 | Faustus : The Second Part |  |
High arched narrow Gothic Chamber, formerly
Faustus's—unaltered.
Mephistopheles, Chorus of Crickets, Famulus, Baccalaureus.
[Mephistopheles steps out from behind a curtain; while he raises it, and looks back, Faustus is seen stretched out on an old-fashioned bed.
Mephistopheles.
[He takes down and shakes the old fur gown: crickets, chaffers, moths, and other insects fly out.
Chorus of Insects.
Hail to thee! hail to thee!
Patron and father;
Welcome, and welcome be!
Swarm we and gather
To welcome thy coming,
Hovering and humming.
In the faded and rotten,
Of chambers neglected,
In darkness forgotten,
One by one, unperceived,
Didst thou silently plant us;
Now thousands on thousands,
In sunlight and glee,
We sport and we flaunt us.
Dust is rife
With dancing life,
Buzzing and welcoming,
Welcoming thee.
The scoundrel still sculks him
The bosom within,
More close than the moth
In the furry old skin.
Many are we—many are we,
Every one of us welcomes thee.
Mephistopheles.
With what surprised and rapturous delight
This young creation glads its maker's sight;
If a man do but sow, he may be sure
Time in due season will the crop mature.
I give the old fleece another whisk about,
And here and there an odd one flutters out:
Up and around, in corners, holes, and shelves,
My darlings, find out snug berths for yourselves.
Yonder, where broken boxes block the ground,
And here in the old parchments time-embrowned;
In dusty potsherds, faded curtain shreds,
And in the eye-holes there of dead men's heads—
Come, moth and maggot, people once again
The rubbish that in life was called the brain!
[Slips into the gown.
Up on my shoulders, Furry Friend! and then
I for the hour am Principal again.
But I must summon them o'er whom I claim
Dominion, or there's nothing in the name.
[He pulls the bell, which gives a harsh piercing sound, at which the halls shake, and the doors spring open.
Famulus
(tottering up the long dark passage).
What a sounding! what a shaking!
Stairs are trembling, walls are quaking;
Through the window's colour-flashes
Lightnings tremble!—tempest crashes!
Is the floor asunder parting,
Roof in ruins downward falling,
And the bolted doors back starting
Through some wonder-work appalling?
And look yonder, where a giant
Stands in Faust's old fur, defiant;
And, with beck and glance and winking,
Me he silently is calling:
And I faint! my knees are sinking.
Shall I stand my ground? or fly him?
Stay! what?—stay! be murdered by him?
Mephistopheles.
Come hither, friend; your name is Nicodemus.
Famulus
(crossing himself).
High honoured master! 'tis my name—Oremus.
Mephistopheles.
Sink the Oremus!
Famulus.
I'm so glad to see,
Kind master, that you've not forgotten me.
Mephistopheles.
I know you well—in years, but still in love
With study—books you're always thinking of,
Most learned! most mossy! even a deep-learned man
Still studies on because 'tis all he can:
'Tis like one building to a certain height
A house of cards which none can finish quite.
Your master, he is one, it may be said,
Who always hits the nail upon the head—
The well-known Doctor Wagner—anyhow
The great man of the world of letters now:
His genius 'tis, that all inspires, unites,
While Science mounts with him to prouder heights.
There gathers round his chair an eager ring
Of hearers—men who would learn everything.
He, like Saint Peter, holds the keys—can show
The secrets of above and of below;
He shines in all: no reputation is
In any way to be compared to his—
None anywhere now to be placed with him.
Even Faustus' fame's beginning to grow dim—
He has made the great discoveries of our days.
Famulus.
Pardon, most noble sir; permit me to
Speak, sir; permit me just to say to you
That he is one who would shrink from such praise.
His is a modest mind—he does not aim
At rivalling the mighty master's fame.
Since the great master's disappearance, he
Seems ever wrapt in strange perplexity.
For his return he looks, for health and hope
From it—and thus his spirits he keeps up.
The chamber as in Doctor Faustus' day
Remains—no change made since he went away:
There, 'tis kept waiting for its own old master.
