Faust enters, with Mephistopheles.
FAUST.
This witch’s quackery disgusts my soul!
Is this your promise then, that I be healed
By crooked counsel in this crazy hole,
By truth in some decrepit dame revealed?
Or will my age be thirty summers less
By watching witches stir their scummy mess?
Is this, alas, the summit and the force
Of all your cunning? Was my hope so blind?
Can Nature yield no salve or secret source,
As fit requital for a noble mind?
MEPHISTOPHELES.
My friend, you show the sense for which I look.
There is, indeed, a recipe for youth,
But that is hidden in another book,
Writ in a chapter of the rarest truth.
FAUST.
Then tell me!
MEPHISTOPHELES.
Good. Here’s Nature’s recipe,
Without a doctor, gold, or sorcery:
Begin at once a life of open air,
To dig and trench and cultivate the ground,
Content yourself within the common round,
And for your dinner have the homeliest fare.
Live with the beasts, on equal terms; be sure
That, where you reap, your hands must spread the dung.
And there, my friend, you have the certain cure,
By which at eighty years you still are young.
FAUST.
All that to me is foreign: I’m afraid
I lack ability to ply the spade,
I’ve nothing with the simple life akin.
MEPHISTOPHELES.
That’s where the witch comes in.
FAUST.
Still havering about the wretched crone!
Cannot you brew an ichor of your own?
MEPHISTOPHELES.
A pretty pastime! Meanwhile I postpone
A thousand projects ardently desired?
This needs not arts and sciences alone:
A time of patient brooding is required.
A subtle sprite can watch the brew for long,
But only time can make the ferment strong.
You scarce can guess the things the mixture needs,
Ingredients passing strange are used to make it.
From devil’s teaching, true, the task proceeds,
And yet the Devil cannot undertake it.
(Looking at the beasts.)
Behold, the staff; a nice four-footed race!
The footman and the maid sit face to face.
(To the animals.)
Your dame, it seems, is not at home?
THE ANIMALS.
In a carouse,
Out of the house,
Up through the chimney
She has clomb.
MEPHISTOPHELES.
How long does she go roaming out of doors?
THE ANIMALS.
Long enough for us to warm our paws.
MEPHISTOPHELES.
What’s your impression of the dainty pair?
FAUST.
Revolting beasts, unequalled anywhere.
MEPHISTOPHELES.
I disagree, for discourse of this kind
Has qualities exactly to my mind.
(To the animals.)
Accursed minions - you, my jewel -
What is the brew your ladle stirs?
THE ANIMALS.
We’re cooking beggars’ skilly-gruel.
MEPHISTOPHELES.
With half the world for customers.
MALE MONKEY (coming up to Mephistopheles with fawning).
Just throw the dice,
That shall suffice
To make me wealthy.
Life isn’t healthy,
But, given gold,
I’d be consoled,
Sober and nice.
MEPHISTOPHELES.
How happy would the greedy monkey be
To live on gambling or on lottery!
(The young monkeys have meanwhile been playing with a large globe, which they now roll forward.)
MALE MONKEY.
The world, behold,
Is thus for ever rolled,
With ceaseless up and down,
And lo, its hollow crown
Resounds like glass,
Most apt to break, alas.
And here it gleams,
Here brighter seems.
True, that I live;
Just see you give
Heed, my good son,
Or your days are done.
This sphere of clay
Will splinter on a day.
MEPHISTOPHELES.
What purpose has this sieve?
MALE MONKEY (reaching it down).
The sieve will show
If you’re a thief or no.
(He runs to the female monkey and makes her look through it.)
Look through the sieve!
Ask who does thieve!
Ah, well you know
Yet won’t declare him so!
MEPHISTOPHELES (approaching the fire).
And what is this pot?
MONKEYS.
The innocent sot!
He don’t know the pot,
Or even the kettle!
MEPHISTOPHELES.
Be civil at least,
You ill-mannered beast!
MALE MONKEY.
Take up the whisk, and sit on the settle!
(He presses Mephistopheles to be seated.)
FAUST (who meanwhile has been standing before a mirror, sometimes drawing closer, sometimes stepping back from it).
Now dare I trust my eyes? What heavenly sight
Is mirrored here in magic for my gaze?
O spirit of love, bear me in winged flight
To be her neighbour in her lovely ways.
