The Project Gutenberg eBook of Mr. Faust

This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

Title: Mr. Faust

Author: Arthur Davison Ficke

Release date: February 25, 2008 [eBook #24556]

Most recently updated: January 3, 2021

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Irma Spehar and the Online Distributed

Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was

produced from images generously made available by The

Internet Archive/American Libraries.)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MR. FAUST ***

THE MODERN DRAMA SERIES

EDITED BY EDWIN BJÖRKMAN

MR. FAUST

BY

ARTHUR DAVISON FICKE

NEW YORK

MITCHELL KENNERLEY

MCMXIII

COPYRIGHT 1913 BY

MITCHELL KENNERLEY

THE·PLIMPTON·PRESS

NORWOOD·MASS·U·S·A

CONTENTS

PAGE

INTRODUCTION

vii

LIST OF PLAYS BY ARTHUR DAVISON FICKE

x

MR. FAUST

1

The author gratefully acknowledges his debt for permission to reprint one of the lyrics herein, which appeared originally in "Poetry."

INTRODUCTION

Through all the work of Arthur Davison Ficke runs a note of bigness that compels attention even when one feels that he is still groping both for form and thought. In "Mr. Faust" this note has assumed commanding proportions, while at the same time the uncertainty manifest in some of the earlier work has almost wholly disappeared. Intellectually as well as artistically, this play shows a surprising maturity. It impresses me, for one, as the expression of a well-rounded and very profound philosophy of life—and this philosophy stands in logical and sympathetic relationship to what the western world to-day regards as its most advanced thought. The evolutionary conception of life is the foundation of that philosophy, which, however, has little or nothing in common with the materialistic and dogmatic evolutionism of the last century. The work sprung from that philosophy is full of the new sense of mystery, which makes the men of to-day realize that the one attitude leading nowhere is that of denial. Faith and doubt walk hand in hand, each one being to the other check and goad alike. And with this new freedom to believe as well as to question, man becomes once more the centre of his known universe. But there he stands, humbly proud, not as the arrogant master of a "dead" world, but merely as the foremost servant of a life-principle which asserts itself in the grain of sand as in the brain of man.

Yet "Mr. Faust" is by no means a philosophical or moral tract. It is, first of all and throughout, a living, breathing work of art, instinct with beauty and faithful in its every line to the principle laid down by its author in the preface to one of his earlier volumes: "Poetical imagination must fail altogether if it descends from its natural sphere and assumes work which is properly that of economic or political experience. Nor can it usefully urge its own peculiar intuitions as things of practical validity."

Mr. Ficke was born in 1883 at Davenport, Iowa, and there he is still living, although I understand that he has since then been wandering in so many other regions, physical and spiritual, that he can hardly call it his home. He graduated from Harvard in 1904 and spent the next travelling in all sorts of strange and poetic places—Japan, India, the Greek mountains, the Aegean Islands. Returning to the United States, he studied law and was admitted to the Bar in 1908. While studying, he taught English for a year at the University of Iowa, lecturing on the history of the Arthurian Legends.

He was a mere boy when he began to write, turning from the first to the metrical form of expression and remaining faithful to it in most of his subsequent efforts. His poems and essays have been printed in almost all the leading magazines. So far he has published five volumes of verse: "From the Isles," a series of lyrics of the Aegean Sea; "The Happy Princess," a romantic narrative poem; "The Earth Passion," a series of poems which may be characterized as the effort of a star-gazer to find satisfaction in the things of the earth; "The Breaking of Bonds," a Shelleyan drama of social unrest, where he has tried to formulate a hope for our final emergence from the maelstrom of class-conflict; and "Twelve Japanese Painters," a group of poems expressive of the peculiar and alluring charm of the great Japanese painters and their world of remote beauty.

EDWIN BJÖRKMAN.

LIST OF PLAYS BY ARTHUR DAVISON FICKE

- THE BREAKING OF BONDS, 1910

- MR. FAUST, 1913

MR. FAUST

INSCRIPTION

Pale Goethe, Marlowe, Lessing—calm your fears!

None plots to steal your laurel wreaths away.

Approach; take tickets: you shall witness here

The unromantic Faustus of to-day—

A Faustus whom no mystic choirs sustain,

No wizard fiends blind with prodigious spell.

The mortal earth shall serve him as domain

Whether he mount to Heaven or sink to Hell.

Yet, mount or sink, your lights around him shine.

And there shall flow, bubbling with woe or mirth,

From these new bottles your familiar wine,

As ancient as man's rule upon the earth.

THE FIRST ACT

The scene is the library of John Faust, a large handsome room panelled in dark oak and lined with rows of books in open book-shelves. On the right is a carved white stone fireplace, with deep chairs before it. In the far left corner of the room, on a pedestal, stands a stiff bust of George Washington. Near it hangs a wonderful Titian portrait, a thing of another world. The furniture looks as if it were, and probably is, plunder from the palace of some prince of the Renaissance.

A fire is burning in the fireplace; it, and several shaded lights, make a subdued brilliancy in the room. Before the fire sits John Faust. Brander and Oldham, both in evening dress, lounge comfortably in chairs near Faust. All three are smoking, and tall highball glasses stand within their reach.

BRANDER

You are a thorn to me, a thorn in the flesh.

Contagiously you bring to me mistrust

Of all my landmarks, when, as here to-night,

Out of the midst of every pleasant gift

The world can offer you, you raise your voice

In scoffing irony against each face,

Form, action, motive, that together make

Your life, and ours.

FAUST

Dear man, I did not mean

To send my poor jokes burrowing like a mole

Beneath your prized foundations.

BRANDER

Not alone

Your attitude to-night; you always seem

As if withholding from all days and deeds

Moving around you—from our life and yours—

Your full assent.

FAUST

Dear Brander! Is it true

I am as bad as that? Well, though I were,

Why should it trouble you? If you find sport

In this strange game, this fevered interplay,

This hodge-podge crazy-quilt which we are pleased

To call our life—why, like it! And say: Damned

Be all who are not with me!

BRANDER

Are not you?

FAUST

I claim the criminal's privilege, and decline

To answer.

OLDHAM

Faust, might I presume so far

As to suggest that I should like a drink

Before you two start breaking furniture

Over this matter?

FAUST

Certainly; I beg

Your pardon; I neglected you.

(He busies himself with the glasses)

No, no,

We won't wage combat over this. You're right,

Doubtless, as usual, Brander. I have not

Your fortunate placidity of mind,

And I get grumpy.

Come, fill up your glass;

And let us drink to the glories of the world.

Down with the cynic!

BRANDER

Down with him, indeed!

And may he cease to trouble you. The world

Is pretty glorious when a man is young,

As we are, and so many splendid choices

Lie all around him. There have never been

Such opportunities as now are spread

Before us. Men are doing mighty things

To-day. A critic tells me that last night

Wullf at the opera sang "La ci darem"

With an artistic brilliancy of tone

That never has been heard on any stage

Anywhere in the world. You moped at home,

Doubtless; but it was wonderful, on my word.

OLDHAM

Whom did you go with?

BRANDER

Midge.

OLDHAM

Ah, Midge again!

I thought so....

BRANDER

Well, I don't know why I shouldn't.

OLDHAM

Those rosy-toned remarks gave you away.

Perhaps 'twas not "Don Juan" that last night

Was at its best, but Midge. Where did you sit?

BRANDER

Up in the gallery.

OLDHAM

The top one?

BRANDER

Yes.

OLDHAM

Once more, I thought so. You and Midge would look

Nice in a box! Yes, I will pay for one

If you will take it.

BRANDER

Oh, leave me alone!

FAUST

Who is this "Midge" you speak of?

OLDHAM

Midge, dear Faust,

Is short for Margaret; which, you may guess,

Describes a lady of the female sex;

Said person being serviceably employed

As maid-of-all-work for some ancient dame

In Brander's own apartment house. She has,

Beside what other virtues I know not,

A most bewitching ankle and a taste

For opera. And dear Brander's kindly heart

Is so moved by the sight of these combined,

He sometimes sneaks, by lonely alley-ways,

With his fair Midge, and in the gallery

High out of sight of all of us enjoys

Her and the opera.

FAUST

I did not know

You had a lady-love.

BRANDER

It's hardly that!

But she's a mighty jolly little thing.

FAUST

What sort of girl is she?

BRANDER

A mighty nice one!

Full of all kinds of happiness; but shy.

I'd like to see some rounder try to speak

To her on Broadway. She looks like a lady!

FAUST

That is too bad.

BRANDER

Oh, pshaw! Don't lecture me;

I'm not a saint; in fact, few of us are.

FAUST

Unfortunately not. I least of all.

And yet I wonder if.... However, I

Do not presume to lecture you. Remember

One thing, though, as my friend. Your Midge has deeps

Not pleasant under her if you let go.

BRANDER

Oh, I will not let go!... Not yet, at least.

OLDHAM

Faust really means it, strange as it may seem.

Of late he has turned moralist.

FAUST

Not quite:

But just a little tired of pursuits

That end regretfully.

OLDHAM

Well, don't pursue....

BRANDER

(Goes to the window and raises the shade)

See, what a night it is! The stars are out

As if a bucketful of them had spilled

Across the sky. And here we sit like owls,

Blinking and staring at a little fire

When heaven is burning! I'm afraid it's time

For me to leave this owlish parliament;

And I shall probably knock holes in half

The windows of the town as I walk home

Star-gazingly. And here it's after twelve!

I might have guessed it from the fatal fact

That we'd begun to talk philosophy:

No sane man ever does, except in hours

When by all rights he should be sound asleep.

Good night to both of you. And don't stay up

Talking till morning.

OLDHAM

Well, good night.

FAUST

Good night,

Brander, I'm sorry you must go: come in

Quite soon again, and I will try to be

Less disagreeable than I was to-night.

[Brander goes out.

OLDHAM

I'll bet he takes an arc-light for a star!

FAUST

He is warm-hearted; I am fond of him.

But Midge!... However, one can say no more....

OLDHAM

He's a good fellow; but he tires me

Sometimes.

FAUST

Dear boy, I envy him.

OLDHAM

Of course,

And so do I; but I would not exchange

Heads for a kingdom.

FAUST

Are you so fond, then,

Of what's in yours?

OLDHAM

No, but at least I have

A certain faint perception of the gilded

And quite preposterous crudeness of our days—

The sordid sickness of his life, and ours;

And that is something to be thankful for.

FAUST

Gratitude is a graceful gift.

OLDHAM

Come, come!

What snake has bitten you, that to your lips

A poisoned irony so bitter springs

To-night?

FAUST

I am revolving in my brain

This serious question: whether 'tis not best

That one turn humorist. The mind that seeks

Holiness, finds it seldom; who pursues

Beauty perhaps shall in a lengthened life

Find it perfected only once or twice.

But if one's quest were humor—what rich stores,

What tropic jungles of it, lie to hand

At every moment, everywhere one turns—

What luscious meadows for the humorist!

OLDHAM

No—for the satirist! There is no humor

In what you see and I see when we look

On this crude world wherein our lives are spent—

This sordid sphere where we are but spectators—

This crass grim modern spectacle of lives

Torn with consuming lust of one desire—

Gold, gold, forever gold— Or do you find

Humor in that?

FAUST

It might be found, perhaps:

The joke's on someone!

OLDHAM

There's no joke in it!

It is the waste, the pitiful waste of life!