Myself—I scarcely venture to go in.
What say the stars? does the hour bode disaster?
The walls, as though with terror struck, still shake;
The doors flew open, every bolt sprang back;
Else you had not come in here—you, even you.
Mephistopheles.
Where is he? bring me to him—bring him here.
Famulus.
Ah, sir, the prohibition's too severe—
'Tis scarce a thing that I could venture on.
Intent on the great work, he has lived alone
For months in the stillest stillness. Only think,
Think of this neatest, nattiest of all
Our bookmen, blacked with soot from ear to nose;
And his eyes blearing, and their raw red blink,
As with throat parching at the fire he blows;
For the true moment every moment longs—
His music still the clatter of the tongs!
Mephistopheles.
To me he'll scarce deny the entrée. I'm
The lucky man, and this the lucky time.
[Exit Famulus.
(Mephistopheles sits down gravely.)
I scarce have sate down in my place,
When, hark! a stirring from behind,
And I behold a well-known face:
My old friend, sure enough, again I find.
But now he comes in the bold bearing
Of our newest schools; spares nothing, nobody—
Dashing 'gainst all things, no bounds to his daring.
Baccalaureus
(storming along the passage).
Mephistopheles.
I am so glad my bell hath hither brought you—
Even when a boy no common boy I thought you:
The grub and chrysalis denote
The future butterfly's gay coat.
I well remember your delighted air,
Your peaked lace collar and your flowing hair:
Proud, child, you were of that same curly pate.
You never wore the queue and crown—
It had not to your day come down.
And now to find you in a Sweden tête,
Determined, resolute, from head to foot.
Oh! come not home with that imperious frown,
The bare-faced terrors of the Absolute.
Baccalaureus.
Old gentleman, we are in the old place;
But change of time has come and changed the case.
'Tis out of season to affect
This motley two-edged dialect.
You long ago might play at make-believe:
Small art need any man employ,
To fool an unsuspecting boy,
Whom no one now will venture to deceive.
Mephistopheles.
If, speaking to the young, pure truth one speaks,
It little suits the callow yellow beaks;
Years come and, what they heard from us, when brought
Back by their own experience dearly bought,
They deem it all the fruit of their own skull—
Speak of their master as supremely dull.
Baccalaureus.
Or—as a knave, for who that deals with youth
Speaks, face to face, direct the honest truth;
Your teacher still will strengthen or dilute,
Palates of pious children as may suit.
Mephistopheles.
Learning and Teaching—there's a time for each;
Your time for learning's over: you can teach.
Moons many since we met—some suns have rolled;
You must have gained Experience manifold.
Baccalaureus.
Experience! foam and bubble, and its name
Not to be mentioned with the Spirit's claim.
Confess it! nothing was till this day done
Worth doing in Science—Science there was none.
Mephistopheles.
I have thought so long—I had always a thick skull;
I now confess to ‘silly—shallow—dull.’
Baccalaureus.
That so delights me!—some hope of you yet!
The first old man with brains I have ever met.
Mephistopheles.
I dug for gold, I found but cinders horrid;
I cried them up for treasures rich and rare.
Baccalaureus.
Confess then that your bare-faced bald old forehead
Is nothing better than the dead skulls there.
Mephistopheles
(calmly).
Friend! you are most discourteously replying.
Baccalaureus.
Courtesy! in plain German, that means lying.
Mephistopheles
(moving with his wheel chair towards the proscenium, addressing the audience).
Light—air—no quarter up there! You'll be civil—
You're sure to show your kindness to the devil.
Baccalaureus.
It is the very height of impudence,
That what is dead and gone should make pretence
Of being in existence. Man's life lives
But in the Blood—and the blood, where, in truth,
Stirs it so vigorously as in youth?
The young blood lives, aye! and in eager strife
Shapes to itself a new life out of life.
There all is progress! something still is done—
The feeble falls, the active presses on.
We have won half the world—yes! youthful man
Hath won it; meanwhile what have you been doing?
Slept, nodded, dreamed, weighed, thought, plan after plan
Suggesting still, and languidly pursuing?
