instead of the German rustic dialect which he talked in the original.
That also smacks of the good air of that epoch. In those old pictures
and poems they always made things living by making them local.
Thus, queerly enough, the one touch that was not in the old mediaeval
version was the most mediaeval touch of all.

That other ancient and Christian jest, that a wife is a holy terror,
occurs in the last scene, where the doctor (who wears a fur
coat throughout, to make him seem more offensively rich and refined)
is attempting to escape from the avenging demons, and meets
his old servant in the street. The servant obligingly points
out a house with a blue door, and strongly recommends Dr. Faustus
to take refuge in it. "My old woman lives there," he says,
"and the devils are more afraid of her than you are of them."
Faustus does not take this advice, but goes on meditating
and reflecting (which had been his mistake all along) until the clock
strikes twelve, and dreadful voices talk Latin in heaven.
So Faustus, in his fur coat, is carried away by little black imps;
and serve him right for being an Intellectual.




The Man and His Newspaper

At a little station, which I decline to specify, somewhere between
Oxford and Guildford, I missed a connection or miscalculated a route
in such manner that I was left stranded for rather more than an hour.
I adore waiting at railway stations, but this was not a very
sumptuous specimen. There was nothing on the platform except a chocolate