depart, secure henceforth 
 Against all further insult, hate and wrong 
 From puny foes ; my one friend's scorn shall 
 
 brand me : 
 No fear of sinking deeper ! 
 
 Festus. No, dear Aureole ! 
 
 No, no ; I came to counsel faithfully. 
 There are old rules, made long ere we were born. 
 By which I judge you. I, so fallible, 
 So infinitely low beside your mighty 640 
 
 Majestic spirit! — even I can see 
 You own some higher law than ours which call 
 Sin, what is no sin — weakness, what is strength. 
 But I have only these, such as they are. 
 To guide me ; and I blame you where they bid,
 
 PARACELSUS m 
 
 Only so long as blaming promises Festus 
 
 To win peace for your soul : the more, that jells 
 
 sorrow MTchal's 
 
 Has fallen on me of late, and they have helped me death 
 So that I faint not under my distress. 
 But wherefore should I scruple to avow 650 
 In spite of all, as brother judging brother. 
 Your fate is most inexplicable to me ? 
 And should you perish without recompense 
 And satisfaction yet — too hastily 
 I have relied on love : you may have sinned, 
 But you have loved. As a mere human matter — 
 As I would have God deal with fragile men 
 In the end — I say that you will triumph yet ! 
 Paracelsus. Have you felt sorrow, Festus ? — 
 'tis because 659 
 
 You love me. Sorrow, and sweet Michal yours ! 
 Well thought on : never let her know this last 
 Dull winding-up of all : these miscreants dared 
 Insult me — me she loved : — so, grieve her not ! 
 Festus. Your ill success can little grieve her 
 
 now. 
 Paracelsus. Michal is dead ! pray Christ wc 
 
 do not craze ! 
 Festus. Aureole, dear Aureole, look not on 
 me thus ! 
 Fool, fool ! this is the heart grown sorrow- 
 proof — 
 I cannot bear those eyes. 
 
 Paracelsus. Nay, really dead ? 
 
 FcsiuSf 'Tis scarce a month. 
 Paracelsus. Stone dead ! — then you 
 
 have laid her 669 
 
 Among the flowers ere this. Now, do you know,
 
 112 PARACELSUS 
 
 Para- I can reveal a secret which shall comfort 
 celsus jVyg,-, yoy^ J [^jjyg pQ julcp, 38 mcn think, 
 
 a secret ^^ ° cheat the grave ; but a far better secret. 
 
 for his Know, then, you did not ill to trust your love 
 comfort To the cold earth : I have thought much of it : 
 For I believe we do not wholly die. 
 Festus. Aureole ! 
 
 Paracelsus. Nay, do not laugh ; there is 
 
 reason 
 For what I say : I think, the soul can never 
 Taste death. I am, just now, as you may see, 
 Very unfit to put so strange a thought 680 
 
 In an intelligible dress of words ; 
 But take it as my trust, she is not dead. 
 
 Festus. But not on this account alone ? you 
 surely, 
 — Aureole, you have believed this all along ? 
 Paracelsus. And Michal sleeps among the 
 roots and dews. 
 While I am moved at Basil, and full of schemes 
 For Nuremberg, and hoping and despairing. 
 As though it mattered how the farce plays out. 
 So it be quickly played. Away, away ! 
 Have your will, rabble ! while we fight the prize, 
 Troop you in safety to the snug back-seats 691 
 And leave a clear arena for the brave 
 About to perish for your sport ! — Behold !
 
 PART V 
 
 PARACELSUS ATTAINS 
 
 Scene. — Sahburg ; a cell in the Hospital 
 of St. Sebastian. I 54 1 
 
 Festus, Paracelsus 
 
 Festiis. No change ! The weary night is Festus 
 well-nigh spent, ^^^tch.s 
 
 The lamp burns low, and through the case- ^eath- 
 ment-bars bed of 
 
 Grey morning glimmers feebly : yet no change! Para- 
 Another night, and still no sigh has stirred celsus 
 
 That fallen discoloured mouth, no pang relit 
 Those fixed eyes, quenched by the decaying body, 
 I, ike torch-flame choked in dust. While all 
 
 beside 
 Was breaking, to the last they held out bright, 
 As a stronghold where life intrenched itself; 
 But they are dead now — very blind and dead : 10 
 He will drowse into death without a groan. 
 
 My Aureole — my forgotten, ruinetl Aureole ! 
 The days arc gone, are gone ! How grand 
 
 thou wast ! 
 And now not one of those who struck thee 
 
 down —
 
 114 PARACELSUS 
 
 hoping Poor glorious spirit — concerns him even to stay 
 
 for a And satisfy himself his little hand 
 word of Q^^ Q j,y j^^ jQ ^ jjyjj ^^■ 
 
 recogni- ° ° 
 
 tion 
 
 Another night, and yet no change ! 'Tis much 
 
 That I should sit by him, and bathe his brow. 
 And chafe his hands ; 'tis much : but he will sure 
 Know me, and look on me, and speak to me 21 
 Once more — but only once ! His hollow cheek 
 Looked all night long as though a creeping laugh 
 At his own state were just about to break 
 From the dying man : my brain swam, my 
 
 throat swelled. 
 And yet I could not turn away. In truth. 
 They told me how, when first brought here, 
 
 he seemed 
 Resolved to live, to lose no faculty ; 
 Thus striving to keep up his shattered strength, 
 Until they bore him to this stifling cell : 30 
 
 When straight his features fell, an hour made 
 
 white 
 The flushed face, and relaxed the quivering limb. 
 Only the eye remained intense awhile 
 As though it recognised the tomb-like place, 
 And then he lay as here he lies. 
 
 Ay, here ! 
 Here is earth's noblest, nobly garlanded — 
 Her bravest champion with his well-won prize — 
 Her best achievement, her sublime amends 
 For countless generations fleeting fast 
 And followed by no trace ; — the creature-god 40 
 She instances when angels would dispute 
 The title of her brood to rank with them. 
 Angels, this is our angel ! Those bright forms
 
 PARACELSUS iiS 
 
 We clothe with purple, crown and call to thrones, He 
 
 Are human, but not his ; those are but men ^^>h G d 
 
 Whom other men press round and kneel before ; ^^^ y^^^ 
 
 Those palaces are dwelt in by mankind ; 
 
 Higher provision is for him you seek 
 
 Amid our pomps and glories : see it here ! 49 
 
 Behold earth's paragon ! Now, raise thee, clay! 
 
 God ! Thou art love ! I build my faith on that. 
 Even as I watch beside thy tortured child 
 Unconscious whose hot tears fall fast by him. 
 So doth thy right hand guide us through the 
 
 world 
 Wherein we stumble. God ! what shall we say ? 
 How has he sinned ? How else should he 
 
 have done ? 
 Surely he sought thy praise — thy praise, for all 
 He might be busied by the task so much 
 As half forget awhile its proper end. 
 Dost thou well, Lord ? Thou canst not but 
 
 prefer 60 
 
 That I should range myself u])on his side — 
 How could he stop at every ste]) to set 
 Thy glory forth ? Hadst tliou but granted him 
 Success, thy honour would have crowned success, 
 A halo round a star. Or, say he erred, — 
 Save him, dear God ; it will be like thee : 
 
 bathe him 
 In light and life! Thou art not made like us; 
 We should be wroth in such a case ; but thou 
 Forgivest — so, forgive these passionate thoughts 
 Which come unsought and will not pass away! 70 
 I know thee, who hast kept my path, and made 
 Ligiit for me in the darkness, tempering sorrow
 
 ii6 PARACELSUS 
 
 Para- So that it reached me like a solemn joy ; 
 celsus It were too strange that I should doubt thy love, 
 ^^^p? ^" ^^^ '^^^^^ ^^ ^ • Thou madest him and knowest 
 How he was fashioned. I could never err 
 That way : the quiet place beside thy feet, 
 Reserved for me, was ever in my thoughts : 
 But he — thou shouldst have favoured him as well! 
 
 Ah ! he wakens ! Aureole, I am here ! 'tis 
 Festus ! 80 
 
 I cast away all wishes save one wish — 
 Let him but know me, only speak to me ! 
 He mutters ; louder and louder ; any other 
 Than I, with brain less laden, could collect 
 What he pours forth. Dear Aureole, do but 
 
 look! 
 Is it talking or singing, this he utters fast ? 
 Misery that he should fix me with his eye. 
 Quick talking to some other all the while ! 
 If he would husband this wild vehemence 
 Which frustrates its intent ! — I heard, I know 
 I heard my name amid those rapid words. 91 
 Oh, he will know me yet ! Could I divert 
 This current, lead it somehow gently back 
 Into the channels of the past ! — His eye 
 Brighter than ever ! It must recognise me ! 
 
 I am Erasmus : I am here to pray 
 That Paracelsus use his skill for me. 
 The schools of Paris and of Padua send 
 These questions for your learning to resolve. 
 We are your students, noble master : leave 100 
 This wretched cell, what business have you here ? 
 Our class awaits you ; come to us once more !
 
 PARACELSUS 117 
 
 (O agony! the utmost I can do His 
 
 Touches him not ; how else arrest his ear ?) thoughts 
 I am commissioned ... I shall craze like him. ^pj-iig 
 Better be mute and see what God shall send. 
 
 Paracelsus. Stay, stay with me ! 
 
 Festus. I will ; I am come here 
 
 To stay with you — Festus, you loved of old ; 
 Festus, you know, you must know ! 
 
