Kabanata Kabanata 7 · A STREET

Good.

FAUST

What hidden sense in this enigma lies?

MEPHISTOPHELES

I am the Spirit that Denies!

And justly so: for all things, from the Void

Called forth, deserve to be destroyed:

’Twere better, then, were naught created.

Thus, all which you as Sin have rated,—

Destruction,—aught with Evil blent,—

That is my proper element.

FAUST

Thou nam’st thyself a part, yet show’st complete to me?

MEPHISTOPHELES

The modest truth I speak to thee.

If Man, that microcosmic fool, can see

Himself a whole so frequently,

Part of the Part am I, once All, in primal Night,—

Part of the Darkness which brought forth the Light,

The haughty Light, which now disputes the space,

And claims of Mother Night her ancient place.

And yet, the struggle fails; since Light, howe’er it weaves,

Still, fettered, unto bodies cleaves:

It flows from bodies, bodies beautifies;

By bodies is its course impeded;

And so, but little time is needed,

I hope, ere, as the bodies die, it dies!

FAUST

I see the plan thou art pursuing:

Thou canst not compass general ruin,

And hast on smaller scale begun.

MEPHISTOPHELES

And truly ’tis not much, when all is done.

That which to Naught is in resistance set,—

The Something of this clumsy world,—has yet,

With all that I have undertaken,

Not been by me disturbed or shaken:

From earthquake, tempest, wave, volcano’s brand,

Back into quiet settle sea and land!

And that damned stuff, the bestial, human brood,—

What use, in having that to play with?

How many have I made away with!

And ever circulates a newer, fresher blood.

It makes me furious, such things beholding:

From Water, Earth, and Air unfolding,

A thousand germs break forth and grow,

In dry, and wet, and warm, and chilly;

And had I not the Flame reserved, why, really,

There’s nothing special of my own to show!

FAUST

So, to the actively eternal

Creative force, in cold disdain

You now oppose the fist infernal,

Whose wicked clench is all in vain!

Some other labor seek thou rather,

Queer Son of Chaos, to begin!

MEPHISTOPHELES

Well, we’ll consider: thou canst gather

My views, when next I venture in.

Might I, perhaps, depart at present?

FAUST

Why thou shouldst ask, I don’t perceive.

Though our acquaintance is so recent,

For further visits thou hast leave.

The window’s here, the door is yonder;

A chimney, also, you behold.

MEPHISTOPHELES

I must confess that forth I may not wander,

My steps by one slight obstacle controlled,—

The wizard’s-foot, that on your threshold made is.

FAUST

The pentagram prohibits thee?

Why, tell me now, thou Son of Hades,

If that prevents, how cam’st thou in to me?

Could such a spirit be so cheated?

MEPHISTOPHELES

Inspect the thing: the drawing’s not completed.

The outer angle, you may see,

Is open left—the lines don’t fit it.

FAUST

Well,—Chance, this time, has fairly hit it!

And thus, thou’rt prisoner to me?

It seems the business has succeeded.

MEPHISTOPHELES

The poodle naught remarked, as after thee he speeded;

But other aspects now obtain:

The Devil can’t get out again.

FAUST

Try, then, the open window-pane!

MEPHISTOPHELES

For Devils and for spectres this is law:

Where they have entered in, there also they withdraw.

The first is free to us; we’re governed by the second.

FAUST

In Hell itself, then, laws are reckoned?

That’s well! So might a compact be

Made with you gentlemen—and binding,—surely?

MEPHISTOPHELES

All that is promised shall delight thee purely;

No skinflint bargain shalt thou see.

But this is not of swift conclusion;

We’ll talk about the matter soon.

And now, I do entreat this boon—

Leave to withdraw from my intrusion.

FAUST

One moment more I ask thee to remain,

Some pleasant news, at least, to tell me.

MEPHISTOPHELES

Release me, now! I soon shall come again;

Then thou, at will, mayst question and compel me.

FAUST

I have not snares around thee cast;

Thyself hast led thyself into the meshes.

Who traps the Devil, hold him fast!

Not soon a second time he’ll catch a prey so precious.

MEPHISTOPHELES

An’t please thee, also I’m content to stay,

And serve thee in a social station;

But stipulating, that I may

With arts of mine afford thee recreation.

FAUST

Thereto I willingly agree,

If the diversion pleasant be.

MEPHISTOPHELES

My friend, thou’lt win, past all pretences,