FAUST. PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN. THE LORD, THE HEAVENLY HOSTS. Afterwards The Archangels come forward. RAPHAEL. THE Sun chimes in, as ever, with the emulous music of his brother spheres, and performs his prescribed journey with the roll of the thunder. His aspect gives strength to the angels, though none can fathom him; and the inconceivably sublime works of creation are glorious as on the first day. GABRIEL. And rapid, inconceivably rapid, the pomp of the earth revolves; the brightness of paradise alternates with deep fearful night. The sea foams up in broad waves at the deep base of the rocks; and rock and sea are whirled on in the ever rapid course of the spheres. B MICHAEL. And storms are roaring as if in rivalry, from sea to land, from land to sea, and forming all around a chain of the deepest elemental ferment in their rage. There, flashing desolation flares before the path of the thunderclap. But thy angels, Lord, respect the mild going of thy day. THE THREE. Thy aspect gives strength to the angels, though none can fathom thee, and all thy sublime works are glorious as on the first day. MEPHISTOPHEeles. Since, Lord, you approach once again, and inquire how we are getting on, and on other occasions were not displeased to see me-therefore is it that you see me also amongst the pack. Excuse me, I cannot talk fine, not though the whole circle should cry scorn on me. My pathos would certainly make you laugh, had you not left off laughing. I have nothing to say about suns and worlds; I only mark how men are plaguing themselves. The little god of the world continues ever of the same stamp, and is as odd as on the first day. He would lead a somewhat better life of it, had you not given him a glimmering of heaven's light. He calls it reason, and uses it only to be more brutal than all other brutes. He seems to me, with your Grace's leave, like one of the long-legged grasshoppers, which is ever flying, and bounding as it flies, and then sings its old song in the grass;-and would that he lay for ever in the grass! He thrusts his nose into every dirty mess. THE LORD. Have you nothing else to say to me? Are you always coming for no other purpose than to complain? Is nothing ever to your liking upon earth? MEPHISTOPHELes. No, Lord! I find things there, as ever, miserably bad. Men, in their days of wretchedness, move my pity; I really have not the heart to torment the poor things. Verily he serves you after a fashion of his own. The fool's meat and drink are not of earth. The ferment of his spirit impels him towards the far away. He himself is half conscious of his madness. Of heaven-he demands its brightest stars, and of earth—its every highest enjoyment; and nothing, neither the far nor the near, contents his deeply agitated breast. THE LORD. If he does but serve me in dimness and perplexity now, I shall soon lead him into light. When the tree buds, the gardener knows that blossom and fruit will deck the coming years. MEPHISTOPHeles. What will you wager? you shall lose him yet! If you give me leave to guide him quietly my own way. THE LORD. So long as he lives upon the earth, so long be nothing forbidden to thee. Man is prone to error, whilst his struggle lasts. MEPHISTOPHeles. I am much obliged to you for that; for I have never had any fancy for the dead. I like plump fresh cheeks the best. I am not at home to a corpse. I am like the cat with the mouse. THE LORD. Enough, it is permitted thee. Divert this spirit from his original source, and bear him, if thou canst seize him, down on thy own path with thee. And stand abashed, when thou art compelled to own-a good man, in his dark perplexity, may still be conscious of the right way. MEPHISTOPHeles. Well, well,-only it will not last long. I am not at all in pain for my wager. Should I succeed, excuse |