Faustus (NHB Modern Plays)

Christopher Marlowe

• Publisher: Nick Hern Books
• Year: 2016
• ISBN:
  9781780017549
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Drama
• Index: Literature

A radical reworking of Marlowe's classic Dr Faustus - here the original story of the man who sells his soul to the devil collides with a horrifying act of provocation by 21st-century artists the Chapman Brothers.

Heidelberg, Germany, 1509. John Faustus, doctor and scholar, pledges himself to the dark art of necromancy and vows to conjure the devil. So begins his descent into a world of demons and angels, a journey across space and time and a blood pact which jeopardises his eternal soul...

Hoxton, London, 2001. Jake and Dinos Chapman, artists and provocateurs, prepare to break the ultimate taboo, by 'rectifying' a priceless set of etchings by Francisco Goya. Confronting an act which cannot be undone, a statement of intent which cannot be taken back, the Brothers' world changes forever...

Two universes collide as Faustus and the Chapmans challenge the limits of life and art, risking everything in their pursuit of immortality.

'Devilishly suggestive' - Independent

'Radical... provocative... ingenious' - Guardian

'A triumph... a smorgasbord of theatrical delights' - Evening Standard

'Wild, mad, deeply intelligent and thought-provoking... see this play' - Sunday Times

ACT ONE

Scene One – The Doctor

A small medieval room, lined with books. FAUSTUS revealed.

FAUSTUS. Settle thy studies, Faustus, and begin

To sound the depth of that thou wilt profess:

Having commenc’d, be a divine in show,

Yet level at the end of every art,

And live and die in Aristotle’s works.

Sweet Analytics, ’tis thou hast ravish’d me!

‘Bene disserere est finis logices.’

Is to dispute well logic’s chiefest end?

Affords this art no greater miracle?

Then read no more; thou hast attain’d that end:

A greater subject fitteth Faustus’ wit:

Be a physician, Faustus; heap up gold,

And be eterniz’d for some wondrous cure:

‘Summum bonum medicinae sanitas’,

The end of physic is our body’s health.

Why, Faustus, hast thou not attain’d that end?

Is not thy common talk found aphorisms?

Are not thy bills hung up as monuments,

Whereby whole cities have escap’d the plague,

And thousand desperate maladies been eas’d?

Yet art thou still but Faustus, and a man.

Couldst thou make men to live eternally,

Or, being dead, raise them to life again,

Then this profession were to be esteem’d.

Physic, farewell! Where is Justinian?

‘Si una eademque res legatur duobus, alter rem, alter valorem rei, &c.’

A pretty case of paltry legacies!

Such is the subject of the institute,

And universal body of the law:

This study fits a mercenary drudge,

Who aims at nothing but external trash;

Too servile and illiberal for me.

When all is done, divinity is best:

Jerome’s Bible, Faustus; view it well.

‘Stipendium peccati mors est. Ha! Stipendium, &c.’

The reward of sin is death: that’s hard.

‘If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and there’s no truth in us. Why, then, belike we must sin, and so consequently die.’

Ay, we must die an everlasting death.

What doctrine call you this, Che sera, sera,

What will be, shall be? Divinity, adieu!

These metaphysics of magicians,

And necromantic books are heavenly;

Lines, circles, scenes, letters, and characters;

Ay, these are those that Faustus most desires.

O, what a world of profit and delight,

Of power, of honour, of omnipotence,

Is promis’d to the studious artizan!

All things that move between the quiet poles

Shall be at my command: emperors and kings

Are but obeyed in their several provinces,

Nor can they raise the wind, or rend the clouds;

But his dominion that exceeds in this,

Stretcheth as far as doth the mind of man;

A sound magician is a mighty god:

Here, Faustus, tire thy brains to gain a deity.

I’ve sent word to my friend Cornelius,

Requesting him today to visit me.

His conference will be a greater help to me

Than all my labours, plod I ne’er so fast.

Enter GOOD ANGEL and EVIL ANGEL.

GOOD ANGEL. O, Faustus, lay that damnèd book aside,

And gaze not on it, lest it tempt thy soul,

And heap God’s heavy wrath upon thy head!

Read, read the Scriptures: that is blasphemy.

EVIL ANGEL. Go forward, Faustus, in that famous art

Wherein all Nature’s treasure is contain’d:

Be thou on earth as Jove is in the sky,

Lord and commander of these elements.

Exit ANGELS.

FAUSTUS. How am I glutted with conceit of this!

Shall I make spirits fetch me what I please,

Resolve me of all ambiguities,

Perform what desperate enterprise I will?

I’ll have them fly to India for gold,

Ransack the ocean for orient pearl,

And search all corners of the new-found world

For pleasant fruits and princely delicates;

I’ll have them read me strange philosophy,

And tell the secrets of all foreign kings;

I’ll have them wall all Germany with brass,

And make swift Rhine circle fair Wertenberg;

I’ll have them fill the public schools with silk,

Wherewith the students shall be bravely clad;

I’ll levy soldiers with the coin they bring,

And reign sole king of all the provinces;

Yea, stranger engines for the brunt of war,

Than was the fiery keel at Antwerp’s bridge,

I’ll make my servile spirits to invent.

A knock on the door. Enter CORNELIUS.

Come enter here, German Cornelius,

And make me blest with your sage conference.

Know that your words have won me at the last

To practise magic and concealèd arts:

Yet not your words only, but mine own fantasy,

That will receive no object; for my head

But ruminates on necromantic skill.

Philosophy is odious and obscure;

Both law and physic are for petty wits;

Divinity is basest of the three,

Unpleasant, harsh, contemptible, and vile:

’Tis magic, magic, that hath ravish’d me.

Then, gentle friend, aid me in this attempt;

And I, that have with concise syllogisms

Gravell’d the pastors of the German church,

And made the flowering pride of Wertenberg

Swarm to my problems, as the infernal spirits

On sweet Musaeus when he came to hell,

Will be as cunning as Agrippa was,

Whose shadow made all Europe honour him.

CORNELIUS. Faustus, these books, thy wit, and my experience,

Shall make all nations to canonise us.

As Indian Moors obey their Spanish lords,

So shall the spirits of every element

Be always serviceable to us two;

Like lions shall they guard us when we please;

Like Almain rutters with their horsemen’s staves,

Or Lapland giants, trotting by our sides;

Sometimes like women, or unwedded maids,

Shadowing more beauty in their airy brows

Than have the white breasts of the queen of love:

If learnèd Faustus will be resolute.

FAUSTUS. My friend as resolute am I in this

As thou to live: therefore object it not.

CORNELIUS. The miracles that magic will perform

Will make thee vow to study nothing else.

He that is grounded in astrology,

Enrich’d with tongues, well seen in minerals,

Hath all the principles magic doth require:

Then doubt not, Faustus, but to be renowm’d,

And more frequented for this mystery

Than heretofore the Delphian oracle.

The spirits tell me they can dry the sea,

And fetch the treasure of all foreign wreck...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Contents
• Original Production
• ‘This is hell, nor am I out of it’ by Ben Power
• Characters
• Faustus
• About the Authors
• Copyright and Performing Rights Information