Chapter 2
They have lied, always, horribly, of me! I am not half so black as they allege. You know, exaggeration is to them What whiskey is to most men. But time bursts Their bubbles--or at least we come to take Their work as merely art. Thus their description As art is not so bad; but if you seek For truth, it's outright libel.
FAUST
I admit It has a certain perfectness of evil Lacking in you.
SATAN
Surely to-day we know That nothing is so wholly good or bad As our forefathers thought: not black and white, But gray, predominates. Well, I am gray, Possibly. I was never black; and age Has made me stouter, and with gentle warmth Ripened my virtues; and, even though I say it, You will not find me a bad sort to meet If you will but be fair, and put aside Your ancient and poetic prejudice.
FAUST
Well spoken! And well met! Come, have a drink. You are the most diverting visitor I've had in many a day. Bourbon or Scotch?
SATAN
A very little Scotch. That's plenty, thanks. It's very seldom those who summon me Would give, not take. And did you send for me Only to have a drink?
FAUST
I sent for you?
SATAN
Did you not summon me?
FAUST
Why, no--
SATAN
Ah, well! It's my mistake; wires get crossed sometimes. I hope I've not intruded.
FAUST
Not at all. Delighted to have met you.
SATAN
I regret That I have bothered you. I have enjoyed, However, your kind hospitality. To make amends to you, before I go, I should be glad to do you any service Within my power.
FAUST
I thank you; but I think That there is nothing in your special line That I have need of.
SATAN
Are you really, then, A man contented?
FAUST
I would hardly go As far as that!... I only meant to say My needs, my troubles, are not of such kind As you could remedy.
SATAN
Now, there again You take the poets' word for me--those low And scurvy fellows who lump all their spleen And call the mess my portrait! But in fact, I am more versatile, more broad, more kind Than they conceive. I venture to believe That I could aid you.
FAUST
All the fiends in Hell Lack devilry enough.
SATAN
If you would speak The symptoms of your trouble, I at least Could give you friendly counsel for your needs.... Oh, I am deeply learned!
FAUST
And besides, A most accomplished mocker!... My complaint Is quite beyond your counsel. Why, I tell you, I have examined, tried, experienced The passions and the aims of mortal life With the grave thoroughness and good intent That mark a doctor of philosophy Writing his thesis. And my careful search Of life has brought me one great verity: _I do not like it!_ No, I do not like Anything in it: birth, death, all that lies Between--I find inadequate, incomplete, Offensive. So you see me sitting here, Instead of talking politics in the streets, Or weeping at the opera, or agog At a cotillon. For the savor's gone From these, as parts of an unsavored whole. I simply have, with reason and sound thought, Convinced myself that only fools attain Their hope on earth--in a fools' paradise That does not interest me.... Now, could you treat This case, good Mr. Satan?
SATAN
In my day, I have relieved far sicker men than you, My dear friend Faust. And yet I would not say Even for a moment that your case is not A grave one: not so much the case itself, As what might spring from it. In such a mood, Men sometimes have done mad and foolish things With consequences sad to view. Some minds, Reaching your state, and finding life a bane, Decide within themselves that naught can be Worse than the present world, and then set out To revolutionize, rend, whirl, uproot The world's foundations. And the mess they make Is pitiful to contemplate! Such sweet And beautiful souls as I have seen go wrong Along this path: Shelley--he had your eyes; And Christ--but I'll not talk theology. Besides, his churches almost have made good His personal havoc....
FAUST
That is not my line.
SATAN
No, no, you keep your head! Now let me see.... A temporary sedative you require To bridge the dangerous moment. I suggest A little course that old Saint Anthony, Epicure though he was, would grant as rare And finely chosen: careless days and nights-- Delicious gayeties--the Bacchic bowl-- Exquisite company from whom some two Or three, with golden or with auburn hair, A man of taste might choose to solace him In sunlight or in starlight--while the lure Of subtle secrets in those yielding breasts Spice the preceding revelries....
FAUST
Go tell That tale to college boys, whose lonely dreams Have shaped Iseult of Ireland, Helen of Troy, As end of heart's desire--and, lacking these, Clasp chorus-Aphrodites. But I know That from the topmost peak of ecstasy Falls a straight precipice; half-times the foot Misses the peak--but never mortal step Has missed the gulf beyond it. And I see Where, in night's gorgeous dome, to-morrow waits With cold insistence. Me you cannot lure With this poor opiate. And I beg of you Not needlessly to tax your mental powers By now suggesting the delights of drink: I know them; and they give me headaches.
