Chapter 4

Invoke not thus the well-known throng, Which through the firmament diffused is faring, And danger thousand-fold, our race to wrong. In every quarter is preparing. Swift from the North the spirit-fangs so sharp Sweep down, and with their barbéd points assail you; Then from the East they come, to dry and warp Your lungs, till breath and being fail you: If from the Desert sendeth them the South, With fire on fire your throbbing forehead crowning, The West leads on a host, to cure the drouth Only when meadow, field, and you are drowning. They gladly hearken, prompt for injury,— Gladly obey, because they gladly cheat us; From Heaven they represent themselves to be, And lisp like angels, when with lies they meet us. But, let us go! ’Tis gray and dusky all: The air is cold, the vapors fall. At night, one learns his house to prize:— Why stand you thus, with such astonished eyes? What, in the twilight, can your mind so trouble?

FAUST

Seest thou the black dog coursing there, through corn and stubble?

WAGNER

Long since: yet deemed him not important in the least.

FAUST

Inspect him close: for what tak’st thou the beast?

WAGNER

Why, for a poodle who has lost his master, And scents about, his track to find.

FAUST

Seest thou the spiral circles, narrowing faster, Which he, approaching, round us seems to wind? A streaming trail of fire, if I see rightly, Follows his path of mystery.

WAGNER

It may be that your eyes deceive you slightly; Naught but a plain black poodle do I see.

FAUST

It seems to me that with enchanted cunning He snares our feet, some future chain to bind.

WAGNER

I see him timidly, in doubt, around us running, Since, in his master’s stead, two strangers doth he find.

FAUST

The circle narrows: he is near!

WAGNER

A dog thou seest, and not a phantom, here! Behold him stop—upon his belly crawl—His tail set wagging: canine habits, all!

FAUST

Come, follow us! Come here, at least!

WAGNER

’Tis the absurdest, drollest beast. Stand still, and you will see him wait; Address him, and he gambols straight; If something’s lost, he’ll quickly bring it,— Your cane, if in the stream you fling it.

FAUST

No doubt you’re right: no trace of mind, I own, Is in the beast: I see but drill, alone.

WAGNER

The dog, when he’s well educated, Is by the wisest tolerated. Yes, he deserves your favor thoroughly,— The clever scholar of the students, he!

(_They pass in the city-gate_.)

III

THE STUDY

FAUST

(_Entering, with the poodle_.)

Behind me, field and meadow sleeping, I leave in deep, prophetic night, Within whose dread and holy keeping The better soul awakes to light. The wild desires no longer win us, The deeds of passion cease to chain; The love of Man revives within us, The love of God revives again.

Be still, thou poodle; make not such racket and riot! Why at the threshold wilt snuffing be? Behind the stove repose thee in quiet! My softest cushion I give to thee. As thou, up yonder, with running and leaping Amused us hast, on the mountain’s crest,

So now I take thee into my keeping, A welcome, but also a silent, guest.

Ah, when, within our narrow chamber The lamp with friendly lustre glows, Flames in the breast each faded ember, And in the heart, itself that knows. Then Hope again lends sweet assistance, And Reason then resumes her speech: One yearns, the rivers of existence, The very founts of Life, to reach.

Snarl not, poodle! To the sound that rises, The sacred tones that my soul embrace, This bestial noise is out of place. We are used to see, that Man despises What he never comprehends, And the Good and the Beautiful vilipends, Finding them often hard to measure: Will the dog, like man, snarl _his_ displeasure?

But ah! I feel, though will thereto be stronger, Contentment flows from out my breast no longer. Why must the stream so soon run dry and fail us, And burning thirst again assail us? Therein I’ve borne so much probation! And yet, this want may be supplied us; We call the Supernatural to guide us; We pine and thirst for Revelation, Which nowhere worthier is, more nobly sent, Than here, in our New Testament. I feel impelled, its meaning to determine,— With honest purpose, once for all, The hallowed Original To change to my beloved German.

(_He opens a volume, and commences_.) ’Tis written: “In the Beginning was the _Word_.” Here am I balked: who, now can help afford? The _Word?_—impossible so high to rate it; And otherwise must I translate it. If by the Spirit I am truly taught. Then thus: “In the Beginning was the _Thought_” This first line let me weigh completely, Lest my impatient pen proceed too fleetly. Is it the _Thought_ which works, creates, indeed? “In the Beginning was the _Power_,” I read. Yet, as I write, a warning is suggested, That I the sense may not have fairly tested. The Spirit aids me: now I see the light! “In the Beginning was the _Act_,” I write.

