"I'm not, I'm not," Marguerite said in an exasperated voice. "Are you going to do anything with it?"
"I'm working on it," Faust muttered. He found a pinch of henbane in the bottom of his pouch, added a sprig of mistletoe he had left over from a midwinter ceremony. Shaking out his sleeves, he found some antimony. And there were two pellets of lead in his shoes. What else did he need? Common dirt would have to substitute for graveyard mold. And for mummy powder, he would substitute nose snot.
"That's disgusting," Marguerite said.
"Shut up, it may save your life."
All was in readiness. Faust waved his hands and chanted. A glimmer of rosy light appeared in the middle of the pentagram, a fiery dot at first, then it expanded.
"Oh, you did it!" Marguerite cried. "You're wonderful!"
"Quiet," Faust hissed. Then, turning to the growing light, he said, "O spirit from the darkest deep, I conjure you in the name of Asmodeus, of Beelzebub, of Belial—"
A voice came from the glowing light. It was a young woman's voice, and it said matter-of-factly, "Please stop conjuring. I am not a conjurable spirit."
"You're not?" Faust asked. "Then who or what are you?"
"I am a representative of the Infernal Communication Service. We cannot accept your conjuration in its present form. Please check your spell and if you think you have it wrong, please conjure again. Thank you. Have a nice day." The voice stopped and the rosy light dwindled and disappeared.
"Wait!" Faust cried. "I know I don't have all the right ingredients. But I've got most of them! Surely an exception can be made…"
There was no answer. The rosy light was gone, and there was no sound in the dungeon but for the tap-tap-tapping of Marguerite's foot.
Then noises started up from outside. Running feet. The clank and ring of mailed vests. The squeak of big wooden wheels turning on ungreased axles. The sound of soldiers shouting orders. And there was another sound, too. The sound of a monotonous voice reciting what sounded to Faust like an incantation.
He bade Marguerite shut up, and pressed his ear against the wall. Yes, that sound was coming from the next dungeon. But it was no incantation he was listening to. Instead, it was a prayer.
"Hear me, my Lord," the muffled voice was saying. "I have done no evil, yet I am sunk into an accursed double darkness, the darkness of mine own blindness, and the darkness of this prison cell. I, Isaac, who was once king of Constantinople and known as Alexius the Third, given to many deeds of piety and religious zeal, who gave to the churches of Constantinople the following items…" There followed a list of bequests to individual churches and churchmen, and the list was so long that Faust was able to turn to Marguerite and say, "Do you know who is in the next dungeon?"
"I really don't care," Marguerite said. "I just want to get out of this one."
"Be silent, girl! In that dungeon languishes Isaac, the old king of Constantinople, who was deposed by his cruel brother, who crowned himself emperor and had Isaac blinded."
"We're traveling in exalted company, no doubt of that," Marguerite said sarcastically. "Be silent! Someone is opening his dungeon door!"
Faust listened and heard the key turn, the door swing open, then close again. He heard shuffling feet (the plank wall was very thin) and then a moment's silence. Then old Isaac's voice could be heard plaintively asking, "Who is it comes to me? Is it the executioner? Speak, for I cannot see you." "Nor can I see you," a deep voice replied. "But I have brought you succor that needs no sight for its relief."
"Brought me what?" "Succor. Aid. Help. Relief. Don't you recognize my voice, Isaac? I am Henry Dandolo!"
"It's the doge!" Faust whispered to Marguerite. "Henry Dandolo, the all-powerful doge of Venice!"
Raising his voice, Faust called out, "Doge Dandolo! In here! We crave your intercession!" There was a mutter of voices, a stomping of feet. And then the door to Faust's dungeon was thrown open. Two soldiers entered. And just behind them was the tall, erect old figure of Henry Dandolo, resplendent in his brocaded robes of scarlet and green, holding in his hand the holy icon of St. Basil. "Who are you who thus calls me by name?" Dandolo demanded.
"I am Johann Faust," Faust cried. "I have come to this place to right a great wrong done to me. There is a fellow here who says he's me, and who has duped a gullible infernal power with his story. He claims to be a great magician, but he's not. I'm the great magician!"