Men—slaves to gather gold—become then slaves

Beneath its gathered weight. For this one hope,

All finer longings perish at their birth.

Men's eyes to-day envy no sage or seer

Or conqueror except his triumphs be

In this base sphere of commerce. The stars go out

In factory smoke; the spirit wanes and pales

In poisoned air of greed. It is an age

Of traders and of tricksters; all the high

And hounded malefactors of great wealth

Differ from the masses, in their wealth, indeed;

But in their malefaction, not at all.

Your grocer and my butcher have at heart

The selfsame aims as he to whom we pay

Tribute for every pound of coal we burn.

Their scope is narrower, but their act the same

As his—against whose millions all the tongues

Of little tricksters in each corner store

Babble and rail and shriek!

FAUST

Almost you do

Persuade me to turn humorist on the spot!

Was ever, since Gargantua, such a vine

Heavy with bursting clusters of the grape

Of humor?

OLDHAM

Of corruption! You may laugh;

But there's in all your laughter hardly more

Mirth than in my upbraidings. Ah, I grow

So weary of this low-horizoned scene,

Our generation; I am always drawn

In thought toward that great noon of human life

When in the streets of Florence walked the powers

And princes of the earth—Politian, Pico,

Angelo, Leonardo, Botticelli—

And a half-hundred more of starry-eyed

Sons of the morning, in whose hearts the god

Struggled unceasing. Ah, those lucent brains,

Those bright imaginations, those keen souls,

Arrowy toward each target where truth's gold

Glimmered, or beauty's! Those were days indeed;

We shall not look upon their like again.

FAUST

I am not sure.

OLDHAM

Then take my word for it!

FAUST

I am not sure; the lamentable fact

To me seems otherwise. For I believe

That this vile age of commerce and corruption

Which you describe in very eloquent terms,

Is still, upon the whole, the best that yet

Has graced our earth. I think not more than you

Am I in love with it; but, looking back,

I fail to see a better, though I peer

Into remote arboreal history.

OLDHAM

When I was six, my teachers taught me that.

Why, one would think that you had never heard

Of Greece or Italy!

FAUST

And what were they?

Your Renaissance, despite its few bright gleams,

Lies like a swamp of darkness, soaked in blood

And agony: such tortures as we scarce

Dream of to-day writhe through it; and the stench

Of slaughtered cities and corrupted thrones—

Yes, even the Papal throne—draw me not back

With longing toward it. Rich that time might be

If one were Michael Angelo; but how

If one were peasant, or meek householder,

When the Free Captains ravaged to and fro,

And peoples were the merest pawns of kings

Enslaved by mistresses? The more I look,

The more evaporates that golden haze

Which cloaks the past; the more I doubt if men

Had ever in their breasts more lofty souls

Than those we know. And I am glad to be

A citizen of this material age.

OLDHAM

Congratulations!—tempered with surprise

At finding you, beneath your lion's skin,

So sweet an optimist—whose faith can find

All's for the best; and the best, this great year

Nineteen Thirteen.

FAUST

Hardly so strong as that.

OLDHAM

Yes, tell me that the golden age has come!

FAUST

I quarrel not with ages—but with man;

Whose life such play and folly seems—for all

Its sweat and agony—that laughter lies

The sole escape from madness. I peruse

The present and the past, only to find

Mountains of human effort piled aloft

Like the Egyptian Pyramids, and toward

No end save folly....

All is foolishness!

In Argolis, a woman, somewhat vain,

Preferred a fop to her own rightful lord

And ran away; and then for ten long years

The might of Hellas on the Trojan plain

Grappled in conflict such as had been mete

To guard Olympus, and Scamander ran

Red with heroic blood-drops. And they got

The woman. And it all was foolishness!...

That was your Golden Age. I hope you like it.

Foolishness!... Once a mariner set forth,

With all the fires of heaven lit in his breast

And godlike courage on his brow, to find

New worlds beyond the unknown wastes of sea.

He sailed; he found; he died in rusty chains:

So that, to-day, the vermin of all climes

May thither flock, and there renew the old

Familiar toil toward utter foolishness....

Why all this labor unto vanity?

Why all this straining toward an empty end?

OLDHAM

Ah, you forget what Beauty was to them!

We are quite lost to that high touch to-day.

Beauty hung over them, a star to draw

Men's aspiration. That divides them quite

From our debased modernity.

FAUST

Dear Oldham!

My dear delightful visionary Oldham!

What an adorer of the past you are!

OLDHAM

Yes, I adore it sacredly, and loathe

To-day's whole content—except you! I loathe it

So much that, if I had the dynamite,

I'd blow it all—and you and me ourselves—

Into a nebula of dust.... Ah, well,

We hardly can decide these things to-night,

Can we? I must be off, little as I like,

To end our midnight talking.

FAUST

Oh, not yet!

OLDHAM

I must; this is not good for me: I fear

To let myself dwell on these restless thoughts

Which with a perilous longing sometimes make

My actual days so bitter that despair

Grips me in horror. And besides, I'm due

To pick my brother up. I have, you see,

The limousine to-night, and that entails

Its obligations. Dear modernity!

Whose Saviour is the limousine!... Good night!

FAUST

Good night. May all the Furies and the Gorgons

Of Greece and Florence leave you in repose

To dream to-night of white-limbed goddesses

And painters like archangels!

OLDHAM

I deserve it!

And yet I fear they will not be so kind....

Sleep is no friend to me these many nights.

I do not know what wrong I can have done

That so offends her she will none of me.

One of these days, she will carry it too far....

[Oldham goes out. Faust turns out all but two of

the lights; then seats himself wearily before the fire.

The room is dark around his lighted figure.

FAUST

The play drags, and the players would begone,

Out of this theatre of tinsel days

And lights and tawdry glamour, out to face

Even the blank of night, the icy stars,

The vast abysses. What the gallery-gods

Could give, they well have given; but deities

Inscrutabler than they annul all gifts

With one gift more—the restless mind that peers

Past fame, friends, learning, fortune, to enquire:

Whither? Whither? Whither? And no answer comes

To the cold player's lips....

I see too much

To make my peace with any ordered rôle

And play it heartily. To-day's thin coin

Pays not my labors; and to-morrow's hope

Has never been authenticated to me

By a fulfilling hour when I might say:

"Lo, this is what I hoped!" The vision flies

As I advance; while always far ahead

Its glow makes dim the color of my days;

And I loathe life because my hope is fairer,

And know my hope a lie. Thus, Faust, my friend,

You damn yourself ingeniously to hells

Of rich variety....

The eyes of men

Envy me as I pass them in the street—

Me, whom sufficient fortune, moderate fame,

Have made completely happy in their sight.

Well, I am no barbarian: let them have

The bliss of envying.... But I am sick

With the hour's emptiness; and great desire

Fills me for those high beauties which my dreams

Yearn ever toward. I am weary; I would go

Out to some golden sunset-lighted land

Of silence.

I have been athirst of dreams!

And all earth's common goals and gifts have been

But fuel to flame. O strange and piteous heart!

O credulous and visionary heart!

Desirous of the infinite—from defeat

Arising still to grope again for light

And the high word of vision! And in vain!

Till, not having found, its bitterness corrodes

Inward—like one betrayed by his last god....

Strange, that my father was a worthy man!

Perhaps 'tis his blood in me that withholds

Unreasoning my hand from washing clear

This scribbled slate with one quick tide of peace.

Would more of him were in me! that like him

I might spend eagerly a useful life

In medicining miserable men

Who were better dead—employ my force

To aid a world within whose marrow dwells

An evil none can cure, an agony

Beyond our dearest aiding.

Ah, well, well!

Such are the great men of this busy world,

Whose ardor for the game is anodyne

Against its buffets, and intoxicant

To lend it reveller's meaning. Ardor given,

All things are possible....

You, old marble-face,

Who front me from the corner with that grave

Virtuous Father-of-your-Country look,

I pay you my respects; you are a light

Of leading, as I see you now. Your soul

Was never shaken by convulsive doubts

Of life or man or liberty; you built

Unsceptical of bricks, but such as lay

To hand you took, nor did your purpose shake

At prescient thought of how your edifice

Might be turned pest-house some day. Undismayed

By doubt, you rose, and in heroic mould

Led—dauntless, patient, incorruptible—

A riot over taxes. Not a star

In all the vaults of heaven could trouble you

With whisperings of more transcendent goals.

O despicable, admirable man!

How much I envy you—the devil take you!

[The bust of Washington and its pedestal move

slightly; gradually they change and shape themselves

into the figure of a well-dressed man, rather short

and stocky, with a sociable, commonplace face. His

head, however, is very peculiarly modelled; it reminds

one, indescribably and faintly, of the fact that

men sprang from beasts. The high position of the

ears help this impression, as does also the astonishing

animal brilliance of the eyes. Faust, passing

his hand over his forehead, turns away.

FAUST

This is what comes of smoking far too much.

SATAN

Good evening, Mr. Faust.

FAUST

Well, I'll be damned!...

And who, I beg, are you?

SATAN

I ask your pardon

For thus appearing in a way unknown

To strict convention. But I never set

Great store by custom; and though nowadays

I follow the proprieties, still I feel

That one need not be slavish—

FAUST

Who are you?

What are you talking of? How did you get here?

SATAN

I am, sir, Nicholas Satan, at your service.

FAUST

Nicholas Satan! Quite a name. Perhaps

Some relative of the illustrious one?

SATAN

Himself.

FAUST

Stop this cheap foolishness! Who are you?

Or shall I ring for the police?

SATAN

I am

Satan. If I appeared with colored fire

And lightnings round me, you would doubt no more.

But like your narrow and near-sighted age,

You know me not in my own natural shape.

Now let this end! Here is my proof. You once

Summoned me to your aid, and, when I came,

Weakly rejected me. You were a boy

In college, and a woman blackmailed you—

A low, crude matter. I had settled it

Swiftly, if you had let me. We alone,

We three, on Harvard Bridge—night—and beneath,

A practicable river: ah, it was

A child's task! But you faltered.... You recall,

Possibly.

FAUST

I recall.... So you are he.

I did not know you.

SATAN

Let's forget the past.

We meet now under happier auspices.

FAUST

Incredible.

SATAN

No, quite an honest fact

Am I.

FAUST

I hardly can persuade myself

Whether to laugh or pull a solemn face

At seeing you. It is preposterous!

I thought that you were dead—a myth—a wraith.

SATAN

Dead? That is rich!

FAUST

Well ... don't you think yourself

A slight anachronism?

SATAN

My young friend,

I am no laughing matter. With the times

I, too, have changed, and am as up-to-date

As the Ritz-Carlton.

FAUST

But your horns and tail

And pitchfork? Not a vestige do I see

Of your famed look! You have no frightful glance;

I cannot even so far flatter you

As to say special badness makes your face

Great and distinguished. If you're Prince of Hell,

How villanously have the poets lied!

SATAN

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.

Most Holy One, we come,

From lands far off, beyond remotest seas

Of sunset. There, in midst of toil and stress

And clamor, have we dwelt, till weariness

Of all life's gifts impelled us to go forth

To seek if anywhere a region lay

Where happiness still dwelt. To you we turn

As unto one upon whose face is set

The seal of peace such as we dreamed not of.

SATAN

They seek the Way, the Way, most Holy One.

THE HOLY ONE

The Blessed Eightfold Way lies free to all.

