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His eager hearers come from far away,
Crowding to listen, as in the lecture-hall
He shines unique! Saint Peter’s key, with all
Its power to open secrets high and low,
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Is like the erudition he can show.
None before his renown can stand,
His fame’s the brightest in the land,
Not Faust himself’s now so well known;
Invention has been Wagner’s gift alone.
THE FAMULUS. Most reverend sir, forgive me if I say,
Venturing to contradict you if I may:
All that is not at all my master’s way!
Humility’s all he could ever learn.
Since the great Doctor in mysterious fashion
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Vanished, he has been suffering from depression;
He’ll be consoled and healed only by Faust’s return.
This study, since the Doctor left,
Untouched, just as it’s always been,
For its old master waits bereft;
I scarcely dare to venture in.
What hour of destiny has struck?
The walls all seem to shake with fear,
The doorposts swayed, locks came unstuck—
How else could you have got in here?
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MEPHISTOPHELES. Come now, where can your master be?
Take me to him, bring him to me.
THE FAMULUS. Oh dear, he gave strict orders—how
Shall I dare interrupt him now?
For months the Opus Magnums mewed
Him up in total solitude.
This learned man, so meek and mild,
Looks like a charcoal-burner: wild
Complexion, black from ear to nose,
Eyes reddened by all the fires he blows.
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Moment by moment he craves and longs;
Music for him’s the click of tongs.
MEPHISTOPHELES. My visit should be welcome to him;
There are professional favours I could do him.
[THE FAMULUS departs, MEPHISTOPHELES sits down ceremoniously.]
Now, when I’ve scarcely taken up my place,
I have a visitor; I know that face.
But this time he’s the dernier cri;
Who knows how limitless his cheek will be!
THE GRADUATE* [barging along the passage].
Open doors and free admissions!
Here’s some hope of new conditions.
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As things were, one used to rot
Like a corpse in such a spot;
Life was mere disintegration,
Death by slow anticipation.
Walls and halls, you’ve had your day!
Now you crumble and decay.
Here’s no place to stop; we’ll all
Squash to death here when you fall.
Though I’m bold as brass, I fear
They’ll not educate me here.
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But, bless me! This is the same
Place—long years ago I came
Here, a freshman fond and shy;
What a silly boy was I!
Trusted those old greybeard farts,
Let them peddle me their arts.
Lies they told me from a few
Scabby books, that’s all they knew,
And they knew it’s all moonshine;
Thus they’d waste their lives and mine.
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What’s that?—Still, in this same room,
One of them sits in the gloom!
There he sits in his old gown—
How amazing!—that same brown
Furry robe I saw him wear;
Just as when I left him there!
Then, I thought him smart enough,
Couldn’t understand his stuff;
But that trick won’t work today.
So here goes, I’ll have my say!
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If, ancient sir, your bowed, bald head is yet
Unswamped by Lethe’s turgid stream,
Recall a humble pupil you once met:
One who has now outgrown the rods of academe.
You’ve not changed much in that time-span,
But I’ve come back another man.
MEPHISTOPHELES. I am glad my bell has summoned you.
I had a high opinion of you too;
The grub, the chrysalis, can prophesy
The future many-coloured butterfly.
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Lace collars, curly locks—the charming style
You favoured, was a trifle puerile.
Perhaps you sometimes wore a pigtail?—But
Today, I see, it’s a crew cut.
Very manly, I’m sure, and quite the hero.
Still, let’s not send you home as Absolute Zero.
THE GRADUATE. My ancient sir, this place may be the same,
But times have changed; and, by your leave,
I’d just as soon be spared your verbal game
Of ambiguities. We’ve grown harder to deceive.
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When I was a poor innocent you played
Those jokes on me, and easy sport you made.
No one dares try that on today.
MEPHISTOPHELES. Greenhorns don’t like to hear the honest truth.
One tells it plain to unsuspecting youth
Who will learn it themselves the painful way
Years later. Then of course they’ll say
Their own brains were their only school
And their old erstwhile teacher was a fool.
THE GRADUATE. A rogue perhaps! What teacher’s ever told
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The truth straight to our faces? They all mould
It to their docile childish hearers, smiling
So wisely, or so solemnly beguiling.
MEPHISTOPHELES. Well, there’s a time for learning. You,
I see,
Are yourself qualified to teach. Presumably,
After these many years, or months at least,
Your store of experience will have increased.
THE GRADUATE. Experience! Insubstantial stuff!
Unworthy of the intellectual.
What’s long been known quite well enough,
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Why bother knowing it at all?
MEPHISTOPHELES [after a pause].
