imself, by reading the play in
Dyce's edition, and comparing it with the notes under the text,--that
sometimes whole scenes are copied, and even whole speeches, as, for
instance, that of the Emperor Charles V. The coarse buffoonery, in
particular, of which the work is full, is retained word for word. Of
the countless absurdities and prolixities of the Volksbuch, Marlowe
has, of course, omitted a great deal, and condensed the story to the
tenth part of its original length; but the fundamental idea, the plot,
and the characters, belong exclusively to the original. Marlowe's
poetical merit lies partly in the circumstance that he was the first to
feel the depth and power of that idea, partly in the thoughts and
pictures with which some speeches, principally the monologues of
Faustus himself, are interwoven. The Faustus of Marlowe is the Faust of
the legend, tired of learning because it is so unproductive, and
selling his soul, not for knowledge, but for wealth and power. His
investigating conversations with Mephistopheles, his inquiries, and the
answers of the latter, are almost as shallow and childish as those in
the People's Book; and Faustus himself remarks, on the information
which his companion gives him,--

  "Those slender trifles Wagner could decide;
  Has Mephistopheles no greater skill?"

This latter, indeed, seems to us, in spite of the admiration of English
critics, a decided failure. There is in him no trace of either the
cruel, icy-cold malignity of the fiend of Goethe, or the awful grandeur
of Milton's Tempter. It cannot be said that Marlowe's Devil seduces
Faustus. He is almost on the verge of repentance himself; of the two,
he is decidedly the better Christian. The proposition of the compact
comes from Faustus himself, and Mephistopheles only accepts it.
Marlowe's Faustus knows nothing of the feeling of aversion and disgust
with which Goethe's Faust sees himself bound to his hellish companion;
he calls him, repeatedly, "sweet Mephistopheles," and declares,--

  "Had I as many souls as there be stars,