Faust Part 11

Sylph, be thou hidden!

Gnome, be laborious!

Who knows not their sense (These elements),- Their properties And power not sees,- No mastery he inherits Over the Spirits.

Vanish in flaming ether, Salamander!

Flow foamingly together, Undine!

s.h.i.+ne in meteor-sheen, Sylph!

Bring help to hearth and shelf.

Incubus! Incubus!

Step forward, and finish thus!

Of the Four, no feature Lurks in the creature.

Quiet he lies, and grins disdain: Not yet, it seems, have I given him pain.

Now, to undisguise thee, Hear me exorcise thee!

Art thou, my gay one, h.e.l.l's fugitive stray-one?

The sign witness now, Before which they bow, The cohorts of h.e.l.l!

With hair all bristling, it begins to swell.

Base Being, hearest thou?

Knowest and fearest thou The One, unoriginate, Named inexpressibly, Through all Heaven impermeate, Pierced irredressibly!

Behind the stove still banned, See it, an elephant, expand!

It fills the s.p.a.ce entire, Mist-like melting, ever faster.

'Tis enough: ascend no higher,- Lay thyself at the feet of the Master!

Thou seest, not vain the threats I bring thee: With holy fire I'll scorch and sting thee!

Wait not to know The threefold dazzling glow!

Wait not to know The strongest art within my hands!

MEPHISTOPHELES

(while the vapor is dissipating, steps forth from behind the stove, in the costume of a Travelling Scholar.) Why such a noise? What are my lord's commands?

FAUST

This was the poodle's real core, A travelling scholar, then? The casus is diverting.

MEPHISTOPHELES

The learned gentleman I bow before: You've made me roundly sweat, that's certain!

FAUST

What is thy name?

MEPHISTOPHELES

A question small, it seems, For one whose mind the Word so much despises; Who, scorning all external gleams, The depths of being only prizes.

FAUST

With all you gentlemen, the name's a test, Whereby the nature usually is expressed.

Clearly the latter it implies In names like Beelzebub, Destroyer, Father of Lies.

Who art thou, then?

MEPHISTOPHELES

Part of that Power, not understood, Which always wills the Bad, and always works the 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 s.p.a.ce, 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 compa.s.s 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 d.a.m.ned stuff, the b.e.s.t.i.a.l, 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?