 Paracelsus. Festus ! Where 's 
 
 Aprile, then ? Has he not chanted softly no 
 The melodies I heard all night ? I could not 
 Get to him for a cold hand on my breast. 
 But I made out his music well enough, 
 
 well enough! If they have filled him full 
 With magical music, as they freight a star 
 With light, and have remitted all his sin. 
 They will forgive me too, I too shall know ! 
 
 Festus. Festus, your Festus ! 
 Paracelsus. Ask him if Ajirilc 
 
 Knows as he Loves — if I shall Love and Know ? 
 
 1 try ; but that cold hand, like lead — so cold ! 
 
 Festus. My hand, see ! 120 
 
 Paracelsus. AJi, the curse, Ajirile, Aprile ! 
 We get so near — so very, very near ! 
 'Tis an old tale : Jove strikes the Titans down. 
 Not when they set about their mountain-piling 
 But when another rock would crown the work. 
 And Phaeton — doubtless his first radiant plunge 
 Astonished mortals, though the gods were calm, 
 And Jove prepared his thunder : all old tales ! 
 
 Festus. And what are these to you ? 
 
 Paracelsus. Ay, fiends must laugh 
 
 So cruelly, so well ! most like I never 130 
 
 Could tread a single pleasure underfoot,
 
 ii8 PARACELSUS 
 
 He But they were grinning by my side, were chuckling 
 triumphs 'Po see me toil and drop away by flakes ! 
 
 *" ^/.^ Hell-spawn ! I am glad, most glad, that thus 1 
 own ill- ^'., , " 
 
 fame fail! . . . ^ 
 
 Your cunning has o ershot its ami. One year. 
 One month, perhaps, and I had served your turn ! 
 You should have curbed your spite awhile. But 
 
 now, 
 Who will believe 'twas you that held me back ? 
 Listen: there's shame and hissing and contempt, 
 And none but laughs who names me, none but spits 
 Measureless scorn upon me, me alone, 141 
 
 The quack, the cheat, the liar, — all on me ! 
 And thus your famous plan to sink mankind 
 In silence and despair, by teaching them 
 One of their race had probed the inmost truth, 
 Had done all man could do, yet failed no less — 
 Your wise plan proves abortive. Men despair? 
 Ha, ha ! why, they are hooting the empiric. 
 The ignorant and incapable fool who rushed 
 Madly upon a work beyond his wits ; 150 
 
 Nor doubt they but the simplest of themselves 
 Could bring the matter to triumphant issue. 
 So, pick and choose among them all, accursed ! 
 Try now, persuade some other to slave for you, 
 To ruin body and soul to work your ends ! 
 No, no ; I am the first and last, I think. 
 
 Festus. Dear friend, who are accursed ? who 
 has done . . . 
 
 Paracelsus. What have I done ? Fiends dare 
 
 ask that ? or you. 
 
 Brave men ? Oh, you can chime in boldly, backed 
 
 By the others ! What had you to do, sage peers ? 
 
 Here stand my rivals ; Latin, Arab, Jew, 161
 
 PARACELSUS 119 
 
 Greek, join dead hands against me : all I ask. and 
 
 Is, that the world enrol my name with theirs, exults 
 A J ^1 • -I V over his 
 
 And even this poor privilege, it seems, rivals of 
 
 They range themselves, prepared to disallow. old time 
 
 Only observe! why, fiends may learn from them ! 
 
 How they talk calmly of my throes, my fierce 
 
 Aspirings, terrible watchings, each one claiming 
 
 Its price of blood and brain ; how they dissect 
 
 And sneeringly disparage the few truths 170 
 
 Got at a life's cost ; they too hanging the while 
 
 About my neck, their lies misleading me 
 
 And their dead names browbeating me ! Grey 
 
 crew. 
 
 Yet steeped in fresh malevolence from hell, 
 
 Is there a reason for your hate ? My truths 
 
 Have shaken a little the palm about each prince ? 
 
 Just think, Aprile, all these leering dotards 
 
 Were bent on nothing less than to be crowned 
 
 As wc ! That yellow blear-eyed wretch in chief 
 
 To whom the rest cringe low with feigned respect, 
 
 Galen ot Pergamos and hell — nay 8]x?ak 181 
 
 The tale, old man ! We met there face to face : 
 
 I said the crown should fall from thee. Once more 
 
 We meet as in that ghastly vestibule : 
 
 Look to my brow ! Have 1 redeemed my pledge ? 
 
 Feslus. Peace, peace ; ah, see ! 
 
 Paracelsus. Oh, emjjtiness of fame ! 
 
 Oh Persic Zoroaster, lord of stars! 
 — Who said these old renowns, dead long ago. 
 Could make me overlook the living world 
 To gaze through gloom at where they stood, 
 indeed, 190 
 
 But stand no longer ? What a warm light life 
 After the shade ! In truth, my delicate witch,
 
 I20 
 
 PARACELSUS 
 
 He My serpent-queen, you did but well to hide 
 regrets The juggles I had else detected. Fire 
 /human ^^y ^^^^ •""" harmless o'er a breast like yours! 
 love The cave was not so darkened by the smoke 
 But that your white limbs dazzled me : oh, white, 
 And panting as they twinkled, wildly dancing ! 
 I cared not for your passionate gestures then, 
 But now I have forgotten the charm of charms. 
 The foolish knowledge which I came to seek, 201 
 While I remember that quaint dance ; and thus 
 I am come back, not for those mummeries, 
 But to love you, and to kiss your little feet 
 Soft as an ermine's winter coat ! 
 
 Festus. A light 
 
 Will struggle through these thronging words at 
 
 last. 
 As in the angry and tumultuous West 
 A soft star trembles through the drifting clouds. 
 These are the strivings of a spirit which hates 
 So sad a vault should coop it, and calls up 210 
 The past to stand between it and its fate. 
 Were he at liinsiedeln — or Michal here 1 
 
 Paracelsus. Cruel ! I seek her now — I kneel 
 
 — I shriek — 
 I clasp her vesture — but she fades, still fades ; 
 And she is gone ; sweet human love is gone ! 
 'Tis only when they spring to heaven that angels 
 Reveal themselves to you ; they sit all day 
 Beside you, and lie down at night by you 
 Who care not for their presence, muse or sleep, 
 And all at once they leave you, and you know 
 
 them ! 220 
 
 We are so fooled, so cheated ! Why, even now 
 I am not too secure against foul play ;
 
 PARACELSUS 121 
 
 The shadows deepen and the walls contract : and clings 
 
 No doubt some treachery is going on. j^i,:?" ^ 
 
 .rr-.. . . TTTi 00 . ., 5 in nis 
 
 Tis very dusk. Where are we put, Aprile r dreams 
 
 Have they left us in the lurch ? This murky 
 
 loathsome 
 Death-trap, this slaughter-house, is not the hall 
 In the golden city ! Keep by me, Aprile ! 
 There is a hand groping amid the blackness 
 To catch us. Have the spider fingers got you. 
 Poet? Hold on me for your life ! If once 230 
 They pull you ! — Hold ! 
 
 'Tis but a dream — no more ! 
 I have you still ; the sun comes out again ; 
 Let us be happy : all will yet go well ! 
 Let us confer : is it not like, Aprile, 
 That spite of trouble, this ordeal ])assed. 
 The value of my labours ascertained, 
 Just as some stream foams long among the rocks 
 But after glideth glassy to the sea, 
 80, full content shall henceforth be my lot ? 240 
 What think you, poet? Louder! Your clear voice 
 Vibrates too like a harp-string. Do you ask 
 How could I still remain on earth, should God 
 Grant me the great approval which I seek ? 
 I, you, and God can comprehend each other, 
 But men would murmur, and with cause enough ; 
 For when they saw me, stainless of all sin. 
 Preserved and sanctified by inward light. 
 They would complain that comfort, shut from 
 
 them, 
 I drank thus unc8pied ; that they live on, 250 
 Nor taste the quiet of a constant joy, 
 For ache and care and doulit and weariness. 
 While 1 am calm ; help being vouchsafed to mc,
 
 122 PARACELSUS 
 
 He feels And hid from them. — 'Twere best consider that! 
 
 the need You reason well, Aprile ; but at least 
 of a hfe j^^j. ^^^ j^j^^^ ^l^jg^ .^^^ jjg I jg ^j^jg ^QQ ^y^i^ > 
 
 I will learn this, if God so please, and die 1 
 
 If thou shalt please, dear God, if thou shalt 
 
 please ! 
 We are so weak, we know our motives least 
 In their confused beginning. If at first 260 
 I sought ... but wherefore bare my heart to 
 
 thee? 
 I know thy mercy ; and already thoughts 
 Flock fast about my soul to comfort it. 
 And intimate I cannot wholly fail, 
 For love and praise would clasp me willingly 
 Could I resolve to seek them. Thou art good, 
 And I should be content. Yet — yet first show 
 I have done wrong in daring ! Rather give 
 The supernatural consciousness of strength 
 Which fed my youth ! Only one hour of that 270 
 With thee to help — O what should bar me then? 
 
 Lost, lost! Thus things are ordered here! 
 