I cannot ope it to them. Peace, joy, bliss,

Supernal glory is it to those souls

Who have put by the follies of their birth

And sought its refuge. But though now I stand

With lighted heart upon its blissful path,

I can stretch out no hand to grasp their hands

And draw them toward it.

SATAN

Yet the Blessed One,

In Gaya first enlightened, far and wide

Taught men the Way....

THE HOLY ONE

Aye, verily.... Some mood

Of evil in my heart has closed my mouth

And darkened thus my eyesight. But 'tis gone....

Brethren, have comfort on my frugal stones.

Ask me all ye desire.

SATAN

Most Holy One,

These are my friends; I bring them in sore need

Unto your wisdom. For methinks they stand

Now at the cross-roads where the choice is made

Of truth or vanity. I beg you, tell

Unto their ears how, in your day, you came

To that dark crossing.

THE HOLY ONE

I would do your will

In this, and in all other services,

My brethren.

You must know that in my youth

I was a lusty noble of the realm

Of Jeypore; and the falcon and the sword

And the nautch-dancers and the palace-girls

Were mine to love and master like a lord.

Lordlike I lived; the caskets of the day

And of the night I crowded with bright jewels

Of love and joy and laughter. No desire

Panted unslaked an instant at my doors—

Nay, feasts were spread for it. And poor men gazed

On me with envy, muttering from their dust:

"Behold, the Heavens' darling."...

OLDHAM

Other lands

Know the same tale.

THE HOLY ONE

Aye, aye, all lands. And then

One night, alone in mine own garden walls,

Beneath the piercing stars, I gathered my life

Into my hands, and looked at it, and far

Beyond it at all other mortal lives;

And dust fell from mine eyelids....

For I saw

Birth and desire, satiety and pain,

Recurrent yearning that is never stilled,

Agony, death, rebirth in other forms,

And agony, and desire, and agony.

But nowhere saw I happiness or peace

Or rest from cravings that like vultures tear

The fibres of the heart.

Then wandered I

Forth from my palaces in utter pain,

Seeing the world as dust and vanity,

A desert of despair, a raging sea

Of torment....

SATAN

Now why stops the Holy One?

THE HOLY ONE

It wearies me to speak, and to recall

Those perished years.... Give me to drink.

OLDHAM

He speaks

Out of familiar deeps. Seas sunder us,

But the same stars have cast their ghostly rays

Into our bosoms.

FAUST

And those cloudless eyes

Have seen what we have seen!

THE HOLY ONE

I am refreshed....

Thus long ago, in my most desolate hour,

I was refreshed by draughts from the deep springs

Of light. Beneath a pipal tree I sat

In lost despair; and thither to me came

A pilgrim; and he glanced into mine eyes

With sight that read the sickness of my soul,

And sat beside me, and in measured words

Like far-off song told me this parable:

The Buddha came to where the sea

Curled silver-white upon the land,

And murmurs of infinity

Breathed on the sand.

And there lay shells like rosy foam

Borne from the caverns of the deep,

Frail playthings drifted from the home

Of timeless, tideless sleep.

And on the sand a Fisher stood,

Drying his nets that late had seen

The silent caverns of the flood

And all the wastes between.

The Fisher lingered in his place

With countenance of mild surprise,

And looked upon the Buddha's face

With dumb, uncomprehending eyes.

And Buddha spake: "Thy nets are drawn,

Thy boat rocks idle on the sea,

Thy day turns westward, and is gone....

Come thou with me."

The Fisher marvelled: "I must toil

With nets and shells among the caves,

To win the sea's unwilling spoil

From the harsh waves."

And Buddha answered: "Cast no more

Thy nets upon the troubled sea,

Nor gather shells along the shore.

Come thou with me.

"Thou drawest shells and curious flowers

From out the blue untrodden caves.

Thou seest the passing of the hours.

Thou hearest the clamor of the waves.

"Thou openest the shell where lies

The pearl more white than driven spray—

And trackless past thy vision flies

Each passing day.

"But I will teach thee not to stir

The shell nor flower in its sleep.

For thou shalt roam the sepulchre

That chasms all their native deep.

"And vain desire, like terror grown

Deep in the chambers of thy breast,

Shall be from thee forever flown,

And thou shalt rest.

"No search for pearls shall blind thy thought,

Nor waves, with clamorous harmonies.

But in the silence where is naught

Thou shalt behold the One that is.

"And where the days now speed like foam

Across thy vision, there shall be

For thee a vast eternal home—

An Infinite Sea."

The Fisher looked on Buddha dumb—

Looked deep into that tender gaze—

Those eyes within whose depths had come

And gone the sorrows of all days.

He looked uncomprehendingly,

And wearily he shook his head;

And turned once more to drag the sea,

Knowing not what the Buddha said.

FAUST

The cup again! The Holy One is faint.

OLDHAM

He speaks a miracle!...

THE HOLY ONE

And then I knew

That pilgrim as a saint, whose lips revealed

The glory of the Buddha. I beheld

My life one poisoned network of desire

And fleshly longing and pain-sowing hope—

The evil self seeking its happiness

And shaping horror. And I cast away

Myself, and cried: What am I but a dream,

A wave within the sea, a passing cloud

Upon the radiance of eternity?

All yearning will I slay, and slay therewith

The sorrow that succeeds it!...

So the lust

Of life passed from me; so the narrow I

Merged in the infinite, from hope set free—

Heritor of Nirvana's holy calm,

Wherein the voices of the heart's unrest

Are stifled, and the soul expands to clasp

Joy, nothingness, eternity and peace.

FAUST

Peace.... Peace.... Like bells from upland monasteries

You speak the word that summons us. But where

In peace is room for all once-towering hopes—

Nay, even for the wrecked and prostrate monoliths

That mark those fallen pylons?

THE HOLY ONE

Let the earth,

Ravenous of her young, these too devour,

And dust and nothingness engulf their shapes—

Vain burdens, bitter monuments.

FAUST

And where

Shall I find deeps wherein without a sound

I can extinguish my wild will that leaps

Flamelike to meet the stars?

THE HOLY ONE

In that deep sea

Hid in thy breast. Seek thou that tide of calm,

For it lies there awaiting.

FAUST

Can it be

That life's whole burden may be cast aside

And named as nothing, and its memory

Perish forever? In the summer nights,

Comes there no stealing ecstasy to stir

The old forgotten longings?

THE HOLY ONE

In the night

And in the day, one ecstasy abides

Ceaselessly with the heart that has put off

Desire—one ecstasy of final calm.

All other voices seem harsh clamorings.

OLDHAM

Ah, Holy One, lead me thy way of peace!

For I am weary of my heart's vain wars.

My life is as a desert, where desire

Corrodes me ceaselessly. Instruct my soul

To follow thee home to the gulfs of rest!

That, in renouncement of this bitter will,

It find at last deliverance it has sought.

THE HOLY ONE

My son, thou hast spoken; thou shalt come in time

To that abode. The Buddha's light shall guide

Both thee and me, poor seekers. Bide with me;

And what I know, that shalt thou freely know,

And my peace shall be thy peace....

SATAN

Faust, the gates

Admit one form already.

FAUST

Ah, the gates

Are pearl and silver.... Would that there were space

Within them for such fevered heart as mine—

That with the restlessness of stormy winds

Beats on its barriers!

THE HOLY ONE

There is room for all

Whose souls renounce the world and life and hope

To gain that soundless silence.

OLDHAM

Faust, I feel,

Transfused with light and glory, that deep peace

Awaiting. There shall perish like a flame

The passions which have seared my tortured soul

All my life long. They die; and nothingness

Like a cool flood sweeps over me. Ah, come

Where never storm shall smite!

FAUST

I see the gates;

I see the cool breast of the silvery flood

Of refuge and oblivion.... Fare you well,

Oldham, and light go with you! For I go,

Alas, not with you....

OLDHAM

Faust, Faust, turn not back!

I, who am casting all desires in dust,

To one desire still cling: I long that joy

Of such deliverance fill you as fills me

On this first step of the sublime ascent.

FAUST

I see the light that waits you on the peak;

And my heart follows you. But my stern soul

Plucks me yet back with cold insistency

I cannot master.... Go! If I could pray,

My prayers should follow you. My visions shall;

My love shall fold you. But I cannot come

Where you shall go; I cannot cast aside

All that I surely know—this pitiful

And shattered mortal life, with its strange gleams

And shadows—and embrace the icy void

Where Being trembles on the final verge.

To bid life cease—but linger as the moon

Lingers in heaven—ah, that is horrible

Beyond life's proper horrors!... Were my pain

A single atom greater—were my soul

A single breath more weary—I would come.

But now I must confront the winds of heaven

Still master of my destinies.... To the last,

Not in such tomb-world can my spirit rest.

No golden clouds that throng Nirvana's gates

Shall tempt me there to enter and resign

My right to strain beyond all gates that be....

But you I cannot counsel....

OLDHAM

Me the peace

Already laps with wavelets of the flood.

FAUST

The flood is sundering us.

OLDHAM

Farewell, farewell,

Belovèd friend. I with the Holy One

Henceforth am linked; and grief shall follow me

In what should be your footsteps.

FAUST

Have no grief.

In the vast deeps of life's salt bitter sea

Perhaps awaits my anodyne, to heal

Life's wounds....

OLDHAM

Farewell! I go to paradise.

[Oldham and the Holy One move slowly away together,

pass through the colonnades, and disappear into the

forest. Faust follows with his eyes their retreating figures.

SATAN

You do not know a paradise when you see it!

Some day, when I have time, I'll start a school

To give instruction to great minds like you—

Débutant!

FAUST

Ah, I had forgotten you....

Two men are worth a thousand devils still.

SATAN

I overrated you. Now get you gone

Before I call the savagery that sleeps

Here in the jungle to annihilate you

For your unparalleled stupidity.

FAUST

Stupidity or no, I have one word

Still to say to you, my malicious friend:

To heel!

SATAN

What!

FAUST

Aye, to heel, I say! Crouch down

And follow me, my hound and servitor

From this hour forth!

SATAN

You have grown very witty.

Your wit, however, does not please me.

FAUST

Please you!

There are few things that I desire less.

To heel!

SATAN

What fiends possess you? Ah, I see!

You are still thinking of that wager made,

That jest of ours.

FAUST

I am still thinking of it.

SATAN

You do not mean that now you wish to claim

That forfeit seriously?

FAUST

I mean quite that.

SATAN

What an amazing man you really are!

For your own sake, I tried to offer you

A splendid paradise; I brought you here

At infinite cost and trouble; you have had

An hour of insight and experience

New and instructive to you; your best friend

Has found eternal bliss: and now you turn,

And just because your uttermost crazy whim

Is not quite satisfied with what he grasped

Thankfully, you revert, with sorry taste,

To my old careless generous remarks.

I do not think your friends at home would call it

A sporting attitude.

FAUST

The jungle shakes—

Do you not hear it?—with the stifled, choked

Laughter of leopards, elephants, hyenas,

Rhinoceroses, apes, pythons, and tigers,

Who hear you and are overcome with mirth....

I also laugh with them.

SATAN

Magnanimous

Your laughter sounds! True, you have beaten me,

And I am at your mercy. By some whim,

Trick, technicality, your mind rejects

A noble paradise; and to my pledge

You therefore are entitled. And I stand

Ready to pay it.

FAUST

Ah, at last we have

Acknowledgment of it! Frankness is good

Even for the Devil, Satan.

