Part I
Paracelsus Aspires
Scene.—
Würzburg; a garden in the environs. 1512.
Paracelsus. Come close to me, dear friends; still closer; thus! Close to the heart which, though long time roll by 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 Forgiving love as shall embalm it there! For if you would remember me aright, As I was born to be, you must forget All fitful strange and moody waywardness Which e'er confused my better spirit, to dwell Only on moments such as these, dear friends! —My heart no truer, but my words and ways More true to it: as Michal, some months hence, Will say, "this 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 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 rare after-birth 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— Which, look through near, this way, and it appears A stubble-field or a cane-brake, a marsh Of bulrush whitening in the sun: laugh now! Fancy the crickets, each one in his house, Looking out, wondering at the world—or best, Yon painted snail with his gay shell of dew, Travelling to see the glossy balls high up Hung by the caterpillar, like gold lamps.
Michal. In truth we have lived carelessly and well.
Paracelsus. And shall, my perfect pair!—each, trust me, born 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!
Festus. Now, Aureole, stay those wandering eyes awhile! You are ours to-night, at least; and while you spoke 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 gazed, there stood a star! How far was Würzburg with its church and spire And garden-walls and all things they contain, From that look's far alighting?
Paracelsus. I but spoke And looked alike from simple joy to see 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; 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 Festus learns That every common pleasure of the world 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.