SATAN
Ah, How crude you think me!
FAUST
No, I think you human. We all are that sometimes.
SATAN
You have not grasped All that I meant. I know the calfish joys Of the young freshman, suddenly let loose With chorus-girls for nursemaids, are not yours. I mean far subtler things: I mean the play Of the wise soul that sees the abyss of life-- Sees the grim measure of the mortal doom-- And over that dark gulf in reckless mirth Dances on rainbows, with delightful arms And bosoms close to his. That is a mood That always thrills me with a sense of large And splendid courage. If I did not think That it would bore you, I should like to make My meaning clear by reading a few lines That I once wrote when I myself was in Your very mood-- Or would you care to hear My little poem?
FAUST
What! Is even the Devil A poet nowadays?
SATAN
Indeed he is: And not a bad one. Once I would have scorned The poets; but we moderns so surpass The ancients here that I am proud to write Some verses now and then. For we have learned That poetry, like all the other arts, Is pure technique: the mere ideas are nothing, The form is everything. That ennobles us And makes us artists. And as artist, I Am not contemptible, as you may see From this slight sample. With your leave, I'll read.
(_Satan produces an enormous scrap-book of magazine-clippings, turns over the pages and at last begins to read_)
A WATTEAU MELODY
Oh, let me take your lily hand, And where the secret star-beams shine Draw near, to see and understand Pierrot and Columbine.
Around the fountains, in the dew, Where afternoon melts into night, With gracious mirth their gracious crew Entice the shy birds of delight.
Of motley dress and maskèd face, Of sparkling unrevealing eyes, They track in gentle aimless chase The moment as it flies.
Their delicate beribboned rout, Gallant and fair, of light intent, Weaves through the shadows in and out With infinite artful merriment.
* * * * *
Dear lady of the lily hand-- Do then our stars so clearly shine That we, who do not understand, May mock Pierrot and Columbine?
Beyond this garden-grove I see The wise, the noble, and the brave In ultimate futility Go down into the grave.
And all they dreamed and all they sought, Crumbled and ashen grown, departs; And is as if they had not wrought These works with blood from out their hearts.
The nations fall, the faiths decay, The great philosophies go by-- And life lies bare, some bitter day, A charnel that affronts the sky.
The wise, the noble, and the brave-- They saw and solved--as we must see And solve--the universal grave, The ultimate futility.
* * * * *
Look--where beside the garden-pool A Venus rises in the grove, More suave, more debonair, more cool Than ever burned with Paphian love.
'Twas here the delicate ribboned rout Of gallants and the fair ones went Among the shadows in and out With infinite artful merriment.
Then let me take your lily hand, And let us tread, where star-beams shine, A dance; and be, and understand Pierrot and Columbine.
FAUST
Splendid! Delightful!
SATAN
You are flattering me. How did you like it, really?
FAUST
Well, as art I think it splendid; as philosophy, I hardly praise it. 'Tis a mood that comes And has its will of us in its own hours-- Yes, irresistibly. But past the hour Wait graver judges. I decline to be, As you suggest delightfully, a fly On the spoiled beer of life. Nor do I lean Toward your ingenious blending of despair, Satiety, and child's-play.
SATAN
Those who take This attitude, however, swiftly grow The darlings of existence--souls that sip Of every flower the nectar, and are bound Unto no laws or standards, but move free, Viewing all things as relative.... And yet Your special temperament may not prefer Nectar. Those lines of sternness round your mouth Convince me you are right; another cure Better befits you. And a mighty one I set before you, which has ever served As lodestar for all high and glorious minds, All kings of earth, all potentates of thought, All great achievers. Power I offer you-- The one chief prize that all men have desired And shall desire forever.
FAUST
Now you grow Rather more interesting. What do you mean? A crown and sceptre and a thousand slaves To serve me?
