The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries Volume I Part 51

Man, and man's plighted word, are these unknown to thee?

Is't not enough, that by the word I gave, My doom for evermore is cast?

Doth not the world in all its currents rave, And must a promise hold me fast?

Yet fixed is this delusion in our heart; Who, of his own free will, therefrom would part?

How blest within whose breast truth reigneth pure!

No sacrifice will he repent when made!

A formal deed, with seal and signature, A spectre this from which all shrink afraid.

The word its life resigneth in the pen, Leather and wax usurp the mastery then.

Spirits of evil! what dost thou require?

Bra.s.s, marble, parchment, paper, dost desire?

Shall I with chisel, pen, or graver write?

Thy choice is free; to me 'tis all the same.

MEPHISTOPHELES

Wherefore thy pa.s.sion so excite, And thus thine eloquence inflame?

A sc.r.a.p is for our compact good.

Thou under-signest merely with a drop of blood.

FAUST

If this will satisfy thy mind, Thy whim I'll gratify, howe'er absurd.

MEPHISTOPHELES

Blood is a juice of very special kind.

FAUST

Be not afraid that I shall break my word!

The scope of all my energy Is in exact accordance with my vow.

Vainly I have aspired too high; I'm on a level but with such as thou; Me the great spirit scorn'd, defied; Nature from me herself doth hide; Rent is the web of thought; my mind Doth knowledge loathe of every kind.

In depths of sensual pleasure drown'd, Let us our fiery pa.s.sions still!

Enwrapp'd in magic's veil profound, Let wondrous charms our senses thrill!

Plunge we in time's tempestuous flow, Stem we the rolling surge of chance!

There may alternate weal and woe, Success and failure, as they can, Mingle and shift in changeful dance!

Excitement is the sphere for man.

MEPHISTOPHELES

Nor goal, nor measure is prescrib'd to you, If you desire to taste of every thing, To s.n.a.t.c.h at joy while on the wing, May your career amuse and profit too!

Only fall to and don't be over coy!

FAUST

Hearken! The end I aim at is not joy; I crave excitement, agonizing bliss, Enamor'd hatred, quickening vexation.

Purg'd from the love of knowledge, my vocation, The scope of all my powers henceforth be this, To bare my breast to every pang,--to know In my heart's core all human weal and woe, To grasp in thought the lofty and the deep, Men's various fortunes on my breast to heap, And thus to theirs dilate my individual mind, And share at length with them the shipwreck of mankind.

MEPHISTOPHELES

Oh, credit me, who still as ages roll, Have chew'd this bitter fare from year to year, No mortal, from the cradle to the bier, Digests the ancient leaven! Know, this Whole Doth for the Deity alone subsist!

He in eternal brightness doth exist; Us unto darkness he hath brought, and here, Where day and night alternate, is your sphere.

FAUST

But 'tis my will!

MEPHISTOPHELES

Well spoken, I admit!

But one thing puzzles me, my friend; Time's short, art long; methinks 'twere fit That you to friendly counsel should attend.

A poet choose as your ally!

Let him thought's wide dominion sweep, Each good and n.o.ble quality Upon your honored brow to heap; The lion's magnanimity, The fleetness of the hind, The fiery blood of Italy, The Northern's stedfast mind.

Let him to you the mystery show To blend high aims and cunning low; And while youth's pa.s.sions are aflame To fall in love by rule and plan!

I fain would meet with such a man; Would him Sir Microcosmus name.

FAUST

What then am I, if I aspire in vain The crown of our humanity to gain, Toward which my every sense doth strain?

MEPHISTOPHELES

Thou'rt after all--just what thou art.

Put on thy head a wig with countless locks, And to a cubit's height upraise thy socks, Still thou remainest ever, what thou art.

FAUST

I feel it, I have heap'd upon my brain The gather'd treasure of man's thought in vain; And when at length from studious toil I rest, No power, new-born, springs up within my breast; A hair's breadth is not added to my height; I am no nearer to the infinite.

MEPHISTOPHELES

Good sir, these things you view indeed, Just as by other men they're view'd; We must more cleverly proceed, Before life's joys our grasp elude.

The devil! thou hast hands and feet, And head and heart are also thine; What I enjoy with relish sweet-- Is it on that account less mine?

If for six stallions I can pay, Do I not own their strength and speed?

A proper man I dash away, As their two dozen legs were mine indeed.

Up then, from idle pondering free, And forth into the world with me!

I tell you what;--your speculative churl Is like a beast which some ill spirit leads, On barren wilderness, in ceaseless whirl, While all around lie fair and verdant meads.

FAUST

But how shall we begin?

MEPHISTOPHELES We will go hence with speed, A place of torment this indeed!

A precious life, thyself to bore, And some few youngsters evermore!

Leave that to neighbor Paunch! Withdraw?

Why wilt thou plague thyself with thrashing straw?

The very best that thou dost know Thou dar'st not to the striplings show.

One in the pa.s.sage now doth wait!

FAUST