University of Virginia Library

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.