Part 34

The fool knows it not! He knows not the pot, He knows not the kettle!

MEPHISTOPHELES

Impertinent beast!

THE HE-APE

Take the brush here, at least, And sit down on the settle!

(He invites MEPHISTOPHELES to sit down.)

FAUST

(who during all this time has been standing before a mirror, now approaching and now retreating from it)

What do I see? What heavenly form revealed Shows through the glass from Magic’s fair dominions! O lend me, Love, the swiftest of thy pinions, And bear me to her beauteous field! Ah, if I leave this spot with fond designing, If I attempt to venture near, Dim, as through gathering mist, her charms appear!— A woman’s form, in beauty shining! Can woman, then, so lovely be? And must I find her body, there reclining, Of all the heavens the bright epitome? Can Earth with such a thing be mated?

MEPHISTOPHELES

Why, surely, if a God first plagues Himself six days, Then, self-contented, Bravo! says, Must something clever be created. This time, thine eyes be satiate! I’ll yet detect thy sweetheart and ensnare her, And blest is he, who has the lucky fate, Some day, as bridegroom, home to bear her.

(FAUST gazes continually in the mirror. MEPHISTOPHELES, stretching himself out on the settle, and playing with the brush, continues to speak.)

So sit I, like the King upon his throne: I hold the sceptre, here,—and lack the crown alone.

THE ANIMALS

(who up to this time have been making all kinds of fantastic movements together bring a crown to MEPHISTOPHELES with great noise.)

O be thou so good With sweat and with blood The crown to belime!

(They handle the crown awkwardly and break it into two pieces, with which they spring around.)

’Tis done, let it be! We speak and we see, We hear and we rhyme!

FAUST (before the mirror)

Woe’s me! I fear to lose my wits.

MEPHISTOPHELES (pointing to the Animals)

My own head, now, is really nigh to sinking.

THE ANIMALS

If lucky our hits, And everything fits, ’Tis thoughts, and we’re thinking!

FAUST (as above)

My bosom burns with that sweet vision; Let us, with speed, away from here!

MEPHISTOPHELES (in the same attitude)

One must, at least, make this admission— They’re poets, genuine and sincere.