Copyright 2020, Gary McGath.
This story continues the events in the life of Nikolas Fest, one of the characters in The Magic Battery. Feel free to share the link to it, but don’t share the story itself without including authorship credit, this explanation, and the link to the book’s Web page.

Hans Sachs was a real person, a famous writer of songs, poems, and plays in 16th-century Nuremberg. He’s best known as a character in Wagner’s opera Die Meistersinger.
 
 

The audience knew what was coming next. Rather, they thought they did.

The peephole below the puppet stage had let Nikolas Fest recognize some regular faces in the audience. They came on every market day to see his show. Some of them left a few coins every time. They probably knew every line by now.

It was a sunny summer afternoon, and the crowd was larger than average. They smiled as Faust, with Nikolas’s voice, begged Mephistopheles for a little more time.

Nikolas’s assistant Peter Freiberg worked with him, crouched below the viewers’ line of sight. Peter had an excellent, fiendish voice for Mephistopheles. “You had all the things you wanted: power, glory, and love,” he declaimed. “You preferred them to the salvation of your eternal soul. Now you must pay the price!”

The regulars expected the usual cloud of smoke. Instead, flames shot up from below, waving wildly. Nikolas heard yelps and commotion. The audience was surely drawing back, unseen to him. He suppressed his laughter, but no one would have heard it over Peter’s bellow of triumph. Faust descended, apparently on fire, flailing his arms. The flames ceased, and Mephistopheles glared at the audience before following his captive into the nether regions of the theater.

The applause was huge. Nikolas and Peter went out among the spectators, holding out hats, and got their best take since he’d set up in Nuremberg.

“They thought the whole thing would catch fire!” laughed Peter as the crowd dispersed. “I almost thought so myself.”

“It was totally safe,” Nikolas replied. “You know that. But they didn’t.”

False fire, to decorate a false story. The real Faust had died peacefully, in the company of friends. He reminded himself for the hundredth time that no one took a puppet show seriously. Something in him objected for the hundredth time.

One man remained close by as the last of the spectators left. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with heavy black eyebrows and an impressive gray beard. His cloak was the kind worn by the Mastersingers. He stepped toward Nikolas and said in a rich voice, “A very impressive play, Herr Fest.”

Fest shook his hand. He didn’t recognize this man, but he had to be someone important. “Thank you, Herr …?”

“Sachs. Hans Sachs.”

“Herr Sachs! I’m very honored.” Sachs was famous for his plays, poetry, and songs in Nuremberg and beyond. Cultivating his acquaintance could be a huge help professionally.

“I’ve never seen anything like that flame effect. Did an alchemist prepare it for you?”

Nikolas smiled broadly. “It’s better than alchemy. Magic. There was no flame, just the appearance of one. A real flame that big would have burned up the stage.”

Sachs’ eyes widened. “Is one of you a mage?”

“No, it’s a new technique. Stored magic. Have you heard of Thomas Lorenz?”

“Yes, of course! This was his work?”

“A gift he sent me.”

“We should talk some more, Herr Fest. I have some ideas that could help both of us. Can we meet tomorrow in the tavern?” He pointed across the square. “Perhaps at two o’clock?”

This was Nuremberg, the city of timepieces. Nikolas was still getting used to such exactitude. “I’d be glad to.”

He walked quickly back home, where he had several copy editing tasks to finish. Shouldn’t he feel happy now? Sachs might offer him a position that would let him move to a better place. The room he rented wasn’t terrible, but it was cramped. On the positive side, his rent included meals, and Frau Eva Stark was an excellent cook.

The owner, Eduard Stark, was a fellow member of the Conciliator society, which Nikolas had launched. He was away at his shop, so Nikolas went straight to his room and worked on his tasks. He was able to deliver all of them to the publisher and return in time for dinner.

“Not a good day, Nikolas?” Eduard asked.

“What? An excellent day, actually.” He sat down at the table. “You wouldn’t believe who I met.”

“Then I won’t try to guess.”

“Hans Sachs. He’s interested in a collaboration, or at least in having me do something.”

“Why, that’s excellent! It could be a great opportunity. So why do you look as if you’d swallowed a beetle?”

Nikolas tried to look more cheerful as he took a piece of bread. “It’s the Faust play that got his interest. And the new special effect which Thomas sent me. The real Johan Faust didn’t sell his soul, but I feel as if I’ve sold mine.”

Eduard looked at him silently and sympathetically for several seconds. “Now I understand.”

“The play is my most popular one, but I’ve wanted to be done with it. It might become better known than ever.” He added bitterly, “And make me money.”

“You have a choice,” Eva said quietly. “You’ve got more than one string on your lute.”

“But this is such an opportunity.”

“It is,” said Eduard. “And maybe not just an opportunity for fame and money.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t know yet what Sachs wants. You may have options.”

***

Sachs told Nikolas, “I was impressed by the way you voiced Faust. You showed a real feeling for the character. I’ve heard other versions of the story and done some work on a play of my own. Have you acted on the stage?”