SATAN

I have been

Frank with you always. And, if to your taste,

I will be franker still. Your stake is won;

You have your triumph: but does it quite fill

The chambers of your heart? Will it suffice

In place of that bright paradise you dreamed

Might be your gain as loser? Ah, my friend,

In copper you have won, but lost in gold!

And victory will not requite for that

Your empty treasury.

FAUST

Not empty quite;

You are too modest.

SATAN

Oh, if you choose, my pledge

Shall be fulfilled, and I will be your dog—

Snarling a little, sometimes—snapping at

Your friends and furniture and lady-loves—

But yet your dog. However, I can do

Better for you than that....

FAUST

Enough! Enough!

SATAN

But hear me! You'll admit, a feather's weight,

A hair's breadth only held you from the gates

That Oldham entered. Almost they sufficed

Your spirit; yes, a moth's wing could have blown

You toward them! 'Twas so nearly I fulfilled

All that I promised. Therefore when I speak,

You will, for justice's sake, concede I am

No absolute bungler, no coarse-palated

Plebeian, as to paradises.

FAUST

No.

I will admit that.

SATAN

Good! Now, I would make

One final offer to you.

Faust, I know

In other regions, beneath other skies,

One haven more, the only one of earth

That can be judged in glory to surpass

This paradise you entered not. My faith

Is absolute that it is to your need

Utterly moulded. Like your heart itself,

Its halls are structured, destinate for you

As perfect refuge. And I say to you:

Give me the leave, and I will lead you there

For one supreme and ultimate trial of choice

That has no doubtful outcome. And my pledge

Shall still be valid! If this refuge gives

Not all that you desire, you still may claim

My service as your slave. Thus do you risk

No atom, but have gain of one last chance

To win the paradise you hunger for!

FAUST

A pleasing logic; but I do not trust

The mind behind it.

SATAN

Trust it, or distrust—

What matter?—when the issue is so plain!

FAUST

Away! Away!

SATAN

Well, if this hope is vain

To urge you, let despair serve in its stead

As roweled spur. For see where now you stand:

The mock of destiny—the man who lost

All joys of the bright many that the world

Cherishes! Aye, and even lost his friend,

His one deep lasting friend—and stood thereafter

Fixed like a donkey.... Though I led you on

From paradise to paradise, and none

Sufficed you—that were surely better sport—

Testing and trying with sublime contempt—

Than finger-twirling! But not thus I lead.

For now you shall, you shall have paradise!

FAUST

Deep in my soul, there is a sense that loathes

Pacts with the Devil. Yet the sanctioned powers

Established in the world have proved them void

And ignorant of paradise.... Where lies it?

SATAN

Follow, and I will lead.

FAUST

A long path?

SATAN

Yes.

FAUST

On! But your bondage waits you at the end.

SATAN

Ah, jester, jester!... Come—give me your hand!

CURTAIN

THE THIRD ACT

The scene is the nave of a great cathedral. Two rows of many-shafted columns stretch back to where, in the far background, rises the elaborate magnificence of the High Altar.

The nave is empty, except for an occasional figure moving at the far end of the long central aisle, and an occasional attendant in sacerdotal robes making ready the Altar.

Faust, entering from the right, and Satan, entering from the left, meet in the foreground. Satan is dressed in the dark robes of a priest.

FAUST

I care not for your masquerade attire;

But let that pass.... Well, I have kept your hour.

And this perhaps is not unfitting place

To make confession that you weary me

A little. In this running to and fro

Over the earth, my inclination tires

Of your companionship. I am resolved,

If three days' time brings forth no new event,

To end this, and reclaim you to obey

My will.

SATAN

I am content; three days will serve.

FAUST

Good! Meanwhile, 'tis at least some recompense

That we return from airy Eastern domes

Glittering in blank sunlight, unto lands

Where men erect their temples to the gods

In forms whose light and shadow, stress and play

Of arch and buttress, satisfies my blood

Better than does barbaric loveliness.

The dome that poises its clear perfect curves

Rising above the palm-trees, with the look

As of a wingèd bubble lightly resting

On needless masonry—that symbolled form

Of heavenly perfection never fills

My heart as do these knotted buttresses

And writhing ribs and vaults that strain in fight—

And are victorious, as they raise to heaven

The climbing spires of such an edifice.

SATAN

Quite right—but if you'll let me interrupt—

There is a woman yonder who, I think,

Is waiting for a chance to speak to you.

She looks at you, and hesitates, and turns—

As though a little fearful to approach

So great a person.

FAUST

Where is she? I see.

I wonder if I know her.

SATAN

She is coming.

[A young woman, hardly more than a girl, comes

from between the pillars and approaches Faust.

Satan withdraws a little as she approaches.

THE WOMAN

I did not want to interrupt your talk;

But, Mr. Faust, I wished so much to speak

To you. You do not know me?

FAUST

Why, it seems...

THE WOMAN

Of course you do not; why should you remember?

But I have seen your face so many times

When you perhaps not noticed me at all,

That I feel half-acquainted. Mr. Brander

Speaks of you, too, so much that I have grown

To think I know you.

FAUST

Ah; yes, Brander....

THE WOMAN

Still

I have not told you who I am, and you

Do not yet know me. I am Mrs. Brander.

FAUST

What! Mrs. Brander! Ah, delighted ... yes....

THE WOMAN

You had not heard that we were married?

FAUST

No.

Of course, I am astounded; it's delightful—

And most surprising.

THE WOMAN

It was very sudden—

While you were gone.

FAUST

I see. Yes, I'm surprised

And charmed. It's strange, at first I could not bring

You to my memory.

THE WOMAN

I don't believe

That you can yet!

FAUST

Why....

THE WOMAN

I don't wonder at it.

I used to whisk about and peer at you

As you came in....

FAUST

Are you then ... then are you ...

Midge?

MIDGE

Yes! exactly.

FAUST

This is very charming.

Now I remember perfectly, of course,

Dear Mrs. Brander! I shall hope to see

Brander himself to-morrow. Give him, please,

My warmest wishes.

MIDGE

We shall hope to see you

In our apartment soon. It's very tiny

And in a quite unfashionable street;

But it looks out across a bit of park

To westward, as I've always hoped it would.

Some days the sunset lights are lovely there.

You must come look at them.

FAUST

Thank you—indeed

I shall be very glad to!

MIDGE

And I know—

How shall I say it?—that you'll think me strange,

And that I cannot ever be your friend

As Mr. Brander is. I know so little—

FAUST

Dear Mrs. Brander!

MIDGE

But I am so eager

That you should give me just a little trial—

I want so much to know you, and so much

He should not lose you....

FAUST

Why, you make me feel

Quite like a monster!

MIDGE

Then you'll come?

FAUST

I'll come!

MIDGE

Good-bye—and don't forget me.

[Midge gives him her hand, and moves away smiling.

FAUST

Well, of all

Impossible, grotesque, outrageous tricks

That Brander could have played upon himself!

Married—the fool, the fool!—And yet she is

Curiously sweet and fresh, that kitchen-maid.

SATAN

Are you quite through?

FAUST

Quite, thank you.... It is strange....

But I forget; you are not interested.

What is it you would say now?

SATAN

I have things

Graver to speak of than admiring ladies

Or Gothic architecture. Here, to-day,

Unto your doubting eyes there shall be made

A revelation of profounder scope

Than aught that life has brought you.

FAUST

The hour strikes

Tardily; I am wearier than I was

When on this trial we entered.

SATAN

You have looked

Askance at me these many days, perplexed

To reconcile the fountains of my will

With my strange acts, and with the dark report

That you have heard concerning me. Dear friend,

Be you not angry, now I say to you

In full confession, that from day to day

I have deceived you: I have hid my face

Even from my friend: I have with doubtful mask

In alien guises tempted you, to try

Your metal. But the hour of trial is past;

The event is sure; and now I ope my heart

And show to you what few of living men

Have guessed—my final secret.

FAUST

Play no tricks.

Before me, Satan; try no mumming game.

If you speak truth, let riddles cloak it not.

SATAN

Listen, and be truth's judge. I am not such

As men esteem me; and my spirit's springs

Rise not from buried and infernal realms,

But like your own, out of the fount of God

They have their being. I, though lowliest far,

Yet am a servant of the House of God—

Deputed to mine office by His hand,

And on His mission.

FAUST

You are trifling with me.

SATAN

I speak the gospel of the living God.

FAUST

Are you not Lord of Evil? God doubtless asks

That service of you?

SATAN

God is infinite,

Likewise His wisdom. His omniscience wills

That I go forth among the haunts of men

And offer evil to their touch. Thereby,

Some spurn me—and the force whereby they spurn

Lifts them up nearer to His arms. Some take

The sin I offer, fall from grace, go down—

And lost in fathomless gulfs of wickedness,

Cry out with utter yearning to His love

That it may save them, and repentant turn

Their prodigal faces toward His doors again,

Never to wander more. But some few souls,

Who neither spurn temptation nor repent

After their fall—these unregenerate

It is mine office wholly to destroy

And cleanse the universe for the praise of God.

Thus does all evil serve His mighty throne,

And all return to Him.

FAUST

I have no power

To take the measure of the words you speak.

Why tell me such things?

SATAN

I would tell you all

And show to you at last your destiny.

The vanities of the world, the woes and sins,

Are but the acid by whose fiery touch

I sort the gold from out the transient brass

And purify and fine it that it be

Worthy God's altar. My belovèd friend,

Such was your trial; thus have I tempted you

With things averse to God, with forms and faiths

Outcast and separate from Him. You have seen

The whole world's vanities; you have come to know

That in this world's illusion is no power

Whose love is refuge: even the living death

Of cold Nirvana frights you. Thus at last,

Knowing that you are powerless, and the world

Bare of salvation for your feebleness,

You stand on this great threshold; and your eyes

That see despair and loneliness shall raise

Their sight to heaven; and peace shall fold you round;

And God, who is our Father, shall be yours.

FAUST

This is not truth! My fevered eyes are weak

To look into this glowing maze of fire

With vision. All the ramparts of the world

Reel round me. I have scoffed God all my days,

Believing pain—your province of the world—

Proof of His non-existence. And you come

Crying His glory, testifying His faith,

Exhorting me to seek Him.... I am lost

Where naught is known to me.

SATAN

He is your hope,

Your sole salvation in a universe

Where never other form shall comfort you—

A waif except for Him. So have all souls—

The holy and the pure—from age to age,

Learned, homesick for His home. Their frustrate hopes,

Their burdens heavier than by mortal strength

Can be sustained, their impotence, bow down

Each spirit: and it cries: "O God, support

My helplessness; unto Thy perfect will

Do I resign my vain and evil hopes,

My burdens; and Thy Will Be Done Forever."

Thus, with arms folded on despairing breast,

With head bowed to the inscrutable decree,

They seek Him: and a sudden glory fills

The humbled bosom; all His stars and thrones

Shine down upon it; all His majesty

Enters that lowly door, lifts up, sustains

The sundered soul; and His beneficence

With more than father-love enfolds the heart

Joined to His own forever. From His light

Reflected radiance pours; to the dark sight

Comes glimpse of the high justice of God's will;

And all roads lead to Heaven, and all hearts lie

Within His love, and all's well with the world.

[Deep organ music begins to roll through the arches

of the cathedral. Candles are lighted one by one

on the High Altar. Worshippers begin to enter the

nave: they pass down the long central aisle and

gather in groups at the far end, near the Altar.

