SCENE 1.—PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN



THE LORD AND THE HOST OF HEAVEN



ENTER THREE ARCHANGELS



RAPHAEL:

The sun makes music as of old

Amid the rival spheres of Heaven,

On its predestined circle rolled

With thunder speed: the Angels even

Draw strength from gazing on its glance,

Though none its meaning fathom may:—

The world's unwithered countenance

Is bright as at Creation's day.



GABRIEL:

And swift and swift, with rapid lightness,

The adorned Earth spins silently,

Alternating Elysian brightness

With deep and dreadful night; the sea

Foams in broad billows from the deep

Up to the rocks, and rocks and Ocean,

Onward, with spheres which never sleep,

Are hurried in eternal motion.



MICHAEL:

And tempests in contention roar

From land to sea, from sea to land;

And, raging, weave a chain of power,

Which girds the earth, as with a band.—

A flashing desolation there,

Flames before the thunder's way;

But Thy servants, Lord, revere

The gentle changes of Thy day.



CHORUS OF THE THREE:

The Angels draw strength from Thy glance,

Though no one comprehend Thee may;—

Thy world's unwithered countenance

Is bright as on Creation's day.



RAPHAEL:

The sun sounds, according to ancient custom,

In the song of emulation of his brother-spheres.

And its fore-written circle

Fulfils with a step of thunder.

Its countenance gives the Angels strength

Though no one can fathom it.

The incredible high works

Are excellent as at the first day.



GABRIEL:

And swift, and inconceivably swift

The adornment of earth winds itself round,

And exchanges Paradise-clearness

With deep dreadful night.

The sea foams in broad waves

From its deep bottom, up to the rocks,

And rocks and sea are torn on together

In the eternal swift course of the spheres.



MICHAEL:

And storms roar in emulation

From sea to land, from land to sea,

And make, raging, a chain

Of deepest operation round about.

There flames a flashing destruction

Before the path of the thunderbolt.

But Thy servants, Lord, revere

The gentle alternations of Thy day.



CHORUS:

Thy countenance gives the Angels strength,

Though none can comprehend Thee:

And all Thy lofty works

Are excellent as at the first day.

Such is a literal translation of this astonishing chorus; it is impossible to represent in another language the melody of the versification; even the volatile strength and delicacy of the ideas escape in the crucible of translation, and the reader is surprised to find a caput mortuum.—[SHELLEY'S NOTE.]



[ENTER MEPHISTOPHELES.]



MEPHISTOPHELES:

As thou, O Lord, once more art kind enough

To interest Thyself in our affairs,

And ask, 'How goes it with you there below?'

And as indulgently at other times

Thou tookest not my visits in ill part,

Thou seest me here once more among Thy household.

Though I should scandalize this company,

You will excuse me if I do not talk

In the high style which they think fashionable;

My pathos certainly would make You laugh too,

Had You not long since given over laughing.

Nothing know I to say of suns and worlds;

I observe only how men plague themselves;—

The little god o' the world keeps the same stamp,

As wonderful as on creation's day:—

A little better would he live, hadst Thou

Not given him a glimpse of Heaven's light

Which he calls reason, and employs it only

To live more beastlily than any beast.

With reverence to Your Lordship be it spoken,

He's like one of those long-legged grasshoppers,

Who flits and jumps about, and sings for ever

The same old song i' the grass. There let him lie,

Burying his nose in every heap of dung.



THE LORD:

Have you no more to say? Do you come here

Always to scold, and cavil, and complain?

Seems nothing ever right to you on earth?



MEPHISTOPHELES:

No, Lord! I find all there, as ever, bad at best.

Even I am sorry for man's days of sorrow;

I could myself almost give up the pleasure

Of plaguing the poor things.



THE LORD:

Knowest thou Faust?



MEPHISTOPHELES:

The Doctor?



THE LORD:

Ay; My servant Faust.



MEPHISTOPHELES:

In truth

He serves You in a fashion quite his own;

And the fool's meat and drink are not of earth.

His aspirations bear him on so far

That he is half aware of his own folly,

For he demands from Heaven its fairest star,

And from the earth the highest joy it bears,

Yet all things far, and all things near, are vain

To calm the deep emotions of his breast.



THE LORD:

Though he now serves Me in a cloud of error,

I will soon lead him forth to the clear day.

When trees look green, full well the gardener knows

That fruits and blooms will deck the coming year.



MEPHISTOPHELES:

What will You bet?—now am sure of winning—

Only, observe You give me full permission

To lead him softly on my path.



THE LORD:

As long

As he shall live upon the earth, so long

Is nothing unto thee forbidden—Man

Must err till he has ceased to struggle.



MEPHISTOPHELES:

Thanks.

And that is all I ask; for willingly

I never make acquaintance with the dead.

The full fresh cheeks of youth are food for me,

And if a corpse knocks, I am not at home.

For I am like a cat—I like to play

A little with the mouse before I eat it.



THE LORD:

Well, well! it is permitted thee. Draw thou

His spirit from its springs; as thou find'st power

Seize him and lead him on thy downward path;

And stand ashamed when failure teaches thee

That a good man, even in his darkest longings,

Is well aware of the right way.



MEPHISTOPHELES:

Well and good.

I am not in much doubt about my bet,

And if I lose, then 'tis Your turn to crow;

Enjoy Your triumph then with a full breast.

Ay; dust shall he devour, and that with pleasure,

Like my old paramour, the famous Snake.



THE LORD:

Pray come here when it suits you; for I never

Had much dislike for people of your sort.

And, among all the Spirits who rebelled,

The knave was ever the least tedious to Me.

The active spirit of man soon sleeps, and soon

He seeks unbroken quiet; therefore I

Have given him the Devil for a companion,

Who may provoke him to some sort of work,

And must create forever.—But ye, pure

Children of God, enjoy eternal beauty;—

Let that which ever operates and lives

Clasp you within the limits of its love;

And seize with sweet and melancholy thoughts

The floating phantoms of its loveliness.



[HEAVEN CLOSES; THE ARCHANGELS EXEUNT.]



MEPHISTOPHELES:

From time to time I visit the old fellow,

And I take care to keep on good terms with Him.

Civil enough is the same God Almighty,

To talk so freely with the Devil himself.