No More Learning

Thou seest! a dog we have, no spectre, here!
He growls and stops, crawls on his belly, too,
And wags his tail,--as all dogs do.

_Faust_. Come here, sir! come, our comrade be!

_Wagner_. He has a poodle's drollery.
Stand still, and he, too, waits to see;
Speak to him, and he jumps on thee;
Lose something, drop thy cane or sling it
Into the stream, he'll run and bring it.

_Faust_. I think you're right; I trace no spirit here,
'Tis all the fruit of training, that is clear.

_Wagner_. A well-trained dog is a great treasure,
Wise men in such will oft take pleasure.
And he deserves your favor and a collar,
He, of the students the accomplished scholar.

[_They go in through the town gate. _]




STUDY-CHAMBER.

_Enter_ FAUST _with the_ POODLE.


I leave behind me field and meadow
Veiled in the dusk of holy night,
Whose ominous and awful shadow
Awakes the better soul to light.
To sleep are lulled the wild desires,
The hand of passion lies at rest;
The love of man the bosom fires,
The love of God stirs up the breast.

Be quiet, poodle! what worrisome fiend hath possest thee,
Nosing and snuffling so round the door?
Go behind the stove there and rest thee,
There's my best pillow--what wouldst thou more?
As, out on the mountain-paths, frisking and leaping,
Thou, to amuse us, hast done thy best,
So now in return lie still in my keeping,
A quiet, contented, and welcome guest.

When, in our narrow chamber, nightly,
The friendly lamp begins to burn,
Then in the bosom thought beams brightly,
Homeward the heart will then return.
Reason once more bids passion ponder,
Hope blooms again and smiles on man;
Back to life's rills he yearns to wander,
Ah! to the source where life began.

Stop growling, poodle! In the music Elysian
That laps my soul at this holy hour,
These bestial noises have jarring power.
We know that men will treat with derision
Whatever they cannot understand,
At goodness and truth and beauty's vision
Will shut their eyes and murmur and howl at it;
And must the dog, too, snarl and growl at it?

But ah, with the best will, I feel already,
No peace will well up in me, clear and steady.
But why must hope so soon deceive us,
And the dried-up stream in fever leave us?
For in this I have had a full probation.
And yet for this want a supply is provided,
To a higher than earth the soul is guided,
We are ready and yearn for revelation:
And where are its light and warmth so blent
As here in the New Testament?
I feel, this moment, a mighty yearning
To expound for once the ground text of all,
The venerable original
Into my own loved German honestly turning.
[_He opens the volume, and applies himself to the task_. ]
"In the beginning was the _Word_. " I read.
But here I stick! Who helps me to proceed?
The _Word_--so high I cannot--dare not, rate it,
I must, then, otherwise translate it,
If by the spirit I am rightly taught.
It reads: "In the beginning was the _thought_. "
But study well this first line's lesson,
Nor let thy pen to error overhasten!
Is it the _thought_ does all from time's first hour?
"In the beginning," read then, "was the _power_. "
Yet even while I write it down, my finger
Is checked, a voice forbids me there to linger.
The spirit helps! At once I dare to read
And write: "In the beginning was the _deed_. "

If I with thee must share my chamber,
Poodle, now, remember,
No more howling,
No more growling!
I had as lief a bull should bellow,
As have for a chum such a noisy fellow.
Stop that yell, now,
One of us must quit this cell now!
'Tis hard to retract hospitality,
But the door is open, thy way is free.
But what ails the creature?
Is this in the course of nature?
Is it real? or one of Fancy's shows?

How long and broad my poodle grows!
He rises from the ground;
That is no longer the form of a hound!
Heaven avert the curse from us!
He looks like a hippopotamus,
With his fiery eyes and the terrible white
Of his grinning teeth! oh what a fright
Have I brought with me into the house! Ah now,
No mystery art thou!
Methinks for such half hellish brood
The key of Solomon were good.

_Spirits_ [_in the passage_]. Softly! a fellow is caught there!
Keep back, all of you, follow him not there!
Like the fox in the trap,
Mourns the old hell-lynx his mishap.
But give ye good heed!
This way hover, that way hover,
Over and over,
And he shall right soon be freed.
Help can you give him,
O do not leave him!
Many good turns he's done us,
Many a fortune won us.