SATAN
Do not jest. I offer you The one sole reservoir where power to-day Lies stored in sleeping cataracts. At noon Come with me into Wall Street; take your stand; Buy, sell, as I direct you; and one hour Shall make you richer than you ever dreamed In madness of desire. For three days more Come there each noon again; at end of these, If you have done my bidding, you shall be Master of the finances of the world, Despot of nations, unto whom the kings And captains of the earth shall kneel to crave Crumbs from the table. Then let pen and sword Forget their quarrel for supremacy; Since you can buy them both, or starve them both, Or cast them to the wilderness! Such power I offer as would make the pulses beat Even of a skeleton!
FAUST
But not a soul Grown sceptical of life. Power? Power? For what? And over what? And toward what? Not a power Over myself or pain or loneliness Or ignorance or evil; not a strength To bid the near-world cease, and in its place Instate my visions beautiful and pale, Nearer the heart's desire. No, you would give Power to direct the miseries of men, But not to stay them: power to hold the world As some cold robber-baron from his rocks Once held his little valley: power to sit In ultimate seclusion, and look down On streets and mines and workshops with the sense That I was fountain of the miseries Dark in them all. I thank you; but I think I should derive small sport from such a game. You see, I am not Satan.
SATAN
Well, you are A subtle one, a shrewd one! On my word, I hardly had suspected you so deep. What time I have been wasting! Mr. Faust, At last I know you for a prince of men-- A brilliant mind, a high intelligence, A spirit incorruptible. The trash, Baubles and claptrap which the foolish herd Snatch at, you scoff--and rightly. I will not With one more word of it insult your mind That admirably penetrates to deeps Where I, too, love to dwell. I put aside All trivialities, and frankly say That I can offer you one ultimate gift Fit even for you--a subtle paradise Such as not Hercules mid Western Isles Found in the Garden of Hesperides. It is a paradise of secret peace, A glorious land of amaranthine bloom; Where happiness, having fled the world, now dwells In shining gladness. Guarded, deep, sublime With lights and shadows, lies it: there have hearts The weariest and the greatest of mankind Found perfect refuge and abiding-place For time and for eternity. To few Its gates are open: it I promise you If you but trust me!
FAUST
But why should I trust you? If history speaks true, you have deceived All who, since Eve, have put their faith in you. Further, your paradise could hardly have Joys in it worth the grasping, to my taste. So pardon me if frankly I admit I doubt your promise.
SATAN
Ah, you are wholly wrong! I am quite honest with you, now having learned Your true capacity.
FAUST
Perhaps, perhaps. And yet I must decline.
SATAN
You doubt me still. But I will prove my utter honesty Beyond contention. In my deepest soul, I know this paradise will serve your need; And to make plain to you my fair intent, I offer you a bargain whose clear terms Must drive your doubts away. I am prepared To pledge myself to be your abject slave And servant for all time if you yourself Do not acknowledge that my paradise Delights you wholly!
FAUST
Well! That _is_ an offer!
SATAN
What could be fairer? You yourself shall judge; And you risk nothing. Ah, your look still doubts! You have in mind those libellous poets' tales Of bonds inscribed in blood which I exact In payment, and destroy men's souls! My friend, Have I yet asked you for a bond of blood? And if I ever do, I give you leave To wring my neck unceremoniously.
FAUST
Well, for the life of me, I cannot read you! Yet let me ask: why such an eager will To serve a man into whose rooms you came By chance to-night? Why give yourself such pains To furnish him a paradise?
SATAN
There is No mystery in that. I would ally You to myself.
FAUST
Thanks, I decline.
SATAN
You fail To understand me. For I ask not this As promise of you.
FAUST
What, then, do you mean? What do you count on? Whence do you expect Pay for your trouble and your risk--a risk Not trivial, I warn you?
SATAN
Let me make The matter clear to you. I know quite well The risk is nothing, since my paradise Will utterly delight you. Granting this, You see my profit: you will stay with me Willingly there forever, to my ends An interested assistant. I will serve Forth on my tables such delicious fare That you will freely choose to be my guest Through time and through eternity. I say: Fie for a bond written in scrawly blood! A bond of choice is better. Could a saint Speak fairer to you? I risk everything, And you risk nothing but a little time; And time, as you are placed, seems not so dear That you need hoard it.
FAUST
But your ends are--what?
SATAN
How can it matter now--if seeing them You shall approve them?
FAUST
Are you serious?
SATAN
My jests have other aspect.