This wasn’t what Nikolas was expecting, but it could still be good. “I’ve done several parts.” He refrained from saying where or how big.

“Could you play Faust, not as a puppet, but onstage in a costume?”

Nikolas put his beer down abruptly, spilling a little. A puppet show was one thing, but actually being Faust in person, before an audience?

“What’s the matter? Do you have stage fright already?”

“No,” said Nikolas, forcing a smile. “You just caught me by surprise. I can do it.” He felt he was in a trap of his own making. “Would you use any of the elements from my little puppet show?”

“Possibly,” said Sachs, with a more sincere smile. “I’ve heard other stories about him, and I think a mix of them would work well. I especially like your closing lines.”

“Herr Sachs — I know you’re a famous playwright and I’m just a street performer, but could I ask to see a draft of your script? I might have some suggestions to offer.”

“I always like my actors to take an interest in the whole play. Certainly.”

***

“This is a good play, Eduard,” Nikolas said in a voice full of disgust.

Eduard Stark smiled sympathetically. “You obviously don’t believe that.”

“It is. I wish it weren’t. Then I could insist on changes. But Hans Sachs is a genius. All I have to do is play the part as he wrote it. The audience will love it. I’ll get good pay. Why should I make trouble?”

“Maybe there’s no reason. What will you think of it a year from now, looking back?”

Nikolas hesitated before saying firmly, “I’ll think that I made a sensible choice. It’s just a play!”

“Just a play,” Eduard echoed quietly. Nikolas avoided his eyes. “A play that says he was in league with Satan, but it’s all just to entertain an audience. It’s not a history book. No one reads history books except scholars. Everyone goes to plays.”

“Yes, everyone goes to plays. This one will be really popular. I’m sure of it. And I’ll be in the leading role.” His look became a plea. “I’ve traveled all over Saxony and Bavaria, sometimes doing shows, sometimes getting jobs with printers. I’ve gone days without eating, and I’ve slept in the street. Then I came here to get a book published. It was successful, I got decent pay as the agent, and I stayed.

“Then the great Hans Sachs walked up to me with a huge opportunity. It could make me one of the most famous actors in Nuremberg.” His voice grew more insistent. “I’ll be in demand. Nobles will shake my hand. I’ll sleep in a soft bed. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”

“Have I disagreed with you? The play has some very good passages. One of my favorites is the scene where Faust’s friend tries to dissuade him by quoting the Gospel of Mark. ‘For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?’ That was the question to consider.”

“But Johan Faust didn’t lose his soul.”

“I wasn’t talking about Johan.”

***

Two days later, wishing he could avoid it, Nikolas came back to Sachs. “This is a much better play than I could have written. It’s also a pack of lies.”

Sachs narrowed his eyes and chuckled. “Of course it’s a pack of lies. It’s a play, not a history lecture.”

Nikolas searched for the right words. “But it defames him. It has him —” What could he say? What did this play do to Johan Faust that he hadn’t done in his own show?

Sachs sounded puzzled rather than angry. “It’s the same story you told, with different details. I don’t understand.”

“You added a scene where Gretchen killed her child after Faust abandoned her.”

“I’ve heard accounts confirming it. It’s certainly true that he walked out on her. I don’t know for sure what happened to the child.”

There was nothing else to do. He slowed his breath, though he couldn’t do anything about his heartbeat. “Herr Sachs, I need to tell you a personal secret. You may not want to work with me after this, but I ask you for one thing. Promise not to tell anyone else what I’m about to tell you.”

Sachs looked him over, puzzlement turning to understanding. He said solemnly, “I promise not to tell anyone that you are Faust’s son.”
Nikolas’s mouth opened, but the sound was inarticulate.

“It’s a pity. It would make such great publicity to present a play where Faust is portrayed by his own son. But I understand your not wanting it known.”His look grew stern. “But if you object to my play, what about your own? It isn’t exactly a hymn of praise to your father.”

Nikolas avoided Sachs’ eyes. “My mother didn’t kill me, but she gave me away. I never met Johan Faust, except for briefly seeing him in public. There were good reasons for me to write a nasty show about him. He made my mother pregnant and then ran out on her. I grew up in an orphanage. They never told me anything, but I was a good eavesdropper. He had abandoned my mother and me. He was a terrible sinner.

“My puppet play was — well, it was a good story to put on a puppet stage, and it was a way to get back at him. But I kept hoping there was more to the story. Somehow I knew there was. I kept searching, asking people.

“Finally I found out there was more. He came back to my mother Gretchen, though it was too late for me. He married her and stayed with her till she died. By the end of his life he was a good man. And he was a very great mage. The greatest mage in Europe, according to one of his former companions.

“But nothing erases the orphanage. We all have to earn a living, and my play had become popular. After I came to Nuremberg to get a book published —”

“The book by Conciliator,” Sachs interrupted. “On Women and Magic.”

Nikolas smiled nervously. “I suppose I never made a secret of that.”