_Faust_. First, to encounter the creature
By the spell of the Four, says the teacher:
Salamander shall glisten,[12]
Undina lapse lightly,
Sylph vanish brightly,
Kobold quick listen.

He to whom Nature
Shows not, as teacher,
Every force
And secret source,
Over the spirits
No power inherits.

Vanish in glowing
Flame, Salamander!
Inward, spirally flowing,
Gurgle, Undine!
Gleam in meteoric splendor,
Airy Queen!
Thy homely help render,
Incubus! Incubus!
Forth and end the charm for us!

No kingdom of Nature
Resides in the creature.
He lies there grinning--'tis clear, my charm
Has done the monster no mite of harm.
I'll try, for thy curing,
Stronger adjuring.

Art thou a jail-bird,
A runaway hell-bird?
This sign,[13] then--adore it!
They tremble before it
All through the dark dwelling.

His hair is bristling--his body swelling.

Reprobate creature!
Canst read his nature?
The Uncreated,
Ineffably Holy,
With Deity mated,
Sin's victim lowly?

Driven behind the stove by my spells,
Like an elephant he swells;
He fills the whole room, so huge he's grown,
He waxes shadowy faster and faster.
Rise not up to the ceiling--down!
Lay thyself at the feet of thy master!
Thou seest, there's reason to dread my ire.
I'll scorch thee with the holy fire!
Wait not for the sight
Of the thrice-glowing light!
Wait not to feel the might
Of the potentest spell in all my treasure!


MEPHISTOPHELES.
[_As the mist sinks, steps forth from behind the stove,
dressed as a travelling scholasticus_. ]
Why all this noise? What is your worship's pleasure?

_Faust_. This was the poodle's essence then!
A travelling clark? Ha! ha! The casus is too funny.

_Mephistopheles_. I bow to the most learned among men!
'Faith you did sweat me without ceremony.

_Faust_. What is thy name?

_Mephistopheles_. The question seems too small
For one who holds the _word_ so very cheaply,
Who, far removed from shadows all,
For substances alone seeks deeply.

_Faust_. With gentlemen like him in my presence,
The name is apt to express the essence,
Especially if, when you inquire,
You find it God of flies,[14] Destroyer, Slanderer, Liar.
Well now, who art thou then?

_Mephistopheles_. A portion of that power,
Which wills the bad and works the good at every hour.

_Faust_. Beneath thy riddle-word what meaning lies?

_Mephistopheles_. I am the spirit that denies!
And justly so; for all that time creates,
He does well who annihilates!
Better, it ne'er had had beginning;
And so, then, all that you call sinning,
Destruction,--all you pronounce ill-meant,--
Is my original element.

_Faust_. Thou call'st thyself a part, yet lookst complete to me.

_Mephistopheles_. I speak the modest truth to thee.
A world of folly in one little soul,
_Man_ loves to think himself a whole;
Part of the part am I, which once was all, the Gloom
That brought forth Light itself from out her mighty womb,
The upstart proud, that now with mother Night
Disputes her ancient rank and space and right,
Yet never shall prevail, since, do whate'er he will,
He cleaves, a slave, to bodies still;
From bodies flows, makes bodies fair to sight;
A body in his course can check him,
His doom, I therefore hope, will soon o'ertake him,
With bodies merged in nothingness and night.

_Faust_. Ah, now I see thy high vocation!
In gross thou canst not harm creation,
And so in small hast now begun.

_Mephistopheles_. And, truth to tell, e'en here, not much have done.
That which at nothing the gauntlet has hurled,
This, what's its name? this clumsy world,
So far as I have undertaken,
I have to own, remains unshaken
By wave, storm, earthquake, fiery brand.
Calm, after all, remain both sea and land.
And the damn'd living fluff, of man and beast the brood,
It laughs to scorn my utmost power.
I've buried myriads by the hour,
And still there circulates each hour a new, fresh blood.
It were enough to drive one to distraction!
Earth, water, air, in constant action,
Through moist and dry, through warm and cold,
Going forth in endless germination!
Had I not claimed of fire a reservation,
Not one thing I alone should hold.