Old age is a cold fever's feeble flame,
Life's peevish winter of obstruction chilling,
Man is at Thirty dead, or all the same—
'Twere better kill you while you are worth killing.
Mephistopheles.
To this the devil himself can nothing add.
Baccalaureus.
Devil? Devil there can be none without my willing.
Mephistopheles
(aside).
The devil's close by to trip you up, my lad.
Baccalaureus
(exultingly).
This is the noble mission of the young—
Earth into being at my bidding sprung;
The sun in pomp I led up from the sea,
The moon in all her changes followed me.
For me in beauty walked the glorious day,
The green earth blossomed to adorn my way.
'Twas at my beck upon that primal night,
The proud stars shed through heaven their spreading light.
Rescued is Man, and by what hand but mine,
From galling bondage of the Philistine?
I—for the Spirit speaks within me—freed
Follow the inward light where it may lead,
Fearless and fast, with rapture-beaming mind,
The Clear before me, and the Dark behind.
Mephistopheles.
Mephistopheles, Chorus of Crickets, Famulus, Baccalaureus.
[Mephistopheles steps out from behind a curtain; while he raises it, and looks back, Faustus is seen stretched out on an old-fashioned bed.
Mephistopheles.
Lie down there, luckless! lie down, wretched thrall
Of this inexplicable, inextricable
Love-tangle! His is the worst case of all.
Whom Helen paralyses, little chance
Has of recovering ever from the trance.
[Looks round him.
As I look up—down—round me,—here,
Nowhere does any change appear.
Perhaps some slight shade in the colour
Of the stained glass,—a trifle duller.
The spiders' webs are spread more wide;
The paper's yellower, the ink's dried.
All things in their old position—
All things in their old condition.
The very pen with which he signed away
Himself to the devil, look at it there still!
Aye, and the drop of blood I coaxed from him,
A dry stain crusts the barrel of the quill.
What a rare object of virtu to seek
For your collector!—happiest of men,
Could he but get possession of the pen!
Envied proprietor of such unique!
And the old sheepskin on its own old hook,
Brings back that comic lecture, which so took
With the poor boy, who ever since, no doubt,
All its deep meaning still keeps puzzling out.
Of this inexplicable, inextricable
Love-tangle! His is the worst case of all.
Whom Helen paralyses, little chance
Has of recovering ever from the trance.
[Looks round him.
As I look up—down—round me,—here,
Nowhere does any change appear.
Perhaps some slight shade in the colour
Of the stained glass,—a trifle duller.
The spiders' webs are spread more wide;
The paper's yellower, the ink's dried.
112
All things in their old condition.
The very pen with which he signed away
Himself to the devil, look at it there still!
Aye, and the drop of blood I coaxed from him,
A dry stain crusts the barrel of the quill.
What a rare object of virtu to seek
For your collector!—happiest of men,
Could he but get possession of the pen!
Envied proprietor of such unique!
And the old sheepskin on its own old hook,
Brings back that comic lecture, which so took
With the poor boy, who ever since, no doubt,
All its deep meaning still keeps puzzling out.
My old warm Furry Friend, I like thy look!
I long again to wrap me round in thee,
And put on the Professor, in full blow
Of lecture-room infallibility!
How is it, that these sorry book-men know
So well to get the feeling up? Ah me!
In the devil it has died out, ages ago.
I long again to wrap me round in thee,
And put on the Professor, in full blow
Of lecture-room infallibility!
How is it, that these sorry book-men know
So well to get the feeling up? Ah me!
In the devil it has died out, ages ago.
[He takes down and shakes the old fur gown: crickets, chaffers, moths, and other insects fly out.
Chorus of Insects.
Hail to thee! hail to thee!
Patron and father;
113
Swarm we and gather
To welcome thy coming,
Hovering and humming.
In the faded and rotten,
Of chambers neglected,
In darkness forgotten,
One by one, unperceived,
Didst thou silently plant us;
Now thousands on thousands,
In sunlight and glee,
We sport and we flaunt us.