Faust stands leaning against a pillar, silent and lost

in meditation.

Brander enters among the worshippers. He passes

the spot where Faust is standing, glances at him and

stops, astonished.

BRANDER

You have come back! I had not heard of it.

Where have you been these many months? I long

To talk with you.

FAUST

Yes, come and see me soon.

It's a long story.... I congratulate you

Upon your marriage....

BRANDER

Then you know....

FAUST

She came

And spoke to me a little while ago.

BRANDER

It must seem strange to you beyond my power

Ever to quite unravel. But for me

All things are clear; and to my blinded sight

Morning has come—in this thing, as in all

The doubts that once enslaved me.

FAUST

Do you mean...

BRANDER

Come here aside before the service starts.

I owe it you to tell you. I have changed

In your long absence....

FAUST

These are curious words.

I do not understand.

BRANDER

To understand,

You must hear all. You know my life—how vain

Its occupations, how absorbed I moved

In this day's folly and to-morrow's lure—

How petty trifles made my whole small round

Of being—selfish trifles, nothing worth,

Stained with a cruelty that I would forget.

That night we talked together—you and I

And Oldham—in your rooms, I wandered home

Sorely distressed. For you had stirred in me

A gnawing doubt whether the whole of life

Was not mere child's play.

FAUST

I am sorry if—

BRANDER

It was the kindest act man ever did

In all my life! I peered into my heart:

I saw myself Judas to innocence,

Betraying lightly with a careless kiss

A mortal body and immortal soul;

I saw no thing in all my days to claim

A sane man's approbation; one by one

Each glittering bauble that I late had loved

Crumbled to dust beneath the parching fire

Of reason.... And that night, I walked in Hell.

FAUST

Poor Brander! And my mocking did all this?

BRANDER

Thank God for it! That night I saw my joys

Like some rank thicket of bright vanities

Masking a precipice. A sense of sin

And loathing overcame me, and the power

Of utter terror filled me. I beheld

The evil riot of gross earthy things

That had o'ergrown me. Like a burden lay

That sense upon me, and it pressed me down

To a despondence deep beyond all words,

Beyond all thought. And no escape I saw

Except the bullet....

FAUST

What a faith we pin

Upon that bullet!

BRANDER

Thus the doubtful days

Passed like a nightmare. Till, one Sabbath morn,

As restlessly I paced, some random mood

Led me to enter this cathedral's doors

At hour of service. As I knelt, with lips

Unknown to prayer, the mighty music rolled

Over my heart like an all-purging flood,

And a voice chanted: "He that loveth life

Shall lose it; he that hateth this world's life

Shall keep the life eternal." And a voice

Shortly thereafter sang, in angel tones:

"Come, let our feet return unto the Lord;

For He hath torn, and He will heal us." And

My soul cried: "Yield thy burdens to the Lord,

Upon His love cast thine unworthy self,

And bid His Will Be Done."

And then my soul

Melted as in the warmth of His embrace.

My guilt was gone like night before the sun:

Light blinded me; an infinite love and joy

Lifted me up, a child again, from earth

Into such regions as my mortal speech

Can never utter. And from that hour forth,

God has been with me.... Now you know my tale.

FAUST

You teach me more of marvels than I guessed

Was yet unlearned by me.

BRANDER

No words can teach

These marvels to a heart that has not known

God's glories.

FAUST

Then this mystery of the heart

Is what men mean when of the faith of God

They speak? I thought 'twas dogma, service, prayer;

But this is life, is vision.

BRANDER

Aye, and more!

Now do I walk in meadows of calm light;

The love of God is over me; I faint

Almost beneath its sweetness and wild joy.

My whole heart's toil is how to merit it

Even a little.

SATAN (raising his hand to bless)

By the grace of God

You shall be worthy servant, O my son.

FAUST

This, then, is what God's vision-seers behold—

This revelation veiled unto mine eyes—

This love unfelt by me—this light of dawn

Beyond our darkened night.... I was too far

Estranged from Him, of too unworthy will,

Bowed by too sore a burden....

[The music of the organ rolls forth once more; and,

at the far end of the nave, the choir takes up the

music.

VOICES SINGING

From the waters of Zion,

From the fountains of peace,

Pour the floods on whose bosom

Thy seeking shall cease.

There the winds of His garments

Shall lull thee to rest.

There the night of His watching

Shall enter thy breast.

Thou shalt sleep, and awaken;

On His morrow, to be

As a star in His heavens,

A wave in His sea.

FAUST

With old, profound, unutterable grief

My spirit speaks in me: as, many a time

In childhood, at the hour of evening dusk,

When all the room was still and shadowy,

I, at my mother's knee, wept out my heart

And knew not why I wept. And I am drawn

Out of myself upon the music's tide,

With nameless sorrowing, with childlike pain—

As though in careless play-hours of the day

I had done hurt to someone that I loved.

Ah, I am homesick; and in all the world

There is no knee at which I can weep out

My loneliness. There is no breast of peace

And silence and forgiveness for this child

In any dusk-strewn chamber....

BRANDER

There is God!

FAUST

O God, can Thine arms fold me? Can my weight

Of loneliness and failure and despair

With the day's fruitage, find a child's release

In Thy great tenderness? I am a child;

And life's vast terrors gather round my soul;

And I am frightened. I am weary, Lord!

It darkens; and the storms creep on with night;

The shadows come; the wanderer would turn home.

[Faust falls to his knees; he bows his head. Again

the organ throbs, the choir sings.

VOICES SINGING

To His peace shalt thou yield thee;

In His love shalt thou sleep;

All the rills of thy valleys

Shall merge in His deep.

To His hands shalt thou offer

All hope thou hast known.

His hope and His glory

Shall compass thine own.

And the vain stars of longing

Shall fade in His sun;

And the vain hand shall stay;

And His Will Shall Be Done.

SATAN

Let us beside our brother kneel in prayer

Beseeching mercy.

[Satan and Brander kneel beside Faust.

BRANDER

Brother in the Lord,

Let us together from devoted hearts

Repeat: "Thy Will Be Done."

[Faust continues to kneel in silence. The music

ceases.

BRANDER

Faust, let us pray:

"Father, we do beseech Thee for Thy light"...

SATAN

Brother, pray thus: "Thy Will Be Done"...

FAUST (rising)

What will?...

BRANDER

Faust!

FAUST

Lost is my way among eternal shadows.

Darkened is every light; and clouds are rolled

With blackening curtain over all the stars

Within my heaven. But I stand upright

Now to the end, no traitor to that dawn

I cannot image.

SATAN

What do you mean?

FAUST

Begone,

Judas!...

Ah, Brander, would that I could yield

Myself to Him who has received your burdens!

But to me seems it as another sleep,

Like that Nirvana which I put aside

In other gardens of temptation. Sleep—

Sleep that should have no waking—happy sleep—

An anodyne for which my spirit yearns

But dare not take—a yielding to some Will,

Whose Will, we know not, nor do greatly care

So long it be not our will....

Thus may yield

The weary; I am weary, but not yet

To such last slumber. Thus may yield the base;

I am not base. Thus may those spirits yield

Who, poisoned by some madness in their blood,

Despise life's being; but not yet will I

So utterly despise it. Though in gulfs

Of yet unsounded ruin I should die

At the end miserably, I still shall seek

In life itself my refuge: not in God

That stands apart from life, on heights of peace.

All my desires, my visions, my dreams, my unrest,

My loathing and my longing will I clutch

And cry: "With all its bitterness on my head,

My Will be done, not Thy Will!"

BRANDER

Blasphemy!

Ah, Faust, what madness!...

FAUST

With calm sight, I speak

No blasphemy, but truth. Shall I buy peace

So easily? Toss my burdens to God's Will—

Into the fathomless void of that unknown?

Such were the last, the great apostacy....

I go into a darkness past your thought—

Into an emptiness you know not of—

A night profounder that it late has held

Marsh-lights of promise. My last altar lies

Smoking in ruins; and I stand alone

Of all the universe. But my Will be done!

My errant tortured Will, my bitter Will,

My Will, my Will!

BRANDER

Flee, ere the awful wrath

Of God smite down these walls, these poisoned stones,

That hear your words! Flee, ere the heavens rain forth

Lightnings to blast us for these horrors!

FAUST

Nay!

In this dim hour of desolation's reign

Upon my soul, I summon to my soul

All powers that good or evil may consign

To the most lonely man in all the world;

I lift my voice, burdened with all the weight

Of loathing and of longing, and I cry:

My curse upon Thee, lure of dying hearts!

May lightnings smite Thy altars back to earth!

BRANDER

Father, forgive! He knows not what he does....

CURTAIN

THE FOURTH ACT

The scene is a public lecture-hall. To the left rises a platform, on which stands a reading-desk. To the right are rows of chairs arranged as for an audience. In the front row of these sit four old men, patiently and silently waiting. One is reading a newspaper.

Suddenly there bursts into the hall a rout of wildly gay and dancing maskers: Harlequin, Columbine, a Pig, Pantaloon, an enormously tall Ghost, Clowns, a Skeleton, Ballet-girls, Oriental Princesses, Monks, Courtiers, Turks and Jew Pedlers. The first few attempt to draw back on seeing the chairs and the four old men; but they are pushed on by those behind. Once in, they all circle about in a crazy dance, singing over and over the same verse.

THE MASKERS

Oh, children, children, New Year's Day

Is more than half a year away.

And we might get most awful dry

If we should wait for the Fourth of July.

So let us celebrate now and here

With rah, rah, rah and a bottle of beer!

[One of the maskers, who is dressed as a clown,

raises his hands, ineffectually trying to hush the

rest.

CLOWN (shouting)

Stop! Stop! I want to teach another verse

To you before we go back to the others.

[Loud laughter. The song continues.

THE SKELETON (shouting)

Isn't one bad enough?

CLOWN

A poor thing—but

It is mine own.

THE PIG

So much the worse for you!

ONE OF THE OLD MEN (rising)

Gentlemen! There's to be a lecture here.

CLOWN

Is that all? Well, I'll give it you myself.

A MONK

Not if we see you first!

THE PIG

My God! Let's run!

SKELETON

Back! Or the others will drink all the punch!

[The mob of maskers turbulently surges out again,

leaving the hall quiet and empty except for the four

old men.

AN OLD MAN

They are a noisy lot.

SECOND OLD MAN

Yes.

THE FIRST OLD MAN

There must be

Party upstairs?

SECOND OLD MAN

Yes, I suppose there is.

FIRST OLD MAN

They begin early.

THIRD OLD MAN

Early? Yes, or late.

This is the end of last night's party, which

Began at twelve, and likely'll last till noon.

I know, for I'm the janitor.

FIRST OLD MAN

Well! Well!

[Two men enter, look around and take seats in the

chairs set for the audience. One carries a small black

surgical case; the other has a green bag under his

arm.

DOCTOR

We seem to be a little early—or

Have we made some mistake?

LAWYER

No, ten's the hour.

But I was anxious that we should be prompt,

And so have rather overdone our haste.

DOCTOR

It doesn't matter; we can wait a bit.

How curiously impatient, though, you are

To hear this talk! I personally have doubts

Whether it's worth our trouble.

LAWYER

Well, I know

The man, however slightly; you do not,

And so can hardly share my expectation.