_Faust_. Thus, with the ever-working power
Of good dost thou in strife persist,
And in vain malice, to this hour,
Clenchest thy cold and devilish fist!
Go try some other occupation,
Singular son of Chaos, thou!

_Mephistopheles_. We'll give the thing consideration,
When next we meet again! But now
Might I for once, with leave retire?

_Faust_. Why thou shouldst ask I do not see.
Now that I know thee, when desire
Shall prompt thee, freely visit me.
Window and door give free admission.
At least there's left the chimney flue.

_Mephistopheles_. Let me confess there's one small prohibition

Lies on thy threshold, 'gainst my walking through,
The wizard-foot--[15]

_Faust_. Does that delay thee?
The Pentagram disturbs thee? Now,
Come tell me, son of hell, I pray thee,
If that spell-binds thee, then how enteredst thou?
_Thou_ shouldst proceed more circumspectly!

_Mephistopheles_. Mark well! the figure is not drawn correctly;
One of the angles, 'tis the outer one,
Is somewhat open, dost perceive it?

_Faust_. That was a lucky hit, believe it!
And I have caught thee then? Well done!
'Twas wholly chance--I'm quite astounded!

_Mephistopheles_. The _poodle_ took no heed,
as through the door he bounded;
The case looks differently now;
The _devil_ can leave the house no-how.

_Faust_. The window offers free emission.

_Mephistopheles_. Devils and ghosts are bound by this condition:

The way they entered in, they must come out. Allow
In the first clause we're free, yet not so in the second.

_Faust_. In hell itself, then, laws are reckoned?
Now that I like; so then, one may, in fact,
Conclude a binding compact with you gentry?

_Mephistopheles_. Whatever promise on our books finds entry,
We strictly carry into act.
But hereby hangs a grave condition,
Of this we'll talk when next we meet;
But for the present I entreat
Most urgently your kind dismission.

_Faust_. Do stay but just one moment longer, then,
Tell me good news and I'll release thee.

_Mephistopheles_. Let me go now! I'll soon come back again,
Then may'st thou ask whate'er shall please thee.

_Faust_. I laid no snare for thee, old chap!
Thou shouldst have watched and saved thy bacon.
Who has the devil in his trap
Must hold him fast, next time he'll not so soon be taken.

_Mephistopheles_. Well, if it please thee, I'm content to stay
For company, on one condition,
That I, for thy amusement, may
To exercise my arts have free permission.

_Faust_. I gladly grant it, if they be
Not disagreeable to me.

_Mephistopheles_. Thy senses, friend, in this one hour
Shall grasp the world with clearer power
Than in a year's monotony.
The songs the tender spirits sing thee,
The lovely images they bring thee
Are not an idle magic play.
Thou shalt enjoy the daintiest savor,
Then feast thy taste on richest flavor,
Then thy charmed heart shall melt away.
Come, all are here, and all have been
Well trained and practised, now begin!

_Spirits_.
Vanish, ye gloomy
Vaulted abysses!
Tenderer, clearer,
Friendlier, nearer,
Ether, look through!
O that the darkling
Cloud-piles were riven!
Starlight is sparkling,
Purer is heaven,
Holier sunshine
Softens the blue.
Graces, adorning
Sons of the morning--
Shadowy wavings--
Float along over;
Yearnings and cravings
After them hover.
Garments ethereal,
Tresses aerial,
Float o'er the flowers,
Float o'er the bowers,
Where, with deep feeling,
Thoughtful and tender,
Lovers, embracing,
Life-vows are sealing.
Bowers on bowers!
Graceful and slender
Vines interlacing!
Purple and blushing,
Under the crushing
Wine-presses gushing,
Grape-blood, o'erflowing,
Down over gleaming
Precious stones streaming,
Leaves the bright glowing
Tops of the mountains,
Leaves the red fountains,
Widening and rushing,
Till it encloses
Green hills all flushing,
Laden with roses.
Happy ones, swarming,
Ply their swift pinions,
Glide through the charming
Airy dominions,
Sunward still fleering,
Onward, where peering
Far o'er the ocean,
Islets are dancing
With an entrancing,
Magical motion;
Hear them, in chorus,
Singing high o'er us;
Over the meadows
Flit the bright shadows;
Glad eyes are glancing,
Tiny feet dancing.
Up the high ridges
Some of them clamber,
Others are skimming
Sky-lakes of amber,
Others are swimming
Over the ocean;--
All are in motion,
Life-ward all yearning,
Longingly turning
To the far-burning
Star-light of bliss.