Dust is rife
With dancing life,
Buzzing and welcoming,
Welcoming thee.
The scoundrel still sculks him
The bosom within,
More close than the moth
In the furry old skin.
Many are we—many are we,
Every one of us welcomes thee.
Mephistopheles.
With what surprised and rapturous delight
This young creation glads its maker's sight;
If a man do but sow, he may be sure
Time in due season will the crop mature.
114
And here and there an odd one flutters out:
Up and around, in corners, holes, and shelves,
My darlings, find out snug berths for yourselves.
Yonder, where broken boxes block the ground,
And here in the old parchments time-embrowned;
In dusty potsherds, faded curtain shreds,
And in the eye-holes there of dead men's heads—
Come, moth and maggot, people once again
The rubbish that in life was called the brain!
[Slips into the gown.
Up on my shoulders, Furry Friend! and then
I for the hour am Principal again.
But I must summon them o'er whom I claim
Dominion, or there's nothing in the name.
[He pulls the bell, which gives a harsh piercing sound, at which the halls shake, and the doors spring open.
Famulus
(tottering up the long dark passage).
What a sounding! what a shaking!
Stairs are trembling, walls are quaking;
Through the window's colour-flashes
Lightnings tremble!—tempest crashes!
Is the floor asunder parting,
Roof in ruins downward falling,
115
Through some wonder-work appalling?
And look yonder, where a giant
Stands in Faust's old fur, defiant;
And, with beck and glance and winking,
Me he silently is calling:
And I faint! my knees are sinking.
Shall I stand my ground? or fly him?
Stay! what?—stay! be murdered by him?
Mephistopheles.
Come hither, friend; your name is Nicodemus.
Famulus
(crossing himself).
High honoured master! 'tis my name—Oremus.
Mephistopheles.
Sink the Oremus!
Famulus.
I'm so glad to see,
Kind master, that you've not forgotten me.
Mephistopheles.
I know you well—in years, but still in love
With study—books you're always thinking of,
Most learned! most mossy! even a deep-learned man
Still studies on because 'tis all he can:
116
A house of cards which none can finish quite.
Your master, he is one, it may be said,
Who always hits the nail upon the head—
The well-known Doctor Wagner—anyhow
The great man of the world of letters now:
His genius 'tis, that all inspires, unites,
While Science mounts with him to prouder heights.
There gathers round his chair an eager ring
Of hearers—men who would learn everything.
He, like Saint Peter, holds the keys—can show
The secrets of above and of below;
He shines in all: no reputation is
In any way to be compared to his—
None anywhere now to be placed with him.
Even Faustus' fame's beginning to grow dim—
He has made the great discoveries of our days.
Famulus.
Pardon, most noble sir; permit me to
Speak, sir; permit me just to say to you
That he is one who would shrink from such praise.
His is a modest mind—he does not aim
At rivalling the mighty master's fame.
Since the great master's disappearance, he
Seems ever wrapt in strange perplexity.
For his return he looks, for health and hope
From it—and thus his spirits he keeps up.
117
Remains—no change made since he went away:
There, 'tis kept waiting for its own old master.
Myself—I scarcely venture to go in.
What say the stars? does the hour bode disaster?
The walls, as though with terror struck, still shake;
The doors flew open, every bolt sprang back;
Else you had not come in here—you, even you.
Mephistopheles.
Where is he? bring me to him—bring him here.
Famulus.
Ah, sir, the prohibition's too severe—
'Tis scarce a thing that I could venture on.
Intent on the great work, he has lived alone
For months in the stillest stillness. Only think,
Think of this neatest, nattiest of all
Our bookmen, blacked with soot from ear to nose;
And his eyes blearing, and their raw red blink,
As with throat parching at the fire he blows;
For the true moment every moment longs—
His music still the clatter of the tongs!
Mephistopheles.
To me he'll scarce deny the entrée. I'm
The lucky man, and this the lucky time.
[Exit Famulus.
118
I scarce have sate down in my place,
When, hark! a stirring from behind,
And I behold a well-known face:
My old friend, sure enough, again I find.