I see now I’m an idiot; I stand corrected;
A shallow simpleton, as I’ve long suspected.
THE GRADUATE. I’m glad you now show such intelligence!
The first old man I’ve ever heard talk sense.
MEPHISTOPHELES. I’ve searched for buried treasure in the ground,
And ugly dross was all the gold I found.
THE GRADUATE. Admit it then: your skull, bereft of hair,
Is just as hollow as those skulls up there!
MEPHISTOPHELES [affably].
No doubt you are politer when you try.
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THE GRADUATE. In German, sir, politeness is a lie.
MEPHISTOPHELES [rolling his wheelchair nearer and nearer to the footlights and addressing the pit].
I’m being crowded out here, as you see;
Perhaps down there you might make room for me?
THE GRADUATE. In dotage years, to keep up the pretence
Of being somebody, is sheer impertinence.
Man’s life lives in the blood: where does blood stir
More strongly than in youth? That, ancient sir,
Is the young living blood, blood that creates
A new life out of life as it pulsates.
Here all’s in movement, here’s where things get done;
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The weak fall down, the strong take over. We
Have conquered half the world, as all can see,
While you’ve been nodding, dreaming, meditating,
Making your plans, plotting and ruminating!
Old age is a cold fever, it’s an ague
That freezes, fancies that torment and plague you.
Once over thirty you’re as good as dead:
We’d do better to knock you on the head
At once, and finish you off straight away.
MEPHISTOPHELES. So much for that; what can the Devil say?
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THE GRADUATE. The Devil needs my permission to exist.
MEPHISTOPHELES [aside].
The Devil may yet give your young tail a twist.
THE GRADUATE. This is youth’s noblest task! The world was not
There till I made it; it was I who brought
The sun out of the sea; the moon began to weave
Its changing circles when I gave it leave;
Mine was the morning’s various ornament,
The earth turned green and blossomed where I went,
The stars on that first night unfolded all
Their splendour at my beck and call.
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By me you were released from the constriction
Of limited and philistine reflection.
I for my part, free as the spirit bids,
Pursue my inner light whither it leads,
And in the special rapture of my mind
Follow the bright day, leave the dark behind. [Exit.]
MEPHISTOPHELES. Fantastic crank! Go on your glorious way!—
How you would hate to know that nothing wise
And nothing foolish can be thought today
That’s not been thought for many centuries!—
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And yet, there’s no great harm in our young friend;
A few more years will bring about a change.
The fermentation may be rich and strange,
But the wine’s drinkable in the end.
[To the younger spectators in the pit, who do not applaud.]
My words appear to leave you cold;
But never mind, my dears, I pardon you.
Remember that the Devil’s old—
When you’re his age, you’ll understand him too.
9. A LABORATORY
[in medieval style, with elaborate clumsy apparatus for fantastic purposes.]
WAGNER [at his furnace].
That dreadful bell’s reverberation
Comes shuddering through the sooty walls.
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Too long my doubtful expectation
Has waited for what now befalls.
From blackness to illumination
The deep alembic now has passed,
And like a living coal at last
A fine carbuncular fire is glowing,
Into the dark its brilliance throwing:
An incandescent white shines through!
Let me succeed, just this once more!—
Oh God, who’s rattling at my door?
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MEPHISTOPHELES [entering].
A well-meant greeting, sir, to you!
WAGNER [anxiously].
Greetings, by this hour’s ruling star!
[sotto voce] But hold your words and breath: I am not far
From a great work’s goal, now to be displayed.
MEPHISTOPHELES [sotto voce].
What great work’s that?
WAGNER[in a whisper].
A man is being made.
MEPHISTOPHELES.
A man? So you have locked an amorous pair
Up in your chimney-stack somehow?
WAGNER.
Why, God forbid! That method’s out of fashion now:
Procreation’s sheer nonsense, we declare!
That tender point where life used to begin
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That gentle power springing from within,
Taking and giving, programmed to portray
Itself, to assimilate what came its way
From near or far—all that’s now null and void;
By animals, no doubt, it’s still enjoyed,
But man henceforth, being so highly gifted,
Must have an origin much more uplifted.
[Turning to the furnace].
See how it gleams!—Now we may hope to see
Results. The ingredients—our manifold
Materia anthropica, they are called—
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We mix in a retort most patiently,
With all due care, and so by perlutation
And proper double-distillation,
They quietly reach their consummation.
[Turning to the furnace again].
It works! The moving mass is clarified,
And our conviction fortified:
These mysteries we thought only great Nature knew,
Our expertise now dares attempt them too!
Her way with living matter was to organize it,
And we have learnt to crystallize it.