But he has been, throughout these many years,

So secretive, so self-contained, so deep

In matters that I could not guess, that now,

When he at last promises to proclaim

Some strange discovery, I half believe

It will be worth our coming.

[Two women enter together. The younger one is

leading a child by the hand. The older, a gaunt,

spinsterly-looking figure, peers about with a near-sighted

glance.

MERCHANT'S WIFE

Take that seat.

And now be quiet.

CHILD

Mother, will he have

The Devil with him?

MERCHANT'S WIFE

I don't know. The child

Has been completely crazy since I told her

That I would bring her with me.

OLD WOMAN

I am just

A little curious myself. I learned

When I was young all that they thought was known

About the Devil; and if this Mr. Faust

Has really made some new discovery

About him, it seems well that even the young

Should be informed of it.

[A number of detached men and women enter and

take seats silently. They are followed by two

plumbers in overalls, carrying the tools of their

trade still with them.

YOUNG PLUMBER

Whew, but the boss will skin us for this trick!

OLD PLUMBER

Go, if you like. But I intend to stay.

I have not been, through seventeen long years,

Philosopher myself, now to let slip

A chance of hearing such a talk as this.

YOUNG PLUMBER

Oh, I won't go.

OLD PLUMBER

You'd better not. They say

That all the rumors wholly underrate

The real importance of his talk to-day.

I've been informed, on good authority,

That he will have the Devil on the platform

And publicly enchain him to a cart

For all of us to see.

[The two plumbers have taken their seats. A man

behind them leans forward now and interrupts them.

BUTCHER

What's that? A cart?

He means to drive the Devil as a horse?

OLD PLUMBER

Quite probably, quite probably.

BUTCHER

Well, that

Will be outrageous, in these troubled times

Of strikes and lock-outs. Without any doubt,

If he goes trying to harness up the Devil,

It will precipitate a teamsters' strike.

Using non-union horses always does.

YOUNG PLUMBER

Do you think that? Why, that would be a shame,

When times are bad already.

CHILD

Mother, Mother!

Will there be moving pictures?

MERCHANT'S WIFE

I don't know.

Don't talk so loud.

[Two prosperous-looking men enter. One is elderly,

the other young.

BANKER

Do not apologize

Now that you've brought me. As I said at first,

I am prepared to see a mountebank

Perform his pretty tricks of eloquence

To set the crowd agape. Why, once a week

The Ethical Society hires one

To work the same performance—quite the same

Each time. Unearth a few forgotten doubts,

Or dig your elbow into some new dogma,

And you will see the mob fawn at your feet,

Believing you the greatest mind since Plato.

RICH YOUNG MAN

I'm sure he isn't that kind.

BANKER

We shall see!

And afterwards, the drinks shall be on you.

[A gawky young man who has flour in his hair, and

a vivacious and pertly dressed girl enter together.

GIRL

I go to all the lectures that I can.

I do think culture is the grandest thing;

And one acquires it so easily

Nowadays that one shouldn't let it slip.

BAKER

I'd go to lectures, too, if I could go

Always with you.

GIRL

Well, now, perhaps I'll try

To educate you!

BAKER

Oh, I wish you would!

[Satan enters, dressed as an artisan. He takes a

seat in the far corner, out of sight of the platform.

Two young men enter. Both have books under their

arms.

YOUNG STUDENT

His is the subtlest mind I ever knew.

The gulfs through which he whirled bewildered me

When he would talk. So I am quite prepared

For a great treat to-day.

YOUNGER STUDENT

Oh, I forgot

My note-book. Can you tear a sheet from yours?

SATAN (to a man beside him who rises, apparently tired of waiting)

What, going? Well, I wouldn't, if I were you.

You ought to hear this: I have had a hand

In getting him to speak; and I am sure

There will be something doing.

THE MAN

Well, I'll stay,

Since you, of the committee, vouch for it.

[More people enter and take their seats.

YOUNG PLUMBER (to his companion)

What do you get by being philosopher?

I don't see how you do it. I could never

Think about nothing all the time, like you.

OLD PLUMBER

Perhaps your mind is not just made for it.

It takes a thinker, that it does. And I

Did not get into it so easy, either.

I read a lot of books before I saw

The greatness of Philosophy. Now I wonder

How I got on without it. Why, to-day

I could not clean a sewer in peace of mind

If I did not know that, when I got home,

I could philosophize on Space and Time.

YOUNG PLUMBER

It must be wonderful to know these things.

[Brander and Midge enter together. They seem to

find some difficulty in choosing their seats.

MIDGE

Are you quite sure that we can hear him here?

BRANDER

Yes; and besides, I do not wish to sit

Too near the front. I'd rather not have come

At all to-day. But you...

MIDGE

Oh, don't go back

Now on your promise! I must hear him speak.

I must, I must. I cannot tell you why;

I do not know. But I have never seen

A face that seemed to promise me so much—

Things that I cannot utter, cannot think.

BRANDER

I never want to see his face again.

I shall try not to listen.

CHILD

Mother, when

Will the show start?

MERCHANT'S WIFE

Hush, very soon! Yes, see—

There he is coming in.

CHILD

Oh, goody, goody!

[Faust enters the hall and mounts the platform.

He busies himself for a moment adjusting the reading

desk; then turns toward the audience, gripping

the desk steadily, and waits a moment more for the

stir to subside.

FAUST

I come before you with unwilling lips—

Not led by eagerness, or wont of speech;

Being not of those who easily proclaim

Small miracles to move you. But the force

Of grave necessity has bid me cast

All thought save one aside, and in your midst,

Utter strange words, with lips that must obey

The soul that wills not silence.

For I come

Announcing not the common verities

Of learned books, or laboratory lore,

Or ancient heresies; as speaks the fool,

So speak I—from my heart. What I have seen,

That shall you see, and with grim gladness hold

Close in your hearts. Yes, all the world shall see it—

I am a tower burning to light the world!

(He pauses a moment, meditatively)

OLD WOMAN (whispering)

He has a good opinion of himself.

FAUST

I have beheld the toil and pain of life,

Its emptiness and defeat; I have beheld

Hearts, weary with recurrence of the days

That held no sweetness, turn in trust to where

In high aërial spaces far from earth

God in his heaven to all the weary ones

Offers a refuge. And in such a mood

Was I, too, led toward heaven by one whom now

I know my foe—Satan. Toward God I turned,

Seeking in Him fulfilment of all hopes

That earth had thwarted. Then, in the hour of prayer

And revelation, from my deepest breast

Flashed lightnings. And I saw the Lord of Hosts

High on a mountain, inaccessible

To yearning men, who, mastered by a dream,

Turn skyward from our dark and struggling earth.

I saw the crafty Satan urging on

The heavenward-yearning myriads, while the world

Lay like a stagnant quagmire, to his sway

Wholly abandoned, and man's mortal house

Burned in fierce conflagration of corruption.

And lo! the lightnings from my heart smote forth

Across the heavens; and God dissolved like cloud,

And through the cloud peered Satan's sinister face.

Friends: God is dead; your God and mine is dead.

And Satan in his place—Satan who is

The father of the gods—lures on your hearts

Unto an idol in the untrodden skies,

That, while ye dream oblivious in the void,

The earth may crumble. Or if God there be,

He is the God of dying hearts and spent—

A deity of chaos, for whose ends

One thing alone is mete—ruin of life,

Of loathings and of longings that on earth

Restlessly grapple with the powers of Hell.

I know not if in regions yet unguessed

Some gods may dwell, of nature fit to guide

Us, the adventurers of an earthly fight.

But I have seen with eyes that cannot lie

That they reside not in this Devil's net—

This heavenly trust, this labyrinth of peace,

Which draws men on to nothingness....

And I cry

With all the passion of my baffled soul—

Cast down your God! Cast down your peace and trust

In His far Will! It is a solace mete

For slaves, not men. With bitter hand, destroy

This idol of destruction! Smite all haunts

Of faith and resignation and defeat

And rest and peace and comfort. Heaven and earth

Alike are poisoned: somnolence in heaven,

Decay on earth is regnant. Every faith

And law and nation must in wreck go down

For us who see the death that taints their halls;

And ruin shall walk reckless through the world,

Destroying tombs where life is daily slain!

(Faust pauses)

BRANDER (rises suddenly from his place in the audience)

My friends, I came to listen, not to speak.

But when such words as these from impious lips

Fall lightly, I must rise here to refute

Their poisonous message. Three days since, I stood

With this man in the sacred halls of God,

And witnessed in his heart the glory grow

Of God's bright hope. Then suddenly from Hell,

Or from his own deep, labyrinthine heart,

Sprang fiends to snatch him back from heaven's clear gate

And God's deliverance. And his bitter lips,

By thirst so nearly quenched made bitterer yet,

Cried blasphemies against the powers of heaven

And all bright starry hopes that light our days

With faith and glory. And the hand of God,

Inscrutably withheld, smote him not dumb,

But suffered him to go. Now in our sight

He rises to proclaim his searing doubt,

His hot destroying passion, and tears down

Our fairest altars. I, who was his friend,

Hereby renounce him; and in sober words

Counsel all men to flee the company

Of one who hates the great hopes of the world!

[As Brander sits down, there is some scattered applause

in the audience. Faces are turned toward him.

Midge sits motionless, her face buried in her hands.

FAUST

I scarce foresaw that my laborious task

Should profit by the aid of willing hands

So freely offered. Well, the Devil moves still

Unchained on earth; and while he toils, your toil

Is of small matter. You have ranged yourself

With things fast dying; and our feet—the feet

Of trampling hordes—shall pass above your head,

As we shall pass over all creeds and laws,

All stately chambers and respected homes

And hearths and council-halls and sleek vile marts—

We, the destroyers of destruction!

BUTCHER

Here!

Don't you go shaking any fist at me!

GIRL

I think it's awful. Someone ought to stop him.

MERCHANT'S WIFE

The man is crazy!

OLD PLUMBER

Say! Would you destroy

Space and Time, too?

YOUNG PLUMBER

Hooray for hell broke loose!

BUTCHER

Out with him! He's an anarchist!

BANKER

I'm not

Religious; but I cannot stand for that.

YOUNG STUDENT

Oh, let him have a chance!

BUTCHER

Not if I know it!

Damn such a man!

[Satan suddenly rises in his place with commanding

gestures. The people stare at him, and after a moment

are silent to hear him speak.

SATAN

My friends, I think we all—

Or most of us—agree that talk like this

Is a destructive influence, to be met

With frowns, in justice to society.

Such words disgrace humanity, affront

Respectability, and fill with shame

Our hearts for such a speaker. Yet the rogue

Requires but rope to save the law the toil

Of trial and execution. I bespeak,

Therefore, your patience for this gentleman;

Till he has time to wind the hempen knot

Securely round his throat, let us sit by

And hear him further.

FAUST

Thank you. You begin

Well in my service.

SATAN

Aye, indeed, indeed!

You don't suppose a mouse-trap baits itself?

Friends, let us hear him.

RICH YOUNG MAN

That sounds sensible.

YOUNG PLUMBER

Let each dog have his day.

OLD PLUMBER

Sit down! Shut up!

YOUNG PLUMBER

Leave me alone!

SATAN

One moment more, I pray,

Of your kind patience. Sir, ere you proceed,

I have a word to give you. I have heard

Tales of your cleverness in foiling twice

The Devil who sought to lead you to resign

Your will to his. Perhaps it was not well

That you so spurned his euthanasia.