"I see," Dandolo said.
"I beseech you, Henry Dandolo, release me from this place and I will prove a worthy ally to you!"
"If you're such a great magician," Dandolo said, "why don't you release yourself?"
"Even a sorcerer needs a few tools," Faust said. "I don't have any of my conjuring equipment here. Yet if I had just a single missing piece to complete the spell—that icon you hold in your hand, for example…"
Henry Dandolo looked at him with anger. "You would conjure with the holy icon of St. Basil?"
"Why, yes, of course, that's what holy icons are for!"
"The sole purpose of the icon of St. Basil," Dandolo thundered, "is to preserve the city of Constantinople from harm."
"Well, it's not doing a very good job of it, is it?"
"Don't you worry about that. It's nothing to do with you."
"Maybe not," Faust said. "At least release us, since we have done you no harm and are not your enemies."
"I need to look into your claim to being a magician," Dandolo said. "I will be back."
And with that he swung around, and, guided by the soldiers, left the dungeon. The door clanged shut and the key turned again.
"It's impossible to reason with these pigheaded Venetians!" Faust said. "Oh, my goodness, what will we do now?" Marguerite wailed.
Marguerite was depressed. Faust was feeling none too chipper himself, though in his case it was more outraged pride that irritated him than fear of death. He paced up and down, trying to think of an expedient. It had been shortsighted of him to go chasing after Mephistopheles without making sure he had his magic in order. He remembered when he had traveled throughout Europe with a bag of tricks. He had always been prepared. Had respectability dulled his wits? And if it had, how was he to know it? He toyed again with his pentagram, more just in order to occupy his hands than with any real hope of success. He was amazed to see a light growing again within the inscribed lines. It was a little light at first, just like the previous time, but it grew larger, and this time the light was of a red-and-orange hue, a color which presaged a visit from someone hellish. As the light took on human shape, Faust called out, "O spirit! I have conjured thee from the darkest pits—"
"No, you haven't," the creature in the light said, taking on the form now of a smallish, fox-faced demon with short goatlike horns, wearing a skintight sealskin suit that outlined his well-turned figure. "I haven't conjured you?"
"Certainly not. I came of my own accord. I am Azzie. I am a demon."
"I am very pleased to meet you," said Faust. "I am Johann Faust and this is my friend, Marguerite."
"I know who you are," Azzie said. "I have been observing your actions, and those of Mephistopheles, and of the other man who calls himself Faust."
"Then you know that he is an impostor! I am Faust!"
"Indeed you are," Azzie said.
"Well then?"
"Well, I have been considering the situation. And I have a proposition to make to you."
"At last!" Faust cried. "Recognition! Revenge! Eternal delights!"
"Not so fast," Azzie said. "You haven't heard the terms of my proposition."
"Well then, out with it!"
"No, not here," Azzie said. "A Frankish prison is not where I conduct my negotiations."
"Where, then?"
"I have in mind a certain mountaintop," Azzie said. "It is a high mountain in the Caucasus, not far from where Noah first found land after the Flood. There we can talk and I can lay forth my proposition with all due majesty."
"Lead on, then," Faust said.
"What
about her?" Faust asked.
"She can't come. My bargain will only be with you, Faust, not with a camp-follower jade."
"You've got a lot of nerve!" Marguerite said. "I'm with him! I've even helped him in his enchantments. He asked me along. Johann, you can't leave me here!"
Faust turned to Azzie. "It's not right, you know."
"I give you my word of honor," Azzie said, "she'll be all right."
"You're sure?"
"I'm never wrong about things like that."
"Then let's go," Faust said, "Marguerite, we'll be back together after a while. I hate to do this, but business is business." But actually, Faust was not sorry to leave her, because Marguerite hadn't proven quite as admiring and servile as he'd hoped.
"No, no! Take me along!" The unhappy girl rushed to Faust and tried to throw her arms around him. But Azzie made a gesture. Smoke and fire arose, and Marguerite had to back off. When it had cleared, Faust and Azzie were gone, she was alone in the dungeon, and there was the heavy tread of soldiers approaching the door.