But now he comes in the bold bearing
Of our newest schools; spares nothing, nobody—
Dashing 'gainst all things, no bounds to his daring.
Baccalaureus
(storming along the passage).
Gateway free, doors loose, locks broken,
Are a promise and a token
That the living, as of old here,
Shall not now like dead men moulder;
Pining, festering, putrefying,
Where to live itself is dying.
Are a promise and a token
That the living, as of old here,
Shall not now like dead men moulder;
Pining, festering, putrefying,
Where to live itself is dying.
Walls are bending in and crumbling,
Tumble-down partitions tumbling;
Roof and joist will fall asunder,
Crushing every body under.
Than myself of spirit few are
More courageous, with heart truer;
Yet the prospect is so cheerless
As to force back the most fearless.
One step farther into danger
I'll not take for friend or stranger.
Very odd to-day the changes
Seem, as back my memory ranges,
When I was ‘the fox’ well hunted,
And with jibe and jeer affronted;
When the gray-beard old deceivers
Classed me with their true believers—
One who all their figments hollow
As the bread of life would swallow.
Tumble-down partitions tumbling;
Roof and joist will fall asunder,
Crushing every body under.
Than myself of spirit few are
More courageous, with heart truer;
Yet the prospect is so cheerless
As to force back the most fearless.
One step farther into danger
I'll not take for friend or stranger.
119
Seem, as back my memory ranges,
When I was ‘the fox’ well hunted,
And with jibe and jeer affronted;
When the gray-beard old deceivers
Classed me with their true believers—
One who all their figments hollow
As the bread of life would swallow.
Lying rascals, dry and crusty,
Primed from their old parchments musty
What they taught, and disbelieved it,
But as handed down received it;
What they taught with no misgiving
Robbed themselves and me of living.
Primed from their old parchments musty
What they taught, and disbelieved it,
But as handed down received it;
What they taught with no misgiving
Robbed themselves and me of living.
But see sitting in brown study
One of these same bright and muddy,
In the clear obscure, the glimmer
Of the gray light growing dimmer;
There he sits as first I found him,
With the rough brown sheepskin round him.
Then he seemed to me right clever,
Great man of the place; however,
That was all in the gone-bye time
—The world's nonage: now 'tis my time.
I know him now; he cannot catch me now—
That day is over: at him, anyhow.
If, old sir, your bald head in Lethe's pool
Hath not been soaked, you may with those slant eyes
The scholar of an old day recognise.
But now remember I am out of school,
And rid of academic rods and rule.
You, sir, are just the same as long ago;
I am not what I was, I'd have you know.
One of these same bright and muddy,
In the clear obscure, the glimmer
Of the gray light growing dimmer;
There he sits as first I found him,
With the rough brown sheepskin round him.
Then he seemed to me right clever,
Great man of the place; however,
That was all in the gone-bye time
—The world's nonage: now 'tis my time.
I know him now; he cannot catch me now—
That day is over: at him, anyhow.
120
Hath not been soaked, you may with those slant eyes
The scholar of an old day recognise.
But now remember I am out of school,
And rid of academic rods and rule.
You, sir, are just the same as long ago;
I am not what I was, I'd have you know.
Mephistopheles.
I am so glad my bell hath hither brought you—
Even when a boy no common boy I thought you:
The grub and chrysalis denote
The future butterfly's gay coat.
I well remember your delighted air,
Your peaked lace collar and your flowing hair:
Proud, child, you were of that same curly pate.
You never wore the queue and crown—
It had not to your day come down.
And now to find you in a Sweden tête,
Determined, resolute, from head to foot.
Oh! come not home with that imperious frown,
The bare-faced terrors of the Absolute.
Baccalaureus.
Old gentleman, we are in the old place;
But change of time has come and changed the case.
121
This motley two-edged dialect.
You long ago might play at make-believe:
Small art need any man employ,
To fool an unsuspecting boy,
Whom no one now will venture to deceive.
Mephistopheles.
If, speaking to the young, pure truth one speaks,
It little suits the callow yellow beaks;
Years come and, what they heard from us, when brought
Back by their own experience dearly bought,
They deem it all the fruit of their own skull—
Speak of their master as supremely dull.
Baccalaureus.
Or—as a knave, for who that deals with youth
Speaks, face to face, direct the honest truth;
Your teacher still will strengthen or dilute,
Palates of pious children as may suit.
Mephistopheles.
Learning and Teaching—there's a time for each;
Your time for learning's over: you can teach.
Moons many since we met—some suns have rolled;
You must have gained Experience manifold.
122
Experience! foam and bubble, and its name
Not to be mentioned with the Spirit's claim.
Confess it! nothing was till this day done
Worth doing in Science—Science there was none.
Mephistopheles.
I have thought so long—I had always a thick skull;
I now confess to ‘silly—shallow—dull.’
Baccalaureus.
That so delights me!—some hope of you yet!
The first old man with brains I have ever met.
Mephistopheles.
I dug for gold, I found but cinders horrid;
I cried them up for treasures rich and rare.
Baccalaureus.
Confess then that your bare-faced bald old forehead
Is nothing better than the dead skulls there.
Mephistopheles
(calmly).
Friend! you are most discourteously replying.
Baccalaureus.
Courtesy! in plain German, that means lying.
123
(moving with his wheel chair towards the proscenium, addressing the audience).
Light—air—no quarter up there! You'll be civil—
You're sure to show your kindness to the devil.
Baccalaureus.
It is the very height of impudence,
That what is dead and gone should make pretence
Of being in existence. Man's life lives
But in the Blood—and the blood, where, in truth,
Stirs it so vigorously as in youth?
The young blood lives, aye! and in eager strife
Shapes to itself a new life out of life.
There all is progress! something still is done—
The feeble falls, the active presses on.
We have won half the world—yes! youthful man
Hath won it; meanwhile what have you been doing?
Slept, nodded, dreamed, weighed, thought, plan after plan
Suggesting still, and languidly pursuing?
Old age is a cold fever's feeble flame,
Life's peevish winter of obstruction chilling,
Man is at Thirty dead, or all the same—
'Twere better kill you while you are worth killing.
Mephistopheles.
To this the devil himself can nothing add.
124
Devil? Devil there can be none without my willing.
Mephistopheles
(aside).
The devil's close by to trip you up, my lad.
Baccalaureus
(exultingly).
This is the noble mission of the young—
Earth into being at my bidding sprung;
The sun in pomp I led up from the sea,
The moon in all her changes followed me.
For me in beauty walked the glorious day,
The green earth blossomed to adorn my way.
'Twas at my beck upon that primal night,
The proud stars shed through heaven their spreading light.
Rescued is Man, and by what hand but mine,
From galling bondage of the Philistine?
I—for the Spirit speaks within me—freed
Follow the inward light where it may lead,
Fearless and fast, with rapture-beaming mind,
The Clear before me, and the Dark behind.
Mephistopheles.
Original! move onward in your pride.
Oh! how the spirit would sink mortified,
Could you but know that long ago
All thoughts, whatever, dull or clever,
That cross the twilight of your brain,
Have been o'er and o'er again
Occupying other men.
Oh! how the spirit would sink mortified,
Could you but know that long ago
All thoughts, whatever, dull or clever,
125
Have been o'er and o'er again
Occupying other men.
Yet, have no fears for him;—in a few years
The absurd works off, the ferment clears,
The folly will subside, perhaps refine;
The must at last is wine, and no bad wine.
[To the younger part of the audience who do not applaud.
Too bad to see the auditors so cold!
And yet I must forgive the young beholder
His lack of sympathy. The devil is old.
To understand him better, boys, grow older!
The absurd works off, the ferment clears,
The folly will subside, perhaps refine;
The must at last is wine, and no bad wine.
[To the younger part of the audience who do not applaud.
Too bad to see the auditors so cold!
And yet I must forgive the young beholder
His lack of sympathy. The devil is old.
To understand him better, boys, grow older!
| Faustus : The Second Part | |