 God's creatures. 
 And yet he takes no pride in us ! — none, none ! 
 Truly there needs another life to come ! 
 If this be all — (I must tell Festus that) 
 And other life await us not — for one, 
 I say 'tis a poor cheat, a stupid bungle, 
 A wretched failure. I, for one, protest 
 Against it, and I hurl it back with scorn. 279 
 
 Well, onward though alone ! Small time remains, 
 And much to do ; I must have fruit, must reap
 
 PARACELSUS 123 
 
 Some profit from my toils. I doubt my body as his 
 Will hardly serve me through ; while I have f °jj Jj^-j^j 
 
 laboured 
 It has decayed ; and now that I demand 
 Its best assistance, it will crumble fast : 
 A sad thought, a sad fate ! How very full 
 Of wormwood 'tis, that just at altar-service. 
 The rapt hymn rising with the rolling smoke, 
 When glory dawns and all is at the best. 
 The sacred fire may flicker and grow faint 290 
 And die for want of a wood-piler's help! 
 Thus fades the flagging body, and the soul 
 Is pulled down in the overthrow. Well, well — 
 Let men catch every word, let them lose nought 
 Of what I say ; something may yet be done. 
 
 They are ruins ! Trust me who am one of 
 
 you! 
 All ruins, glorious once, but lonely now. 
 It makes my lieart sick to behold you crouch 
 Beside your desolate fane : the arches dim, 299 
 The crumbling columns grand against the moon, 
 Could I but rear them up once more — but that 
 May never be, so leave them ! Trust me, friends. 
 Why should you linger here when I have built 
 A far resplendent tcni])Ic, all your own ? 
 Trust me, they are but ruins ! Sec, Ajjrile, 
 Men will not heed ! Yet were I not jjrepared 
 With better refuge for them, tongue of mine 
 Should ne'er reveal how blank their dwelling is: 
 I would sit down in silence with the rest. 
 
 Ha, what ? you sj)it at me, you grin and shriek 310 
 Contempt into my car — my ear which drank
 
 124 PARACELSUS 
 
 He de- God's accents once : you curse me ? Why, 
 precates men, men, 
 
 of men ^ '"" ^^^ formed for it ? Those hideous eyes 
 Will be before me sleeping, waking, praying, 
 They will not let me even die. Spare, spare me. 
 Sinning or no, forget that, only spare me 
 The horrible scorn ! You thought I could sup- 
 port it. 
 But now you see what silly fragile creature 
 Cowers thus. I am not good nor bad enough. 
 Not Christ nor Cain, yet even Cain was saved 320 
 From Hate like this. Let me but totter back! 
 Perhaps I shall elude those jeers which creep 
 Into my very brain, and shut these scorched 
 Eyelids and keep those mocking faces out. 
 
 Listen, Aprile ! I am very calm : 
 Be not deceived, there is no passion here 
 Where the blood leaps like an imprisoned thing : 
 I am calm : I will exterminate the race ! 
 Enough of that : 'tis said and it shall be. 
 And now be merry : safe and sound am I 330 
 Who broke through their best ranks to get at you. 
 And such a havoc, such a rout, Aprile ! 
 
 Festus. Have you no thought, no memory for 
 
 me. 
 Aureole ? I am so wretched — my pure Michal 
 Is gone, and you alone are left me now. 
 And even you forget me. Take my hand — 
 Lean on me thus. Do you not know me. 
 
 Aureole ? 
 Paracelsus. Festus, my own friend, you are 
 
 come at last ? 
 As you say, 'tis an awful enterprise ;
 
 PARACELSUS 125 
 
 But you believe I shall go through with it : 340 He 
 
 'Tis like you, and I thank you. Thank him fives the 
 c fight up 
 
 for me, *» '^ 
 
 Dear Michal ! See how bright St. Saviour's spire 
 Flames in the sunset ; all its figures quaint 
 Gay in the glancing light: you might conceive them 
 A troop of yellow-vested, white-haired Jews 
 Bound for their own land where redemption 
 
 dawns. 
 Festus. Not that blest time — not our youth's 
 
 time, dear God ! 
 Paracelsus. Ha — stay ! true, I forget — all is 
 
 done since, 
 And he is come to judge me. How he speaks. 
 How calm, how well ! yes, it is true, all true; 350 
 All quackery ; all deceit ; myself can laugh 
 The first at it, if you desire : but still 
 You know the obstacles which taught me tricks 
 So foreign to my nature — envy and hate, 
 Blind opposition, brutal prejudice. 
 Bald ignorance — what wonder if I sunk 
 To humour men the way they most a])proved ? 
 My cheats were never palmed on such as you. 
 Dear Festus ! I will kneel if you require me. 
 Impart the meagre knowledge 1 jjossess, 3O0 
 Explain its bounded nature, and avow 
 My insufficiency — whate'er you will : 
 I give the fight up : let there be an end, 
 A privacy, an obscure nook for me. 
 I want to be forgotten even by God. 
 But if that cannot be, dear F'estus, lay mc. 
 When I shall die, within some narrow grave, 
 Not by itself — for that would be too proud — 
 But where such graves are thickest ; let it look
 
 126 PARACELSUS 
 
 and asks Nowise distinguished from the hillocks round, 370 
 to be 3o that the peasant at his brother's bed 
 "th" ^'-^y tread upon my own and know it not ; 
 in his And we shall all be equal at the last, 
 death Or classed according to life's natural ranks, 
 
 Fathers, sons, brothers, friends — not rich, nor 
 
 wise, 
 Nor gifted : lay me thus, then say, ' He lived 
 Too much advanced before his brother men ; 
 They kept him still in front : 'twas for their good 
 But yet a dangerous station. It were strange 
 That he should tell God he had never ranked 380 
 With men : so, here at least he is a man.' 
 Festus. That God shall take thee to his breast, 
 dear spirit. 
 Unto his breast, be sure ! and here on earth 
 Shall splendour sit upon thy name for ever. 
 Sun ! all the heaven is glad for thee : what care 
 If lower mountains light their snowy phares 
 At thine effulgence, yet acknowledge not 
 The source of day ? Their theft shall be their bale : 
 For after-ages shall retrack thy beams, 
 And put aside the crowd of busy ones 390 
 
 And worship thee alone — the master-mind. 
 The thinker, the explorer, the creator ! 
 Then, who should sneer a:t the convulsive throes 
 With which thy deeds were born, would scorn 
 
 as well 
 The sheet of winding subterraneous fire 
 Which, pent and writhing, sends no less at last 
 Huge islands up amid the simmering sea. 
 Behold thy might in me ! thou hast infused 
 Thy soul in mine ; and I am grand as thou, 
 Seeing I comprehend thee — I so simple, 400
 
 PARACELSUS 127 
 
 Thou so august. I recognise thee first ; He 
 
 I saw thee rise, I watched thee early and late, ^j.']^^JJ?g 
 And though no glance reveal thou dost accept delirium 
 My homage — thus no less I proffer it, 
 And bid thee enter gloriously thy rest. 
 Paracelsus. Festus ! 
 
 Festus. I am for noble Aureole, God ! 
 
 I am upon his side, come weal or woe. 
 His portion shall be mine. He has done well. 
 I would have sinned, had I been strong enough. 
 As he has sinned. Reward him or I waive 410 
 Reward ! If thou canst find no place for him. 
 He shall be king elsewhere, and 1 will be 
 His slave for ever. There are two of us. 
 Paracelsus. Dear Festus ! 
 Festus. Here, dear Aureole ! 
 
 ever by you ! 
 Paracelsus. Nay, sjjeak on, or I dream again. 
 
 Speak on ! 
 Some story, anything — only your voice. 
 I shall dream else. Speak on ! ay, leaning so ! 
 Festus. Thus the Mayne glideth 
 
 Where my Love abideth. 
 
 Sleep 's no softer : it jjroceeds 420 
 
 On through lawns, on through meads, 
 
 On and on, whate'er befall, 
 
 Meandering and musical. 
 
 Though the niggard pasturage 
 
 Bears not on its shaven ledge 
 
 Aught but weeds and waving grasses 
 
 To view the river as it ])asses. 
 
 Save here and there a scanty patch 
 
 Of primroses too faint to catch 
 
 A weary bee.
 
 128 
 
 PARACELSUS 
 
 Festus 
 
 speaks 
 
 soothing 
 
 words 
 
 Paracelsus. More, more ; say on ! 430 
 
 Festus. And scarce it pushes 
 
 Its gentle way through strangling rushes 
 Where the glossy kingfisher 
 Flutters when noon-heats are near, 
 Glad the shelving banks to shun, 
 Red and steaming in the sun. 
 Where the shrew-mouse with pale throat 
 Burrows, and the speckled stoat ; 
 Where the quick sandpipers flit 
 In and out the marl and grit 440 
 
 That seems to breed them, brown as they : 
 Nought disturbs its quiet way. 
 Save some lazy stork that springs. 
 Trailing it with legs and wings, 
 Whom the shy fox from the hill 
 Rouses, creep he ne'er so still. 
 Paracelsus. My heart ! they loose my heart, 
 those simple words ; 
 Its darkness passes, which nought else could touch : 
 Like some dark snake that force may not expel, 
 Which glideth out to music sweet and low. 450 
 What were you doing when your voice broke 
 
 through 
 A chaos of ugly images ? You, indeed 1 
 Are you alone here ? 
 
 Festus. All alone : you know me ? 
 
 This cell ? 
 
 Paracelsus. An unexceptionable vault : 
 Good brick and stone : the bats kept out, the rats 
 Kept in : a snug nook : how should I mistake it ? 
 Festus. But wherefore am I here ? 
 Paracelsus. Ah, well remembered ! 
 
 Why, for a purpose — for a purpose, Festus !
 
 PARACELSUS 129 
 
 'Tis like me : here I trilie while time fleets, Para- 
 
 And this occasion, lost, will ne'er return. 460 celsus 
 
 You are here to be instructed. I will tell describes 
 
 God's message ; but I have so much to say, tions 
 
 I fear to leave half out. All is confused 
 
 No doubt ; but doubtless you will learn in time. 
 