By your own devious path, you come at last

To where all facts are vain, all visions fade,

And your old wager is a laughing-stock,

So valueless your will, so vain your power

To shape one end of hope. Life crumbles, falls,

Around you; and your kind with horror see

Your utter nakedness. But I have brought

A little present for you: not so nice

As two the Devil once offered in its place;

Yet 'twill suffice. Men who would cheat the Devil

Come, with a curious unanimity,

To where the lump of lead becomes a boon

Unto the soul rejecting easier sleep.

The Devil claims his own in his own day.

(He approaches the platform, and offers to Faust a pistol)

YOUNG STUDENT

What is he saying?

CHILD

Are they going to shoot?

YOUNG PLUMBER

Bang yourself one! That's what it's for.

BUTCHER

Good riddance!

There isn't room on earth for jokes like you!

FAUST (accepts the pistol)

In such a spirit as you offer it,

I do accept this token. In my hand

At least it shall lie safe, nor be a god:

I worship not the bullet.... But beware

What mummer's part you play in this strange scene.

For by the victory I have won of late,

I am your master! And in grovelling dust

Before me you shall cringe, though all the world

Shun me, your conqueror. Vilest of slaves!

Accept your servitude!

BUTCHER

Here! That's enough!

GIRL

You brute!

SATAN

Your slave. Command, and it shall be

Fulfilled. A little snarling now and then

Means naught.

YOUNG PLUMBER

I will not let an honest man,

A worthy citizen, be spoken to

Like that by a damn anarchist while I

Can raise a hand!

BUTCHER

Nor I!

MERCHANT'S WIFE

Go after him!

FAUST

Silence! Let not your eager efforts prove

You are the beast-herd he would bid you be!

YOUNG PLUMBER

What! Let us show him how to talk to us!

SATAN

See, on his forehead, see! Where the deep lines

Meet—do you see the blackened cross that grows

Each moment darker with the curse of God!

He is branded, he is Cain!

FAUST

Down, slave! Fulfil

Now my command, you who my bondsman are!

Seal on these eyes—too blind to take the light—

Darkness! And let me, turning from them, know

They have not peered into my open heart.

You are still my slave—though they are only fools.

YOUNG PLUMBER

Damn your infernal soul!

BUTCHER

Hit him a crack!

OLD WOMAN

Stop all your noise.

BUTCHER

Here, let me go, you fool!

[Suddenly aroused, some of the crowd surge forward

toward the platform. From the back of the

room someone hurls a chair, which strikes the great

chandelier: the lights instantly go out, leaving the

hall in total darkness. Confused cries, footsteps,

blows.

CRIES

What're you about?... Let go!... Where are the lights?...

[Suddenly two wall-brackets are illuminated, disclosing

part of the crowd massed on the platform.

As they surge back, there remains on the platform,

fallen and motionless, the figure of Faust. He raises

his head slowly.

FAUST

Ah, Satan!... worthy serf to my command!...

Go! I release you. For I would not die

With such a slave— Nay, though I die alone....

[Suddenly the door bursts open, and in surge the

maskers, in greater numbers and even wilder tumult

than before. Dancing grotesquely, linked hand in

hand, they zigzag through the hall, overturning

chairs and singing at the top of their voices.

THE MASKERS

Oh, children, children, children dear,

We cannot wait for any New Year.

So let us celebrate now and here

With rah, rah, rah and a bottle of beer!

CURTAIN

THE FIFTH ACT

The scene is once more Faust's library. The dim slanting sunlight of late afternoon streams through the open windows, touching the gold of books and the brown of furniture with an enamel-like brilliancy.

Brander and Faust's butler stand just inside the door.

BUTLER

I am afraid you cannot see him now.

The doctor is still here. I do not know

If anyone may see him.

BRANDER

I will wait

A moment, and perhaps may see the doctor

As he goes out. Have things been bad to-day?

BUTLER

Yes, sir.

[The doctor enters from the door on the left. The

butler goes out.

BRANDER

How is he?

DOCTOR

As one might expect.

The fever's gone; but strength has gone with it:

No one can tell how long his heart will stand

The strain.

BRANDER

You see no hope?

DOCTOR

I only see

That we are doing all we can for him.

Beyond that, I can say no more than you.

BRANDER

You think I should not see him?

DOCTOR

Oh, no harm.

You might have seen him when you came this morning

If you had waited. You can see him here.

He wanted to be in this room again,

And I make no objection. Well, good-bye.

[The doctor goes out. Brander moves restlessly

about the room. A moment later, the door on the

left opens, and Faust, reclining in an invalid's chair,

is wheeled into the room by the butler. He is clad in

a long dressing-gown; he is very pale. The butler,

after placing the chair before the fireplace, goes

out. Brander remains doubtfully in the background;

Faust does not observe his presence.

FAUST

Again these walls!—home to what barren dreams!—

And home to me! O dreams and bitterness,

How are you gilded by this setting light

Of afternoon! Meseems I have not been

Happy save here, where all unhappiness

Of mine had source and root. That forest holds

Now nothing grievous to my eyes that see

What once they saw not. Sweetness like the light

Of setting suns now lingers over it

In my enchambering memory— Life, life

With all its glow and wonder pours a flood

On this strait room whence I have watched the world—

Whence I must go with all my love and wonder

As though no love and wonder I had won.

[Faust bends his head, sinking into a daze of thought.

Brander doubtfully approaches him, and at last

touches his shoulder.

BRANDER

I have been heavy-hearted; but that thus

I find you, overwhelms me....

FAUST

Why thus sad

Over milk so irrevocably spilled?

BRANDER

I cannot utter what is in my heart.

It is as though I had with my own hand

Stricken you down. And yet I did not dream

Of what would follow.... O Faust, Faust, forgive me!

FAUST

Forgive you? Aye, and thank you! Greater things

Hung imminent than you dreamed of. For you set

Wild lightnings free in me that smote the dark

Furled round me; and they grew and flashed and flamed

Even as I fell. Aye, Brander, you who strove

For my salvation should rejoice at last—

Now, past all doubts and wanderings, I am saved!

BRANDER

Saved! Ah, impossible!

FAUST

Saved! And the light

Of glory fills me, though my physical frame

Totters on dissolution. I believe!...

The night is over.

BRANDER

Faust! O dearest friend!

My heart refuses now to grasp such joy.

If it were possible! Can, can it be

That God has bent once more, and with cool touch

Dispelled the feverous mists? Oh, I could weep

With happiness to dream it!

FAUST

Nay, my words

Mean more than you interpret. I am saved—

Not as you count salvation. Nay, I come

To one last refuge, finding all others vain.

The common joys, the peace of nescience,

The trust in some far Will, the hope to flame

A beacon in the darkness of men's dreams:

Driven forth from these, one citadel still lifts

Heaven-fronting: there I stand, delivered, free,

Master again—that citadel, my soul.

I have escaped from all the bondages;

And now bow down to nothing. Joy or pain,

Defeat or conquest, good or evil, now

Lure me no more. I will put hope in nothing

Save in that whole strange glistening mortal life

That past me streams unto an end sublime

Whereof you know not. All our ends are folly,

And win not what they seek; yet there is joy

In seeking; and one end there is that shows

A brighter glow. I am the watcher set

Upon the heights. In my impassioned sight

All life is holy that strives unto life:

Death only is damnation. I will be

More happy than the happiest man, more strong

Than is the strongest! I will climb on the neck

Of this great monster, Life, and guide its course—

For I am master—toward that end I see

Hidden afar off.

BRANDER

You are sick and spent.

I should not thus—

FAUST

Fear not; I do not wander.

Or can you understand? No, no, you cannot.

And yet some tenderness from days long past

Stirs in me with a hope for you once more—

Hear me for one last time.

[Faust touches a bell. The butler enters.

FAUST

Bring to me, please,

That large black-covered manuscript I wrote

Last night until the doctor took it from me.

It is among the papers on my desk.

[The butler searches, finds the note-book and places

it on the table beside Faust. The butler goes out.

Faust sits turning over the pages of the manuscript.

FAUST

Here to posterity I bequeath my soul—

Worthless, perhaps, as heritage, but the all

I have to give to them I love so much.

These pages shall cry kinship to the few

Who, finding solace nowhere, yet shall find

Solace in fierce destruction that assails

The folly and the madness of mankind.

(He begins to read from the manuscript)

Satan recedes; but thou who seemest near—

O unborn man, whose soul is of my soul,

Whose glory is of my glory—all my love

Floods out like light from the down-going sun

Toward thee, the nursling of a lofty line.

Thou art my faith—man the divine to come—

Man whom I loathe for that which he is not—

Man, even now half divine because of all

That shall spring from him in the days to be.

Thou, too, shalt fight with Satan, as I fought,

Yea, in eternal battles till the end.

Thou shalt go with him past the lure of lust,

The lure of power, the lure of that great sleep

Nirvana; past the yet more luring sleep

Where dreams assuage the soul to be a dream.

Thou shalt go with him, yet apart from him

And all his works. He has no part in thee.

He is the chaos seething at earth's core—

Remnant of times when out of chaos sprang

Life's upward impulse. He is the darkness spread

Ere yet was light—the matter ere was form—

The vast inertia that on motion's heels

Clings viper-like. Of life and form and growth

He is negator; and his ceaseless joy

Is to impede and drag to chaos back

The shoot that toward the light triumphant springs.

But vain his victories, though he lingers yet

With slowly narrowing frontiers. Past his will,

Slowly the sons of light transcend, remould

Their day and destiny; slowly there is born

Order from chaos, flowers from formless mud,

Light from the darkness, Faust's from Satan's soul.

With laughing and with wonder and with triumph

I take that life and clasp it to my breast—

I, part of all, and all a part of me—

Streaming a river flashing in the sun.

I am drunk with the glory of that which tramps me down

And passes and transcends me—and is mine!

I, one with thee, O child of Flame, behold

Thy harvest—when the passion of the years

Turns earthward, and in mastered order sets

The house that is our dwelling. And therein,

In the gold light of summer afternoons,

With thee I too, careless and laughing, play

Mid dreams and wonders that our will has made—

Bathe in the beauty that our eyes have poured

Upon the hills—and drink in thirsty draughts

The happiness we have rained upon the earth.

I see, with ultimate unshaken vision!

I see the earthly paradise; I see

Men winged with wonder on the future throne

Up infinite vistas where life's feet shall climb.

Out of the dust, out of the plant and worm,

Out of ourselves about whose feet still clings

The reptile-slime of our creation—lo!

Our children's children rise; and all my love

Draws toward them and the light upon their brows.

This is my faith; this is my happiness;

This is my hope of heaven; this is my God.

BRANDER

The eternal God in heaven forgive you this!

FAUST

The Devil I can foil, but not my friends!

Strange allies to his cause! Well, dusk was long

My portion; now all gathering storms of hate

Are less than naught to me. Six months ago,

When here I stood that memorable night,

My gloom was starless; now one fiery star

Pierces it. And this broken frame of mine

Cannot annul that much of victory—

The solace born of passion to destroy

That shall survive me if indeed I die.

Alone my life was lived; if now I go,

It is alone into a quiet grave

Above whose mound the fairer future days

Shall pass, and I not know them. Yet my night

Takes foregleam from the vision of that dawn

And I am solaced. And I leave my solace

As heritage to the ever widening few

Who after me shall triumph more than I

In dawns of flaming.

