Chapter II: Part 2

_Faust._ A few steps further on, until we reach that stone; There will we rest us from our wandering. How oft in prayer and penance there alone, Fasting, I sate, on holy mysteries pondering. There, rich in hope, in faith still firm, I've wept, sighed, wrung my hands and striven This plague's removal to extort (poor worm!) From the almighty Lord of Heaven. The crowd's applause has now a scornful tone; O couldst thou hear my conscience tell its story, How little either sire or son Has done to merit such a glory! My father was a worthy man, confused And darkened with his narrow lucubrations, Who with a whimsical, though well-meant patience, On Nature's holy circles mused. Shut up in his black laboratory, Experimenting without end, 'Midst his adepts, till he grew hoary, He sought the opposing powers to blend. Thus, a red lion,[11] a bold suitor, married The silver lily, in the lukewarm bath, And, from one bride-bed to another harried, The two were seen to fly before the flaming wrath. If then, with colors gay and splendid, The glass the youthful queen revealed, Here was the physic, death the patients' sufferings ended, And no one asked, who then was healed? Thus, with electuaries so satanic, Worse than the plague with all its panic, We rioted through hill and vale; Myself, with my own hands, the drug to thousands giving, They passed away, and I am living To hear men's thanks the murderers hail!

_Wagner._ Forbear! far other name that service merits! Can a brave man do more or less Than with nice conscientiousness To exercise the calling he inherits? If thou, as youth, thy father honorest, To learn from him thou wilt desire; If thou, as man, men with new light hast blest, Then may thy son to loftier heights aspire.

_Faust._ O blest! who hopes to find repose, Up from this mighty sea of error diving! Man cannot use what he already knows, To use the unknown ever striving. But let not such dark thoughts a shadow throw O'er the bright joy this hour inspires! See how the setting sun, with ruddy glow, The green-embosomed hamlet fires! He sinks and fades, the day is lived and gone, He hastens forth new scenes of life to waken. O for a wing to lift and bear me on, And on, to where his last rays beckon! Then should I see the world's calm breast In everlasting sunset glowing, The summits all on fire, each valley steeped in rest, The silver brook to golden rivers flowing. No savage mountain climbing to the skies Should stay the godlike course with wild abysses; And now the sea, with sheltering, warm recesses Spreads out before the astonished eyes. At last it seems as if the God were sinking; But a new impulse fires the mind, Onward I speed, his endless glory drinking, The day before me and the night behind, The heavens above my head and under me the ocean. A lovely dream,--meanwhile he's gone from sight. Ah! sure, no earthly wing, in swiftest flight, May with the spirit's wings hold equal motion. Yet has each soul an inborn feeling Impelling it to mount and soar away, When, lost in heaven's blue depths, the lark is pealing High overhead her airy lay; When o'er the mountain pine's black shadow, With outspread wing the eagle sweeps, And, steering on o'er lake and meadow, The crane his homeward journey keeps.

_Wagner._ I've had myself full many a wayward hour, But never yet felt such a passion's power. One soon grows tired of field and wood and brook, I envy not the fowl of heaven his pinions. Far nobler joy to soar through thought's dominions From page to page, from book to book! Ah! winter nights, so dear to mind and soul! Warm, blissful life through all the limbs is thrilling, And when thy hands unfold a genuine ancient scroll, It seems as if all heaven the room were filling.

_Faust_. One passion only has thy heart possessed; The other, friend, O, learn it never! Two souls, alas! are lodged in my wild breast, Which evermore opposing ways endeavor, The one lives only on the joys of time, Still to the world with clamp-like organs clinging; The other leaves this earthly dust and slime, To fields of sainted sires up-springing. O, are there spirits in the air, That empire hold 'twixt earth's and heaven's dominions, Down from your realm of golden haze repair, Waft me to new, rich life, upon your rosy pinions! Ay! were a magic mantle only mine, To soar o'er earth's wide wildernesses, I would not sell it for the costliest dresses, Not for a royal robe the gift resign.

_Wagner_. O, call them not, the well known powers of air, That swarm through all the middle kingdom, weaving Their fairy webs, with many a fatal snare The feeble race of men deceiving. First, the sharp spirit-tooth, from out the North, And arrowy tongues and fangs come thickly flying; Then from the East they greedily dart forth, Sucking thy lungs, thy life-juice drying; If from the South they come with fever thirst, Upon thy head noon's fiery splendors heaping; The Westwind brings a swarm, refreshing first, Then all thy world with thee in stupor steeping. They listen gladly, aye on mischief bent, Gladly draw near, each weak point to espy, They make believe that they from heaven are sent, Whispering like angels, while they lie. But let us go! The earth looks gray, my friend, The air grows cool, the mists ascend! At night we learn our homes to prize.-- Why dost thou stop and stare with all thy eyes? What can so chain thy sight there, in the gloaming?

_Faust_. Seest thou that black dog through stalks and stubble roaming?

_Wagner_. I saw him some time since, he seemed not strange to me.

_Faust_. Look sharply! What dost take the beast to be?

_Wagner_. For some poor poodle who has lost his master, And, dog-like, scents him o'er the ground.

_Faust_. Markst thou how, ever nearer, ever faster, Towards us his spiral track wheels round and round? And if my senses suffer no confusion, Behind him trails a fiery glare.

_Wagner_. 'Tis probably an optical illusion; I still see only a black poodle there.

_Faust_. He seems to me as he were tracing slyly His magic rings our feet at last to snare.

_Wagner_. To me he seems to dart around our steps so shyly, As if he said: is one of them my master there?

_Faust_. The circle narrows, he is near!

_Wagner_. Thou seest! a dog we have, no spectre, here! He growls and stops, crawls on his belly, too, And wags his tail,--as all dogs do.

_Faust_. Come here, sir! come, our comrade be!

_Wagner_. He has a poodle's drollery. Stand still, and he, too, waits to see; Speak to him, and he jumps on thee; Lose something, drop thy cane or sling it Into the stream, he'll run and bring it.