CHAPTER 6
Azzie, with Faust in tow, flew high and fast, above the towers of Constantinople, then to the southwest above the great plain of Anatolia. They passed over an occasional mud village, homes of the Turks who had migrated to this place from the back of beyond, and were even now raiding as far north as the fortifications of the great city. After a while they were over a region of low, barren hills, and then they came to the first peaks of the Caucasus Mountains. Azzie gained more elevation to pass over them, and Faust found himself shivering violently in the thin, chill air. The mountaintops lay below them, their tops piercing the fluffy white clouds, illuminated by the bright sun.
"See that big one ahead?" Azzie asked Faust, raising his voice against the windstream. "That's where we're going."
They landed on its summit, on a flat tableland that was drenched in brilliant noonday sunshine. Faust wanted to ask Azzie how he had brought this about, since it had been nighttime when they left the Crusaders' camp. But he didn't want to appear ignorant, so he said instead, "Where are we?"
"This is Mount Crescendo, highest peak in the Caucasus," Azzie said. "It is not far from Mount Ararat, where Noah first found dry land after the Flood."
Faust walked to the edge. Through the crystal air he could see for miles and miles, all the way down to peaceful settlements on the flatlands below. Beyond that he could just make out a pink stone palace, decorated with white walls and turrets and looking very like a birthday cake.
"That is Castle Carefree," Azzie said. "It will be yours if you do my bidding."
"What are the special qualities of Castle Carefree?" Faust asked.
"You notice that pink stone that Carefree is constructed from? That is happiness stone, and it comes from the Golden Age of mankind, when all was well with everybody and everything. This stone is so permeated with the essences of good tuck and happiness that one tends to walk around most of the time in a state of mild euphoria. It is a place where you can be happy and blithe, Faust. And this palace has the usual assortment of maidens of the most exquisite form, with heartstoppingly beautiful faces, and figures that would make an angel weep, though he'd better not let his superiors catch him in such an unangelic attitude."
"Castle Carefree looks very tiny from here," Faust said.
The properties of tight and air on this mountain are such," Azzie said, "that by squinting your eyes slightly you can magnify your view and see whatever you wish."
Faust squinted, too hard at first, because he found that he was looking at a blank watt from an apparent distance of perhaps two inches. Relaxing his squint slightly, he was able to move his gaze away from the watt and so get a panoramic view of the palace. Castle Carefree was indeed an enchanting place. Faust saw the many splashing fountains, neatly graveled walkways which meandered through a large and well-kept garden, he saw the multitude of tame deer that roamed its shaded confines, and the many bright-winged parrots who lived in its trees and convened the place into a shifting pageant of color. He saw the servants, dressed in white garments, strolling back and forth with brass trays filled with sweetmeats, fruits, trays of nuts, and dishes of spicy condiments. They offered these treats to the guests, who were clad in rich robes of many colors. Faust could see that several of the guests were tall and nobly bearded, and had such finely shaped heads as he had not seen since he had studied ancient sculpture in Rome.
"Who are these men?" he asked.
"These are philosophers," Azzie said. "And their purpose would be to converse with you about the how and why of things, and add their learning to your lightning-quick intelligence. Now shift your gaze a little to the left—that's it—and notice that dome-shaped building standing apart from the other structures."
"Yes, what is it?" Faust asked.
"That is Castle Carefree's treasure store," Azzie said. "Therein are treasures aplenty: gems of the first water, pearls beyond compare, jade of an ultimate exquisiteness, and other fine things."
Faust squinted his eyes again and tilted his head somewhat.
"What is it that I see far ahead on the horizon?" he asked. "It seems to be a moving cloud of dust."
Azzie looked. "That is of no account."
"But what is it?"
"If you must know, that is a band of wild Turkish warriors," Azzie said.
"I'm afraid not. They provide quite a menace hereabouts. But they leave Castle Carefree alone."
"But what would I do if they came to attack me?"