 He would not else have brought you here : no 
 
 doubt 
 I shall see clearer soon. 
 
 Festus. Tell me but this — 
 
 You are not in despair ? 
 
 Paracelsus. I ? and for what ? 
 
 Festus. Alas, alas ! he knows not, as I feared ! 
 
 Paracelsus. What is it you would ask me with 
 that earnest 
 Dear searching face ? 
 
 Festus. How feel you, Aureole ? 
 
 Paracelsus. Well : 470 
 
 Well. 'Tis a strange thing: I am dying, Festus, 
 And now that fast the storm of life subsides, 
 t first jxrrceive how great the wliirl has been. 
 I was calm then, wlio an) so dizzy now — 
 Calm in the thick of tiie tcmj)cst, but no less 
 A j)artner of its motion and mixed up 
 With its career. The hurricane is spent, 
 And the good boat 8|)ccd8 through the brightcii- 
 
 ing weatiier ; 
 But is it earth or sea that heaves below ? 479 
 The gulf rolls like a meadow-swell, o'crstrewn 
 With ravaged l)oughs and remnants of the shore; 
 And now some islet, loosened from ti»e land. 
 Swims past with all its trees, sailing to ocean ; 
 And now the air is full of uptorn canes, 
 Light Htrippings from the fan-trees, tamarisks 
 
 I
 
 I30 
 
 PARACELSUS 
 
 at the Unrooted, with their birds still clinging to them, 
 approach All high in the wind. Even so my varied life 
 of death ]j,.|fts by me ; I am young, old, happy, sad, 
 Hoping, desponding, acting, taking rest. 
 And all at once : that is, those past conditions 
 Float back at once on me. If I select 491 
 
 Some special epoch from the crowd, 'tis but 
 To will, and straight the rest dissolve away. 
 And only that particular state is present 
 With all its long-forgotten circumstance 
 Distinct and vivid as at first — myself 
 A careless looker-on and nothing more, 
 Indifferent and amused, but nothing more. 
 And this is death : I understand it all. 
 New being waits me ; new perceptions must 500 
 Be born in me before I plunge therein ; 
 Which last is Death's affair ; and while I speak. 
 Minute by minute he is filling me 
 With power ; and while my foot is on the thresh- 
 old 
 Of boundless life — the doors unopened yet, 
 All preparations not complete within — 
 I turn new knowledge upon old events. 
 And the effect is . . . but I must not tell ; 
 It is not lawful. Your own turn will come 509 
 One day. Wait, Festus ! You will die like me. 
 Festus. 'Tis of that past life that I burn to hear. 
 Paracelsus. You wonder it engages me just 
 now ? 
 In truth, I wonder too. What 's life to me ? 
 Where'er I look is fire, where'er I listen 
 Music, and where I tend bliss evermore. 
 Yet how can I refrain ? 'Tis a refined 
 Delight to view those chances, — one last view.
 
 PARACELSUS 131 
 
 I am so near the perils I escape, He is 
 
 That I must play with them and turn them over, reminded 
 
 To feel how fully they are past and gone. sao ^ 
 
 Ml • • r, ■' r 1 • message 
 otill, It IS like, some further cause exists 
 
 For this peculiar mood — some hidden purpose ; 
 
 Did I not tell you something of it, Festus ? 
 
 1 had it fast, but it has somehow slipt 
 Away from me ; it will return anon. 
 
 Festus. (Indeed his cheek seems young again, 
 his voice 
 Complete with its old tones : that little laugh 
 Concluding every phrase, with upturned eye, 
 As though one stooped above his head to whom 
 He looked for coniirmation and approval, 530 
 Where was it gone so long, so well ])reserved ? 
 Then, the fore-finger pointing as he speaks, 
 I^ike one who traces in an open book 
 The matter he declares ; 'tis many a year 
 Since I remarked it last : and this in him. 
 But now a ghastly wreck ! ) 
 
 And can it be. 
 Dear Aureole, you have then found out at last 
 That worldly things are utter vanity ? 
 That man is made for weakness, and should wait 
 In patient ignorance, till God appoint . . . 540 
 
 Paracelsus. Ha, the purpose: the true purpose : 
 that is it ! 
 How could I fail to aj)prchend ! You iicrc, 
 I thus! But no more trilling: I see all, 
 I know all : my last mission shall be done 
 If strength suffice. No trifling! Stay; this 
 
 posture 
 Hardly befits one thus about to speak : 
 I will arise.
 
 132 PARACELSUS 
 
 and Fes/us. Nay, Aureole, are you wild ? 
 prepares You cannot leave your couch, 
 to deliver p^^^^^/,„,. No help ; no help ; 
 
 Not even your hand. So ! there, I stand once 
 
 more ! 
 Speak from a couch ? I never lectured thus. 550 
 My gown — the scarlet lined with fur ; now put 
 The chain about my neck ; my signet-ring 
 Is still upon my hand, I think-^-even so ; 
 Last, my good sword ; ah, trusty Azoth, leapest 
 Beneath thy master's grasp for the last time ? 
 This couch shall be my throne : I bid these walls 
 Be consecrate, this wretched cell become 
 A shrine, for here God speaks to men through 
 
 me. 
 Now, Festus, I am ready to begin. 
 
 Festus. I am dumb with wonder. 
 
 Paracelsus. Listen, therefore, Festus! 560 
 
 There will be time enough, but none to spare. 
 I must content myself with telling only 
 The most important points. You doubtless feel 
 That I am happy, Festus ; very happy. 
 
 Festus. 'Tis no delusion which uplifts him 
 thus! 
 Then you are pardoned. Aureole, all your sin ? 
 
 Paracelsus. Ay, pardoned: yet why pardoned? 
 
 Festus. 'Tis God's praise 
 
 That man is bound to seek, and you . . . 
 
 Paracelsus. Have lived ! 
 
 We have to live alone to set forth well 
 God's praise. 'Tis true, I sinned much, as I 
 thought, 570 
 
 And in effect need mercy, for I strove 
 To do that very thing ; but, do your best
 
 PARACELSUS I33 
 
 Or worst, praise rises, and will rise for ever. He lays 
 Pardon from him, because of praise denied — his case 
 Who calls me to himself to exalt himself? Festus 
 
 He might laugh as I laugh ! 
 
 Festus. But all comes 
 
 To the same thing. 'Tis fruitless for mankind 
 To fret themselves with what concerns them 
 
 not; 
 They are no use that way : they should lie down 
 Content as God has made them, nor go mad 580 
 In thriveless cares to better what is ill. 
 
 Paracelsus. No, no ; mistake me not ; let me 
 not work 
 More harm than I have worked ! This is my 
 
 case: 
 If I go joyous back to God, yet bring 
 No offering, if I render up my soul 
 Without the fruits it was ordained to bear, 
 If I appear the better to love God 
 For sin, as one who has no claim on him, — 
 Be not deceived ! It may be surely thus 
 With me, while higher prizes still await 590 
 The mortal |)ersevering to the end. 
 Beside I am not all so valueless : 
 I have been something, though too soon I left 
 Following the instincts of that hap])y time. 
 
 Festus. What happy time ? i'or God's sake, 
 for man's sake. 
 What time was hapi)y ? All I hope to know 
 That answer will decide. What happy time ? 
 
 Paracelsus. When but the time 1 vowed my- 
 self to man ? 
 
 Festus. Great God, thy judgments arc in- 
 scrutable !
 
 134 PARACELSUS 
 
 He Paracelsus. Yes, it was in me ; I was born 
 started in for it — 600 
 
 ^f other ^' Paracelsus: it was mine by right. 
 
 men Doubtless a searching and impetuous soul 
 
 Might learn from its own motions that some task 
 
 Like this awaited it about the world ; 
 
 Might seek somewhere in this blank life of ours 
 
 For fit delights to stay its longings vast ; 
 
 And, grappling Nature, so prevail on her 
 
 To fill the creature full she dared thus frame 
 
 Hungry for joy ; and, bravely tyrannous, 
 
 Grow in demand, still craving more and more, 610 
 
 And make each joy conceded prove a pledge 
 
 Of other joy to follow — bating nought 
 
 Of its desires, still seizing fresh pretence 
 
 To turn the knowledge and the rapture wrung 
 
 As an extreme, last boon, from destiny, 
 
 Into occasion for new covetings. 
 
 New strifes, new triumphs : — doubtless a strong 
 
 soul. 
 Alone, unaided might attain to this, 
 So glorious is our nature, so august 
 Man's inborn uninstructed impulses, 620 
 
 His naked spirit so majestical ! 
 But this was born in me ; I was made so ; 
 Thus much time saved : the feverish appetites, 
 The tumult of unproved desire, the unaimed 
 Uncertain yearnings, aspirations blind. 
 Distrust, mistake, and all that ends in tears 
 Were saved me ; thus I entered on my course. 
 You may be sure I was not all exempt 
 From human trouble ; just so much of doubt 
 As bade me plant a surer foot upon 630 
 
 The sun-road, kept my eye unruined 'mid
 
 PARACELSUS 13S 
 
 The fierce and flashing splendour, set my heart knowing 
 
 Trembling so much as warned me I stood there ^''°"^^"® 
 
 On sufferance — not to idly gaze, but cast nature 
 
 Light on a darkling race ; save for that doubt, of God 
 
 I stood at first where all aspire at last and of 
 
 To stand : the secret of the world was mine. hfe 
 
 I knew, I felt, (perception unexpressed, 
 
 Uncomprehended by our narrow thought. 
 