If I must share my chamber with thee, Poodle, stop that howling, prithee! Cease to bark and bellow! Such a noisy, disturbing fellow I’ll no longer suffer near me. One of us, dost hear me! Must leave, I fear me. No longer guest-right I bestow; The door is open, art free to go. But what do I see in the creature? Is that in the course of nature? Is’t actual fact? or Fancy’s shows? How long and broad my poodle grows! He rises mightily: A canine form that cannot be! What a spectre I’ve harbored thus! He resembles a hippopotamus, With fiery eyes, teeth terrible to see: O, now am I sure of thee! For all of thy half-hellish brood The Key of Solomon is good.

SPIRITS (_in the corridor_)

Some one, within, is caught! Stay without, follow him not! Like the fox in a snare, Quakes the old hell-lynx there. Take heed—look about! Back and forth hover, Under and over, And he’ll work himself out. If your aid avail him, Let it not fail him; For he, without measure, Has wrought for our pleasure.

FAUST

First, to encounter the beast, The Words of the Four be addressed: Salamander, shine glorious! Wave, Undine, as bidden! Sylph, be thou hidden! Gnome, be laborious!

Who knows not their sense (These elements),— Their properties And power not sees,— No mastery he inherits Over the Spirits.

Vanish in flaming ether, Salamander! Flow foamingly together, Undine! Shine in meteor-sheen, Sylph! Bring help to hearth and shelf. Incubus! Incubus! Step forward, and finish thus!

Of the Four, no feature Lurks in the creature. Quiet he lies, and grins disdain: Not yet, it seems, have I given him pain. Now, to undisguise thee, Hear me exorcise thee! Art thou, my gay one, Hell’s fugitive stray-one? The sign witness now, Before which they bow, The cohorts of Hell!

With hair all bristling, it begins to swell.

Base Being, hearest thou? Knowest and fearest thou The One, unoriginate, Named inexpressibly, Through all Heaven impermeate, Pierced irredressibly!

Behind the stove still banned, See it, an elephant, expand! It fills the space entire, Mist-like melting, ever faster. ’Tis enough: ascend no higher,— Lay thyself at the feet of the Master! Thou seest, not vain the threats I bring thee: With holy fire I’ll scorch and sting thee! Wait not to know The threefold dazzling glow! Wait not to know The strongest art within my hands!

MEPHISTOPHELES

(_while the vapor is dissipating, steps forth from behind the stove, in the costume of a Travelling Scholar_.) Why such a noise? What are my lord’s commands?

FAUST

This was the poodle’s real core, A travelling scholar, then? The _casus_ is diverting.

MEPHISTOPHELES

The learned gentleman I bow before: You’ve made me roundly sweat, that’s certain!

FAUST

What is thy name?

MEPHISTOPHELES

A question small, it seems, For one whose mind the Word so much despises; Who, scorning all external gleams, The depths of being only prizes.

FAUST

With all you gentlemen, the name’s a test, Whereby the nature usually is expressed. Clearly the latter it implies In names like Beelzebub, Destroyer, Father of Lies. Who art thou, then?

MEPHISTOPHELES

Part of that Power, not understood, Which always wills the Bad, and always works the Good.

FAUST

What hidden sense in this enigma lies?

MEPHISTOPHELES

I am the Spirit that Denies! And justly so: for all things, from the Void Called forth, deserve to be destroyed: ’Twere better, then, were naught created. Thus, all which you as Sin have rated,— Destruction,—aught with Evil blent,— That is my proper element.

FAUST

Thou nam’st thyself a part, yet show’st complete to me?

MEPHISTOPHELES

The modest truth I speak to thee. If Man, that microcosmic fool, can see Himself a whole so frequently, Part of the Part am I, once All, in primal Night,— Part of the Darkness which brought forth the Light, The haughty Light, which now disputes the space, And claims of Mother Night her ancient place. And yet, the struggle fails; since Light, howe’er it weaves, Still, fettered, unto bodies cleaves: It flows from bodies, bodies beautifies; By bodies is its course impeded; And so, but little time is needed, I hope, ere, as the bodies die, it dies!

FAUST

I see the plan thou art pursuing: Thou canst not compass general ruin, And hast on smaller scale begun.