Faust asked. "Then my riches and cheerful life-style would not help much, would they?"
"Change is ever upon us," Azzie said. "There are savage warriors outside every palace, clamoring to get in. And sometimes they succeed. But never fear, I would not leave you in peril. I can provide palaces for you in various regions of the world. There are many fair cities where you might live. And you would not be confined to your own time, either. If you wanted to walk in Athens with Plato, for example, or ancient Rome to converse with Virgil or Caesar, I could arrange that."
"That sounds pretty good," Faust said. "But what about my rightful place in this great contest of Dark and Light?"
"I think I can do something about that," Azzie said. "You understand it was not my fault that this mistake was made. It was that stupid Mephistopheles, and I intend to teach him a lesson. But first I'll need to make some enquiries, for the contest is already underway and the Powers of Light and Dark would not be pleased to have it interrupted. But with a little luck and a word or two in the right places I think I can get you switched into the game in Mack's place."
"And you would do this for me?"
"Yes, I would," Azzie said. "But there is a condition."
"What is it?"
"You must bind yourself to me by the strongest oath you know to obey me in every instance, and, especially in matters of the contest, to be bound by me and do what I say."
Faust drew himself up proudly. "Me, obey you? I am Faust, and who are you? Merely some almost anonymous unclean spirit!"
"I wouldn't say unclean," Azzie said, offended. "That's a vile canard on us demons. Anyhow, there's nothing dishonorable about obeying a demon. Men do it all the time."
"Not Faust," Faust said. "Why do you consider it necessary?"
"It is because I have a plan, by means of which you can regain your rightful place in things, and I mine.
But you must do what I say. You won't find me too hard a taskmaster. Come now, will you do it?"
Faust considered and was sore perplexed. He was tempted. Being ruler of Castle Carefree was a step up from being a professor of alchemy in Cracow. But he couldn't bring himself to agree to obey Azzie. A
deep-set inner reluctance held him back. It was not so much that Faust the man had to have his own way. It was more that, as the embodiment of the archetypal spirit of Faust, he could not make himself subservient to a spirit who, by the nature of things, was supposed to be serving him, not the other way around.
"I can't do
it," he said.
"Ah, but consider," Azzie said. "How about if I also throw in that quintessence of beauty that all men seek. I refer of course to none other than the incomparable Helen of Troy."
"But you don't have Helen of Troy!"
"I'm not interested," Faust said.
Azzie smiled. "Just take a look."
So saying, the demon made a gesture. And there on the mountaintop, before Faust's eyes, a woman began to take shape. And then she stood before him. She looked at him with eyes of a deep color, though Faust could not say which, since they seemed to shift color as the clouds passed over the sun.
One moment gray, another moment blue, and yet another green. She wore a classic Greek outfit, a white tunic well pleated, with a strap passing over one shoulder, the other bare. So excellent in all her proportions was she that it would have been ridiculous and futile to try to pick out some feature above the others, saying, her nose is very good, or, her eyebrows arch nicely, or, she has a well-shaped bosom, or, her legs are of a comely disposition. All these statements were true, but Helen beggared description and undercut comparison. She was of that perfection, which men glimpse sometimes, murkily, in their dreams. She was in her own way an absolute, an ideal more than a human being, and yet she was human.
And whatever flaws might be found in her served only to enhance her perfection by their very humanity.
Faust looked at her and was sorely tempted. She was a great prize to be won because—completely apart from her inherent desirability—there was the pleasure to be gained by taking her away from all other men, and having all men in the world except the gay ones envious of you. To have Helen would make a man richer than the treasures of a king of kings.
But there was a price to be paid, too. For a man who possessed Helen would also be possessed by her, and could call neither his soul nor his destiny his own. His fame would suffer by comparison to hers. In his own case, no longer would he be thought of as Faust the archetype. He would probably be referred to as Helen's boyfriend. And his own excellences could not fail to dim in comparison with hers. Paris had probably been a good enough man, back there in ancient Troy when he won her from Menelaus. Yet who thought about Paris now?
If at Faust You Don't Succeed Page 9