Strange, that I lose her if my vision strays
From just this place: if nearer steps I dare,
I only see her through a sort of haze,
The picture of a woman passing fair.
And can a woman have such loveliness?
And from her living body, lying there,
Comes there indeed all heaven my soul to bless?
Has earth a gift so exquisite and rare?
MEPHISTOPHELES.
Of course: for when a god has toiled six days,
And says Bravo, and gives himself the praise,
The finished product should be debonair.
But take your time, gaze to your heart’s content:
I’ll find a beauty just as opulent,
And make her yours; and happy is his fate
Who teaches such a bride the married state.
(Faust continues to gaze upon the mirror. Mephistopheles, sprawling on the settle, toys with the whisk, and goes on speaking.)
Here like a thronèd king I sit me down,
With this my sceptre - but I lack a crown.
THE ANIMALS (who meanwhile have been making sundry strange gestures, now bring Mephistopheles a crown, with shrill cries).
Ah, pray be so good,
With sweat and with blood,
This head-dress to prime.
(They carry the crown clumsily and break it into two pieces, with which they then jump about.)
Now is it done!
We talk and look on,
And listen and rhyme -
FAUST (looking towards the mirror).
My reason swoons, with vision so sublime.
MEPHISTOPHELES (looking towards the animals).
My own top-storey starts to feel the worse.
ANIMALS.
And if we have luck,
Then people are struck
With our serious verse.
FAUST (indicating the glass).
With fiery thoughts my heart begins to ache:
Let us go swiftly forth upon our way.
MEPHISTOPHELES (indicating the animals).
One thing at least emerges: no mistake,
These are the genuine poets of the day.
(The cauldron, that the female monkey has meanwhile neglected, begins to boil over, and a great game arises, that blazes up the chimney. The witch comes down through the flame with horrible cries.)
THE WITCH.
Ai-ow, ai-ow!
Damnable beast, accursed sow!
Sending your kettle up in flame,
Cursed beasts, to scorch your dame!
(Perceiving Faust and Mephistopheles.)
What’s this to-do? .
Who, pray, are you?
What are you seeking,
Prying and sneaking?
Blasted with groans,
Hell roast your bones!
(She smacks the ladle into the cauldron and spatters flames at Faust, Mephistopheles and the apes. The animals whimper.)
MEPHISTOPHELES (reversing the whisk in his hand and hitting out among the glasses and pots).
With a splash and a dash,
The glasses can crash,
And spilt is the hash!
A jovial mime,
My carrion loon!
For I beat the time,
While you sing the tune.
(The witch draws hack in hate and fury.)
Old bag of bones, can you not recognize
Your lord and master, here before your eyes?
You scare-crow, what shall hold my sentence back,
That blots you out, you and your monkey-pack!
See you the scarlet jerkin, and not tremble?
Too blind the cockerel’s feather to perceive?
When have you known my countenance dissemble?
Or must I wear my title on my sleeve?
THE WITCH.
My Lord, forgive me, if I weren’t genteel!
I missed the signs; I see no cloven heel,
And where, pray, be your jet-black raven-pair?
MEPHISTOPHELES.
Well, for this once, your lack of etiquette
Shall be excused; because, to be quite fair,
Much water’s passed the bridges since we met.
Society’s improved at every level,
And culture spreads now, even to the Devil.
Gone is the spook that filled the North with awe,
Out-moded are the horns, and tail and claw.
Touching the foot, with which I can’t dispense,
My social circle might well take offence;
And so, like many fashionable lads,
I falsify my calves by using pads.
THE WITCH.
Out of my wits I am, with the surprise,
To see Squire Satan here before my eyes.
MEPHISTOPHELES.
That name, good woman, you will please omit!
THE WITCH.
But why? That’s nought to make a body quail.
MEPHISTOPHELES.
True, it is almost turned to fairy-tale,
And yet mankind has failed to benefit -
The Evil One is banned: evils prevail.
Call me Lord Marquis, then our trade is good;
I am a cavalier, like all the rest,
So cast no doubt upon my gentle blood,
Behold, my coat-of-arms - this for a crest!
(He makes an indecent gesture.)
THE WITCH (laughing).
Now that’s the real old style of devil-may-care!
A rogue you are, a rogue you always were.
MEPHISTOPHELES (to Faust).
My friend, for your instruction I submit
The way to handle witches - this is it.
THE WITCH.