BRANDER

O my friend, my friend,

I would my tongue could cry as my heart cries—

Turn back from darkness before the hour has struck!

Even yet may mercy fold you. God is great

And tender; and perhaps His love may clasp

Even your aloofness, if at last your heart

Calls in repentance to Him. O Faust, Faust,

Sink your vain pride of spirit—kneel to Him—

Beseech His mercy ere it is too late!

FAUST

I am no melancholy death-bed scene

To claim your tears, dear Brander. Doubtless days

Of infinite scope lie yet before me, since

No oracle has foretold that I shall die.

But if I die, then go I singing down,

Not praying or repentant, to my grave.

I would smite again the altar! I would smite

The hearts bowed before it; all the world

And the Beyond-world would I rend, having seen

Serpents in their secret places.

BRANDER

Has no breath

Of heavenly love touched this corrosive core

Of hell-fire in you?

FAUST

There is none whose power

Is half so mighty.

BRANDER

Through last night's long hours,

Poor Midge, alone and comfortless, wept out

Her heart, believing all that you had said.

And when I spoke to her, she cried: "Go, go!

I am lost where none can help me; all my dreams

Shudder and perish, even as he has perished;

Yet they shall live again—but he will die!" ...

Thus darkness falls from you upon men's hearts.

I know not if God's deep forgiving love

To such as you is granted....

FAUST

Midge could tell

A truer tale. Her eyes were full of light

And wonder as she heard me.

BRANDER

And she now

Weeps comfortless!

FAUST

And shall I then regret?

Is her soul yours, that you appraise and know?

Life stirs in her: and like the agonies

Of all life's birth, it shakes her: yet one day

She shall rise strong, sister to mighty winds,

A new and holy wonder in her eyes.

Tell her from me that I have not forgotten

My promise in the church that I would come.

But if I come not, let her come to me!—

Let her come with me on my luminous road.

BRANDER

Pity her, and the hosts that with her stand

Shelterless from the blasts of your wild hate.

FAUST

Who loves must hate, who hates must burn with love....

I hate the world; but like the breath of life,

Sustaining me even yet a little while,

Is my surpassing love for its great hopes.

Aye, in the hour when I knew myself alone,

My hate cried: Smite!—because of thy great love

For one irradiant form that is to be.

Now is my hate a lamp of tenderness—

Now I destroy because I love beyond—

I build, I triumph with bright domes that rise

In laughing loveliness into the morning!

BRANDER

I love you and I pity you—and I go.

FAUST

We shall not meet again.

[Brander goes out.

FAUST

He will go down

Not singing, no, not singing!...

(He once more takes up the manuscript, and turns

to the last pages)

And now, when from my shoulders like a load

Begins to slip the weariness of life,

And a new vigor fills me—now it seems

That death is hovering close. O Grisly One,

Whom once I thought a not unwelcome guest

To my cold troubled house, I am not glad

To hear thy steps without. For in my halls

Lights kindle, and the music sobs and sings

In ecstasy of other guests than thee....

(He takes up his pen and turns to the end of the

manuscript, as if to write)

Can this poor strength suffice me to complete

These final words? Nay, better to leave unsaid

The few last lines my vanity desires

To tell and justify my end and fall

Like flourish of bright trumpets. Let them sleep

Unuttered; for the burden of my song

Is voiced already in these labored leaves;

And it is well, unfinished and unclosed

Should stop this record, whose concluding words

Of fairer hope, of sheerer miracle,

Some greater hand than mine shall some day write

And seal the chronicle—nay, never seal it!

[The butler enters.

BUTLER

There is a man waiting to see you, sir.

FAUST

Let him come in.

BUTLER

I beg your pardon, sir—

Can I do nothing for you?

FAUST

Thank you, nothing.

[The butler goes out again, Satan enters. He is

dressed in a long black cloak of foreign cut; for the

first time, he has the look of sinister majesty appropriate

to the Prince of Hell.

SATAN

Master, your slave is here!

FAUST

This fooling still?

SATAN

What little service would my conqueror wish?

FAUST

Peace from your childish talk. The game is done.

Quite well you knew that, came I victor forth,

I would not, for all treasure in the world,

Have such an one as servant, who can serve

No end that I desire.

SATAN

Aha! At last

Light penetrates that cobwebbed cranium,

And I can laugh in public! All these months,

I several times have come perilously near

Bursting with mirth at the rare spectacle.

FAUST

Pray you, laugh freely.

SATAN

Nay, my mirth is spent.

My heart is moved even toward an enemy,

When on his head defeat its torrent pours.

I offer you my sympathy.

FAUST

My thanks

Are in appropriate measure tendered you.

SATAN

Distrust me not, for lo, the game is done—

There are no battles more, no testings more

To set between us. From the heart of life

Have forces risen—aye, from the people's breast!—

To seal the measure of defeat; and now

Why shall we quarrel further?

FAUST

Why, indeed?

SATAN

I hear that you are working on a book

Recounting your adventures with the Devil.

I hope 'tis finished: it had better be!

You will not write large libraries, my friend,

In what of life remains to you.

FAUST

It is

Completed wholly.

SATAN

May I look at it?

FAUST

You may not.

SATAN

Ah, 'tis a surprise for me!

FAUST

Possibly.

SATAN

Well, you work late into dusk.

Dusk falls about you; soon the night will come,

And silence.... Has an oracle in your heart

Whispered the tidings of that night? Or have

The pages of the prophets told to you

What waits within that darkness?

FAUST

There waits sleep.

But I have lived, and do not fear life's last

Inevitable word.

SATAN

My lips are sealed,

Though I would fain prepare you for that first

And awful moment when, beyond death's gates,

You see and know—for now you do not know—

What there awaits you. You have seen the grave;

You know the dissolution and decay

That folds the body as it mouldering lies

After the racking of those final hours

Where soul and body part. But have you guessed

That—as the body rots without the soul—

So the soul crumbles in a vile decay

You cannot picture, when the body dies?

Then falls the spirit limb from reeking limb.

An agony beyond all mortal thought

Shakes every atom of the spiritual frame—

The throes of dissolution. Death, indeed,

All men can bear; but this last spiritual death,

This torture of the disembodied soul

To force dissolving—ah, prepare yourself!

It shall appall you!

FAUST

If it comes, it comes.

SATAN

We have been foes; but now I speak as friend.

This shall not come to you! 'Tis in my power

To save you from this uttermost horror's grasp.

For I have gift of perfect dreamless sleep;

And those to whom I give shall after death

Slumber unconscious while the awful change

Attacks them; and oblivion shall be theirs

Unbroken stretching from the final hour.

FAUST

That were a boon not easily despised.

SATAN

It shall be yours! My crushed and broken foe

Shall never at my hand lack final rest

Where nightmares cannot come. As honest foes

We shall be quit. And for this priceless gift

I ask but that you give me, as remembrance,

That book which you have wrought concerning me.

FAUST

Why still so eager?

SATAN

Eager? I am not.

FAUST

Satan, my soul still sees, though death has drawn

Its curtains round my body. You have sought

With long endeavor to enslave my will

To nothingness; now would you doom to dark

My sublimated soul, my written word,

My force immortal....

(He takes up the pen)

This, Satan, is your answer—

(He writes on the last sheet of the manuscript)

"With this last word I close my testament:

'Man, work thy will, and God shall come of thee.'"

SATAN

Poor thwarted fool, who would not take my lures,

Being far too wise! Yet dustward now he turns,

And where Faust stood shall nothingness survive!

FAUST

Approach me not: I have grown sanctified.

Loathing the night and dreaming of the dawn,

I claim some kinship with the Eternal Power

Which in the dust, the daisy and the star

Moves onward in its self-ordainèd sway—

Life everlasting. Through my veins it sweeps,

Bearing me onward; and as I am borne,

I onward urge, till my short day be done

And I fall spent; and over me the wave

Sweeps on its way immortal; and my soul

Partakes of that lost immortality.

SATAN

Dreamer, whose dreams shall soon be choked with dust!

FAUST (slowly rising)

I am that dreamer to whose mounting dreams

No bounds are set, no region which my will

May not reach out toward. And I will create—

I, and the souls that after me shall come—

By passion of desire a pillar of flame

Above the wastes of life. If no God be,

I will from my deep soul create a God

Into the universe to fight for me!

(He sinks back)

SATAN

How strong a master! Why not slay me now?

Put forth your strength, and try how great it be!

FAUST

Though dying, I am master. But you still

Are jester, even at death-beds—knowing well

I have no power to slay you. You retreat

But perish not; the sphere of your domain

Contracts, but it endures immortally.

Have done with jesting: look me in the eyes!

Acknowledge me, and all high heritors

Who shall succeed me, your eternal foe,

Your eternal victor in half-victories—

But never your destroyer to the last.

SATAN

I thank all prophets for their prophecy!

But I shall still remain?...

FAUST

You shall remain....

SATAN

I shall remain!...

[Faust and Satan sit silent, watching each other

steadily. Faust closes his eyes, then suddenly raises

himself in his chair.

FAUST

Ah, what a ghastly dream!

Ghastly, for all its cold and lofty state.

Nay, what have I to do with yearning thoughts

Of immortality? I am young with life!

I shall not die! Hope and the eager years

Of labor rise before me as I press

Clear of these shadows. I have dreamed dark dreams—

One very dark of late—but now my blood

Resurges in a not less passionate fire

Than when, less wise, I stretched my hands to life,

And all my hopes were winged. But that is past;

And dreams are past: the day of deed is come.

Aye, in the cities, on the hills of the world,

I shall uplift the banner of high wars—

I shall make mock of this strange dizziness—

I shall live—and Death retreats from me afraid!

SATAN

What! Then I'll do his office!

FAUST

Spare your pains

The tide of strength recedes, swift as it came....

Oldham! I cannot die! I cannot die!...

And I am dying....

[Faust sinks back with closed eyes. The door opens

softly and the butler enters, followed by Midge

who carries an armful of flowers. She looks around

the room, bewildered; then crosses quickly to Faust's

chair.

SATAN

Madam, you come too late.

[Faust opens his eyes—and, lifting the manuscript,

with feeble hand holds it out to her.

FAUST

No, not too late.... Touch me across the dusk—

[Midge, shaken and faltering, clasps the book to her.

Doubtfully she touches his shoulder. Faust, slightly

smiling, closes his eyes.

CURTAIN

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MR. FAUST ***

Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed.

Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark license, especially commercial redistribution.

START: FULL LICENSE

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE

PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work (or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at www.gutenberg.org/license.

Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works

1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™ electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property (trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the United States and you are located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™ works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when you share it without charge with others.

1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any country other than the United States.

1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, copied or distributed:

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™ trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.

1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™ License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™.

1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project Gutenberg™ License.

1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website (www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works provided that:

- • You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.”

- • You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ works.

- • You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of receipt of the work.

- • You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.

1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.

1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGE.

1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.

1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any Defect you cause.

Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™

Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.

Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit 501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.

The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact

Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations ($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.

Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works

Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.

Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.

Most people start at our website which has the main PG search facility: www.gutenberg.org.

This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™, including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.

Table of Contents

MR. FAUST

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

LIST OF PLAYS BY ARTHUR DAVISON FICKE

MR. FAUST

INSCRIPTION

THE FIRST ACT

THE SECOND ACT

THE THIRD ACT

THE FOURTH ACT

THE FIFTH ACT

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE