Faust’s Study as before.

Faust. Mephistopheles.

Faust. Who’s there to break my peace once more? come in!

Mephistopheles. ’Tis I!

Faust. Come in!

Mephistopheles. Thou must repeat it thrice.

Faust. Come in.

Mephistopheles. Thus with good omen we begin; I come to give you good advice, And hope we’ll understand each other. The idle fancies to expel, That in your brain make such a pother, At your service behold me here, Of noble blood, a cavalier, A gallant youth rigged out with grace, In 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, To mingle in the busy scenes Of life, and know what living means.

Faust. Still must I suffer, clothe me as you may, This narrow earthly life’s incumbrancy; Too old I am 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, Life’s dreary litany lean and long, That each dull moment hoarsely sings. With terror wake I in the morn from sleep, And bitter tears might often weep, To see the day, when its dull course is run, That brings to fruit not one small wish,—not one! That, with capricious criticising, Each taste of joy within my bosom rising, Ere it be born, destroys, and in my breast Chokes every thought that gives existence zest, With thousand soulless trifles of an hour. And when the dark night-shadows lower, I seek to ease my aching brain Upon a weary couch in vain. With throngs of feverish dreams possessed, Even in the home of sleep I find no rest; The god, that in my bosom dwells, Can stir my being’s inmost wells; But he who sways supreme our finer stuff, Moves not the outward world, hard, obdurate, and tough. Thus my existence is a load of woes, Death my best friend, and life my worst of foes.

Mephistopheles. And yet methinks this friend you call your best, Is seldom, when he comes, a welcome guest.

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, Locked in a maiden’s close embrace he finds; O! would to God that I had sunk that night In tranceful death before the Spirit’s might!

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 dear 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 show of shallow seeming, Through gates of sense fallacious streaming! Curst be the hollow dreams of fame, Of honor, glory, and a name! Curst be the flattering goods of earth, Wife, child, and servant, house and hearth! Accursed be Mammon, when with treasures To riskful venture 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! Accursed be love’s deceitful thrall! Accursed be Hope! accursed be Faith! Accursed 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 wrecked beauty away, Whence it may never Return to the day. Mightiest one Of the sons of earth, Brightest one, Build it again! Proudly resurgent with lovelier birth In thine own bosom build it again! Life’s glad career Anew commence With insight clear, And purgèd sense, The while new songs around thee play, To launch thee on more hopeful way!

Mephistopheles. These are the tiny Spirits that wait on me; Hark how to pleasure And action they counsel thee! Into the world wide Would they allure thee, In solitude dull No more to immure thee, No more to sit moping In mouldy mood, With a film on thy sense, And a frost in thy blood!

Cease then with thine own peevish whim to play, That like a vulture makes thy life its prey. Society, however low, Still gives thee cause to feel and know Thyself a man, amid thy fellow-men. Yet my intent is not to pen Thee up with the common herd! and though I cannot boast, or rank, or birth Of mighty men, the lords of earth, Yet do I offer, at thy side, Thy steps through mazy life to guide; And, wilt thou join in this adventure, I bind myself by strong indenture, Here, on the spot, with thee to go. Call me companion, comrade brave, Or, if it better please thee so, I am thy servant, am thy slave!

Faust. And in return, say, what the fee Thy faithful service claims from me?

Mephistopheles. Of that you may consider when you list.

Faust. No, no! the devil is an Egotist, And seldom gratis sells his labor, For love of God, to serve his neighbor. 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 wait with sleepless eyes upon thy pleasure, If, when we meet again in yonder sphere, Thou wilt repay my service in like measure.

Faust. What yonder is I little reck 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 upon my woes; And, were I once from this my home away, Then happen freely what happen may. Nor hope in me it moves, nor fear, If then, as now, we hate and love; Or if in yonder world, as here, An under be, and an above.

Mephistopheles. Well, in this humor, you bid fair With hope of good result to dare. Close with my plan, and you will see Anon such pleasant tricks from me, As never eyes of man did bliss From father Adam’s time to this.

Faust. Poor devil, what hast thou to give, By which a human soul may live? By thee or thine was never yet divined The thought that stirs the deep heart of mankind! 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 labor, A maiden that, while hanging on my breast, Flings looks of stolen dalliance on my neighbor; And honor by which gods are blest, That, like a meteor, vanishes in air. Show 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 on a couch of soft repose My soul shall rock at ease, If thou canst teach with sweet delusive shows Myself myself to please, If thou canst trick me with a toy To say sincerely I enjoy, Then may my latest sand be 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, No random word hath wandered o’er my lip. Slave I remain, or here, or there, Thine, or another’s, I little care.

Mephistopheles. My duty I’ll commence without delay, When with the graduates you dine to-day. One thing remains!—black upon white A line or two, to make the bargain tight.

Faust. A writing, pedant!—hast thou never found A man whose word was better than his bond? Is’t not enough that by my spoken word, Of all I am and shall be thou art lord? The world drives on, wild wave engulfing wave, And shall a line bind me, if I would be a knave? Yet ’tis a whim deep-graven in the heart, And from such fancies who would gladly part? Happy within whose honest breast concealed There lives a faith, nor time nor chance can shake; 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, stone, or brass? With me this coin or that will pass; Style, or chisel, or pen shall it be? Thou hast thy choice of all the three.

Mephistopheles. What need of such a hasty flare Of words about so paltry an affair? 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 bond as signed; my whole heart swears Even to the letter that the parchment bears. Too high hath soared my blown ambition; I now take rank with thy condition; The Mighty Spirit of All hath scorned me, And Nature from her secrets spurned me: My 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 into the rush of Time! Into Action’s rolling main! Then let pleasure and pain, Loss and gain, Joy and sorrow, alternate chime! Let bright suns shine, or dark clouds lower, The man that works is master of the hour.

Mephistopheles. To thee I set nor bound nor measure, Every dainty thou may’st snatch, Every flying joy may’st catch, Drink deep, and drain each cup of pleasure; Only have courage, friend, and be not shy!

Faust. Content from thee thy proper wares to buy, Thou markest well, I do not speak of joy, Pleasure that smarts, giddy intoxication, Enamoured hate, and stimulant vexation. My bosom healed from hungry greed of science With every human pang shall court alliance; What all mankind of pain and of enjoyment May taste, with them to taste be my employment; Their deepest and their highest I will sound, Want when they want, be filled when they abound, 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 confessed) No man who, from his cradle to his bier, The same sour 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. There is a way, if you would know it, Just take into your pay a poet; Then let the learned gentleman sweep Through the wide realms of imagination And every noble qualification, Upon your honored crown upheap, 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; And teach your youthful blood, as poets can, To fall in love according to a plan. Myself have a shrewd notion where we might Enlist a cunning craftsman of this nature, And Mr. Microcosmus he is hight.

Faust. What am I then, if still I strive in vain To reach the crown of manhood’s perfect stature, The goal for which with all my life of life I strain?

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 mind of man 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, Brain and brawn and blood are thine; And what I drink, and what I eat, Whose can it be, if ’tis not mine? If I can number twice three horses, Are not their muscles mine? and when I’m mounted, I feel myself a man, and wheel my courses, Just as if four-and-twenty legs I counted. Quick then! have done with reverie, And dash into the world with me! I tell thee plain, a speculating fellow Is like an ox on heath all brown and yellow, Led in a circle by an evil spirit, With roods of lush green pasture 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 neighbor 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 on the stair.

Faust. Send him away: I cannot bear—

Mephistopheles. Poor boy! he’s waited long, nor must depart Without some friendly word for head and heart; Come, let me slip into your gown; the mask Will suit me well; as for the teaching task, [He puts on Faust’s scholastic robes.] Leave that to me! I only ask A quarter of an hour; and you make speed And have all ready for our journey’s need. [Exit.

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, illusive hovering nigh, Shall shun his parchèd lips, and cheat his longing eye; He shall pine and pant and strain For the thing he may not gain, And, though he ne’er had sold him to do evil, He would have damned himself without help from the devil.