University of Virginia Library

PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN.

The Lord, the Heavenly Hosts. Afterwards Mephistopheles. The Three Archangels come forward.
Raphael.
Among his Brother spheres, the Seven
The Sun vies, chanting the ancient song,
And on his course prescribed, through Heaven
With thundertread he speeds along.
His vision gives the Angels power,
Though fathom him no Angel may
The mighty works, mysteries this hour,
Are glorious as on Time's first day.

Gabriel.
And swift, and swift past estimating,
The splendour of the Earth whirls round
The light of Paradise alternating
With darkness dreadful and profound.
In wideflung waves upswells the ocean
And o'er the rocks his head uprears,
And rock and sea are hurried onward
In the swift endless race of spheres.

Michael.
And storms come roaring and contending
From sea to land, from land to sea
And raging weave a chain unending
Round Earth of deepest energy.
There flames a fiery devastation
Before the thunderbolts' fierce way
Thy Heralds, Lord, in adoration
Watch the soft footsteps of Thy day.

The Three.
The vision gives the Angels power
Yet fathom thee no Angel may,
And all Thy mighty works this hour
Are glorious as on Time's first day.

Mephistopheles.
Since Thou, O Lord, to us once more drawest near,
And askest how all things with us are going,
And Thou wert once well-pleased to see me here,
My face among Thy courtiers I am showing.
Pardon me, I cannot make fine speeches, after
Such strains, and if at me Thy whole Court should scoff,
My pathos well might give Thee food for laughter,
But that the habit Thou hast long left off.
Of suns and worlds I cannot speak, naught knowing,
See but how men plagues for themselves are sowing.
The little god of the world still keeps his mould of clay,
And is as whimsical as on Creation's Day.
A little better he might have thriven,
Hadst Thou to him a glimpse of heaven's light ne'er given
Reason he calls that ray divine,
And by its aid lives worse than any swine.
If such a trope Your Grace deem not improper.
He seems to me like a long-legg'd grasshopper,
That flits about with flying springs,
Then in the grass the same old ditty sings:
And would 'twere but in grass to lie he skurries!
In every heap of dung his nose he buries.

The Lord.
Hast thou naught further for mine ear?
Comest thou still accusing here?
Does nothing ever on earth seem right to thee?

Mephistopheles.
No, Lord! I find things there as ever, bad as could be
I pity men long days moaning their miseries,
Even I am loath to plague poor devils like these.

The Lord.
Knowest thou Faust?

Mephistopheles.
The Doctor?

The Lord.
My servant.

Mephistopheles.
He?
Truly! He serves you in the strangest fashion.
Not earthly are his meat and drink; some passion
In the fool's blood fermenting, drives him far,
Half conscious of his folly, without rest
From heaven he still demands each loveliest star,
Each highest pleasure earth can give would test,
And all things near, and all things far
Appease not the deep trouble of his breast.

The Lord.
Though now he serve me in perplexity,
Soon will I lead him to the light of morning,
The Gardener, when green buds burst on the tree,
Sees flower and fruit the late year adorning.

Mephistopheles.
What will you bet? You lose your Protégé.
If your permission you give to me
To lead him gently on my own way.

The Lord.
As long as on the earth he lives,
So long to thee be that allowed,
Man still must stray while still he strives.

Mephistopheles.
I thank you; but the dead in shroud
I never cared to haggle over,
Of plump, fresh cheeks indeed I'm a most ardent lover,
I'm not at home to corpses in my house,
My game is like the cat's with a live mouse.

The Lord.
Well, from thy claws I will not snatch him,
Draw thou that spirit from its deep source away,
And lead him, if thou canst but catch him
Down thy own path with thee to stray,
And stand ashamed when thou must recognise:
A good man in his dark hour of temptation
Knows the right way, though other paths he tries.

Mephistopheles.
True! but these moods have short duration,
Without a fear my wager's chance I take,
If I succeed and win my stake,
Permit me then to triumph with full breast
Dust shall he eat, and eat with zest,
Just like my Aunt the celebrated Snake.

The Lord.
Here mayst thou freely appear in thy old station;
I have never hated spirits of thy kind.
Of all the spirits of negation,
The cynic knave weighs least upon my mind.
Man's energy soon sleeps 'twixt good and evil,
And soon he loves in perfect sloth to lie,
Wherefore I give him a companion sly,
Who goads and drives, and plays the part of Devil.
But ye, pure Sons of God, delight you
Where living Beauty's richest fields invite you!
Powers yet half born, that ever work and live,
Bind you in Love's sweet bonds like happy lovers,
While ye through enduring thoughts permanence give
To what in glimmering, fading vision hovers.

Heaven closes. The Archangels separate.
Mephistopheles
(alone).
From time to time I like the Old Lord to see
To break with Him shun all occasion,
'Tis fine so great a Personage as He
Should with the Devil himself hold conversation.