Sachs laughed. “Secret? You were everywhere, promoting the book. I’d seen you once, though I admit I didn’t remember you at first.”

Sachs wasn’t far from putting all the pieces together. None of it was really secret, and Thomas Lorenz’s fame was spreading rapidly. Still, he didn’t want too many people knowing the connection between Thomas and his father. Not many people knew that Thomas had been Johan Faust’s student.

“Yes, that was me,” he admitted. “As I was starting to say, I had a successful show and kept using it. People enjoy it. But — this would be a stage play. That’s closer to reality. And I’d be portraying my father.”

“I can’t force you to do it.”

“I — ” What did he want to do? What had Eva Stark said about options? “What if I proposed some changes? Something that would still be dramatic, but closer to the truth?” An idea came to him. He looked off into space. “I think I might — yes! Let me think about it. I think there’s a way to make the story even more dramatic and closer to the truth.”

“You don’t want to get rid of the Devil, do you? That’s the best part!”

“It is, isn’t it?” Nikolas smiled broadly for the first time in this discussion. “No, we won’t have to get rid of him at all.”

***

It was the opening day for the new play, simply called “Faust.” The theater was the biggest and best in Nuremberg, designed for elaborate stage effects. The seats were well-filled for the new Sachs play. Sachs had come out before the start of the play and spoke glowingly of his new actor, Nikolas Fest. He gave Nikolas some credit for contributing ideas to the play, though it seemed stingy to him. No matter. He had almost everything he wanted.

The play had fights, romance, special effects, and a bit of philosophy. He could see the audience was enjoying it. The change to Gretchen’s role had gone easily. He had sketched a miserably sentimental scene where Gretchen’s child — himself — was taken from her. In Sachs’ hands, the scene was now something effective, and the audience applauded enthusiastically.

The big change was the final scene. He and Sachs had gone over it many times before both were satisfied. As it opened, Nikolas as Faust slumped in a chair at the center of the stage. The Devil strode on dramatically, walked behind him, and grabbed his collar. “It is time, Faust,” he declaimed.

Faust raised his head and sat calmly. “The term of our contract is over.”

“I’m glad to see you’re taking it well. Come with me.”

“No,” said Faust. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“We have a contract,” insisted the Devil. “You will come with me, whether you want to or not.”

“You gave me nothing under the contract. I owe you nothing in return.”

“What?” He put an impressive roar into the word. “I let you restore your youth. See the world. Win power. ”

Faust shook the hold loose and stood up. They stepped around to face each other. “None of that was from you. It was from magic.”

“If what you had came from magic, then it came from me!” The Devil continued in a calmer but still fiendish voice, “You are the man who sold his soul to me. You will serve as an example for others, and your name will go down in infamy. No more quibbling, or I’ll summon a squad of demons to take you.”

“Nothing came from you.” This was his big speech, and he stepped forward to address the audience. “Magic is not from the Devil, but from nature. What is from nature is from God. We mages draw on natural energy. We shape it. Some use it to heal bodies and calm disordered thoughts. Nothing about it is diabolical. We are learning to store it and use it at our convenience. Can anyone deposit Satanic power in a device and release it by pushing a button?

“Magic belongs, as a gift from God, to mankind, not to the demons of Hell. It is not a force of evil, unless used in an evil way. Like any tool, it can help or hurt. The most you can do is mislead us in how we use it. I grant that you did that with me. I used magic in sinful ways. I abandoned the woman I love and lost our child. For that, I call upon God’s unlimited mercy and forgiveness. But as for our supposed contract, there is no balance due.

He turned to face the Devil again. “The human soul strives and often fails. You try to push us into despair. That is your sole power. Mockery. Deception. Despair. When we see through it, you have nothing. I still have some time left in my natural life. Faust will disappear, but I will repair what I can of the wrongs I have done, and at the end I will trust in the Lord.”

Nikolas wondered if his father would ever have begged God for forgiveness, but the line would go over well. Besides, Sachs was a devout Lutheran and wouldn’t have settled for less.

“Enough of this nonsense!” said the Devil, stepping with clawed hands toward Faust. As he approached, an angel entered the stage, forehead glowing. Another magical device from Thomas. He held his palm out and stepped between Faust and the Devil. Flames shot up out of the stage, and the Devil sank down a hidden staircase. Faust delivered the closing line, “Satan is defeated by God’s power and mercy.” The musicians played “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.”

The applause was tremendous as the actors came out for bows. Finally Sachs came out and got the loudest cheers of all.

As they left the stage, Sachs said to everyone, “Wonderfully played. Especially you, Nikolas.”

“Thank you. Perhaps Johan Faust is resting more peacefully now.”

As the others moved off, Sachs said softly, “I won’t reveal your secret to anyone.”

Nikolas smiled. “Maybe I should release you from that. If this play has the effect I think it will, why should I hide it any longer?” He raised his voice so all around could hear it: “The true story of Faust, portrayed by his own son!”