FAUST
I accept. Your game is to my taste. For thirty years Have I made search through all the lands of earth, The realms of learning, and the tangled groves Of fancy, for some region which my soul Might with entire approval view; but none Has been vouchsafed me. If the Devil can In this surpass the world's established powers, Then I am his disciple willingly.... But if you fail, friend Satan!--I shall tie You to a cart's tail and exhibit you Like a dead whale throughout the country--or Make you curator of an orphanage!
SATAN
I shall not fail.
OLDHAM (_enters_)
I beg your pardon, Faust; I thought you'd be alone. My brother left, Not waiting for me; and, as I passed by, I saw your lights, and thought I would look in Just for a moment. I had things to say That are perhaps much better left unsaid. Good-bye, my dear friend. I will not disturb you. Good night again.
FAUST
Wait, Oldham; do not go. I have a visitor whose name you know, But not, perhaps, his person. Let me have The pleasure of presenting you. This is The Devil--Mr. Oldham.
OLDHAM
You are mad! What jest is this?
SATAN
I am indeed the Devil. Look in my eyes intently.... Shall I tell you Your thought, two minutes since?... Or what you hold Clutched now against your side?... _Or where you go When you go hence to-night?_...
OLDHAM
No!... I believe you.... Although it is incredible!...
FAUST
You come Just at the proper moment for good-bye, For I am going with him on a journey, And do not know how soon I shall return. If I return at all.
OLDHAM
A journey? Where?
SATAN
To paradise.
FAUST
He offers paradise That will suffice my wish, and gives himself As pledge of his success.
SATAN
Come, we must haste, For it is very far.
FAUST
To paradise!...
OLDHAM
To paradise.... Take me with you!
FAUST
My friend, It is not possible. I do foresee Some perils to whose touch I would subject None save myself.
OLDHAM
And what care I for them! Faust--on my word, when I climbed up your stair This second time, it was to say good-bye To you forever, being quite resolved To end my choking loneliness and loathing With a quick shot to-night. Take me, or I Shall carry out my purpose. What care I Whither you go, or what the perils be? I would go with you into Hell!
SATAN
We go To paradise. What is this Hell you name?
CURTAIN
THE SECOND ACT
_The scene is the stone-paved courtyard of a ruined temple. In the centre lies a square pool, with wide rows of steps leading down to the water, now overgrown with lotus plants. Around the court rise long colonnades of pillars with grotesquely carven bases and capitals of luxuriant design. Beyond these appear green masses of dense tropical foliage, in which an occasional brilliant flower shines._
_Faust, Satan and Oldham, all wearing white tropical dress and sun-helmets, are seated on fragments of fallen columns in front of the pool. Luncheon is spread before them. Oldham is lighting a cigarette; Faust is just finishing his meal; Satan is leaning back, contemplating the surrounding jungle. Two dark-skinned servants, wearing white robes and turbans, are beginning to bear away the repast._
OLDHAM
One's blood beats fuller in these tropic lands. Last night, as we were dining, where the beach With its plumed palm-trees sloped to meet the sea, And the white foam along the glassy waves Played in the evening light--I half believe I could have written love-songs. But to whom-- That were a problem!
FAUST
Yes, one's brain is lit With fire beneath this sun. At night, the glow Is magical; but at this height of day, When all the branches and the flowers and rocks And the far glimmering rivers shake and writhe In the fierce blaze, I feel a hideous touch Of madness in it.
SATAN
Keep you to the shade! This is the pinnacle, the very noon Of summer in these lands. One hour of sun Unshaded--and poor Oldham and poor I Might have a maniac or a corpse as guest.
OLDHAM
I am not sure that I would help you with him. I might be elsewhere occupied. Last night I entertained myself with imaging A project which, if I adopted it, Would preëngage me.
SATAN
With a single guess, I'll tell you what it was.
OLDHAM
I give you twenty.
SATAN
You thought perhaps it would be nice to be The white bull we saw yesterday, and eat Without reproof from every vender's stall Throughout the whole bazar; and you intend Thus to disguise yourself, and try the sport.
OLDHAM
You hit it nearer than I thought you would! 'Twas something like that. I was wondering If, in this marvellous and lazy clime, It were not possible for one to take Twenty young beauties and a hundred slaves-- Retire to some secluded isle of palms-- And live without a thought, a wish, a hope, Drugged with the warmth, the languor and the light.
FAUST
Possible?--For a rabbit! Not for you.
SATAN
I am afraid you'd find it wearisome. Some like it; but not your kind.
FAUST
In this heat Even he grows crazy; and we, Satan, turn Unsympathetic creatures. Whew, this blaze Is getting worse! Can't we move on?
SATAN
We go No farther.
FAUST
Lovely residence!
SATAN
It is here That our long journey terminates, my friends. Upon this spot I trust, if all goes well, To give your long tried patience recompense.
FAUST
Recompense? I am sceptical of it! But we deserve this. None but idiots Would have come with you to this boiling land On a wild-goose chase; on each step of which One gets a fleeting panoramic view Of kinds of misery one did not guess Existed in the world. Those lepers, beggars, Cripples, fanatics, reptiles--all the swarms Of loathsome creatures we have passed--will haunt My dreams forever with new vivid masks Of nightmare. Recompense? There isn't any!
SATAN
Await the event. You shall have recompense.
OLDHAM
Satan, what is your meaning? What event Do you await here? You have been to us, Through our long journey, secretive and close Of all your purposes--from day to day Giving no hint of your to-morrow's plan Nor of our destination. Now, I think, Silence is not a virtue. Have we come In fact to our last halt?
SATAN
This is the spot Toward which our course unswervingly has aimed Since the first day. This vast and ruined shrine, Built in forgotten times to unknown gods, And now in timeless solitude enfolded, Has long been known to me. Here, in retreat From the world's noises, dwells a holy man, A wonder-worker of unfathomed power, Now long forgotten by the troubled world Except me only. 'Tis his aged hand Shall open to you those celestial gates We come to enter.
FAUST
Ah, a wonder-worker! Perhaps he will perform the mango trick, Or the rope-climbing, or the boy-in-the-basket? The jugglers here have been below report One hears of them.
SATAN
Put by your idle sneers. He is a prophet and a saint whose like The world can offer not. Upon his face You shall behold such utter holiness, Such sublimate devotion as shall shake Your hearts' foundations.
FAUST
Well, I can endure The meeting if he can.
OLDHAM
Satan, you choose Sometimes strange company. You often speak Of friendship with such men of holiness As much surprises me.
SATAN
If you were but A little wiser, you would understand That I have taught them much, at various times, That is of profit to them.
FAUST
Pray teach me A little something also.
SATAN
No, you think You know too much already.... Furthermore, You do not trust me; and I will not teach One who keeps restlessly, the whole day long, His eyes upon me, as though fearful I Were waiting to spring on him unawares!
FAUST
Oh, you exaggerate.
OLDHAM
Look through yonder palms! Someone is coming.
SATAN He sees us! It is he!
[_Through the colonnade along the far side of the courtyard, there enters the Holy One, an aged man of venerable and sublime appearance, clad in a simple white robe. In his hand is a large copper bowl, which he carries with some care._
SATAN
He brings a bowl of water from the spring-- The very bowl I gave him!
OLDHAM
What a face! What light, what soundless calm!
FAUST
He is, indeed, One of the ancient prophets....
SATAN
Holy One! Satan salutes you!
THE HOLY ONE
Satan--come again After so long? A little longer--then No carcass of illusion here shall wait To greet you.
SATAN
In the greatness of the sea All waves find home....
THE HOLY ONE
Yea, verily; and the deep Lies not far off. I am drawn nearer it Since last you came: I see its floods more clear, It laves me daily.... But what brings you back To my deserted dwelling from the press Where you are ever going to and fro Upon the earth?
SATAN
I came to seek for you, Whose feet are on the path of blessedness.
THE HOLY ONE
Ah, has illusion rent itself in twain For your sight also?
SATAN
Ask me not. I come Not on my mission, but on theirs....
THE HOLY ONE
On theirs! And who are your companions?
SATAN
Friends, who seek What you have found.
THE HOLY ONE
They have not in their eyes Wholly the look of Seekers. Passion lurks Along their ruddy lips.... And yet, who knows?
FAUST
I offer you our greetings, reverend sir. A long way have we come to meet with you, By Satan led.
THE HOLY ONE
And what would you with me?
FAUST
Paradise! Paradise!
THE HOLY ONE
Too hotly spoken! Go, get you to the dancers of Tanjore.... Paradise!
OLDHAM
You belie us, Faust. Let me Have speech with him.