_Faust_. I think you're right; I trace no spirit here, 'Tis all the fruit of training, that is clear.

_Wagner_. A well-trained dog is a great treasure, Wise men in such will oft take pleasure. And he deserves your favor and a collar, He, of the students the accomplished scholar.

[_They go in through the town gate._]

STUDY-CHAMBER.

_Enter_ FAUST _with the_ POODLE.

I leave behind me field and meadow Veiled in the dusk of holy night, Whose ominous and awful shadow Awakes the better soul to light. To sleep are lulled the wild desires, The hand of passion lies at rest; The love of man the bosom fires, The love of God stirs up the breast.

Be quiet, poodle! what worrisome fiend hath possest thee, Nosing and snuffling so round the door? Go behind the stove there and rest thee, There's my best pillow--what wouldst thou more? As, out on the mountain-paths, frisking and leaping, Thou, to amuse us, hast done thy best, So now in return lie still in my keeping, A quiet, contented, and welcome guest.

When, in our narrow chamber, nightly, The friendly lamp begins to burn, Then in the bosom thought beams brightly, Homeward the heart will then return. Reason once more bids passion ponder, Hope blooms again and smiles on man; Back to life's rills he yearns to wander, Ah! to the source where life began.

Stop growling, poodle! In the music Elysian That laps my soul at this holy hour, These bestial noises have jarring power. We know that men will treat with derision Whatever they cannot understand, At goodness and truth and beauty's vision Will shut their eyes and murmur and howl at it; And must the dog, too, snarl and growl at it?

But ah, with the best will, I feel already, No peace will well up in me, clear and steady. But why must hope so soon deceive us, And the dried-up stream in fever leave us? For in this I have had a full probation. And yet for this want a supply is provided, To a higher than earth the soul is guided, We are ready and yearn for revelation: And where are its light and warmth so blent As here in the New Testament? I feel, this moment, a mighty yearning To expound for once the ground text of all, The venerable original Into my own loved German honestly turning. [_He opens the volume, and applies himself to the task_.] "In the beginning was the _Word_." I read. But here I stick! Who helps me to proceed? The _Word_--so high I cannot--dare not, rate it, I must, then, otherwise translate it, If by the spirit I am rightly taught. It reads: "In the beginning was the _thought_." But study well this first line's lesson, Nor let thy pen to error overhasten! Is it the _thought_ does all from time's first hour? "In the beginning," read then, "was the _power_." Yet even while I write it down, my finger Is checked, a voice forbids me there to linger. The spirit helps! At once I dare to read And write: "In the beginning was the _deed_."

If I with thee must share my chamber, Poodle, now, remember, No more howling, No more growling! I had as lief a bull should bellow, As have for a chum such a noisy fellow. Stop that yell, now, One of us must quit this cell now! 'Tis hard to retract hospitality, But the door is open, thy way is free. But what ails the creature? Is this in the course of nature? Is it real? or one of Fancy's shows?

How long and broad my poodle grows! He rises from the ground; That is no longer the form of a hound! Heaven avert the curse from us! He looks like a hippopotamus, With his fiery eyes and the terrible white Of his grinning teeth! oh what a fright Have I brought with me into the house! Ah now, No mystery art thou! Methinks for such half hellish brood The key of Solomon were good.

_Spirits_ [_in the passage_]. Softly! a fellow is caught there!
Keep back, all of you, follow him not there!
Like the fox in the trap,
Mourns the old hell-lynx his mishap.
But give ye good heed!
This way hover, that way hover,
Over and over,
And he shall right soon be freed.
Help can you give him,
O do not leave him!
Many good turns he's done us,
Many a fortune won us.

_Faust_. First, to encounter the creature
By the spell of the Four, says the teacher:
Salamander shall glisten,[12]
Undina lapse lightly,
Sylph vanish brightly,
Kobold quick listen.

He to whom Nature Shows not, as teacher, Every force And secret source, Over the spirits No power inherits.

Vanish in glowing
Flame, Salamander!
Inward, spirally flowing,
Gurgle, Undine!
Gleam in meteoric splendor,
Airy Queen!
Thy homely help render,
Incubus! Incubus!
Forth and end the charm for us!

No kingdom of Nature Resides in the creature. He lies there grinning--'tis clear, my charm Has done the monster no mite of harm. I'll try, for thy curing, Stronger adjuring.

Art thou a jail-bird,
A runaway hell-bird?
This sign,[13] then--adore it!
They tremble before it
All through the dark dwelling.

His hair is bristling--his body swelling.

Reprobate creature!
Canst read his nature?
The Uncreated,
Ineffably Holy,
With Deity mated,
Sin's victim lowly?

Driven behind the stove by my spells, Like an elephant he swells; He fills the whole room, so huge he's grown, He waxes shadowy faster and faster. Rise not up to the ceiling--down! Lay thyself at the feet of thy master! Thou seest, there's reason to dread my ire. I'll scorch thee with the holy fire! Wait not for the sight Of the thrice-glowing light! Wait not to feel the might Of the potentest spell in all my treasure!

MEPHISTOPHELES.
[_As the mist sinks, steps forth from behind the stove,
dressed as a travelling scholasticus_.]
Why all this noise? What is your worship's pleasure?

_Faust_. This was the poodle's essence then! A travelling clark? Ha! ha! The casus is too funny.

_Mephistopheles_. I bow to the most learned among men! 'Faith you did sweat me without ceremony.

_Faust_. What is thy name?

_Mephistopheles_. The question seems too small For one who holds the _word_ so very cheaply, Who, far removed from shadows all, For substances alone seeks deeply.

_Faust_. With gentlemen like him in my presence, The name is apt to express the essence, Especially if, when you inquire, You find it God of flies,[14] Destroyer, Slanderer, Liar. Well now, who art thou then?

_Mephistopheles_. A portion of that power, Which wills the bad and works the good at every hour.

_Faust_. Beneath thy riddle-word what meaning lies?

