University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Before the gate of the town. Motley groups of people are crowding out to walk.
SOME JOURNEYMEN.
Brethren, whither bound?

OTHERS.
To the Jägerhaus we go.

THE FIRST.
But our way leads us to the mill.

A JOURNEYMAN.
At Wasserhof best cheer is to be found.

A SECOND.
But then the road is not agreeable.

THE OTHERS.
And what dost thou?

A THIRD.
I do as others do.

A FOURTH.
To Burgdorf let us go, there are we sure to find
The best of beer, and maidens to our mind,
And frolics too, if we be so inclined.

A FIFTH.
You over-wanton fellow, does your skin
For the third time to itch begin?
I shudder at the place,—to it
A single step I will not budge.

A SERVANT GIRL.
No! No! back to the town I'd rather trudge.

ANOTHER.
Beneath yon poplar trees he's sure to sit.

THE FIRST.
No mighty matter that for me,
Since he will go with none but thee,
And in the dance he's always thine:
What have thy joys to do with mine?

THE OTHER.
To-day he will not be alone—he said
That he would bring with him the curly-head.

STUDENT.
Donner and blitz! how the stout wenches stride!
Come, brother, come! we must be at their side.
A good strong beer, a girl that's smartly dress'd,
And biting sharp tobacco,—that's my taste.

BURGHERS' DAUGHTERS.
Look only at those brisk young fellows there!
In sooth, 'tis more than one can bear;
The best society have they if they please,
And run after such low-bred girls as these!

SECOND STUDENT
to the first.
Not quite so quick! there come up two behind,
Spruce lasses both, I wot, and trim,
My neighbour, too, is one of them;
She is a girl quite to my mind.
With quiet pace now move they on,
But will be glad to wait for us anon.

FIRST STUDENT.
No, no! I have no patience for your ladies.
Quick, brother, quick! before the game quite fled is.
The maid whose week-day broom the chamber dresses,
When Sunday comes, gives you the sweetest kisses.

A BURGHER.
No! this new burgo-master will not do!
He seems to govern for himself alone;
And since he was installed, what has he done
For which the city's thanks are due?
Affairs are getting worse from day to day,
More than before we must obey,
And more than ever must we pay.

A BEGGAR,
singing.
Ye gentle sirs, and ladies fair,
With clothes so spruce, and cheeks so red,
O pass not by, but hear my prayer,
Nor to the poor deny your aid!
Let not me harp in vain! for blest
Is he alone who gives away;
And may this merry Easter-feast
For me too be a holiday.

ANOTHER BURGHER.
On holidays and Sundays nothing pleases
Me more than talk of war, and bruits of war,
When in Turkey, distant far,
The nations tear themselves to pieces.
We sit i'the window, drink our glass at ease,
And see how down the stream the gay ships softly glide;
Then go we safely home at even-tide,
And bless our stars we live in times of peace.

THIRD BURGHER.
Yes, neighbour, that is my way too.
They may split their skulls in two,
And, topsy-turvy, rant and riot;
Only at home keep all things quiet.

OLD WOMAN,
to the Burghers' Daughters.
Hey-day, how spruce! these be of gentle stuff!
Whose heart against such tricks is sure?
Only not quite so proud! 'Tis well enough—
And what you wish I know how to procure.

FIRST BURGHER'S DAUGHTER.
Agathe come! I choose not to be seen
With such old witches on the public green;
Though on St Andrew's night she let me see
My future husband bodily.

SECOND BURGHER'S DAUGHTER.
Mine too, bold, soldier-like, she made to pass,
With his wild mates, before me in a glass;
I seek him here, I seek him there,
But nowhere deigns he to appear.

SOLDIERS.

SCENE II.

Enter Faust and Wagner.
FAUST.
The ice is now melted from stream and brook
By the Spring's genial life-giving look,
And Hope forth smiles in the verdant vale;
The ancient Winter, weak and frail,
Hath drawn him back to the mountains grey;
And thence he sends, as he hastens away,
Powerless showers of icy hail,
Sweeping over the green-clad plain;
But the Sun may brook no white,
The power of new life may nothing restrain,
Bright paints he all with his life-giving light;
And since few flowers yet deck the mead
He takes him gay-dressed folks in their stead.
Now from these heights let me turn me back
To view the city's busy track.
From the hollow gloomy gate
In motley crowds they are pressing their way.
All sun themselves so blithe to-day.
Our Lord's resurrection they celebrate,
Because themselves to life are arisen.
From lowly dwellings' murky prison,
From labour and business' fetters so tight,
From the press of gables and roofs, and from
The squeezing of narrow streets, do they come;
From the churches' solemn night
Have they all been brought to the light.
Lo! how nimbly the multitude
Through the fields and the gardens hurry,
How, in its breadth and length, the flood
Wafts onward many a gleesome wherry,
And this last skiff moves from the brink
So laden that it seems to sink.
Ev'n from the distant hills is seen
Their gaudy raiment's glittering sheen.
I hear the hamlet's noisy rout,
Here have the poor a heaven of their own,
And great and small contented shout.
Here must I be, here may I be a man.

WAGNER.
To walk, most learned sir, with you,
Both honours me and profits too;
And yet, alone I should not think it good
To mingle with the thoughtless multitude,
Being a foe to every thing that's rude.
I cannot brook their senseless howling,
Their fiddling, screaming, nine-pin-bowling.
Like men possess'd, they rave along,
And call it joy, and call it song.

SCENE III.

Peasants
beneath a lime-tree.
DANCE AND SONG.

AN OLD PEASANT.
Doctor, the boon we know to prize,
That, though so famed the learned among,
You on this day do not despise
To mingle with the vulgar throng.
Then from our hands the pitcher take,
Which we have fill'd with water fresh,
We bring it you, and loud we wish,
Not only that your thirst it slake—
The drops that it contains, may they,
Each number to your life a day.

FAUST.
With thankful welcome I receive it,
And wish all good to them that gave it.

(The people collect round about him in a circle.)
OLD PEASANT.
In sooth, learned sir, 'tis very kind
That mid our feasts you now appear,
And help us to call back to mind
How good in olden times you were.
Here stand there living not a few
Whom your most worthy father drew
From the wild fever's ruthless rage,
When he set limits to the plague.
You, who were then a brave young man,
Enter'd the hospitals every one,
Though many corpses forth they bore,
You came out healthful as before:
Full many a test severe you stood
Helping, help'd by the Father of Good.

ALL THE PEASANTS.
Long may the man who saved us live,
His aid in future need to give!

FAUST.
To Him above your thanks be paid,
Who aids alone, and sendeth aid.

(He goes on farther with Wagner.)
WAGNER.
How proud must thou not feel, most learned man,
To hear the praises of this multitude;
Oh! happy he who from his talents can
Derive such unadulterated good!
The father shews you to his son,
And all in crowds to see you run.
The dancers cease their giddy round,
And the fiddle stops its sound.
They form a ring where'er you go,
And in the air their hats they throw,
A little more, and they would bend the knee,
As if they saw the Venerabile.

FAUST.
Yet a few paces, till we reach yon stone,
And there may we our wearied strength repair.
Here sat I oft, plunged in deep thought, alone,
And wore me out with fasting and with prayer.
Rich then in hope, in faith then strong,
With tears and sobs my hands I wrung,
And ween'd the end of that dire pest,
From the will of Heaven to wrest.
Now sounds their loud applause like mockery.
Oh! could'st thou read it in my inward man,
How little sire and son
Of such bepraisings worthy be!
My father was a stern old gentleman,
Who Nature's holy secrets sought to trace,
Sincere, but after his peculiar plan,
With whimsical laboriousness;
Who, in society of adepts spent
His days, within the smoky kitchen pent,
And, after recipes unnumber'd, made
The unnatural mixtures of his trade.
The Lion red, the Lily's tender frame,
In tepid bath were closely wed together,
And both were then, with open fiery flame,
From one bride-chamber squeez'd into another:
Appeared then in the glass the queen,
With her many-coloured sheen,
Here was the medicine, and the patient died,
But no one questioned—who survived?
And thus have we, with drugs more curst than hell,
Within these vales, these mountains here,
Raged than the very pest more fell!
I have myself to thousands poison given;
They pin'd away, and I must live to hear
Men for the reckless murd'rers thanking heaven.

WAGNER.
How can you for such whims be grieved?
'Tis sure enough for any honest man,
The art which from his fathers he received
With conscientious care to carry on.
When we, in youth, place on our sire reliance,
He teaches us, his lore becomes our own;
When we, as men, extend the bounds of science,
Then may our sons improve what we have done.

FAUST.
O happy he who yet hath hope to merge
Forth from the night of error's troubled surge!
What most we need to know can ne'er be known,
And what we know were better still unknown.
But let us not this evening's fleeting joy
By idle sadness thus destroy!
Lo! where the glow of the descending sun
Shimmers the green-encircled huts upon;
He bends him down, his daily race is run,
Yet with unwearied progress hies he on,
New life to further in another sphere.
Ah that no wing may from the ground me heave
To follow still and still in his career!
Then should I see, borne on the beam of eve,
The silent world at my feet appear,
Each flame-tipt height, each placid vale below,
Each mountain-brook, whose silver waters flow,
Into the golden river of the plain;
The mountain wild, with ravines dark and wide,
Might then oppose my godlike course in vain;
Ev'n now, methinks, the ocean's genial tide
Before my wondering vision opens wide.
Yet seems the god at length to sink away;
But, borne by this new impulse of my mind,
I hasten onward on his quenchless ray,
The day before me, and the night behind,
The heavens above me, under me the sea.
A lovely dream! meanwhile away fast fleeteth he.
Alas! not soon the pinioned soul will find
A wing to waft the body on the wind.
Yet in each bosom is it deeply graven,
With soaring feeling forward still to pant,
When over us, lost in the blue of heaven,
Her quavering song the lark doth chaunt;
When over cliffy pine-girt peaks,
The eagle hovers at his ease,
And over plains, and over seas,
The crane his native region seeks.

WAGNER.
I too have had my hours of revery
But from such longings yet may boast me free.
Of fields and forests one is quickly tired,
The eagle's pinion have I ne'er desired.
How otherwise the mind and its delights!
From book to book, from page to page, we go.
Thus sweeten we the dreary winter nights,
New life we feel through all our members glow,
And chance we but unrol some worthy parchment scroll,
The very heavens descend upon our soul.

FAUST.
Thou know'st but the one impulse—it is well!
Oh! may'st thou long be stranger to the other!
Two souls, alas! within my bosom dwell,
Whose hostile natures ceaseless strive together;
The one, by stubborn power of love compelled,
With clutching organs to the world is held;
The other from earth's misty region soars
To join the realms of high progenitors.
Oh! be there spirits in the air,
Betwixt the heavens and earth that hover,
Descend ye from your golden atmosphere,
And waft, to new and varied life, me over!
Yes! were but an enchanted mantle mine,
To distant climes that bore me on its wing,
More than the costliest raiment I should prize it,
More than the purple mantle of a king.

WAGNER.
Invoke not rash the well known spirit-throng,
That stream unseen the atmosphere along,
And dangers thousandfold prepare,
Weak men from every quarter to ensnare.
From the keen North in swarms they float,
With sharpest teeth and arrow-pointed tongues;
From Orient they bring a blasting drought,
And feed their thirst upon thy lungs.
When they invade thee from the desert South,
Fire upon fire upheaping on thy crown,
The West sends forth his swarms, which only soothe
That thee and thine they may more surely drown.
Quick-ear'd they are, on wanton mischief bent,
And, listening, every cheating art they try,
They show as fair as if from heaven sent,
And lisp like angels when they lie.
But let us hence! the world is grey-clad all,
The air is cool'd, the mists of evening fall!
'Tis now that best we learn the worth of home to know—
Why standest thou and starest wildly so?
What twilight-vision can thy fancy trouble?

FAUST.
See'st thou that swarthy dog sweeping through corn and stubble?

WAGNER.
I saw him long ago—not strange he seem'd to me.

FAUST.
Look at him well—what should the creature be?

WAGNER.
He seems a poodle, snuffing at the wind,
Who seeks in vain his master's track to find.

FAUST.
Dost thou not see, how nigher still and nigher
His spiral circles round us wind?
And, err I not, he leaves behind
His path a train of sparkling fire.

WAGNER.
A small black poodle is all I see;
Surely some strange delusion blinds thee!

FAUST.
Methinks soft magic circles winds he,
To form a snare for thee and me.

WAGNER.
I see him only doubtful spring around,
Having two strangers for his master found.

FAUST.
He draws him closer—now is he quite near!

WAGNER.
You see!—a dog, and not a ghost, is here.
He growls, and crouches down, and looks at you,
And wags his tail—as dogs are wont to do.

FAUST.
Come hither poodle! do not fear.

WAGNER.
It is, in sooth, a drollish brute,
When you stand still then stands he mute,
But, when you speak, he springs, as he would speak to you;
He will bring back what you let fall,
And for your stick into the water spring.

FAUST.
You are quite right—I can find no such thing
As spirit here. Training has done it all.

WAGNER.
A dog who has received good education
May claim ev'n from the wise consideration;
In sooth, the poodle well deserves your favour,
In meed of his most scholar-like endeavour.

(Exeunt, going in through the gate of the town.)

SCENE IV.

Faust's Study.
Faust
entering with the Poodle.

SPIRITS
in the passage without.
Brother spirits, have a care!
One within is prisoner;
Follow him none!—for he doth quail
Like a fox, trap-caught by the tail.
But let us watch!
Hover here, hover there,
Up and down amid the air;
For soon this sly old lynx of hell
Will tear him free, and all be well.
Let us wait, a faithful crew,
Here to help him, if we can,
For he is our master true,
And we love him every one.

FAUST.

(The clouds vanish, and Mephistopheles comes forward from behind the fire-place, drest like an itinerant schoolmaster.)

SCENE V.

Faust and Mephistopheles.
MEPHISTOPHELES.
What's all the noise about? Learned sir, I stand
Most humble servant here at your command.

FAUST.
'Tis thus, then, that the poodle drops his mask!
A travelling pedagogue? in verity,
Most strange and ludicrous catastrophe!

MEPHISTOPHELES.
In sooth, sir, you have ta'en me hard to task,
And made me sweat most valiantly.

FAUST.
How nam'st thou thee?

MEPHISTOPHELES.
Such question comes not well
From one who so despises the mere letter,
Whose thoughts, unbound by the material fetter,
With Being's inmost substance only dwell.

FAUST.
Yes, but, with such as you, the outward name
Serves as an index to the inward frame;
Destroyer, God of Flies, the Adversary ,
Such names their own interpretation carry.
But say, who art thou?

MEPHISTOPHELES.
A portion am I of that primal Will
Which still produces good, though planning evil still.

FAUST.
You speak in riddles; the interpretation?

MEPHISTOPHELES.
I am the Spirit of Negation:
And justly so; for all that is produced
Deserves to nothingness to be reduced.
'Twere better, thus, that there were no production.
You see, then, that my province is destruction,
And all that men call wickedness and sin,
The native element I live within.

FAUST.
Thou nam'st thyself a part, yet seem'st a whole to me.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
The modest truth I speak to thee,
Though man, the little world of his soul
Is apt to figure as a whole.
I am a portion of that part which once
Was all—a portion of old Night,
From which was born, by most accursed chance,
In primal ages the rebellious Light,
Which now disputeth with its mother Night
In ceaseless strife the world's high sovereignty,
And yet may not succeed; for striving still
To tear itself from clogging matter free,
It cleaves to body fast against its will.
From body streams it, body doth it paint,
By body is its simple substance rent,
And thus ere long, I hope, shall rebel Light,
With body ruined lie in endless night.

FAUST.
Hold! now I know thy worthy duties all!
Unable to annihilate wholesale,
Thy mischief now thou workest by retail.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
And even thus, my progress is but small.
This something, the plump world, which stands
Opposed to nothing, still ties my hands,
And spite of all the ground that I seem winning,
Remains as firm as in the beginning;
With storms and tempests, and earthquakes and burnings,
The earth still enjoys its evenings and mornings,
And the accursed fry of brute and human clay,
On them my noblest skill seems worse than thrown away.
How many thousands have I not buried!
Yet still a new fresh blood is hurried
Through other veins, with life reborn,
That mocks the work of death to scorn,
And almost makes me sheer despair.
The earth, the water, and the air,
The moist, the dry, the hot, the cold,
A thousand germs of life unfold;
And had I not of flame made reservation,
I had no portion left in the creation.

FAUST.
And thus thou seekest to oppose
The genial power, from which all life and motion flows,
Against Existence' universal chain,
Clenching thy icy devil's fist in vain!
'Twere time, strange son of Chaos, now to try
Your hand at something that might bring more gain.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
The thing deserves attention certainly;
We'll speak of that when I come back again.
But for the present, with your leave,
I crave permission to be gone.

FAUST.
I see not why you ask my leave,
The liberty, methinks, is all your own.
Now that I know you, you may visit me
Whene'er you please, with ish and entry free.
Here is the door, there is the window, and
A chimney, if you choose it, is at hand.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
Let me speak plain! there is a small affair,
That, without your assistance, bars my way,
The goblin-foot upon the threshold there—

FAUST.
The pentagram stands in your way!
Ha! tell me then, thou son of hell,
If this be such a powerful spell
To keep thee in; why kept it not thee out?
What could have cheated such a powerful spirit?

MEPHISTOPHELES.
That is not hard to say, 'tis not well drawn, look near it;
The farthest corner, that which is turn'd out
Toward the door, is left a little open.

FAUST.
Sufficient for a poodle-dog to hop in!
Here Fortune hit the nail upon the head;
Thus were the devil Faustus' prisoner made!
Chance is not always blind, as people say.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
The thoughtless cur saw nothing in its way.
But now the matter looks more serious;
The devil cannot move out of the house.

FAUST.
There is the window—'twere no weighty matter
For one like you adown the wall to clatter.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
It is a law by which all spirits are bound,
Wherever they creep in, there too they must creep out;
I crept in at the door, at the door I must creep out.

FAUST.
Say'st thou that laws even in hell are found?
Thus might one profit by the powers of evil,
And make an honest bargain with the devil.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
The devil, sir, makes no undue exaction,
And pays what he has promised to a fraction;
But this affair requires consideration,
We'll leave it for some future conversation.
Meanwhile, most learned sir, with due submission,
Hence to withdraw, again I crave permission.

FAUST.
I've scarce exchanged a single word with you,
Give us your news before you bid adieu.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
I'll answer thee at length some other day;
At present, I beseech thee, let me loose.

FAUST.
I laid no trap to snare thee in the way,
Thyself did'st thrust thy head into the noose;
Whoso hath caught the devil, hold him fast!
Such lucky chance returns not soon again.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
If 'tis your pleasure so, I shall remain,
But on condition that the time be pass'd
In manner worthy of such company.
And, Doctor Faust consent to see,
Some specimens of magic art from me.

FAUST.
The fancy pleases me. Thou may'st commence,
So that thy juggling tricks but please the sense.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
Thou shalt, in this one hour, my friend,
More for thy noblest senses gain,
Than in the year's dull formal train,
From its beginning to its end.
The songs the gentle spirits sing thee,
The lovely visions that they bring thee,
Are not an empty juggling show.
On thine ear sweet sounds shall fall,
Odorous breezes round thee blow,
And thy raptured senses all
Keener thrills of joy shall know.
No lengthened prelude need we here,
Sing, spirit-imps that hover near!

SPIRITS.
Vanish ye murky
Old arches away!
Through the blue ether
Shine Heaven's ray!
And be the dank clouds
Melted away!
Brighter the stars now
Gem Heaven's crown,
And purer suns now
Softer look down.
Myriads of spirits,
A swift-moving throng,
In beauty ethereal,
Are waving along,
And the soul follows
With longings of fire;
The fluttering garlands
That deck their attire,
Cover the meadows,
Cover the bowers,
Where love-enwrapt souls
Spend the glad hours.
Bower on bower!
The shoots of the vine,
With the leaves of the fig-tree,
Their tendrils entwine!
Clusters of ripe grapes,
Bright-blushing all,
Into the wine-press
Heavily fall;
Forth from their fountains
Red foaming they go,
And over sparkling
Pebbles they flow;
They spread into broad lakes
Around the green slope,
And their deep flood
Is the fisherman's hope.
And the birds of the ether
Drink joy from the gale,
To the realms of the sun
On glad pinions they sail;
They sail on swift wings
To the isles of the blest,
On the soft swelling waves
That are cradled to rest;
Where we hear the glad spirits
Exultingly sing,
As o'er the green meadows
Fleet-bounding they spring:
Disporting in free air,
A numberless throng,
Shooting like meteors
The mountains along;
Some there are swimming
Over the seas,
Hovering others
On wings of the breeze;
In life's joyful web
Intermingling they twine,
'Mid the path of the starlets
So lovely that shine.

MEPHISTOPHELES.

(Exit.)
FAUST.
(awakening from his trance.)
Am I then still the dupe of jugglery?
And leaves this vision once again no trace,
That I spake with the devil face to face,
And that a poodle ran away from me?

SCENE VI.

Faust's Study as before. Faust. Mephistopheles.
FAUST.
Who's there to break my peace once more? come in!

MEPHISTOPHELES.
FAUST.
Come in!

MEPHISTOPHELES.
Thou must repeat it thrice.

FAUST.
Come in then!

MEPHISTOPHELES.
Thus hast thou done well!
I come to give you good advice,
And hope that you will understand me.
The idle fancies to expel,
And silly whims, that quite unman thee,
At your service behold me here,
Of noble blood, a gallant cavalier,
All sprucely clad in gala dress,
A scarlet coat with golden lace,
A short silk mantle, and a bonnet,
With a gay cock's feather on it,
And at my side a long sharp sword.
Now listen to a well-meant word;
Do thou the like, and follow me,
All unembarrassed thus and free,
The busy scenes of life to see.

FAUST.
Still must I suffer, clothe me as you may,
This narrow earthly life's incumbrancy;
I am too old to be content with play,
Too young from every longing to be free.
What can the world hold forth for me to gain?
Abstain it saith, and still it saith Abstain!
This is the burden of the song
That in our ears eternal rings,
The changeless tune, our whole life long,
That each dull moment hoarsely sings.
With terror wake I in the morn from sleep,
And bitter tears I oftentimes might weep,
To see the day, when its dull course is run,
That shall fulfil not one small wish,—not one!
That, with capricious criticizing,
Each taste of joy within my bosom rising,
Ere it be born, destroys, and brings to nought
The fair creation of all-active thought,
With thousand worthless trifles of an hour.
And when I lay me, at the midnight hour,
Anxious and weary, on my bed,
Ev'n there I find no rest, and wild dreams spread
Their terrors round my sleepless head.
The god, that in my bosom dwells,
Mine inmost soul can deeply shake;
But he whose might my every power compels,
No change upon the outer world can make.
Thus my existence is a load of woes,
Death my best friend, and life my worst of foes.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
And yet methinks is Death a guest
That's seldom altogether to our taste.

FAUST.
Oh! happy he to whom, in victory's glance,
Death round his brow the bloody laurel winds!
Whom, 'mid the circling hurry of the dance,
Lock'd in a maiden's close embrace he finds;
O! would to God that I had sunk away
Soulless before the mighty spirit's sway!

MEPHISTOPHELES.
Yet, on a certain night, a certain man was slow
To drink a certain brown potation out.

FAUST.
It seems 'tis your delight to play the scout.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
Omniscient am I not; but many things I know.

FAUST.
If, in that moment's wild confusion,
A well known tone of blithesome youth
Had power, by memory's sweet delusion,
To cheat me with the guise of truth;
Then curse I all whate'er the soul
With luring juggleries entwines,
And in this gloomy dungeon-hole
With dazzling flatteries confines!
Curst be 'fore all the high opinion
The soul has of its own dominion!
Curst all the pictures we receive,
Through outward sense, but to deceive!
Curst be the hollow dreams of fame,
Of honour, glory, and a name!
Curst be the flatt'ring goods of earth,
Our wife and child, our house and hearth!
Accurs'd be Mammon, when with treasures
To deeds of daring he invites us,
Curst when, the slaves of passive pleasures,
On soft-spread cushions he delights us!
Curst be the balsam-juice o'the grape!
Accurs'd be love's deceitful thrall!
Accurs'd be Hope! accurs'd be Faith!
Accurs'd be Patience above all!

CHORUS OF SPIRITS,
invisible.
Woe! woe!
Thou hast destroyed it!
The beautiful world,
With mightiest hand,
A demigod
In ruin has hurled!
We weep,
And bear its wreck'd beauty away,
Whence it may never
Return to the day.
Mightiest one
Of the sons of men,
Brightest one,
Build it again!
In thine own bosom build it again!
Life's glad career
Anew begin,
With senses clear,
And soul within,
While melodies sweet
Thy progress greet!

MEPHISTOPHELES.

FAUST.
And in return, what must I, say,
As wages for thy service pay?

MEPHISTOPHELES.
Of that you may consider when you list.

FAUST.
No, no! the devil is an Egotist,
And seldom gratis sells his labour,
For love of God, to serve his neighbour.
Speak boldly out, no private clause conceal,
With such as you 'tis dangerous to deal.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
I bind myself to be thy servant here,
And to thine every wink obedient be,
If, when we meet again in yonder sphere,
Thou pledge thyself to be the same to me.

FAUST.
What yonder is I little care to know,
Provided I be happy here below;
The future world will soon enough arise,
When the present in ruin lies.
'Tis from this earth my stream of pleasure flows,
This sun it is that shines on all my woes:
And, am I once from this my home away,
Then happen freely what happen may.
Concern 'tis none of mine to hear,
If then, as now, we hate and love;
Or if in yonder world, as here,
An under be, and an above.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
Thus seem'st thou in a favourable train,
Advantage from my proffered aid to gain.
Close with my plan, and thou shalt see
Anon such pleasant tricks from me,
As, on this earth, no son of man
Hath witnessed since the world began.

FAUST.
Poor helpless devil, what hast thou to give,
For which the spirit of a man might strive?
That soul sublime, to know whose longings high
The powers of thee and thine must still defy!
True thou hast food that sateth never,
And yellow gold that, restless ever,
Like quicksilver between the fingers,
Only to escape us, lingers,
A game where we are sure to lose our labour,
A maiden that, while hanging on my breast,
With stolen looks unites her to my neighbour,
And honour by which gods are blest,
That, like a meteor, vanishes in air.
Shew me the fruit that rots before 'tis broken,
And trees that day by day their green repair!

MEPHISTOPHELES.
A word of mighty meaning thou hast spoken,
Yet such commission makes not me despair.
Believe me, friend, we only need to try it,
And we too may enjoy our morsel sweet in quiet.

FAUST.
If ever, with composed mind,
Upon a bed of sloth I lay me,
My further fate with joy I leave thee!
Canst thou with soothing flatteries sway me,
That self-complacency I find,
Canst with enjoyment thou deceive me,
Then be my latent sand-grain run!
A wager on it!

MEPHISTOPHELES.
Done!

FAUST.
And done, and done!
When to the moment I shall say,
Stay, thou art so lovely, stay!
Then with thy fetters bind me round,
Then perish I with cheerful glee!
Then may the knell of death resound,
Then from thy service art thou free!
The clock may stand,
And the falling hand
Mark the time no more for me!

MEPHISTOPHELES.
Consider well: in things like these
The devil's memory is not apt to slip.

FAUST.
That I know well; may'st keep thy heart at ease,
Not rashly have I ventured on this step.
Slave I remain, or here, or there,
Thine, or another's, I little care.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
My duty I'll commence without delay,
And at your festal banquet serve to-day.
One thing remains!—black upon white
A line or two, to make the bargain tight.

FAUST.
A writing craves the pedant slave alone,
Who never man, nor word of man, hath known;
My pledged word and faith I gave before,
And bartered with my life—what wouldst thou more?
If laws oppose the world's wild stream in vain,
Deem'st thou a written word may me restrain?
Yet 'tis a whim deep-graven in our heart,
And from such fancies who would gladly part?
Happy within whose honest breast concealed
There lives a faith, no word may surer make!
Yet still a parchment, written, stamped, and sealed,
A spectre is before which all must quake.
Commit but once thy word to the goose-feather,
Then must thou yield the sway to wax and leather.
Say, devil—paper, parchment, brass, or stone?
This I leave to thee alone:
Style, or chisel, or pen shall it be?
Thou hast thy choice of all the three.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
What needs there that your hasty declamation
Should puff into a flame at such a ration?
Paper or parchment, any scrap will do,
Then write in blood your signature thereto.

FAUST.
If this be all, there needs but small delay,
Such trifles shall not stand long in my way.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
(while Faust is signing the paper.)
Blood is a juice of most peculiar virtue.

FAUST.
Only no fear that I shall e'er demur to
The bargain I at present strike with thee!
The striving of my every faculty
Is one with the promise I make to thee.
Too high hath soared my blown-up pride,
I sink down humbled at thy side,
The Mighty Spirit of All hath scorned me,
And Nature from her secrets spurned me:
The thread of thought is rent in twain,
All science I loathe with its wranglings vain.
In the depths of sensual joy, let us tame
Our glowing passion's restless flame!
In magic veil, from unseen hand,
Be wonders ever at our command!
Plunge we us into the rushing of Time!
Into Action's rolling main!
Then let pleasure and pain,
Loss and gain,
Joy and sorrow, alternate chime!
Change the world as it can,
Still restless busy is the man.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
To thee I set nor bound nor measure,
Every dainty thou may'st snatch at,
Every flying joy may'st catch at,
And take thy full of every pleasure,
Only have courage, friend, and be not shy!

FAUST.
Thou markest well, I do not speak of joy,
Pleasure that smarts, giddy intoxication,
Enamour'd hate, and stimulant vexation.
My bosom, from the thirst of knowledge free,
To every human pang shall opened be,
Mine inner self with every man shall share
His portion of enjoyment and of care;
Their deepest and their highest I will know,
And on my bosom heap their weal and woe,
My proper self unto their self extend,
And with them too be wrecked, and ruined in the end.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
Believe thou me, who speak from test severe,
Chewing the same hard food from year to year,
There lives (were but the naked truth confest)
No man who, from his cradle to his bier,
The same old weary leaven can digest!
Trust one of us—this universe so bright,
He made it only for his own delight;
Supreme he reigns, in endless glory shining,
To utter darkness me and mine consigning,
And grudges ev'n to you the day without the night.

FAUST.
But I will!

MEPHISTOPHELES.
There you are right!
One thing alone gives me concern,
The time is short, and we have much to learn.
Methinks 'twere proper you should take instruction,
And to some poet get an introduction;
Then let the learned gentleman sweep
Through the realms of imagination free,
All qualities, that noble be,
Upon your honoured crown to heap.
The strength of the lion,
The wild deer's agility,
The fire of the south,
With the north's durability.
Then let his invention the secret unfold,
To be crafty and cunning, yet generous and bold;
Then teach your youthful blood, as poets can,
To fall in love according to a plan.
Myself have a shrewd guess where we might find
A gentleman like this, quite to our mind,
And Mr Microcosmus is he hight.

FAUST.
What am I then, if I may ne'er arrive
To grasp the crown of manhood's perfect height,
The goal where all my longing senses strive?

MEPHISTOPHELES.
Thou art, do what thou wilt, just what thou art.
Heap wigs on wigs by millions on thy head,
And upon yard-high buskins tread,
Still thou remainest simply what thou art.

FAUST.
I feel it well, in vain have I uphoarded
All treasures that the human mind afforded,
And when I sit me down, I feel no more
A well of life within me than before;
Not ev'n one hairbreadth greater is my height,
Not one inch nearer to the infinite.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
My worthy friend, these things you view,
Just as they appear to you;
Some wiser method we must shape us,
Ere the joys of life escape us.
Why, what the devil! hands and feet,
And head and hinder parts are thine;
And all that I enjoy, and eat,
And drink, is it therefore less the mine?
If I can number twice three horses,
Are not all their muscles mine?
I feel myself a man, and wheel my courses,
As wight as four-and-twenty legs were mine.
Quick then! have done with reverie,
And dash into the world with me!
I tell thee plain, a speculating fellow
Is like an ox browsing on heath so yellow,
Led in a circle by an evil spirit,
While all around green fields are smiling near it.

FAUST.
But how shall we commence?

MEPHISTOPHELES.
We start this minute:
Why what a place of torture is here,
And what a life you live within it!
Yourself and your pack of younkers dear,
Killing outright with ennui!
Leave that to honest neighbour Paunch!
Thrashing of straw is not for thee:
Besides, into the best of all your knowledge,
You know 'tis not permitted you to launch
With chicken-hearted boys at College.
Ev'n now, methinks, I hear one come this way.

FAUST.
I have no heart to speak to him to-day.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
The poor lad waits you long, and may not stay,
Disconsolate he must not go away:
Come let me don thy doctor's cap and gown,
The mask I know must fit me wondrously.
(He puts on Faust's professorial robes.)
How learn'd I look! now leave the rest to me!
A quarter of an hour and I have done:
Meanwhile thou make thee ready for thy journey.

(Exit Faust.)
MEPHISTOPHELES
solus.
Continue thus to hold at nought
Man's highest power, his power of thought,
Thus let the Father of all lies,
With shows of magic, blind thine eyes,
And thou art mine, a certain prize.
To him hath Fate a spirit given,
With reinless impulse ever forwards driven,
Whose hasty striving overskips
The joys that flow for mortal lips.
Him drag I on through life's wild chase,
Through flat unmeaning emptiness,
He shall cling and cleave to me,
Like a sprawling child in agony,
And food and drink his cravings to defy,
Before insatiate lips shall hover nigh;
In vain for satisfaction shall he sigh,
And though he ne'er had sold him to the devil,
Of such a spirit nought could come but evil.

SCENE VII.

Enter a Student.
STUDENT.
I am but fresh arrived to-day,
And come my best respects to pay,
To a man whose name, from boor to Kaiser,
None, without veneration, mention.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
I feel obliged by your attention!
You see a man than other men no wiser:
Have you made inquiry elsewhere?

STUDENT.
Beseech you, sir, be my adviser!
I come with money enough and to spare,
With fresh young blood, and a merry heart,
On my college career to start:
My mother sent me, not without hesitation,
To pick up here some useful information.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
A better place you could not find.

STUDENT.
To speak the truth, 'tis not much to my mind.
Within these narrow cloister walls,
These antiquated gothic halls,
I feel myself but ill at ease;
No spot of green I see, no trees,
And 'mid your formal rows of benches,
I almost seem to lose my senses.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
That all depends on custom: Thus we see
A child, whose mouth at first is slow
Its native mother's breast to know,
Soon learns to nurse itself with glee.
Ev'n thus will you, each day you live,
On the breasts of wisdom better thrive.

STUDENT.
'Twere my delight to do so even now;
But, in the first place, you must tell me how?

MEPHISTOPHELES.
Before you can receive my lessons
You must make choice of the professions.

STUDENT.
I aim at universal erudition,
And whatsoever of great or splendid
In heaven or earth is comprehended,
Science and Nature's wide extent,
I seek to know from your tuition.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
There you are on the proper scent;
Only beware of too much distraction.

STUDENT.
My soul and body are girt for action,
And yet I cannot choose but praise
A little freedom and merriment,
On pleasant summer holidays.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
Redeem the time, for fast it fleets away,
But Order teaches us its course to stay.
First, therefore, would you do as I do,
To study logic I advise you.
There will your mind be properly dress'd,
And in Spanish boots uplaced,
That thus, with the greater consideration,
On the path of thought it may creeping go,
And not with flickering gyration,
Will-o'-the-wisp it to and fro.
There will you learn that a stroke of thinking,
Which you had practised once as free
And natural as eating and drinking,
Cannot be made without one! two! three!
True, it should seem that the fabric of thought
Is like a web by cunning master wrought,
Where one stroke moves a thousand threads,
The shuttle shoots backwards and forwards between,
The slender threads flow together unseen,
And one with the others thousand-fold weds:
Then steps the philosopher forth to shew
How of necessity it must be so:
If the first be so, the second is so,
And therefore the third and the fourth is so;
And unless the first and the second before be,
The third and the fourth can never more be.
Such is the language of all the schools,
And yet, with all their learned endeavour,
And all their syllogistic rules,
Not one of them e'er became a weaver.
He who strives to know a thing well
Must first the spirit within expel,
Then can he count the parts in his hand,
Only without the spiritual band.
Encheiresis naturæ, 'tis clept in Chemistry,
Thus laughing at herself, albeit she knows not why.

STUDENT.
I must confess I can't quite comprehend you.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
In this respect will time soon mend you,
When you have learned to decompose,
And in classes and orders to dispose.

STUDENT.
I feel as stupid to all he has said,
As a mill-wheel were whirling round in my head.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
After logic, first of all,
To the study of metaphysics fall!
There strive to know what ne'er was made
To go into the human head;
For what is within and without its command
A high-sounding word is always at hand.
But chiefly, for the first half year,
Let order in all your studies appear.
Five lectures a-day, that no time be lost!
And with the clock be at your post!
Come not, as some, without preparation,
And well his learned paragraphs con you all,
To be able to say, when you hear his oration,
That it nothing contains but what stands in his manual;
Yet not the less take down his words in writing,
As if the Holy Spirit were inditing!

STUDENT.
I shall not quickly give you cause
To repeat so weighty a clause;
For what black upon white is written,
We take it home, a tangible possession.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
But, as I said, you must choose a profession.

STUDENT.
With Law, I must confess, I never was much smitten.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
I should be loath to force your inclination,
Myself have some small skill in legislation;
For human laws and rights from sire to son,
Like an hereditary ill, flow on;
From generation dragged to generation,
And creeping slow from place to place.
Reason is changed to nonsense, good to evil,
Art thou a grandson, woe betide thy case!
Of Law they prate, most falsely clept the Civil,
But as to right, with which we all are born,
They name it not, or name it but to scorn.

STUDENT.
Your words have much increased my detestation.
O happy he, to whom such guide points out the way!
And now, I almost feel an inclination
To give Theology the sway.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
I have no wish to lead you astray.
As to this science, 'tis so hard t'eschew
The false way, and to hit upon the true,
And so much hidden poison lurks within,
That's scarce distinguished from the medicine.
Methinks that here 'twere safest done
That you should listen but to one,
And jurare in verba magistri
Is the best maxim to assist ye.
Upon the whole, I counsel thee
To stick to words as much as may be,
For such will still the surest way be
Into the temple of certainty.

STUDENT.
But surely every word must have a meaning.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
Yes, but we must not probe too anxiously its meaning;
For, just when our ideas fail us,
A well-coined word may best avail us.
Words are best weapons in disputing,
In system-building and uprooting,
To words most men will swear, though mean they ne'er so little,
From words one cannot filch a single tittle.

STUDENT.
I crave your pardon, sir, if I appear
Your time with many questions to detain;
But if it be not irksome, I would fain
On Medicine, too, some pithy maxim hear.
Three years, God knows, fleet fast away,
And the field of study wide is.
Ev'n with a single hint to guide us,
'Tis easier far to find our way.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
(aside.)
I'm weary of this dry pedantic strain,
'Tis time to play the genuine devil again.
(Aloud.)
The spirit of Medicine 'tis not hard to seize:
The world, both great and small, ye seek to know,
That in the end ye may let all things go
As God shall please.
In vain you range around with scientific eyes,
Each one at length learns only what he can;
But he who knows the passing hour to prize,
That is the proper man.
A goodly shape and mien you vaunt,
And confidence you will not want,
Trust but yourself, and, without more a-do,
All other men will straightway trust you too.
But chiefly be intent to get a hold
O'the women's minds: their endless Oh! and Ah!
So thousandfold,
In all its change, obeys a single law,
And if with half a modest air you come,
You have them all beneath your thumb.
A title first must purchase their reliance,
That you have skill surpassing vulgar science;
Thus have you hold at once of all the seven ends,
Round which another years of labour spends.
Study to press the pulse right tenderly,
And, with a sly and fiery eye,
To hold her freely round the slender waist,
That you may see how tightly she is lac'd.

STUDENT.
This seems to promise better; here we see,
More tangibly at least, the where and how.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
Grey, my good friend, is every theory,
But green the golden tree of life doth grow.

STUDENT.
I vow I feel as in a dream, my brain
Contains much more than it can comprehend;
Some other day may I come back again,
To hear your wisdom to the end.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
The little that I have you may command.

STUDENT.
Excuse me, sir; from you I might not sever
Till first my album I deliver;
A learned maxim, written by your hand,
I should esteem a most peculiar favour.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
Most willingly.

(He writes, and gives back the book.)
STUDENT.
(reads.)
Eritis sicut Deus scientes bonum et malum.

(He closes the book reverently, and takes his leave.)
MEPHISTOPHELES.
Follow the ancient saw, and my cousin, the famous old Serpent,
Right soon shalt thou have cause, at thy godlike knowledge to tremble!

Enter Faust.
FAUST.
Now, whither bound?

MEPHISTOPHELES.
Where'er it pleases you;
The world, both great and small, we view.
O! how it shall delight, entrance you,
The merry race of life to dance through!

FAUST.
My beard, I am afraid, is rather long;
And without easy manners, gentle breeding,
I fear there is small chance of our essay succeeding;
I feel so awkward mid the busy throng,
So powerless and so insignificant,
And what all others have I seem to want.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
Be not concern'd, good friend, that comes of course,
Trust but thyself, and straight thou know'st the art to live.

FAUST.
But, first, I see not how we shall contrive
To leave the house, without or chaise or horse.

MEPHISTOPHELES.
We only need your mantle to unfold,
And it shall waft us on the wind.
Who makes with me this journey bold
No bulky bundle busks behind;
A single puff of inflammable air,
And from the ground we nimbly fare.
Lightly we float. I wish the best of cheer
To Doctor Faustus on his new career.