But tell me, Sirs, the business you pursue.
MEPHISTOPHELES.
A glassful of your celebrated brew,
The secret cordial - but well matured,
Its potency with strength of years ensured.
THE WITCH.
Ay, gladly! Here’s a bottle on my shelf,
From which I sometimes take a nip myself;
A juice, moreover, that has lost its stink,
A liquor I am very pleased to give.
(Sotto voce.)
But if this man comes uninformed to drink,
You know full well, he’s not an hour to live.
MEPHISTOPHELES.
He is my friend, the brew will suit him well:
I grant him all your kitchen can produce.
Draw, then, your circle, speak your magic spell,
And serve a bumper of the secret juice.
(The witch, with outlandish gestures, marks out a circle and places strange things in it. Meanwhile the glasses begin to ring and the cauldron to hum, making sounds of music. Lastly, she brings out a great book, and when she has arranged the monkeys in the circle, to serve her as a desk, and as torchbearers, she beckons Faust to draw near.)
FAUST (to Mephistopheles).
Nay, tell me, why this queer parade of antic,
This gibbering witch-craft, running wild and frantic?
For I have known and hated, long enough,
The charlatanry of this senseless stuff.
MEPHISTOPHELES.
That’s slap-stick, man, for laughter and delight.
Why be so sober-sided and sedate?
This hocus-pocus is a doctor’s right,
To guarantee the dose will operate.
(He prevails upon Faust to enter the circle.)
THE WITCH (with solemn emphasis begins to declaim from the book).
Now this understand:
Make one into ten,
Drop two out of hand,
Three balance again,
Then you are rich,
On the word of the witch.
From five and six
The four transfix,
Make seven and eight
Fulfilling the fate:
And nine makes one,
And ten is none,
And witches’ one-times-one is done.
FAUST.
The ravings of a crazy crone are these.
MEPHISTOPHELES.
There’s still a deal to follow, if you please.
So runs the book: I recognize its style,
I’ve read it much, a study worth the while,
For if a work completely flouts the rules
Its mystery enthrals both wise and fools.
New art, my friend, springs from antiquity,
And down the ages, civil or uncouth,
Men practise three and one, and one and three,
To substitute the error for the truth.
And so they teach and babble undeterred
- With fools there’s not a hope of intervening -
And when the people hear a sounding word
They stand convinced that somewhere there’s a meaning.
THE WITCH (continuing).
The lofty might
Of wisdom’s light
From all the world is hidden.
The vacant mind
Has truth assigned,
It comes to him unbidden.
FAUST.
How raves this ancient cabal-crier?
Her nonsense makes my head go round!
Stupidity’s Gargantuan choir
Is concentrated in the sound!
MEPHISTOPHELES.
Redoubtable Sibyl, that will be enough:
Give now the potion, and dispense the stuff
With lavish hand, to over-brim the bowl.
My friend will drink no ruin from your craft,
For here we have a deeply learned soul,
That’s tried the strength of many a potent draught.
(The witch, with ceremony, pours the liquor into a goblet. As Faust lifts it to his lips, a pale flame arises from it.)
MEPHISTOPHELES.
Down with it, man, don’t hesitate!
’twill send a glow of joy through all your frame,
What, call yourself the devil’s intimate,
Yet flinch before the flicker of a flame!
(The witch dissolves the circle. Faust steps out.)
MEPHISTOPHELES.
Up and away! You mustn’t rest.
THE WITCH.
And from the drink, Sir, may you benefit!
MEPHISTOPHELES (to the witch).
And if you have a favour to request,
Upon Walpurgis Night just mention it.
THE WITCH.
Now here’s a ballad: sing it, and you’ll find
A marvellous effect is guaranteed.
MEPHISTOPHELES.
Pay no heed, but follow my lead:
A perspiration is your urgent need,
To drive the ichor with a coursing speed
Within, without, through body, heart and mind;
And then I’ll teach the use of lordly leisure,
And soon will you perceive, with thrilling pleasure,
How Cupid stirs your thoughts on womankind.
FAUST.
Ah, let me to the mirror where I stood,
To see that regal loveliness afresh.
MEPHISTOPHELES.
Nay, nay, that paragon of womanhood
Shall soon reward your gazing in the flesh.
(Aside.)
A dose like that within your guts, my boy,
And every other wench is Helen of Troy.