_Mephistopheles_. He sleeps! Ye airy, tender youths, your numbers
Have sung him into sweetest slumbers!
You put me greatly in your debt by this.
Thou art not yet the man that shall hold fast the devil!
Still cheat his senses with your magic revel,
Drown him in dreams of endless youth;
But this charm-mountain on the sill to level,
I need, O rat, thy pointed tooth!
Nor need I conjure long, they're near me,
E'en now comes scampering one, who presently will hear me.

The sovereign lord of rats and mice,
Of flies and frogs and bugs and lice,
Commands thee to come forth this hour,
And gnaw this threshold with great power,
As he with oil the same shall smear--
Ha! with a skip e'en now thou'rt here!
But brisk to work! The point by which I'm cowered,
Is on the ledge, the farthest forward.
Yet one more bite, the deed is done. --
Now, Faust, until we meet again, dream on!

_Faust_. [_Waking_. ] Again has witchcraft triumphed o'er me?
Was it a ghostly show, so soon withdrawn?
I dream, the devil stands himself before me--wake, to find a poodle gone!




STUDY-CHAMBER.

FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES.


_Faust_. A knock? Walk in! Who comes again to tease me?

_Mephistopheles_. 'Tis I.

_Faust_. Come in!

_Mephistopheles_. Must say it thrice, to please me.

_Faust_. Come in then!

_Mephistopheles_. That I like to hear.
We shall, I hope, bear with each other;
For to dispel thy crotchets, brother,
As a young lord, I now appear,
In scarlet dress, trimmed with gold lacing,
A stiff silk cloak with stylish facing,
A tall cock's feather in my hat,
A long, sharp rapier to defend me,
And I advise thee, short and flat,
In the same costume to attend me;
If thou wouldst, unembarrassed, see
What sort of thing this life may be.

_Faust_. In every dress I well may feel the sore
Of this low earth-life's melancholy.
I am too old to live for folly,
Too young, to wish for nothing more.
Am I content with all creation?
Renounce! renounce! Renunciation--
Such is the everlasting song
That in the ears of all men rings,
Which every hour, our whole life long,
With brazen accents hoarsely sings.
With terror I behold each morning's light,
With bitter tears my eyes are filling,
To see the day that shall not in its flight
Fulfil for me one wish, not one, but killing
Every presentiment of zest
With wayward skepticism, chases
The fair creations from my breast
With all life's thousand cold grimaces.
And when at night I stretch me on my bed
And darkness spreads its shadow o'er me;
No rest comes then anigh my weary head,
Wild dreams and spectres dance before me.
The God who dwells within my soul
Can heave its depths at any hour;
Who holds o'er all my faculties control
Has o'er the outer world no power;
Existence lies a load upon my breast,
Life is a curse and death a long'd-for rest.

_Mephistopheles_. And yet death never proves a wholly welcome guest.

_Faust_. O blest! for whom, when victory's joy fire blazes,
Death round his brow the bloody laurel windeth,
Whom, weary with the dance's mazes,
He on a maiden's bosom findeth.
O that, beneath the exalted spirit's power,
I had expired, in rapture sinking!

_Mephistopheles_. And yet I knew one, in a midnight hour,
Who a brown liquid shrank from drinking.

_Faust_. Eaves-dropping seems a favorite game with thee.

_Mephistopheles_. Omniscient am I not; yet much is known to me.