_Mephistopheles_. I am the spirit that denies! And justly so; for all that time creates, He does well who annihilates! Better, it ne'er had had beginning; And so, then, all that you call sinning, Destruction,--all you pronounce ill-meant,-- Is my original element.

_Faust_. Thou call'st thyself a part, yet lookst complete to me.

_Mephistopheles_. I speak the modest truth to thee. A world of folly in one little soul, _Man_ loves to think himself a whole; Part of the part am I, which once was all, the Gloom That brought forth Light itself from out her mighty womb, The upstart proud, that now with mother Night Disputes her ancient rank and space and right, Yet never shall prevail, since, do whate'er he will, He cleaves, a slave, to bodies still; From bodies flows, makes bodies fair to sight; A body in his course can check him, His doom, I therefore hope, will soon o'ertake him, With bodies merged in nothingness and night.

_Faust_. Ah, now I see thy high vocation! In gross thou canst not harm creation, And so in small hast now begun.

_Mephistopheles_. And, truth to tell, e'en here, not much have done. That which at nothing the gauntlet has hurled, This, what's its name? this clumsy world, So far as I have undertaken, I have to own, remains unshaken By wave, storm, earthquake, fiery brand. Calm, after all, remain both sea and land. And the damn'd living fluff, of man and beast the brood, It laughs to scorn my utmost power. I've buried myriads by the hour, And still there circulates each hour a new, fresh blood. It were enough to drive one to distraction! Earth, water, air, in constant action, Through moist and dry, through warm and cold, Going forth in endless germination! Had I not claimed of fire a reservation, Not one thing I alone should hold.

_Faust_. Thus, with the ever-working power Of good dost thou in strife persist, And in vain malice, to this hour, Clenchest thy cold and devilish fist! Go try some other occupation, Singular son of Chaos, thou!

_Mephistopheles_. We'll give the thing consideration, When next we meet again! But now Might I for once, with leave retire?

_Faust_. Why thou shouldst ask I do not see. Now that I know thee, when desire Shall prompt thee, freely visit me. Window and door give free admission. At least there's left the chimney flue.

_Mephistopheles_. Let me confess there's one small prohibition

Lies on thy threshold, 'gainst my walking through, The wizard-foot--[15]

_Faust_. Does that delay thee? The Pentagram disturbs thee? Now, Come tell me, son of hell, I pray thee, If that spell-binds thee, then how enteredst thou? _Thou_ shouldst proceed more circumspectly!

_Mephistopheles_. Mark well! the figure is not drawn correctly; One of the angles, 'tis the outer one, Is somewhat open, dost perceive it?

_Faust_. That was a lucky hit, believe it! And I have caught thee then? Well done! 'Twas wholly chance--I'm quite astounded!

_Mephistopheles_. The _poodle_ took no heed, as through the door he bounded; The case looks differently now; The _devil_ can leave the house no-how.

_Faust_. The window offers free emission.

_Mephistopheles_. Devils and ghosts are bound by this condition:

The way they entered in, they must come out. Allow In the first clause we're free, yet not so in the second.

_Faust_. In hell itself, then, laws are reckoned? Now that I like; so then, one may, in fact, Conclude a binding compact with you gentry?

_Mephistopheles_. Whatever promise on our books finds entry, We strictly carry into act. But hereby hangs a grave condition, Of this we'll talk when next we meet; But for the present I entreat Most urgently your kind dismission.

_Faust_. Do stay but just one moment longer, then, Tell me good news and I'll release thee.

_Mephistopheles_. Let me go now! I'll soon come back again, Then may'st thou ask whate'er shall please thee.

_Faust_. I laid no snare for thee, old chap! Thou shouldst have watched and saved thy bacon. Who has the devil in his trap Must hold him fast, next time he'll not so soon be taken.

_Mephistopheles_. Well, if it please thee, I'm content to stay For company, on one condition, That I, for thy amusement, may To exercise my arts have free permission.

_Faust_. I gladly grant it, if they be Not disagreeable to me.

_Mephistopheles_. Thy senses, friend, in this one hour Shall grasp the world with clearer power Than in a year's monotony. The songs the tender spirits sing thee, The lovely images they bring thee Are not an idle magic play. Thou shalt enjoy the daintiest savor, Then feast thy taste on richest flavor, Then thy charmed heart shall melt away. Come, all are here, and all have been Well trained and practised, now begin!

_Spirits_. Vanish, ye gloomy
Vaulted abysses!
Tenderer, clearer,
Friendlier, nearer,
Ether, look through!
O that the darkling
Cloud-piles were riven!
Starlight is sparkling,
Purer is heaven,
Holier sunshine
Softens the blue.
Graces, adorning
Sons of the morning--
Shadowy wavings--
Float along over;
Yearnings and cravings
After them hover.
Garments ethereal,
Tresses aerial,
Float o'er the flowers,
Float o'er the bowers,
Where, with deep feeling,
Thoughtful and tender,
Lovers, embracing,
Life-vows are sealing.
Bowers on bowers!
Graceful and slender
Vines interlacing!
Purple and blushing,
Under the crushing
Wine-presses gushing,
Grape-blood, o'erflowing,
Down over gleaming
Precious stones streaming,
Leaves the bright glowing
Tops of the mountains,
Leaves the red fountains,
Widening and rushing,
Till it encloses
Green hills all flushing,
Laden with roses.
Happy ones, swarming,
Ply their swift pinions,
Glide through the charming
Airy dominions,
Sunward still fleering,
Onward, where peering
Far o'er the ocean,
Islets are dancing
With an entrancing,
Magical motion;
Hear them, in chorus,
Singing high o'er us;
Over the meadows
Flit the bright shadows;
Glad eyes are glancing,
Tiny feet dancing.
Up the high ridges
Some of them clamber,
Others are skimming
Sky-lakes of amber,
Others are swimming
Over the ocean;--
All are in motion,
Life-ward all yearning,
Longingly turning
To the far-burning
Star-light of bliss.