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MEPHISTOPHELES. When we live long, we learn a thing
Or two; nothing surprises any more.
I have, in my long years of wandering,
Seen crystallized humanity before.
WAGNER [who has been staring intently at the retort].
It flashes, swells and rises! One
More moment and it will be done.
Great plans seem mad at first, but one day we
Shall laugh at what is bred haphazardly;
And one day, too, some great brain will create
A brain designed to think and cerebrate!
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[Gazing at the retort in delight.]
The glass is struck into harmonious sound.
Ah, now it cannot fail! It clouds and clears:
And moving daintily around
A well-formed tiny little man appears.
What more do I, what more does the world need?
The secret is at last made known.
Now hear this music: it has grown
To a voice, and into speech, indeed!
THE HOMUNCULUS* [in the retort, to WAGNER].
Well, dad! It worked, you see! And how are you?
Come now, embrace me tenderly—but do
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Be careful, please, my glass must not be cracked.
That is the way things are, in fact:
For natural growth the world’s too small a place,
But art must be enclosed in its own space.
[To MEPHISTOPHELES.]
So you are here as well, my mocking cousin?
I am much obliged; the moment was well chosen.
Our good luck brings this timely call by you.
Since I exist, I must find things to do:
I’d like to set to work this very day,
And you know how to set me on my way.
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WAGNER. Just one word, please! It’s so embarrassing,
The way I’m questioned on this sort of thing.
For instance: no one yet can understand
How soul and body seem to have been planned
To fit so perfectly and cling so tight
Yet each torments the other day and night.
Furthermore—
MEPHISTOPHELES. Stop, stop! One should ask him rather
Why man and woman can’t endure each other.
My friend, you’ll never get such matters straight.
There’s work to do here: our small guest can’t wait.
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THE HOMUNCULUS. What’s to be done?
MEPHISTOPHELES [pointing to a side-door].
A case for you to cure.
WAGNER [stillgazing into the retort].
You are a little darling, to be sure!
[The side-door opens, FAUST seen lying on the couch.]
THE HOMUNCULUS [astonished].
Remarkable!—
[The retort slips out of WAGNER ’S HANDS, HOVERS OVER FAUST and illuminates him.]
Delightful place!—Clear streams
In a dense grove, and women making ready
&n
bsp; To bathe; enchanting! Better still already!
But one shines brighter than them all, she seems
Descended from great heroes, gods perhaps.
She sets her foot in the translucent pool;
Life’s noble flame in her sweet body dips
Into the yielding crystal and grows cool.—
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But now, what flurry of quick wings, what whirring
Is this, in the smooth surface splashing, stirring?
The girls flee in alarm: the queen, calm-eyed,
Remains alone, but her heart fills with pride
And womanly contentment as she sees
The prince of swans come nestling to her knees,
Docile yet bold. He seems to like it there.—
And round them all at once has risen a veil
Of mist, thick-woven to conceal
The loves of this most charming pair.
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MEPHISTOPHELES. What a strange tale! Your fantasies at least
Are out of all proportion to your size.
I can see nothing—
THE HOMUNCULUS. Why should you! Your eyes
Are northern, steeped in medieval mist;
In that mad world of monks and armour-plated
Knights, naturally your vision’s obfuscated.
Dark ages are your proper habitat.
[Looking round.]
Black mouldering stones, arches in Gothic style
And absurd curlicues—how drab, how vile!
If he wakes up here, like as not
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He’ll drop dead on the very spot.
Nude women, swans and woodland streams
I saw in his prophetic dreams.
In this dank hole he’d have no future;
Neither would I, despite my unfastidious nature.
Away with him!
MEPHISTOPHELES. I welcome this solution.
THE HOMUNCULUS. Order a warrior to fight,
Or a young girl to dance all night,
And things soon reach their right conclusion.
And let me see—tonight is Classical
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Walpurgis Night, as I recall.
A lucky chance, I do declare!
He’ll be in his own element there.
MEPHISTOPHELES. I know of no such date.
THE HOMUNCULUS. Indeed!
You’ll not have heard of it, you and your breed.
Romantic ghosts are all they know in hell:
A proper ghost is classical as well.*
MEPHISTOPHELES. But where do we go, where do we start exploring?
My ancient history colleagues are so boring.
THE HOMUNCULUS. Satan, the north-west is your stamping-ground!
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But for this trip, south-eastward we are bound,
To the great plain where the Peneus flows;
Tree-lined, bush-lined its moist meandering goes.
Out to the mountain glens the lowlands rise,
And up there, old and new, Pharsalus* lies.