_Faust_. Since that sweet tone, with fond appealing,
Drew me from witchcraft's horrid maze,
And woke the lingering childlike feeling
With harmonies of happier days;
My curse on all the mock-creations
That weave their spell around the soul,
And bind it with their incantations
And orgies to this wretched hole!
Accursed be the high opinion
Hugged by the self-exalting mind!
Accursed all the dream-dominion
That makes the dazzled senses blind!
Curs'd be each vision that befools us,
Of fame, outlasting earthly life!
Curs'd all that, as possession, rules us,
As house and barn, as child and wife!
Accurs'd be mammon, when with treasure
He fires our hearts for deeds of might,
When, for a dream of idle pleasure,
He makes our pillow smooth and light!
Curs'd be the grape-vine's balsam-juices!
On love's high grace my curses fall!
On faith! On hope that man seduces,
On patience last, not least, of all!

_Choir of spirits_. [_Invisible_. ] Woe! Woe!
Thou hast ground it to dust,
The beautiful world,
With mighty fist;
To ruins 'tis hurled;
A demi-god's blow hath done it!
A moment we look upon it,
Then carry (sad duty! )
The fragments over into nothingness,
With tears unavailing
Bewailing
All the departed beauty.
Lordlier
Than all sons of men,
Proudlier
Build it again,
Build it up in thy breast anew!
A fresh career pursue,
Before thee
A clearer view,
And, from the Empyrean,
A new-born Paean
Shall greet thee, too!

_Mephistopheles_. Be pleased to admire
My juvenile choir!
Hear how they counsel in manly measure
Action and pleasure!
Out into life,
Its joy and strife,
Away from this lonely hole,
Where senses and soul
Rot in stagnation,
Calls thee their high invitation.

Give over toying with thy sorrow
Which like a vulture feeds upon thy heart;
Thou shalt, in the worst company, to-morrow
Feel that with men a man thou art.
Yet I do not exactly intend
Among the canaille to plant thee.
I'm none of your magnates, I grant thee;
Yet if thou art willing, my friend,
Through life to jog on beside me,
Thy pleasure in all things shall guide me,
To thee will I bind me,
A friend thou shalt find me,
And, e'en to the grave,
Shalt make me thy servant, make me thy slave!

_Faust_. And in return what service shall I render?

_Mephistopheles_. There's ample grace--no hurry, not the least.

_Faust_. No, no, the devil is an egotist,
And does not easily "for God's sake" tender
That which a neighbor may assist.
Speak plainly the conditions, come!
'Tis dangerous taking such a servant home.

_Mephistopheles_. I to thy service _here_ agree to bind me,
To run and never rest at call of thee;
When _over yonder_ thou shalt find me,
Then thou shalt do as much for me.

_Faust_. I care not much what's over yonder:
When thou hast knocked this world asunder,
Come if it will the other may!
Up from this earth my pleasures all are streaming,
Down on my woes this earthly sun is beaming;
Let me but end this fit of dreaming,
Then come what will, I've nought to say.
I'll hear no more of barren wonder
If in that world they hate and love,
And whether in that future yonder
There's a Below and an Above.

_Mephistopheles. _ In such a mood thou well mayst venture.
Bind thyself to me, and by this indenture
Thou shalt enjoy with relish keen
Fruits of my arts that man had never seen.

_Faust_. And what hast thou to give, poor devil?
Was e'er a human mind, upon its lofty level,
Conceived of by the like of thee?
Yet hast thou food that brings satiety,
Not satisfaction; gold that reftlessly,
Like quicksilver, melts down within
The hands; a game in which men never win;
A maid that, hanging on my breast,
Ogles a neighbor with her wanton glances;
Of fame the glorious godlike zest,
That like a short-lived meteor dances--
Show me the fruit that, ere it's plucked, will rot,
And trees from which new green is daily peeping!

_Mephistopheles_. Such a requirement scares me not;
Such treasures have I in my keeping.
Yet shall there also come a time, good friend,
When we may feast on good things at our leisure.

_Faust_. If e'er I lie content upon a lounge of pleasure--
Then let there be of me an end!
When thou with flattery canst cajole me,
Till I self-satisfied shall be,
When thou with pleasure canst befool me,
Be that the last of days for me!
I lay the wager!

_Mephistopheles_. Done!

_Faust_. And heartily!
Whenever to the passing hour
I cry: O stay! thou art so fair!
To chain me down I give thee power
To the black bottom of despair!
Then let my knell no longer linger,
Then from my service thou art free,
Fall from the clock the index-finger,
Be time all over, then, for me!

_Mephistopheles_. Think well, for we shall hold you to the letter.

