As if where’er he gazed there stood a star,

so strong, so deep is desire to attain his aim.

For Paracelsus aims to know the whole of knowledge.  Quiet and its charms, this homelike garden of still work, make their appeal in vain.  “God has called me,” he cries; “these burning desires to know all are his voice in me; and if I stay and plod on here, I reject his call who has marked me from mankind.  I must reach pure knowledge.  That is my only aim, my only reward.”

Then Festus replies:  “In this solitariness of aim, all other interests of humanity are left out.  Will knowledge, alone, give you enough for life?  You, a man!” And again:  “You discern your purpose clearly; have you any security of attaining it?  Is it not more than mortal power is capable of winning?” Or again:  “Have you any knowledge of the path to knowledge?” Or, once more, “Is anything in your mind so clear as this, your own desire to be singly famous?”

“All this is nothing,” Paracelsus answers; “the restless force within me will overcome all difficulties.  God does not give that fierce energy without giving also that which it desires.  And, I am chosen out of all the world to win this glory.”

“Why not then,” says Festus, “make use of knowledge already gained?  Work here; what knowledge will you gain in deserts?”

“I have tried all the knowledge of the past,” Paracelsus replies, “and found it a contemptible failure.  Others were content with the scraps they won.  Not I!  I want the whole; the source and sum of divine and human knowledge, and though I craze as even one truth expands its infinitude before me, I go forth alone, rejecting all that others have done, to prove my own soul.  I shall arrive at last.  And as to mankind, in winning perfect knowledge I shall serve them; but then, all intercourse ends between them and me.  I will not be served by those I serve.”

“Oh,” answers Festus, “is that cause safe which produces carelessness of human love?  You have thrown aside all the helps of human knowledge; now you reject all sympathy.  No man can thrive who dares to claim to serve the race, while he is bound by no single tie to the race.  You would be a being knowing not what Love is—­a monstrous spectacle!”

“That may be true,” Paracelsus replies, “but for the time I will have nothing to do with feeling.  My affections shall remain at rest, and then, when I have attained my single aim, when knowledge is all mine, my affections will awaken purified and chastened by my knowledge.  Let me, unhampered by sympathy, win my victory.  And I go forth certain of victory.”

    Are there not, Festus, are there not, dear Michal,
    Two points in the adventure of the diver: 
    One—­when, a beggar, he prepares to plunge;
    One—­when, a prince, he rises with his pearl? 
    Festus, I plunge!

    FESTUS.  We wait you when you rise.