MEPHISTOPHELES

And truly ’tis not much, when all is done. That which to Naught is in resistance set,— The Something of this clumsy world,—has yet, With all that I have undertaken, Not been by me disturbed or shaken: From earthquake, tempest, wave, volcano’s brand, Back into quiet settle sea and land! And that damned stuff, the bestial, human brood,— What use, in having that to play with? How many have I made away with! And ever circulates a newer, fresher blood. It makes me furious, such things beholding: From Water, Earth, and Air unfolding, A thousand germs break forth and grow, In dry, and wet, and warm, and chilly; And had I not the Flame reserved, why, really, There’s nothing special of my own to show!

FAUST

So, to the actively eternal Creative force, in cold disdain You now oppose the fist infernal, Whose wicked clench is all in vain! Some other labor seek thou rather, Queer Son of Chaos, to begin!

MEPHISTOPHELES

Well, we’ll consider: thou canst gather My views, when next I venture in. Might I, perhaps, depart at present?

FAUST

Why thou shouldst ask, I don’t perceive. Though our acquaintance is so recent, For further visits thou hast leave. The window’s here, the door is yonder; A chimney, also, you behold.

MEPHISTOPHELES

I must confess that forth I may not wander, My steps by one slight obstacle controlled,— The wizard’s-foot, that on your threshold made is.

FAUST

The pentagram prohibits thee? Why, tell me now, thou Son of Hades, If that prevents, how cam’st thou in to me? Could such a spirit be so cheated?

MEPHISTOPHELES

Inspect the thing: the drawing’s not completed. The outer angle, you may see, Is open left—the lines don’t fit it.

FAUST

Well,—Chance, this time, has fairly hit it! And thus, thou’rt prisoner to me? It seems the business has succeeded.

MEPHISTOPHELES

The poodle naught remarked, as after thee he speeded; But other aspects now obtain: The Devil can’t get out again.

FAUST

Try, then, the open window-pane!

MEPHISTOPHELES

For Devils and for spectres this is law: Where they have entered in, there also they withdraw. The first is free to us; we’re governed by the second.

FAUST

In Hell itself, then, laws are reckoned? That’s well! So might a compact be Made with you gentlemen—and binding,—surely?

MEPHISTOPHELES

All that is promised shall delight thee purely; No skinflint bargain shalt thou see. But this is not of swift conclusion; We’ll talk about the matter soon. And now, I do entreat this boon— Leave to withdraw from my intrusion.

FAUST

One moment more I ask thee to remain, Some pleasant news, at least, to tell me.

MEPHISTOPHELES

Release me, now! I soon shall come again; Then thou, at will, mayst question and compel me.

FAUST

I have not snares around thee cast; Thyself hast led thyself into the meshes. Who traps the Devil, hold him fast! Not soon a second time he’ll catch a prey so precious.

MEPHISTOPHELES

An’t please thee, also I’m content to stay, And serve thee in a social station; But stipulating, that I may With arts of mine afford thee recreation.

FAUST

Thereto I willingly agree, If the diversion pleasant be.

MEPHISTOPHELES

My friend, thou’lt win, past all pretences, More in this hour to soothe thy senses, Than in the year’s monotony. That which the dainty spirits sing thee, The lovely pictures they shall bring thee, Are more than magic’s empty show. Thy scent will be to bliss invited; Thy palate then with taste delighted, Thy nerves of touch ecstatic glow! All unprepared, the charm I spin: We’re here together, so begin!

SPIRITS

Vanish, ye darking Arches above him! Loveliest weather, Born of blue ether, Break from the sky! O that the darkling Clouds had departed! Starlight is sparkling, Tranquiller-hearted Suns are on high. Heaven’s own children In beauty bewildering, Waveringly bending, Pass as they hover; Longing unending Follows them over. They, with their glowing Garments, out-flowing, Cover, in going, Landscape and bower, Where, in seclusion, Lovers are plighted, Lost in illusion. Bower on bower! Tendrils unblighted! Lo! in a shower Grapes that o’ercluster Gush into must, or Flow into rivers Of foaming and flashing Wine, that is dashing Gems, as it boundeth Down the high places, And spreading, surroundeth With crystalline spaces, In happy embraces, Blossoming forelands, Emerald shore-lands! And the winged races Drink, and fly onward— Fly ever sunward To the enticing Islands, that flatter, Dipping and rising Light on the water! Hark, the inspiring Sound of their quiring! See, the entrancing Whirl of their dancing! All in the air are Freer and fairer. Some of them scaling Boldly the highlands, Others are sailing, Circling the islands; Others are flying; Life-ward all hieing,— All for the distant Star of existent Rapture and Love!

MEPHISTOPHELES

He sleeps! Enough, ye fays! your airy number Have sung him truly into slumber: For this performance I your debtor prove.— Not yet art thou the man, to catch the Fiend and hold him!— With fairest images of dreams infold him, Plunge him in seas of sweet untruth! Yet, for the threshold’s magic which controlled him, The Devil needs a rat’s quick tooth. I use no lengthened invocation: Here rustles one that soon will work my liberation.

The lord of rats and eke of mice, Of flies and bed-bugs, frogs and lice, Summons thee hither to the door-sill, To gnaw it where, with just a morsel Of oil, he paints the spot for thee:— There com’st thou, hopping on to me! To work, at once! The point which made me craven Is forward, on the ledge, engraven. Another bite makes free the door: So, dream thy dreams, O Faust, until we meet once more!

FAUST _(awaking)_

Am I again so foully cheated? Remains there naught of lofty spirit-sway, But that a dream the Devil counterfeited, And that a poodle ran away?

IV

THE STUDY

FAUST MEPHISTOPHELES

FAUST

A knock? Come in! Again my quiet broken?

MEPHISTOPHELES

’Tis I!

FAUST

Come in!

MEPHISTOPHELES

Thrice must the words be spoken.

FAUST

Come in, then!

MEPHISTOPHELES

Thus thou pleasest me. I hope we’ll suit each other well; For now, thy vapors to dispel, I come, a squire of high degree, In scarlet coat, with golden trimming, A cloak in silken lustre swimming, A tall cock’s-feather in my hat, A long, sharp sword for show or quarrel,— And I advise thee, brief and flat, To don the self-same gay apparel, That, from this den released, and free, Life be at last revealed to thee!

FAUST

This life of earth, whatever my attire, Would pain me in its wonted fashion. Too old am I to play with passion; Too young, to be without desire. What from the world have I to gain? Thou shalt abstain—renounce—refrain! Such is the everlasting song That in the ears of all men rings,— That unrelieved, our whole life long, Each hour, in passing, hoarsely sings. In very terror I at morn awake, Upon the verge of bitter weeping, To see the day of disappointment break, To no one hope of mine—not one—its promise keeping:— That even each joy’s presentiment With wilful cavil would diminish, With grinning masks of life prevent My mind its fairest work to finish! Then, too, when night descends, how anxiously Upon my couch of sleep I lay me: There, also, comes no rest to me, But some wild dream is sent to fray me. The God that in my breast is owned Can deeply stir the inner sources; The God, above my powers enthroned, He cannot change external forces. So, by the burden of my days oppressed, Death is desired, and Life a thing unblest!

MEPHISTOPHELES

And yet is never Death a wholly welcome guest.

FAUST

O fortunate, for whom, when victory glances, The bloody laurels on the brow he bindeth! Whom, after rapid, maddening dances, In clasping maiden-arms he findeth! O would that I, before that spirit-power, Ravished and rapt from life, had sunken!

MEPHISTOPHELES

And yet, by some one, in that nightly hour, A certain liquid was not drunken.

FAUST

Eavesdropping, ha! thy pleasure seems to be.

MEPHISTOPHELES

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

FAUST

Though some familiar tone, retrieving My thoughts from torment, led me on, And sweet, clear echoes came, deceiving A faith bequeathed from Childhood’s dawn, Yet now I curse whate’er entices And snares the soul with visions vain; With dazzling cheats and dear devices Confines it in this cave of pain! Cursed be, at once, the high ambition Wherewith the mind itself deludes! Cursed be the glare of apparition That on the finer sense intrudes! Cursed be the lying dream’s impression Of name, and fame, and laurelled brow! Cursed, all that flatters as possession, As wife and child, as knave and plow! Cursed Mammon be, when he with treasures To restless action spurs our fate! Cursed when, for soft, indulgent leisures, He lays for us the pillows straight! Cursed be the vine’s transcendent nectar,— The highest favor Love lets fall! Cursed, also, Hope!—cursed Faith, the spectre! And cursed be Patience most of all!

CHORUS OF SPIRITS (_invisible_)

Woe! woe! Thou hast it destroyed, The beautiful world, With powerful fist: In ruin ’tis hurled, By the blow of a demigod shattered! The scattered Fragments into the Void we carry, Deploring The beauty perished beyond restoring. Mightier For the children of men, Brightlier Build it again, In thine own bosom build it anew! Bid the new career Commence, With clearer sense, And the new songs of cheer Be sung thereto!