_Faust_. Full right to that just now I gave;
I spoke not as an idle braggart better.
Henceforward I remain a slave,
What care I who puts on the setter?

_Mephistopheles_. I shall this very day, at Doctor's-feast,[16]
My bounden service duly pay thee.
But one thing! --For insurance' sake, I pray thee,
Grant me a line or two, at least.

_Faust_. Pedant! will writing gain thy faith, alone?
In all thy life, no man, nor man's word hast thou known?
Is't not enough that I the fatal word
That passes on my future days have spoken?
The world-stream raves and rushes (hast not heard? )
And shall a promise hold, unbroken?
Yet this delusion haunts the human breast,
Who from his soul its roots would sever?
Thrice happy in whose heart pure truth finds rest.
No sacrifice shall he repent of ever!
But from a formal, written, sealed attest,
As from a spectre, all men shrink forever.
The word and spirit die together,
Killed by the sight of wax and leather.
What wilt thou, evil sprite, from me?
Brass, marble, parchment, paper, shall it be?
Shall I subscribe with pencil, pen or graver?
Among them all thy choice is free.

_Mephistopheles_. This rhetoric of thine to me
Hath a somewhat bombastic savor.
Any small scrap of paper's good.
Thy signature will need a single drop of blood. [17]

_Faust_. If this will satisfy thy mood,
I will consent thy whim to favor.

_Mephistopheles. _ Quite a peculiar juice is blood.

_Faust_. Fear not that I shall break this bond; O, never!
My promise, rightly understood,
Fulfils my nature's whole endeavor.
I've puffed myself too high, I see;
To _thy_ rank only I belong.
The Lord of Spirits scorneth me,
Nature, shut up, resents the wrong.
The thread of thought is snapt asunder,
All science to me is a stupid blunder.
Let us in sensuality's deep
Quench the passions within us blazing!
And, the veil of sorcery raising,
Wake each miracle from its long sleep!
Plunge we into the billowy dance,
The rush and roll of time and chance!
Then may pleasure and distress,
Disappointment and success,
Follow each other as fast as they will;
Man's restless activity flourishes still.

_Mephistopheles_. No bound or goal is set to you;
Where'er you like to wander sipping,
And catch a tit-bit in your skipping,
Eschew all coyness, just fall to,
And may you find a good digestion!

_Faust_. Now, once for all, pleasure is not the question.
I'm sworn to passion's whirl, the agony of bliss,
The lover's hate, the sweets of bitterness.
My heart, no more by pride of science driven,
Shall open wide to let each sorrow enter,
And all the good that to man's race is given,
I will enjoy it to my being's centre,
Through life's whole range, upward and downward sweeping,
Their weal and woe upon my bosom heaping,
Thus in my single self their selves all comprehending
And with them in a common shipwreck ending.

_Mephistopheles_. O trust me, who since first I fell from heaven,
Have chewed this tough meat many a thousand year,
No man digests the ancient leaven,
No mortal, from the cradle to the bier.
Trust one of _us_--the _whole_ creation
To God alone belongs by right;
_He_ has in endless day his habitation,
_Us_ He hath made for utter night,
_You_ for alternate dark and light.

_Faust_. But then I _will! _

_Mephistopheles_. Now that's worth hearing!
But one thing haunts me, the old song,
That time is short and art is long.
You need some slight advice, I'm fearing.
Take to you one of the poet-feather,
Let the gentleman's thought, far-sweeping,
Bring all the noblest traits together,
On your one crown their honors heaping,
The lion's mood
The stag's rapidity,
The fiery blood of Italy,
The Northman's hardihood.
Bid him teach thee the art of combining
Greatness of soul with fly designing,
And how, with warm and youthful passion,
To fall in love by plan and fashion.
Should like, myself, to come across 'm,
Would name him Mr. Microcosm.

_Faust_. What am I then? if that for which my heart
Yearns with invincible endeavor,
The crown of man, must hang unreached forever?

_Mephistopheles_. Thou art at last--just what thou art.
Pile perukes on thy head whose curls cannot be counted,
On yard-high buskins let thy feet be mounted,
Still thou art only what thou art.

_Faust_.