“There is still another famous man,” says Begardi, “whose name I would rather not mention at all, only that he himself would not wish to remain hidden or unknown.  For he was roving, some years ago, through all the different countries, principalities, and kingdoms, and has made known his name and his great skill, boasting not only of his medical science, but likewise of Chiromancy, Necromancy, Physiognomy, Visions in Crystals, and more arts of the kind.  And he called himself Faustus, a celebrated experienced master, philosophum philosophorum, etc.  But the number of those who have complained to me of having been cheated by him is very great.  Well, his promises were likewise very great, just like those of Thessalus, (in Galen’s time,) and his reputation like that of Theophrastus; but in deeds he was, I hear, found small and deceitful.  But in taking and receiving money he was never slow, and was off before any one knew it.”

Thus we see the historical Faustus, the esteemed scholar, the skilful physician, gradually merged in the juggler, the quack, the adventurer, and the impostor.  The popular legend follows him to foreign countries.  His magic mantle carries him, in eight days, over the whole world, and even into the Infernal regions.  He is honorably received at the Emperor’s court at Innspruck, introduces himself invisibly at Rome, into the Vatican, where the Pope and his cardinals are assembled at a banquet, snatches away his Holiness’s plate and cup from before his mouth, and, enraged at his crossing himself, boxes his ears.  In the puppet-shows he figures mostly at the court of the Duke of Parma.  In Venice his daring spirit presumed too far.  He announced an exhibition of a flight to heaven.  But Mephistopheles, who had hitherto satisfied his most extravagant demands, though often with grumbling, would not permit that feat.  In the midst of a staring, wondering multitude, Faustus rose to a certain height by means of his own Satanic skill, acquired in his long intercourse with the Devil.  But now the latter showed that he was still his master.  He suddenly hurled him from on high, and he fell half dead upon the ground.  The twenty-four years of the compact, however, were not yet ended, and he was therefore restored to life by the same hellish power.

In a very trite, popular ballad, which we find in “Des Knaben Wunderhorn,” we see, that, when the travellers came to Jerusalem, the Devil declined still another request.  Faustus wishes him to make a picture of Christ crucified, and to write under it his holy name.  But the Devil declared that he would rather give him back his signature than be obliged to do such a thing, and succeeded in turning the Doctor’s mind from the subject by showing him, instead, a picture of Venus.