_Mephistopheles_. He sleeps! Ye airy, tender youths, your numbers Have sung him into sweetest slumbers! You put me greatly in your debt by this. Thou art not yet the man that shall hold fast the devil! Still cheat his senses with your magic revel, Drown him in dreams of endless youth; But this charm-mountain on the sill to level, I need, O rat, thy pointed tooth! Nor need I conjure long, they're near me, E'en now comes scampering one, who presently will hear me.

The sovereign lord of rats and mice, Of flies and frogs and bugs and lice, Commands thee to come forth this hour, And gnaw this threshold with great power, As he with oil the same shall smear-- Ha! with a skip e'en now thou'rt here! But brisk to work! The point by which I'm cowered, Is on the ledge, the farthest forward. Yet one more bite, the deed is done.-- Now, Faust, until we meet again, dream on!

_Faust_. [_Waking_.] Again has witchcraft triumphed o'er me? Was it a ghostly show, so soon withdrawn? I dream, the devil stands himself before me--wake, to find a poodle gone!

STUDY-CHAMBER.

FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES.

_Faust_. A knock? Walk in! Who comes again to tease me?

_Mephistopheles_. 'Tis I.

_Faust_. Come in!

_Mephistopheles_. Must say it thrice, to please me.

_Faust_. Come in then!

_Mephistopheles_. That I like to hear. We shall, I hope, bear with each other; For to dispel thy crotchets, brother, As a young lord, I now appear, In scarlet dress, trimmed with gold lacing, A stiff silk cloak with stylish facing, A tall cock's feather in my hat, A long, sharp rapier to defend me, And I advise thee, short and flat, In the same costume to attend me; If thou wouldst, unembarrassed, see What sort of thing this life may be.

_Faust_. In every dress I well may feel the sore Of this low earth-life's melancholy. I am too old to live for folly, Too young, to wish for nothing more. Am I content with all creation? Renounce! renounce! Renunciation-- Such is the everlasting song That in the ears of all men rings, Which every hour, our whole life long, With brazen accents hoarsely sings. With terror I behold each morning's light, With bitter tears my eyes are filling, To see the day that shall not in its flight Fulfil for me one wish, not one, but killing Every presentiment of zest With wayward skepticism, chases The fair creations from my breast With all life's thousand cold grimaces. And when at night I stretch me on my bed And darkness spreads its shadow o'er me; No rest comes then anigh my weary head, Wild dreams and spectres dance before me. The God who dwells within my soul Can heave its depths at any hour; Who holds o'er all my faculties control Has o'er the outer world no power; Existence lies a load upon my breast, Life is a curse and death a long'd-for rest.

_Mephistopheles_. And yet death never proves a wholly welcome guest.

_Faust_. O blest! for whom, when victory's joy fire blazes, Death round his brow the bloody laurel windeth, Whom, weary with the dance's mazes, He on a maiden's bosom findeth. O that, beneath the exalted spirit's power, I had expired, in rapture sinking!

_Mephistopheles_. And yet I knew one, in a midnight hour, Who a brown liquid shrank from drinking.

_Faust_. Eaves-dropping seems a favorite game with thee.

_Mephistopheles_. Omniscient am I not; yet much is known to me.

_Faust_. Since that sweet tone, with fond appealing, Drew me from witchcraft's horrid maze, And woke the lingering childlike feeling With harmonies of happier days; My curse on all the mock-creations That weave their spell around the soul, And bind it with their incantations And orgies to this wretched hole! Accursed be the high opinion Hugged by the self-exalting mind! Accursed all the dream-dominion That makes the dazzled senses blind! Curs'd be each vision that befools us, Of fame, outlasting earthly life! Curs'd all that, as possession, rules us, As house and barn, as child and wife! Accurs'd be mammon, when with treasure He fires our hearts for deeds of might, When, for a dream of idle pleasure, He makes our pillow smooth and light! Curs'd be the grape-vine's balsam-juices! On love's high grace my curses fall! On faith! On hope that man seduces, On patience last, not least, of all!

_Choir of spirits_. [_Invisible_.] Woe! Woe!
Thou hast ground it to dust,
The beautiful world,
With mighty fist;
To ruins 'tis hurled;
A demi-god's blow hath done it!
A moment we look upon it,
Then carry (sad duty!)
The fragments over into nothingness,
With tears unavailing
Bewailing
All the departed beauty.
Lordlier
Than all sons of men,
Proudlier
Build it again,
Build it up in thy breast anew!
A fresh career pursue,
Before thee
A clearer view,
And, from the Empyréan,
A new-born Paean
Shall greet thee, too!

_Mephistopheles_. Be pleased to admire
My juvenile choir!
Hear how they counsel in manly measure
Action and pleasure!
Out into life,
Its joy and strife,
Away from this lonely hole,
Where senses and soul
Rot in stagnation,
Calls thee their high invitation.

Give over toying with thy sorrow Which like a vulture feeds upon thy heart; Thou shalt, in the worst company, to-morrow Feel that with men a man thou art. Yet I do not exactly intend Among the canaille to plant thee. I'm none of your magnates, I grant thee; Yet if thou art willing, my friend, Through life to jog on beside me, Thy pleasure in all things shall guide me, To thee will I bind me, A friend thou shalt find me, And, e'en to the grave, Shalt make me thy servant, make me thy slave!

_Faust_. And in return what service shall I render?

_Mephistopheles_. There's ample grace--no hurry, not the least.

_Faust_. No, no, the devil is an egotist, And does not easily "for God's sake" tender That which a neighbor may assist. Speak plainly the conditions, come! 'Tis dangerous taking such a servant home.

_Mephistopheles_. I to thy service _here_ agree to bind me, To run and never rest at call of thee; When _over yonder_ thou shalt find me, Then thou shalt do as much for me.

_Faust_. I care not much what's over yonder: When thou hast knocked this world asunder, Come if it will the other may! Up from this earth my pleasures all are streaming, Down on my woes this earthly sun is beaming; Let me but end this fit of dreaming, Then come what will, I've nought to say. I'll hear no more of barren wonder If in that world they hate and love, And whether in that future yonder There's a Below and an Above.

_Mephistopheles._ In such a mood thou well mayst venture. Bind thyself to me, and by this indenture Thou shalt enjoy with relish keen Fruits of my arts that man had never seen.

_Faust_. And what hast thou to give, poor devil? Was e'er a human mind, upon its lofty level, Conceived of by the like of thee? Yet hast thou food that brings satiety, Not satisfaction; gold that reftlessly, Like quicksilver, melts down within The hands; a game in which men never win; A maid that, hanging on my breast, Ogles a neighbor with her wanton glances; Of fame the glorious godlike zest, That like a short-lived meteor dances-- Show me the fruit that, ere it's plucked, will rot, And trees from which new green is daily peeping!

_Mephistopheles_. Such a requirement scares me not; Such treasures have I in my keeping. Yet shall there also come a time, good friend, When we may feast on good things at our leisure.

_Faust_. If e'er I lie content upon a lounge of pleasure-- Then let there be of me an end! When thou with flattery canst cajole me, Till I self-satisfied shall be, When thou with pleasure canst befool me, Be that the last of days for me! I lay the wager!

_Mephistopheles_. Done!

_Faust_. And heartily! Whenever to the passing hour I cry: O stay! thou art so fair! To chain me down I give thee power To the black bottom of despair! Then let my knell no longer linger, Then from my service thou art free, Fall from the clock the index-finger, Be time all over, then, for me!

_Mephistopheles_. Think well, for we shall hold you to the letter.

_Faust_. Full right to that just now I gave; I spoke not as an idle braggart better. Henceforward I remain a slave, What care I who puts on the setter?

_Mephistopheles_. I shall this very day, at Doctor's-feast,[16] My bounden service duly pay thee. But one thing!--For insurance' sake, I pray thee, Grant me a line or two, at least.

_Faust_. Pedant! will writing gain thy faith, alone? In all thy life, no man, nor man's word hast thou known? Is't not enough that I the fatal word That passes on my future days have spoken? The world-stream raves and rushes (hast not heard?) And shall a promise hold, unbroken? Yet this delusion haunts the human breast, Who from his soul its roots would sever? Thrice happy in whose heart pure truth finds rest. No sacrifice shall he repent of ever! But from a formal, written, sealed attest, As from a spectre, all men shrink forever. The word and spirit die together, Killed by the sight of wax and leather. What wilt thou, evil sprite, from me? Brass, marble, parchment, paper, shall it be? Shall I subscribe with pencil, pen or graver? Among them all thy choice is free.

_Mephistopheles_. This rhetoric of thine to me Hath a somewhat bombastic savor. Any small scrap of paper's good. Thy signature will need a single drop of blood.[17]

_Faust_. If this will satisfy thy mood, I will consent thy whim to favor.

_Mephistopheles._ Quite a peculiar juice is blood.

_Faust_. Fear not that I shall break this bond; O, never! My promise, rightly understood, Fulfils my nature's whole endeavor. I've puffed myself too high, I see; To _thy_ rank only I belong. The Lord of Spirits scorneth me, Nature, shut up, resents the wrong. The thread of thought is snapt asunder, All science to me is a stupid blunder. Let us in sensuality's deep Quench the passions within us blazing! And, the veil of sorcery raising, Wake each miracle from its long sleep! Plunge we into the billowy dance, The rush and roll of time and chance! Then may pleasure and distress, Disappointment and success, Follow each other as fast as they will; Man's restless activity flourishes still.

_Mephistopheles_. No bound or goal is set to you; Where'er you like to wander sipping, And catch a tit-bit in your skipping, Eschew all coyness, just fall to, And may you find a good digestion!

_Faust_. Now, once for all, pleasure is not the question. I'm sworn to passion's whirl, the agony of bliss, The lover's hate, the sweets of bitterness. My heart, no more by pride of science driven, Shall open wide to let each sorrow enter, And all the good that to man's race is given, I will enjoy it to my being's centre, Through life's whole range, upward and downward sweeping, Their weal and woe upon my bosom heaping, Thus in my single self their selves all comprehending And with them in a common shipwreck ending.

_Mephistopheles_. O trust me, who since first I fell from heaven, Have chewed this tough meat many a thousand year, No man digests the ancient leaven, No mortal, from the cradle to the bier. Trust one of _us_--the _whole_ creation To God alone belongs by right; _He_ has in endless day his habitation, _Us_ He hath made for utter night, _You_ for alternate dark and light.

_Faust_. But then I _will!_

_Mephistopheles_. Now that's worth hearing! But one thing haunts me, the old song, That time is short and art is long. You need some slight advice, I'm fearing. Take to you one of the poet-feather, Let the gentleman's thought, far-sweeping, Bring all the noblest traits together, On your one crown their honors heaping, The lion's mood The stag's rapidity, The fiery blood of Italy, The Northman's hardihood. Bid him teach thee the art of combining Greatness of soul with fly designing, And how, with warm and youthful passion, To fall in love by plan and fashion. Should like, myself, to come across 'm, Would name him Mr. Microcosm.

_Faust_. What am I then? if that for which my heart Yearns with invincible endeavor, The crown of man, must hang unreached forever?

_Mephistopheles_. Thou art at last--just what thou art. Pile perukes on thy head whose curls cannot be counted, On yard-high buskins let thy feet be mounted, Still thou art only what thou art.

_Faust_. Yes, I have vainly, let me not deny it, Of human learning ransacked all the stores, And when, at last, I set me down in quiet, There gushes up within no new-born force; I am not by a hair's-breadth higher, Am to the Infinite no nigher.

_Mephistopheles_. My worthy sir, you see the matter As people generally see; But we must learn to take things better, Before life pleasures wholly flee. The deuce! thy head and all that's in it, Hands, feet and ------ are thine; What I enjoy with zest each minute, Is surely not the less mine? If I've six horses in my span, Is it not mine, their every power? I fly along as an undoubted man, On four and twenty legs the road I scour. Cheer up, then! let all thinking be, And out into the world with me! I tell thee, friend, a speculating churl Is like a beast, some evil spirit chases Along a barren heath in one perpetual whirl, While round about lie fair, green pasturing places.

_Faust_. But how shall we begin?

_Mephistopheles_. We sally forth e'en now. What martyrdom endurest thou! What kind of life is this to be living, Ennui to thyself and youngsters giving? Let Neighbor Belly that way go! To stay here threshing straw why car'st thou? The best that thou canst think and know To tell the boys not for the whole world dar'st thou. E'en now I hear one in the entry.

_Faust_. I have no heart the youth to see.

_Mephistopheles_. The poor boy waits there like a sentry, He shall not want a word from me. Come, give me, now, thy robe and bonnet; This mask will suit me charmingly. [_He puts them on_.] Now for my wit--rely upon it! 'Twill take but fifteen minutes, I am sure. Meanwhile prepare thyself to make the pleasant tour!

[_Exit_ FAUST.]

_Mephistopheles [in_ FAUST'S _long gown_]. Only despise all human wit and lore, The highest flights that thought can soar-- Let but the lying spirit blind thee, And with his spells of witchcraft bind thee, Into my snare the victim creeps.-- To him has destiny a spirit given, That unrestrainedly still onward sweeps, To scale the skies long since hath striven, And all earth's pleasures overleaps. He shall through life's wild scenes be driven, And through its flat unmeaningness, I'll make him writhe and stare and stiffen, And midst all sensual excess, His fevered lips, with thirst all parched and riven, Insatiably shall haunt refreshment's brink; And had he not, himself, his soul to Satan given, Still must he to perdition sink!

[_Enter_ A SCHOLAR.]

_Scholar_. I have but lately left my home, And with profound submission come, To hold with one some conversation Whom all men name with veneration.

_Mephistopheles._ Your courtesy greatly flatters me A man like many another you see. Have you made any applications elsewhere?

_Scholar_. Let me, I pray, your teachings share! With all good dispositions I come, A fresh young blood and money some; My mother would hardly hear of my going; But I long to learn here something worth knowing.

_Mephistopheles_. You've come to the very place for it, then.

_Scholar_. Sincerely, could wish I were off again: My soul already has grown quite weary Of walls and halls, so dark and dreary, The narrowness oppresses me. One sees no green thing, not a tree. On the lecture-seats, I know not what ails me, Sight, hearing, thinking, every thing fails me.

_Mephistopheles_. 'Tis all in use, we daily see. The child takes not the mother's breast In the first instance willingly, But soon it feeds itself with zest. So you at wisdom's breast your pleasure Will daily find in growing measure.

_Scholar_. I'll hang upon her neck, a raptured wooer, But only tell me, who shall lead me to her?

_Mephistopheles_. Ere you go further, give your views As to which faculty you choose?

_Scholar_. To be right learn'd I've long desired, And of the natural world aspired To have a perfect comprehension In this and in the heavenly sphere.

_Mephistopheles_. I see you're on the right track here; But you'll have to give undivided attention.

_Scholar_. My heart and soul in the work'll be found; Only, of course, it would give me pleasure, When summer holidays come round, To have for amusement a little leisure.

_Mephistopheles_. Use well the precious time, it flips away so, Yet method gains you time, if I may say so. I counsel you therefore, my worthy friend, The logical leisures first to attend. Then is your mind well trained and cased In Spanish boots,[18] all snugly laced, So that henceforth it can creep ahead On the road of thought with a cautious tread. And not at random shoot and strike, Zig-zagging Jack-o'-lanthorn-like. Then will you many a day be taught That what you once to do had thought Like eating and drinking, extempore, Requires the rule of one, two, three. It is, to be sure, with the fabric of thought, As with the _chef d'uvre_ by weavers wrought, Where a thousand threads one treadle plies, Backward and forward the shuttles keep going, Invisibly the threads keep flowing, One stroke a thousand fastenings ties: Comes the philosopher and cries: I'll show you, it could not be otherwise: The first being so, the second so, The third and fourth must of course be so; And were not the first and second, you see, The third and fourth could never be. The scholars everywhere call this clever, But none have yet become weavers ever. Whoever will know a live thing and expound it, First kills out the spirit it had when he found it, And then the parts are all in his hand, Minus only the spiritual band! Encheiresin naturæ's[19] the chemical name, By which dunces themselves unwittingly shame.

_Scholar_. Cannot entirely comprehend you.

_Mephistopheles_. Better success will shortly attend you, When you learn to analyze all creation And give it a proper classification.

_Scholar_. I feel as confused by all you've said, As if 'twere a mill-wheel going round in my head!

_Mephistopheles_. The next thing most important to mention, Metaphysics will claim your attention! There see that you can clearly explain What fits not into the human brain: For that which will not go into the head, A pompous word will stand you in stead. But, this half-year, at least, observe From regularity never to swerve. You'll have five lectures every day; Be in at the stroke of the bell I pray! And well prepared in every part; Study each paragraph by heart, So that you scarce may need to look To see that he says no more than's in the book; And when he dictates, be at your post, As if you wrote for the Holy Ghost!

_Scholar_. That caution is unnecessary! I know it profits one to write, For what one has in black and white, He to his home can safely carry.

_Mephistopheles_. But choose some faculty, I pray!

_Scholar_. I feel a strong dislike to try the legal college.

_Mephistopheles_. I cannot blame you much, I must acknowledge. I know how this profession stands to-day. Statutes and laws through all the ages Like a transmitted malady you trace; In every generation still it rages And softly creeps from place to place. Reason is nonsense, right an impudent suggestion; Alas for thee, that thou a grandson art! Of inborn law in which each man has part, Of that, unfortunately, there's no question.

_Scholar_. My loathing grows beneath your speech. O happy he whom you shall teach! To try theology I'm almost minded.

_Mephistopheles_. I must not let you by zeal be blinded. This is a science through whose field Nine out of ten in the wrong road will blunder, And in it so much poison lies concealed, That mould you this mistake for physic, no great wonder. Here also it were best, if only one you heard And swore to that one master's word. Upon the whole--words only heed you! These through the temple door will lead you Safe to the shrine of certainty.

_Scholar_. Yet in the word a thought must surely be.

_Mephistopheles_. All right! But one must not perplex himself about it; For just where one must go without it, The word comes in, a friend in need, to thee. With words can one dispute most featly, With words build up a system neatly, In words thy faith may stand unshaken, From words there can be no iota taken.

_Scholar_. Forgive my keeping you with many questions, Yet must I trouble you once more, Will you not give me, on the score Of medicine, some brief suggestions? Three years are a short time, O God! And then the field is quite too broad. If one had only before his nose Something else as a hint to follow!--

_Mephistopheles_ [_aside_]. I'm heartily tired of this dry prose, Must play the devil again out hollow. [_Aloud_.] The healing art is quickly comprehended; Through great and little world you look abroad, And let it wag, when all is ended, As pleases God. Vain is it that your science sweeps the skies, Each, after all, learns only what he can; Who grasps the moment as it flies He is the real man. Your person somewhat takes the eye, Boldness you'll find an easy science, And if you on yourself rely, Others on you will place reliance. In the women's good graces seek first to be seated; Their oh's and ah's, well known of old, So thousand-fold, Are all from a single point to be treated; Be decently modest and then with ease You may get the blind side of them when you please. A title, first, their confidence must waken, That _your_ art many another art transcends, Then may you, lucky man, on all those trifles reckon For which another years of groping spends: Know how to press the little pulse that dances, And fearlessly, with sly and fiery glances, Clasp the dear creatures round the waist To see how tightly they are laced.

_Scholar_. This promises! One loves the How and Where to see!

_Mephistopheles_. Gray, worthy friend, is all your theory And green the golden tree of life.

_Scholar_. I seem, I swear to you, like one who walks in dream. Might I another time, without encroaching, Hear you the deepest things of wisdom broaching?

_Mephistopheles_. So far as I have power, you may.

_Scholar_. I cannot tear myself away, Till I to you my album have presented. Grant me one line and I'm contented!

_Mephistopheles_. With pleasure.
[_Writes and returns it_.]

_Scholar [reads]._ Eritis sicut Deus, scientes bonum et malum.
[_Shuts it reverently, and bows himself out_.]

_Mephistopheles_. Let but the brave old saw and my aunt, the serpent, guide thee, And, with thy likeness to God, shall woe one day betide thee!

_Faust [enters_]. Which way now shall we go?

_Mephistopheles_. Which way it pleases thee. The little world and then the great we see. O with what gain, as well as pleasure, Wilt thou the rollicking cursus measure!

_Faust_. I fear the easy life and free With my long beard will scarce agree. 'Tis vain for me to think of succeeding, I never could learn what is called good-breeding. In the presence of others I feel so small; I never can be at my ease at all.

_Mephistopheles_. Dear friend, vain trouble to yourself you're giving; Whence once you trust yourself, you know the art of living.

_Faust_. But how are we to start, I pray? Where are thy servants, coach and horses?

_Mephistopheles_. We spread the mantle, and away It bears us on our airy courses. But, on this bold excursion, thou Must take no great portmanteau now. A little oxygen, which I will soon make ready, From earth uplifts us, quick and steady. And if we're light, we'll soon surmount the sphere; I give thee hearty joy in this thy new career.

AUERBACH'S CELLAR IN LEIPSIC.[20]

_Carousal of Jolly Companions_.

_Frosch_.[21] Will nobody drink? Stop those grimaces! I'll teach you how to be cutting your faces! Laugh out! You're like wet straw to-day, And blaze, at other times, like dry hay.

_Brander_. 'Tis all your fault; no food for fun you bring, Not a nonsensical nor nasty thing.

_Frosch [dashes a glass of wine over his bead_]. There you have both!

_Brander_. You hog twice o'er!

_Frosch_. You wanted it, what would you more?

_Siebel_ Out of the door with them that brawl! Strike up a round; swill, shout there, one and all! Wake up! Hurra!

_Altmayer_. Woe's me, I'm lost! Bring cotton! The rascal splits my ear-drum.

_Siebel_. Only shout on! When all the arches ring and yell, Then does the base make felt its true ground-swell.

_Frosch_. That's right, just throw him out, who undertakes to fret! A! tara! lara da!

_Altmayer_. A! tara! lara da!

_Frosch_. Our whistles all are wet.
[_Sings_.]
The dear old holy Romish realm,
What holds it still together?

_Brander_. A sorry song! Fie! a political song! A tiresome song! Thank God each morning therefor, That you have not the Romish realm to care for! At least I count it a great gain that He Kaiser nor chancellor has made of me. E'en we can't do without a head, however; To choose a pope let us endeavour. You know what qualification throws The casting vote and the true man shows.

_Frosch [sings_].
Lady Nightingale, upward soar,
Greet me my darling ten thousand times o'er.

_Siebel_. No greetings to that girl! Who does so, I resent it!

_Frosch_. A greeting and a kiss! And you will not prevent it!
[_Sings.]_
Draw the bolts! the night is clear.
Draw the bolts! Love watches near.
Close the bolts! the dawn is here.

_Siebel_. Ay, sing away and praise and glorify your dear! Soon I shall have my time for laughter. The jade has jilted me, and will you too hereafter; May Kobold, for a lover, be her luck! At night may he upon the cross-way meet her; Or, coming from the Blocksberg, some old buck May, as he gallops by, a good-night bleat her! A fellow fine of real flesh and blood Is for the wench a deal too good. She'll get from me but one love-token, That is to have her window broken!

_Brander [striking on the table_]. Attend! attend! To me give ear!
I know what's life, ye gents, confess it:
We've lovesick people sitting near,
And it is proper they should hear
A good-night strain as well as I can dress it.
Give heed! And hear a bran-new song!
Join in the chorus loud and strong!
[_He sings_.]
A rat in the cellar had built his nest,
He daily grew sleeker and smoother,
He lined his paunch from larder and chest,
And was portly as Doctor Luther.
The cook had set him poison one day;
From that time forward he pined away
As if he had love in his body.

_Chorus [flouting_]. As if he had love in his body.

_Brander_. He raced about with a terrible touse,
From all the puddles went swilling,
He gnawed and he scratched all over the house,
His pain there was no stilling;
He made full many a jump of distress,
And soon the poor beast got enough, I guess,
As if he had love in his body.

_Chorus_. As if he had love in his body.

_Brander_. With pain he ran, in open day,
Right up into the kitchen;
He fell on the hearth and there he lay
Gasping and moaning and twitchin'.
Then laughed the poisoner: "He! he! he!
He's piping on the last hole," said she,
"As if he had love in his body."

_Chorus_. As if he had love in his body.

_Siebel_. Just hear now how the ninnies giggle! That's what I call a genuine art, To make poor rats with poison wriggle!

_Brander_. You take their case so much to heart?

_Altmayer_. The bald pate and the butter-belly! The sad tale makes him mild and tame; He sees in the swollen rat, poor fellow! His own true likeness set in a frame.

FAUST _and_ MEPHISTOPHELES.

_Mephistopheles_. Now, first of all, 'tis necessary To show you people making merry, That you may see how lightly life can run. Each day to this small folk's a feast of fun; Not over-witty, self-contented, Still round and round in circle-dance they whirl, As with their tails young kittens twirl. If with no headache they're tormented, Nor dunned by landlord for his pay, They're careless, unconcerned, and gay.

_Brander_. They're fresh from travel, one might know it, Their air and manner plainly show it; They came here not an hour ago.

_Frosch_. Thou verily art right! My Leipsic well I know! Paris in small it is, and cultivates its people.

_Siebel_. What do the strangers seem to thee?

_Frosch_. Just let me go! When wine our friendship mellows, Easy as drawing a child's tooth 'twill be To worm their secrets out of these two fellows. They're of a noble house, I dare to swear, They have a proud and discontented air.

_Brander_. They're mountebanks, I'll bet a dollar!

_Altmayer_. Perhaps.

_Frosch_. I'll smoke them, mark you that!

_Mephistopheles_ [_to Faust_]. These people never smell the old rat, E'en when he has them by the collar.

_Faust_. Fair greeting to you, sirs!

_Siebel_. The same, and thanks to boot. [_In a low tone, faking a side look at MEPHISTOPHELES_.] Why has the churl one halting foot?

_Mephistopheles_. With your permission, shall we make one party? Instead of a good drink, which get here no one can, Good company must make us hearty.

_Altmayer_. You seem a very fastidious man.

_Frosch_. I think you spent some time at Rippach[22] lately? You supped with Mister Hans not long since, I dare say?

_Mephistopheles_. We passed him on the road today! Fine man! it grieved us parting with him, greatly. He'd much to say to us about his cousins, And sent to each, through us, his compliments by dozens. [_He bows to_ FROSCH.]

_Altmayer_ [_softly_]. You've got it there! he takes!

_Siebel_. The chap don't want for wit!

_Frosch_. I'll have him next time, wait a bit!

_Mephistopheles_. If I mistook not, didn't we hear Some well-trained voices chorus singing? 'Faith, music must sound finely here. From all these echoing arches ringing!

_Frosch_. You are perhaps a connoisseur?

_Mephistopheles_. O no! my powers are small, I'm but an amateur.

_Altmayer_. Give us a song!

_Mephistopheles_. As many's you desire.

_Siebel_. But let it be a bran-new strain!

_Mephistopheles_. No fear of that! We've just come back from Spain,
The lovely land of wine and song and lyre.
[_Sings_.]
There was a king, right stately,
Who had a great, big flea,--

_Frosch_. Hear him! A flea! D'ye take there, boys? A flea! I call that genteel company.

_Mephistopheles_ [_resumes_]. There was a king, right stately,
Who had a great, big flea,
And loved him very greatly,
As if his own son were he.
He called the knight of stitches;
The tailor came straightway:
Ho! measure the youngster for breeches,
And make him a coat to-day!

_Brander_. But don't forget to charge the knight of stitches, The measure carefully to take, And, as he loves his precious neck, To leave no wrinkles in the breeches.

_Mephistopheles_. In silk and velvet splendid
The creature now was drest,
To his coat were ribbons appended,
A cross was on his breast.
He had a great star on his collar,
Was a minister, in short;
And his relatives, greater and smaller,
Became great people at court.

The lords and ladies of honor
Fared worse than if they were hung,
The queen, she got them upon her,
And all were bitten and stung,
And did not dare to attack them,
Nor scratch, but let them stick.
We choke them and we crack them
The moment we feel one prick.

_Chorus_ [_loud_]. We choke 'em and we crack 'em The moment we feel one prick.

_Frosch_. Bravo! Bravo! That was fine!

_Siebel_. So shall each flea his life resign!

_Brander_. Point your fingers and nip them fine!

_Altmayer_. Hurra for Liberty! Hurra for Wine!

_Mephistopheles_. I'd pledge the goddess, too, to show how high I set her, Right gladly, if your wines were just a trifle better.

_Siebel_. Don't say that thing again, you fretter!

_Mephistopheles_. Did I not fear the landlord to affront; I'd show these worthy guests this minute What kind of stuff our stock has in it.

_Siebel_. Just bring it on! I'll bear the brunt.

_Frosch_. Give us a brimming glass, our praise shall then be ample, But don't dole out too small a sample; For if I'm to judge and criticize, I need a good mouthful to make me wise.

_Altmayer_ [_softly_]. They're from the Rhine, as near as I can make it.

_Mephistopheles_. Bring us a gimlet here!

_Brander_. What shall be done with that? You've not the casks before the door, I take it?

_Altmayer_. The landlord's tool-chest there is easily got at.

_Mephistopheles_ [_takes the gimlet_] (_to Frosch_). What will you have? It costs but speaking.