towards the precipice? And she, upon the side, with childlike simplicity, in the little cot upon the little Alpine field, and all her homely cares embraced within that little world! And I, the hated of God-it was not enough to grasp the rocks and smite them to shatters! Her, her peace, must I undermine !—Hell, thou couldst not rest without this sacrifice! Devil, help me to shorten the pang! Let what must be, be quickly! Let her fate fall crushing upon me, and both of us perish together! MEPHISTOPHeles. How it seethes and glows again! Get in and comfort her, you fool!-- When such a noddle sees no outlet, it immediately represents to itself the end. Life to him who bears himself bravely! And yet on other occasions you have a fair spice of the devil in you. I know nothing in the world more insipid than a devil that despairs. Now tell me, how do you feel as to religion? You are a dear good man, but I believe you don't think much of it. FAUST. No more of that, my child! you feel I love you: I would lay down my life for those I love, nor would I deprive any of their feeling and their church. MARGARET. That is not right; we must believe in it. Must we ? FAUST. MARGARET. Ah! if I had any influence over you! Besides, you do not honour the holy sacraments. I honour them. FAUST. MARGARET. But without desiring them. It is long since you went to mass or confession. Do you believe in God? FAUST. My love, who dares say I believe in God? You may ask priests or philosophers, and their answer will appear but a mockery of the questioner. MARGARET. You don't believe, then? FAUST. Mistake me not, thou lovely one! Who dare name him? and who avow: "I believe in him." Who feel? and dare to say: "I believe in him not." The All embracer, the All-sustainer, does he not embrace and Does not the heaven arch sustain thee, me, himself? itself there above?—Lies not the earth firm here below? -And do not eternal stars rise, friendlily twinkling, on high? Are we not looking into each other's eyes, and is not all thronging to thy head and heart, and weaving in eternal mystery, invisibly-visibly, about thee?-Fill thy heart with it, big as it is, and when thou art wholly blest in the feeling, then call it what thou wilt! Call it Happiness! Heart! Love! God! I have no name for it! Feeling is all in all. Name is sound and smoke, clouding heaven's glow. MARGARET. That is all very fine and good. The priest says |