 But somehow felt and known in every shift 640 
 
 And change in the spirit, — nay, in every pore 
 
 Of the body, even) — what God is, what we are, 
 
 What life is — how God tastes an infinite joy 
 
 In infinite ways — one everlasting bliss. 
 
 From whom all being emanates, all power 
 
 Proceeds ; in whom is life for evermore. 
 
 Yet whom existence in its lowest form 
 
 Includes ; where dwells enjoyment there is he : 
 
 With still a flying point of bliss remote, 
 
 A happiness in store afar, a sphere 650 
 
 Of distant glory in full view ; thus climbs 
 
 Pleasure its heights for ever and for ever. 
 
 The centre-fire heaves underneath the earth. 
 
 And the earth changes like a human face ; 
 
 The molten ore bursts up among the rocks, 
 
 Winds into the stone's heart, outbranches bright 
 
 In hidden mines, spots barren river-beds. 
 
 Crumbles into fine sand where sunbeams bask — 
 
 God joys therein. The wroth sea's waves are 
 
 edged 
 With foam, white as the bitten li]) of hate, 660 
 When, in the solitary waste, strange groujjs 
 Of young volcanos come up, cyclops-like, 
 Staring together with tiicir eyes on flame — 
 God tastes a pleasure in their uncouth ])ridc.
 
 136 PARACELSUS 
 
 Creation Then all is still ; earth is a wintry clod : 
 is con- }'ju(. spring-wind, like a dancing psaltress, passes 
 summa e q^,^^ j^g breast to waken it, rare verdure 
 faculties l^uds tenderly upon rough banks, between 
 of man The withered tree-roots and the cracks of frost, 
 Like a smile striving with a wrinkled face ; 670 
 The grass grows bright, the boughs are swoln 
 
 with blooms 
 Like chrysalids impatient for the air. 
 The shining dorrs are busy, beetles run 
 Along the furrows, ants make their ado ; 
 Above, birds fly in merry flocks, the lark 
 Soars up and up, shivering for very joy ; 
 Afar the ocean sleeps ; white fishing-gulls 
 Flit where the strand is purple with its tribe 
 Of nested limpets ; savage creatures seek 679 
 Their loves in wood and plain — and God renews 
 His ancient rapture. Thus he dwells in all, 
 From life's minute beginnings, up at last 
 To man — the consummation of this scheme 
 Of being, the completion of this sphere 
 Of life : whose attributes had here and there 
 Been scattered o'er the visible world before. 
 Asking to be combined, dim fragments meant 
 To be united in some wondrous whole, 
 Imperfect qualities throughout creation, 
 Suggesting some one creature yet to make, 690 
 Some point where all tliose scattered rays should 
 
 meet 
 Convergent in the faculties of man. 
 Power — neither put forth blindly, nor controlled 
 Calmly by perfect knowledge ; to be used 
 At risk, inspired or checked by hope and fear : 
 Knowledge — not intuition, but the slow
 
 PARACELSUS I37 
 
 Uncertain fruit of an enhancing toil, and 
 
 Strengthened by love : love — not serenely pure, receives 
 •n . ^ r I 1-1 u from him 
 
 i>ut strong rrom weakness, hke a chance-sown 
 
 plant illumina- 
 
 Which, cast on stubborn soil, puts forth changed tion 
 
 buds 700 
 
 And softer stains, unknown in happier climes ; 
 Love which endures and doubts and is oppressed 
 And cherished, suffering much and much 
 
 sustained, 
 And blind, oft-failing, yet believing love, 
 A half-enlightened, often-chequered trust : — 
 Hints and previsions of which faculties, 
 Arc strewn confusedly everywhere about 
 The inferior natures, and all lead up higher. 
 All shape out dimly the superior race. 
 The heir of hopes too fair to turn out false, 710 
 And man appears at last. So far the seal 
 Is put on life ; one stage of being complete, 
 One scheme wound uj) : and from the grand 
 
 rcFult 
 A supplementary reflux of light. 
 Illustrates all the inferior grades, explains 
 i'lach back step in the circle. Not alone 
 l'"or their possessor dawn those qualities, 
 But the new glory mixes with the heaven 
 And earth ; man, once descried, imprints for 
 
 ever 
 His presence on all lifeless things: the winds 720 
 Are henceforth voices, wailing or a shout, 
 A querulous mutter or a quick gay laugh, 
 Never a senseless gust now man is born. 
 The herded pines commune and have deep 
 
 thoughts,
 
 138 PARACELSUS 
 
 yet man A secret they assemble to discuss 
 
 is not yet When the sun drops behind their trunks which 
 completed ^j,^^^ 
 
 Like grates of hell : the peerless cup afloat 
 Of the lake-lily is an urn, some nymph 
 Swims bearing high above her head : no bird 
 Whistles unseen, but through the gaps above 730 
 That let light in upon the gloomy woods, 
 A shape peeps from the breezy forest-top, 
 Arch with small puckered mouth and mocking 
 
 eye. 
 The morn has enterprise, deep quiet droops 
 With evening, triumph takes the sunset hour, 
 Voluptuous transport ripens with the corn 
 Beneath a warm moon like a happy face : 
 — And this to fill us with regard for man. 
 With apprehension of his passing worth. 
 Desire to work his proper nature out, 740 
 
 And ascertain his rank and final place, 
 For these things tend still upward, progress is 
 The law of life, man is not Man as yet. 
 Nor shall I deem his object served, his end 
 Attained, his genuine strength put fairly forth, 
 While only here and there a star dispels 
 The darkness, here and there a towering mind 
 O'erlooks its prostrate fellows : when the host 
 Is out at once to the despair of night. 
 When all mankind alike is perfected, 750 
 
 Equal in full-blown powers — then, not till then, 
 I say, begins man's general infancy. 
 For wherefore make account of feverish starts 
 Of restless members of a dormant whole, 
 Impatient nerves which quiver while the body 
 Slumbers as in a grave ? Oh long ago
 
 PARACELSUS 139 
 
 The brow was twitched, the tremulous lids astir, With 
 The peaceful mouth disturbed ; half-uttered his corn- 
 speech geglns 
 Ruffled the lip, and then the teeth were set, a new 
 The breath drawn sharp, the strong right-hand tendency 
 
 clenched stronger, 760 to God 
 
 As it would pluck, a lion by the jaw ; 
 The glorious creature laughed out even in sleep ! 
 But when full roused, each giant-limb awake, 
 Each sinew strung, the great heart pulsing fast. 
 He shall start up and stand on his own earth, 
 Then shall his long triumphant march begin, 
 Thence shall his being date, — thus wholly 
 
 roused, 
 What he achieves shall be set down to him. 
 When all the race is perfected alike 
 As man, that is ; all tended to mankind, 770 
 And, man produced, all has its end thus far : 
 But in completed man begins anew 
 A tendency to God. Prognostics told 
 Man's near approach ; so in man's self arise 
 August anticipations, symbols, types 
 Of a dim splendour ever on before 
 In that eternal circle life pursues. 
 For men begin to pass their nature's bound, 
 And find new hopes and cares which fast 
 
 supplant 
 Their proper joys and griefs ; they grow too 
 great 780 
 
 For narrow creeds of right and wrong, which 
 
 fade 
 Before the unmeasured thirst for good : while 
 
 peace 
 Rises within them ever more and more.
 
 I40 PARACELSUS 
 
 He Such men are even now upon the earth, 
 describes Serene amid the half-formed creatures round 
 task°and ^^^ should be saved by them and joined with 
 how it them. 
 
 was Such was my task, and I was born to it — 
 marred Free, as I said but now, from much that chains 
 Spirits, high-dowered but limited and vexed 
 By a divided and delusive aim, 790 
 
 A shadow mocking a reality 
 Whose truth avails not wholly to disperse 
 The flitting mimic called up by itself. 
 And so remains perplexed and nigh put out 
 By its fantastic fellow's wavering gleam. 
 I, from the first, was never cheated thus ; 
 I never fashioned out a fancied good 
 Distinct from man's ; a service to be done, 
 A glory to be ministered unto 
 With powers put forth at man's expense, with- 
 drawn 800 
 From labouring in his behalf; a strength 
 Denied that might avail him. 1 cared not 
 Lest his success ran counter to success 
 Elsewhere : for God is glorified in man. 
 And to man's glory vowed I soul and limb. 
 Yet, constituted thus, and thus endowed, 
 I failed : I gazed on power till I grew blind. 
 Power ; I could not take my eyes from that : 
 That only, I thought, should be preserved, 
 
 increased 
 At any risk, displayed, struck out at once — 810 
 The sign and note and character of man. 
 I saw no use in the past : only a scene 
 Of degradation, ugliness and tears, 
 The record of disgraces best forgotten,
 
 PARACELSUS 141 
 
 A sullen page in human chronicles by his 
 
 Fit to erase. I saw no cause why man insistence 
 
 Should not stand all-sufficient even now, at'the^^'^ 
 
 Or why his annals should be forced to tell qq^^ of 
 
 That once the tide of lij^ht, about to break Love 
 
 Upon the world, was sealed within its spring: 820 
 I would have had one day, one moment's space, 
 Change man's condition, push each slumbering 
 
 claim 
 Of mastery o'er the elemental world 
 At once to full maturity, then roll 
 Oblivion o'er the work, and hide from man 
 What night had ushered morn. Not so, dear 
 
 child 
 Of after-days, wilt thou reject the past 
 Big with deep warnings of the proper tenure 
 By which thou hast the earth : for thee the 
 
 present 829 
 
 Shall have distinct and trembling beauty, seen 
 Beside that past's own shade when, in relief. 
 Its brightness shall stand out: nor yet on thcc 
 Shall burst the future, as successive zones 
 Of several wonder open on some spirit 
 Flying secure and glad from heaven to heaven : 
 But thou shalt painfully attain to joy, 
 While hope and fear and love shall keep thee 
 
 man ! 
 All this was hid from me : as one by one 
 My dreams grew dim, my wide aims circum- 
 
 scriljed. 
 As actual good within my reach decreased, 840 
 While obstacles sprung up this way and that 
 To keep mc from effecting half the sum. 
 Small as it proved ; as objects, mean within
 
 142 
 
 PARACELSUS 
 
 How he The primal aggregate, seemed, even the least, 
 learned Itself a match for my concentred strength — 
 the worth "What wonder if I saw no way to shun 
 
 °*^ ^°^^ Despair ? The power I sought for man, 
 seemed God's. 
 In this conjuncture, as I prayed to die, 
 A strange adventure made me know, one sin 
 Had spotted my career from its uprise ; 850 
 
 I saw Aprile — my Aprile there ! 
 And as the poor melodious wretch disburthened 
 His heart, and moaned his weakness in my ear, 
 I learned my own deep error ; love's undoing 
 Taught me the worth of love in man's estate. 
 And what proportion love should hold with 
 
 power 
 In his right constitution ; love preceding 
 Power, and with much power, always much 
 
 more love ; 
 Love still too straitened in his present means. 
 And earnest for new power to set love free. 860 
 I learned this, and supposed the whole was 
 
 learned : 
 And thus, when men received with stupid wonder 
 My first revealings, would have worshipped me. 
 And I despised and loathed their proffered 
 
 praise — 
 When, with awakened eyes, they took revenge 
 For past credulity in casting shame 
 On my real knowledge, and I hated them — 
 It was not strange I saw no good in man, 
 To overbalance all the wear and waste 
 Of faculties, displayed in vain, but born 870 
 
 To prosper in some better sphere : and why ? 
 In my own heart love had not been made wise
 
 PARACELSUS i43 
 
 To trace love's faint beginnings in mankind, but not 
 To know even hate is but a mask of love's, love itself, 
 
 To see a good in evil, and a hope failed 
 
 In ill-success ; to sympathise, be proud 
 Of their half-reasons, faint aspirings, dim 
 Struggles for truth, their poorest fallacies, 
 Their prejudice and fears and cares and doubts ; 
 All with a touch of nobleness, despite 880 
 
 Their error, upward tending all though weak, 
 Like plants in mines which never saw the sun, 
 But dream of him, and guess where he may be, 
 And do their best to climb and get to him. 
 All this I knew not, and I failed. Let men 
 Regard me, and the poet dead long ago 
 Who loved too rashly ; and shape forth a third 
 And better-tempered spirit, warned by both : 
 As from the over-radiant star too mad 
 To drink the life-springs, beamless thence 
 itself — 890 
 
 And the dark orb which borders the abyss, 
 Ingulfed in icy night, — might have its course 
 A temperate and equidistant world. 
 Meanwhile, I have done well, though not all well. 
 As yet men cannot do witiiout contempt ; 
 'Tis for their good, and therefore fit awhile 
 That they reject the weak, and scorn the false, 
 Rather than jiraise the strong and true, in me : 
 But after, they will know me. If I stooj) 
 Into a dark tremendous sea of cloud, 900 
 
 It is but for a time ; I press God's lamj) 
 Close to my breast ; its si)lendour, soon or late, 
 Will pierce the gloom : I shall emerge one 
 
 day. 
 You understand me ? I have said enough ?
 
 144 
 
 PARACELSUS 
 
 He dies Festus. Now die, dear Aureole ! 
 
 in hope Paracelsus. Festus, let my hand — 
 
 This hand, lie in your own, my own true friend ! 
 
 Aprile ! Hand in hand with you, Aprile ! 
 
 Festus. And this was Paracelsus ! 
 
 THE END
 
 NOTE 
 
 The liberties I have taken with my subject are very 
 trifling ; and the reader may slip the foregoing scenes 
 between the leaves of any memoir of Paracelsus he 
 pleaset, by way of commentary. To prove this, 1 sub- 
 join a popular account, translatdl from the Biographic 
 Uni-verielle, Paris, 1822, which I select, not as the best, 
 certainly, but as being at hand, and sufficiently concise 
 for my purpose. I also appeml a few notes, in order to 
 correct those parts which do not bear out my own view 
 of the character of Paracelsus ; and have incorporated 
 with them a notice or two, illustrative of the poem 
 itself, 
 
 * Paracelsus (Philippus Aureolus Theophrastus Bom- 
 bastus ab Hohenheim) was born in 1493 at Einsiedeln 
 (i), a little town in the canton of Schwyz, some leagues 
 distant from Zurich. His father, who exercised the 
 profession of mclicinc at Vilhich in Carinthia, was nearly 
 related to George Bombast de Hohenheim, who became 
 afterwards Grand Prior of the Order of Malta : con- 
 sequently Paracelsus could not spring from the dregs of 
 the people, as Thomas Erastui, his sworn enemy, pre- 
 tends.' It appears that his elementary education was 
 
 > I shall dLiguiu M. Kenauldln's next Mntcnce a little. 'IIIc 
 (Krastus «c.) ParaceNum trimum a mililc quodam, nlii a sue excctum 
 ferunt: conMat imbcrbcm ilium, mulicrumquc osorcm fui.sac.' 
 A standing lli^'h- l>utcli joke in thrrtc dayt M the expense of a 
 number of Ic.irncd men, 05 may be »cen by rcfcrrln({ lo iiuch rubbish 
 09 Melandor'-i Jocouria, etc. In the prinli from his portrait by 
 Tintoretto, painted a year before hii death, I'araceinus ii barbatului, 
 at all events. Hut Eranlui was never without a K'X'd reason for his 
 faith— «.f. 'Holvctium fuissc (I'aracelsum) vU credo, vix onim ea 
 regie talc monstrum cdiderit.' (De Mtdicina AVnw.) 
 
 K
 
 146 PARACELSUS 
 
 much neglected, and that he spent part of his youth in 
 pursuing the life common to the travelling literati of the 
 age ; that is to say, in wandering from country to 
 country, predicting the future by astrology and cheiro- 
 mancy, evoking apparitions, and practising the different 
 operations of magic and alchemy, in which he had been 
 initiated whether by his father or by various ecclesiastics, 
 among the number of whom he particularises the Abbot 
 Tritheim (2), and many German bishops. 
 
 'As Paracelsus displays everywhere an ignorance of the 
 rudiments of the most ordinary knowledge, it is not pro- 
 bable that he ever studied seriously in the schools : he con- 
 tented himself with visiting the Universities of Germany, 
 France, and Italy ; and in spite of his boasting himself 
 to have been the ornament of those institutions, there is 
 no proof of his having legally acquired the title of Doctor, 
 which he assumes. It is only known that he applied 
 himself long, under the direction of the wealthy Sigis- 
 mond Fugger of Schwatz, to the discovery of the 
 Magnum Opus. 
 
 ' Paracelsus travelled among the mountains of Bohemia, 
 in the East, and in Sweden, in order to inspect the 
 labours of the miners, to be initiated in the mysteries of 
 the Oriental adepts, and to observe the secrets of nature 
 and the famous mountain of loadstone (3). He professes 
 also to have visited Spain, Portugal, Prussia, Poland, 
 and Transylvania ; everywhere communicating freely, 
 not merely with the physicians, but the old women, 
 charlatans and conjurers of these several lands. It is 
 even believed that he extended his journeyings as far as 
 Egypt and Tartary, and that he accompanied the son of 
 the Khan of the Tartars to Constantinople, for the 
 purpose of obtaining the secret of the tincture of Trisme- 
 gistus from a Greek who inhabited that capital. 
 
 *The period of his return to Germany is unknown : it
 
 NOTE 147 
 
 is only certain that, at about the age of thirty-three, 
 many astonishing cures which he wrought on eminent 
 personages procured him such a celebrity, that he was 
 called in 1526, on the recommendation of OBcolam- 
 padius (4), to fill a chair of physic and surgery at the 
 University of Basil. There Paracelsus began by burning 
 publicly in the amphitheatre the works of Avicenna and 
 Galen, assuring his auditors that the latchets of his shoes 
 were more instructed than those two physicians ; that all 
 Universities, all writers put together, were less gifted 
 than the hairs of his beard and of the crown of his 
 head ; and that, in a word, he was to be regarded as the 
 legitimate monarch of medicine, " You shall follow me," 
 cried he, "you, Avicenna, Galen, Rhasis, Montagnana, 
 Mesues ; you, gentlemen of Paris, Muntpcllic-r, Germany, 
 Cologne, Vienna,' and whomsoever the Rhine and the 
 Danube nourish ; you who inhabit the isles of the sea 5 
 you, likewise, Dalmatians, Athenians ; thou, Arab ; 
 thou, Greek ; thou, Jew : all shall follow me, ami the 
 monarchy shall be minc."- 
 
 *But at Basil it was speedily perceived that the new 
 Professor was no belter than an egregious quack. Scarcely 
 a year elapsed before his lectures had fairly driven away 
 an audience incapable of comprehending their emphatic 
 
 ' Eraslu<i, who relates thi>i, here oddly remarks, 'mirum quod non 
 ct Garamantos, Indosct ^n^/oi adjunxit.' Not so wonderful neither, 
 if wc believe what another adversary 'had heard somewhere,'— that 
 all Paracelsus' system came of his pillaKing 'Anglum (jucndami 
 Rot^criuin Hacchoncm.' 
 
 ' Sec his works pastim. I must (;ivc one si)ccimcn :— Somebody 
 had been styling him 'I.uthcr alter.' 'And why not?' (ho asks, as 
 he well mlHht). 'I.uther is abundantly learned, therefore you hato 
 him and me ; but wc arc at least a match for you.— Nam ct contra 
 vosct vcstros universes princi|)CsAviccnnam, (Inlenum, Aristolclem, 
 etc. mc satis supcrquo munilum esse novi. Kt vertex iste mcus 
 calvus ac dcpilis multo plura et sublimiora novit qu.im vestcr vcl 
 Avicenna vel universic acadcmix. I'rodite, ct sijcnum date, qui viri 
 •iitis, quid roboris habcatis? quid autcm sitis? iJoctoros ot mai;istri, 
 pcdiculos pcctcntcs ct fricantcs podiccm.' (Frag. Mtd.)
 
 148 PARACELSUS 
 
 jargon. That which above all contributed to sully his 
 reputation was the debauched life he led. According to 
 the testimony of Oporinus, who lived two years in his 
 intimacy, Paracelsus scarcely ever ascended the lecture- 
 desk unless half drunk, and only dictated to his secre- 
 taries when in a state of intoxication : if summoned to 
 attend the sick, he rarely proceeded thither without 
 previously drenching himself with wine. He was accus- 
 tomed to retire to bed without changing his clothes ; 
 sometimes he spent the night in pot-houses with peasants, 
 and in the morning knew no longer what he was about ; 
 and, nevertheless, up to the age of twenty-five his only 
 drink had been water (5). 
 
 'At length, fearful of being punished for a serious 
 outrage on a magistrate (6), he fled from Basil towards 
 the end of the year 1527, and took refuge in Alsatia, 
 whither he caused Oporinus to follow with his chemical 
 apparatus. 
 
 ' He then entered once more upon the career of 
 ambulatory theosophist.^ Accordingly we find him at 
 Colmar in 1528 ; at Nuremberg in 1529 ; at St. Gall in 
 1531 ; at Pfeffers in 1535 5 and at Augsburg in 1536 : 
 he next made some stay in Moravia, where he still 
 further compromised his reputation by the loss of many 
 distinguished patients, which compelled him to betake 
 himself to Vienna ; from thence he passed into Hungary ; 
 and in 1538 was at Villach, where he dedicated his 
 Chronicle to the States of Carinthia, in gratitude for 
 the many kindnesses with which they had honoured 
 
 > 'So migratory a life could afford Paracelsus but little leisure for 
 application to books, and accordingly he informs us that for the space 
 of ten years he never opened a single volume, and that his whole 
 medical library was not composed of six sheets : in cflect, the 
 inventory drawn up after his death states that the only books which 
 he left were the Bible, the New Testament, the Commentaries ol 
 St. Jerome on the Gospels, a printed volume on Medicine, and seven 
 manuscripts.'
 
 NOTE 149 
 
 his father. Finally, from Mindelheim, which he visite<l 
 in 1540, Paracelsus proceeiled to Salzburg, where he tiled 
 in the Hospital of St. Stephen {Sebaitian is meant), Sept. 
 24, 1 541.* — (Here follows a criticism on his writings, 
 which I omit.) 
 
 (i) Paracelsus would seem to be a fantastic version of 
 Von Hohenhe'tm ; Einsiedeln is the Latinised Eremus, 
 whence Paracelsus is sometimes called, as in the corre- 
 spondence of Erasmus, Eremita ; Bombast, liis proper 
 name, probably acquired, from the characteristic phraseo- 
 logy of his lectures, that unlucky signification which it 
 has ever since retained. 
 
 (2) Then Bishop of Spanheim, an<l rcsiiling at Wurz- 
 burg in Franconia ; a town situated in a grassy fertile 
 country, whence its name, Herbipolis. He was much 
 visited there by learned men, as may be seen by his 
 Epistola Familiiiresy Hag. 1536 : among others, by his 
 staunch friend Cornelius Agrippa, to whom he dates 
 thence, in 1 5 10, a letter in answer to the dedicatory 
 epistle prefixed to the treatise De Occult. Philosop/i.y which 
 last contains the following ominous allusion to Agrippa's 
 sojourn; 'Quum niiper tecum, R. P. in ccenobio tuo 
 apud Herbipolim aliquamdiu convcrsatus, multa ile 
 chymicis, multa dc magicis, multa de cabalisticis, cjetcris- 
 que quz adhuc in occulto dclitescunt, arcanis scicntiis 
 atquc artibus una contulisscmus,' etc. 
 
 (3) ' Inexplcbilis ilia avi<litas naturar pcrscrutandi 
 sccrcta ct rcconditarum supellcctilc scicntiarum animum 
 locuptetandi, uno eo<lemquc loco diu pcrsistcrc non 
 paticbatur, sed Mcrcurii instar, omncs terras, nationes et 
 urbcs perlustrandi igniculos supponcbat, ut cum viris 
 natiira; icrutatoribus, chymicis praeicrtim, ore tcnui con-
 
 I50 PARACELSUS 
 
 ferret, et quae diuturnis laboribus nocturnisque vigiliis 
 invenerant una vel altera communicatione obtineret.' 
 {Bitiskius in Prafat) * Patris auxilio primiim, deinde 
 propria industria doctissimos viros in Germania, Italia, 
 Gallia, Hispania, aliisque Europae regionibus, nactus est 
 praceptores ; quorum liberal! doctrina, et potissimuni 
 propria inquisitione ut qui esset ingenio acutissimo ac fere 
 divine, tantum profecit, ut multi testati sint, in universa 
 philosophia, tarn ardua, tarn arcana et abdita eruisse 
 mortaliuni neminem.' {Melch. Adam, in Vit. Germ. 
 Medic.) ' Paracelsus qui in intima naturae viscera sic 
 penitus introierit, metallorum stirpiumque vires et facul- 
 tates tarn incredibili ingenii acumine exploraverit ac 
 perviderit, ad morbos omnes vel desperates et opinione 
 heminum insanabiles percurandum ; ut cum Theophrasto 
 nata prinium medicina perfectaque videatur.' {Petri 
 Rami Oral, de Basika.) His passion for wandering is 
 best described in his own words : ' Ecce amatorem 
 adolesccntcm difficillimi itineris haud piget, ut venustam 
 saltern pucUam vel fceminam aspiciat : quanto minus 
 nebilissimarum artium amore laboris ac cujuslibct 
 tasdii pigebit ? ' etc. [Dcfensiones Septem ad-versus amtdos 
 suos. 1573. Def. 4ta. ' De peregrinatienibus et 
 exilie.') 
 
 (4) The reader may remember that it was in conjunc- 
 tion with CEcolampadius, then Divinity Professor at Basil, 
 that Zuinglius published in 1528 an answer to Luther's 
 Confession of Faith ; and that both proceeded in company 
 to the subsequent conference with Luther and Melanch- 
 thon at Marpurg. Their letters fill a large volume. — 
 D.D. Johannis (Ecolampadii et Huldrichi Zuinglii Episto- 
 larum lib. quattior. Bas. 1 5 36. It must be also observed 
 that Zuinglius began to preach in 1516, and at Zurich in 
 1519, and that in 115215 the Mass was abolished in the
 
 NOTE 151 
 
 cantons. The tenets of CEcolampadius were supposed to 
 be more evangelical than those up to that perioii main- 
 tained by the glorious German, and our brave Bishop 
 Fisher attacked them as the fouler heresy : — 'About this 
 time arose out of Luther's school one CEcolampadius, like 
 a mighty and fierce giant ; who, as his master had gone 
 beyond the Church, went beyond his master (or else it 
 had been impossible he could have been reputed the better 
 scholar), who denied the real presence ; him, this worthy 
 champion (the Bishop) sets upon, and with five books 
 (like 80 many smooth stones taken out of the river that 
 doth always run with living water) slays the Philistine ; 
 which five books were written in the year of our Lonl 
 1 526, at which time he had governed the sec of Rochester 
 twenty years.' {Life of Bis/wp Fis/icr, 1655.) Now, 
 there is no doubt of the Protestantism of Paracelsus, 
 Erasmus, Agrippa, etc., but the nonconformity of Para- 
 celsus was always scandalous. L. Crasso {Elogj d'lluomini 
 Letieraii, Ven. 1666) informs us that his books were 
 excommunicated by the Church, Quenstedt {de Pat. 
 Doct.) affirms 'ncc tantum novae mcdicinae, verum ctiam 
 novse thcologia autor est.' Dclrio, in his Dhqu'nit. 
 Magkir, classes him among those 'partim athcos, 
 partim hsereticos' (lib. i. cap. 3). 'Oninino tamcn 
 multa thcologica in cjusricm scriptis plane alheismum 
 olcnt, ac iluriiisculc sonant in auribus vera Christiani.' 
 {D. Gabiielh Claudeii Sihediaima de Tincl. Univ., Norimb. 
 1736.) I shall only add one more authority : — 'Oporinus 
 dicit "«c (Paracclsuni) aliquando Luthcruni tt Pnpam, non 
 minus quam nunc Galcnum ct Hippocratcm redacturum 
 in ordincm minabatur, ncquc cnim corum qui hactcnus 
 in scripturam sacram scripsisst-nt, sivc vctcrei, sivo 
 reccntiorcs, quenquam scripturx nuclcum rcctc cruissc, 
 seel circa corticem ct quasi mcmbranam lantum hxrcrc." ' 
 {Th. Erattiii, Diifiiitai. dr Mtd. Na-ttt.) These and Bimihir
 
 152 PARACELSUS 
 
 notions had their due effect on Oporinus, who, says Zuin- 
 gerus, in his T/ieatrum, ' longum vale dixit ei (Paracelso), 
 ncobpraeceptoris,alioquiamicissimi,horrendasblasphemias 
 ipse quoque aliquando poenas Deo Opt. Max. lueret.' 
 
 (5) His defenders allow the drunkenness. Take a 
 sample of their excuses : ' Gentis hoc, non viri vitioluni 
 est, a Taciti seculo ad nostrum usque non interrupto filo 
 devolutum, sinceritati forte Germanae coaevum, et nescio 
 an aliquo consanguinitatis vinculo junctum.' [Bitisk'ius) 
 The other charges were chiefly trumped up by Oporinus : 
 ' Domi, quod Oporinus amanuensis ejus sjepe narravit, 
 nunquam nisi potus ad explicanda sua accessit, atque in 
 medio conclavi ad columnam TeTi'0W;U^i'OS adsistens, 
 apprehenso manibus capulo ensis, cujus KoiXu/j-a hospitium 
 prjebuit, ut aiunt, spiritui familiar!, imaginationes aut 
 concepta sua protulit : — alii illud quod in capulo habuit, 
 ab ipso Azoth appellatum, me<licinam fuisse prsestantis- 
 simam aut lapidem Philosophicum putant.' {Melc/i. 
 Adam) This famous sword was no laughing-matter in 
 those days, and it is now a material feature in the popular 
 idea of Paracelsus. I recollect a couple of allusions to it 
 in our own literature, at the moment. 
 
 Ne had been known the Danish Gonswart, 
 Or Paracelsus with his lon^ sword. 
 
 Volpone, act ii. scene i. 
 Bumbastus kept a devil's bird 
 Shut in the pummel of his sword, 
 That taught him all the cunning pranks 
 Of past and future mountebanks. 
 
 Hudibras, part ii. cant. 3. 
 
 This Azoth was simply ^laudanum suum.' But in his 
 time he was commonly believed to possess the double 
 tincture — the power of curing diseases and transmuting 
 metals, Oporinus often witnessed, as he declares, both 
 these effects, as did also Franciscus, the servant of Para-
 
 NOTE 153 
 
 celsus, who describes, in a letter to Neamler, a successful 
 projection at which he was present, and the results of 
 which, good golden ingots, were confided to his keeping. 
 For the other quality, let the following notice vouch 
 among many others : — 'Degebat Theophrastus Norim- 
 bergae procitus a medentibus illius urbis, et vaniloquus 
 deceptorque proclamatus, qui, ut laboranti famse subveniat, 
 viros quosdam authoritatis summae in Republica ilia 
 adit, et infamise amoliendae, artique suae asserendae, 
 spcchnen ejus poUicetur editurum, nuUo stipcndio vel 
 accepto pretio, horum faciles praebentium aures jussu 
 elephantiacos aliquot, a communione honiinum caeterorum 
 segrcgatos, et in valetudinarium detrusos, alieno arbitrio 
 eliguntur, quos virtute singular! rcmediorum suorum 
 Theophrastus a foeda Graecorum lepra mundat, prislinae- 
 que sanitati restituit ; conservat illustre harum curationum 
 urbs in archivis suis testimonium.* (^Bitiskius.y It is to 
 be remarked that Oporinus afterwards repented of his 
 treachery : 'Sed resipuit tandem, et quern vivum convitiis 
 insectatus fuerat defunctum vencratione prosequutiis, in- 
 famcs famae praeceptoris morsus in remorsus conscicntiae 
 conversi poenitentia, heu nimis tarda, vulncra clauserc 
 cxanimi quae spiranti inflixerant.' For these 'bites' of 
 Oporinus, sec D'upulat. Erani, anri Andrea: Jochci Orat'to 
 de y'lt. el Ob, Opor* ; for the * remorse * Mic. Toxites in 
 pref. Testiimentif and Conringius (otherwise an enemy 
 
 1 The prem-nture death of I'nratclius ca»n no manner of doubt on 
 the fact of his having po^scs^cd the l.lixir Vit.x: the nlchcinisls have 
 abundant rca^on^ to ndMucc, from which I select the followini;, n< 
 explanatory of a properly of the Tincture not calculated on by its 
 votaries : — ' Ubjccl ioncm illam, quod I'aracelsuH non fucril lonKicvuii, 
 nonnulli qiinquc •lolvunt |)cr raliones physical : vil.c nimirum abbrc- 
 vintioncm fortansc lalibus acciderc posM;, oh 'rinrlumm frcqucnllorc 
 ac lar^iore doii Kumlam, dum a ^ummo efTicici cl pcnelrabili hujus 
 virtuic calor innatui cjuosi suffocatur.' ((iabrielit Claudcrl Scho- 
 diasma.)
 
 IS4 PARACELSUS 
 
 of Paracelsus), who says it was containeii in a letter from 
 Oporinus to Doctor Vegerus.^ 
 
 Whatever the moderns may think of these marvellous 
 attributes, the title of Paracelsus to be considered the 
 father of modern chemistry is indisputable. Gerarihis 
 Vossius, De Philoi" et PMlos'"" sectis, thus prefaces the 
 ninth section of cap. 9, ' De Chymia' — 'Nobilem hanc 
 medicinae partem, diu sepultam avorum aetate, quasi ab 
 orco revocavit Th. Paracelsus.' I suppose many hints 
 lie scattered in his neglected books, which clever appro- 
 priators have since developed with applause. Thus, it 
 appears from his treatise De Phkbotomia, and elsewhere, 
 that he had discovered the circulation of the blood and 
 the sanguification of the heart ; as did after him Realdo 
 Colombo, and still more perfectly Andrea Cesalpino of 
 Arezzo, as Bayle and Bartoli observe. Even Lavater 
 quotes a passage from his work De Natura Reriim, on 
 practical Physiognomy, in which the definitions anci 
 axioms are precise enough : he acids, 'though an astro- 
 logical enthusiast, a man of prodigious genius.' See 
 Holcroft's translation, vol. iii. p. 179 — 'The Eyes.' 
 While on the subject of the writings of Paracelsus, 1 
 may explain a passage in the third part of the Poem. He 
 was, as I have said, unwilling to publish his works, but in 
 effect di<l publish a vast number. Valentinus (in Pnefat. 
 in Paramyr.) declares 'quod ad librorum Paracelsi copiam 
 attinet, audio, a Germanis prope trecentos reccnseri.' *0 
 fcECunditas ingenii !' adds he, appositely. Many of these, 
 were, however, spurious ; and Fred. Bitiskius gives his 
 good edition (3 vols. fol. Gen. 1658) 'rejectis suppositis 
 solo ipsius nomine superbientibus quorum ingens circum- 
 fertur numenis.' The rest were ' charissimum et 
 
 ' For a fjood defence of I'aracelsus I refer the reader to Olaus 
 norrichius' treatise — Hermeiis, elc. sapicntia vittdicata, 167.). f)r, 
 if he is no'more learned than myself in such matters, I mention simply 
 that Paracelsus introduced the use of Mercury and Laudanum.
 
 NOTE 155 
 
 pretiosissimum authoris pignus, extorsum potius ab illo 
 quam obtentum.' 'Jam minime eo volente atque jubente 
 haec ipsius scripta in lucem prodisse videntur ; quippe 
 quae muro inclusa ipso absente, servi ciijusdam indicio, 
 furto surrepta atque sublata sunt,' says Valentinus. These 
 have been the study of a host of commentators, amongst 
 whose labours are most notable, Pari Severini ^Idea 
 Medic'ma Philosophic, Bas. 1571 ; Mic. Toxetis Or.o- 
 mattica, Arg. 1574; Dornei Diet. Parac, Franc. 1584; 
 and P«' Philoi" Compendium cum scholiis auctore Leone Sua-vio, 
 Paris. (This last, a good book.) 
 
 (6) A disgraceful affair. One Liechtenfels, a canon, 
 having been rescued in extremis by the ^laudanum' of 
 Paracelsus, refused the stipulated fee, and was supported 
 in his meanness by the authorities, whose interference 
 Paracelsus would not brook. His own liberality was 
 alloweil by his bitterest foes, who found a ready solution 
 of his indifference to profit in the aforesaid sword-handle 
 and its guest. His freedom from the besetting sin of a 
 profession he abhorred — (as he curiously says somewhere, 
 'Quij quaeso dcinceps honorem <lcferat profession! tali, 
 quse a tam facinorosis nebulonibus obitur ct administra- 
 j„r J') — is recorded in his epitaph, which affirms — 'Bona 
 sua in pauperes distribuenda coUocandaque erogavit,' 
 honoravit or ordinavit — for accounts differ.
 
 This issue of Browning's ' Paracelsus,' based on the last 
 revised edition, has been edited by Mr. G. Lowes 
 Dickinson, M.A., who has read the text and added the 
 marginalia, 
 
 I. G. 
 
 October I, 1898. 
 
 167
 
 Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers to Her Majesty 
 at the Edinburgh University Press
 
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