MEPHISTOPHELES

These are the small dependants Who give me attendance. Hear them, to deeds and passion Counsel in shrewd old-fashion! Into the world of strife, Out of this lonely life That of senses and sap has betrayed thee, They would persuade thee. This nursing of the pain forego thee, That, like a vulture, feeds upon thy breast! The worst society thou find’st will show thee Thou art a man among the rest. But ’tis not meant to thrust Thee into the mob thou hatest! I am not one of the greatest, Yet, wilt thou to me entrust Thy steps through life, I’ll guide thee,— Will willingly walk beside thee,— Will serve thee at once and forever With best endeavor, And, if thou art satisfied, Will as servant, slave, with thee abide.

FAUST

And what shall be my counter-service therefor?

MEPHISTOPHELES

The time is long: thou need’st not now insist.

FAUST

No—no! The Devil is an egotist, And is not apt, without a why or wherefore, “For God’s sake,” others to assist. Speak thy conditions plain and clear! With such a servant danger comes, I fear.

MEPHISTOPHELES

_Here_, an unwearied slave, I’ll wear thy tether, And to thine every nod obedient be: When _There_ again we come together, Then shalt thou do the same for me.

FAUST

The _There_ my scruples naught increases. When thou hast dashed this world to pieces, The other, then, its place may fill. Here, on this earth, my pleasures have their sources; Yon sun beholds my sorrows in his courses; And when from these my life itself divorces, Let happen all that can or will! I’ll hear no more: ’tis vain to ponder If there we cherish love or hate, Or, in the spheres we dream of yonder, A High and Low our souls await.

MEPHISTOPHELES

In this sense, even, canst thou venture. Come, bind thyself by prompt indenture, And thou mine arts with joy shalt see: What no man ever saw, I’ll give to thee.

FAUST

Canst thou, poor Devil, give me whatsoever? When was a human soul, in its supreme endeavor, E’er understood by such as thou? Yet, hast thou food which never satiates, now,— The restless, ruddy gold hast thou, That runs, quicksilver-like, one’s fingers through,— A game whose winnings no man ever knew,— A maid that, even from my breast, Beckons my neighbor with her wanton glances, And Honor’s godlike zest, The meteor that a moment dances,— Show me the fruits that, ere they’re gathered, rot, And trees that daily with new leafage clothe them!

MEPHISTOPHELES

Such a demand alarms me not: Such treasures have I, and can show them. But still the time may reach us, good my friend. When peace we crave and more luxurious diet.

FAUST

When on an idler’s bed I stretch myself in quiet. There let, at once, my record end! Canst thou with lying flattery rule me, Until, self-pleased, myself I see,— Canst thou with rich enjoyment fool me, Let that day be the last for me! The bet I offer.

MEPHISTOPHELES Done!

FAUST And heartily! When thus I hail the Moment flying: “Ah, still delay—thou art so fair!” Then bind me in thy bonds undying, My final ruin then declare! Then let the death-bell chime the token. Then art thou from thy service free! The clock may stop, the hand be broken, Then Time be finished unto me!

MEPHISTOPHELES

Consider well: my memory good is rated.

FAUST

Thou hast a perfect right thereto. My powers I have not rashly estimated: A slave am I, whate’er I do— If thine, or whose? ’tis needless to debate it.

MEPHISTOPHELES

Then at the Doctors’-banquet I, to-day, Will as a servant wait behind thee. But one thing more! Beyond all risk to bind thee, Give me a line or two, I pray.

FAUST

Demand’st thou, Pedant, too, a document? Hast never known a man, nor proved his word’s intent? Is’t not enough, that what I speak to-day Shall stand, with all my future days agreeing? In all its tides sweeps not the world away, And shall a promise bind my being? Yet this delusion in our hearts we bear: Who would himself therefrom deliver? Blest he, whose bosom Truth makes pure and fair! No sacrifice shall he repent of ever. Nathless a parchment, writ and stamped with care, A spectre is, which all to shun endeavor. The word, alas! dies even in the pen, And wax and leather keep the lordship then. What wilt from me, Base Spirit, say?— Brass, marble, parchment, paper, clay? The terms with graver, quill, or chisel, stated? I freely leave the choice to thee.

MEPHISTOPHELES

Why heat thyself, thus instantly, With eloquence exaggerated? Each leaf for such a pact is good; And to subscribe thy name thou’lt take a drop of blood.

FAUST

If thou therewith art fully satisfied, So let us by the farce abide.

MEPHISTOPHELES

Blood is a juice of rarest quality.

FAUST