for me: I fear
To let myself dwell on these restless thoughts
Which with a perilous longing sometimes make
My actual days so bitter that despair
Grips me in horror. And besides, I'm due
To pick my brother up. I have, you see,
The limousine to-night, and that entails
Its obligations. Dear modernity!
Whose Saviour is the limousine!... Good night!

FAUST

Good night. May all the Furies and the Gorgons
Of Greece and Florence leave you in repose
To dream to-night of white-limbed goddesses
And painters like archangels!

OLDHAM

I deserve it!
And yet I fear they will not be so kind....
Sleep is no friend to me these many nights.
I do not know what wrong I can have done
That so offends her she will none of me.
One of these days, she will carry it too far....
[Oldham goes out. Faust turns out all but two of
the lights; then seats himself wearily before the fire.
The room is dark around his lighted figure.

FAUST

The play drags, and the players would begone,
Out of this theatre of tinsel days
And lights and tawdry glamour, out to face
Even the blank of night, the icy stars,
The vast abysses. What the gallery-gods
Could give, they well have given; but deities
Inscrutabler than they annul all gifts
With one gift more—the restless mind that peers
Past fame, friends, learning, fortune, to enquire:
Whither? Whither? Whither? And no answer comes
To the cold player's lips....

I see too much
To make my peace with any ordered rôle
And play it heartily. To-day's thin coin
Pays not my labors; and to-morrow's hope
Has never been authenticated to me
By a fulfilling hour when I might say:
"Lo, this is what I hoped!" The vision flies
As I advance; while always far ahead
Its glow makes dim the color of my days;
And I loathe life because my hope is fairer,
And know my hope a lie. Thus, Faust, my friend,
You damn yourself ingeniously to hells
Of rich variety....

The eyes of men
Envy me as I pass them in the street—
Me, whom sufficient fortune, moderate fame,
Have made completely happy in their sight.
Well, I am no barbarian: let them have
The bliss of envying.... But I am sick
With the hour's emptiness; and great desire
Fills me for those high beauties which my dreams
Yearn ever toward. I am weary; I would go
Out to some golden sunset-lighted land
Of silence.

I have been athirst of dreams!
And all earth's common goals and gifts have been
But fuel to flame. O strange and piteous heart!
O credulous and visionary heart!
Desirous of the infinite—from defeat
Arising still to grope again for light
And the high word of vision! And in vain!
Till, not having found, its bitterness corrodes
Inward—like one betrayed by his last god....

Strange, that my father was a worthy man!
Perhaps 'tis his blood in me that withholds
Unreasoning my hand from washing clear
This scribbled slate with one quick tide of peace.
Would more of him were in me! that like him
I might spend eagerly a useful life
In medicining miserable men
Who were better dead—employ my force
To aid a world within whose marrow dwells
An evil none can cure, an agony
Beyond our dearest aiding.

Ah, well, well!
Such are the great men of this busy world,
Whose ardor for the game is anodyne
Against its buffets, and intoxicant
To lend it reveller's meaning. Ardor given,
All things are possible....

You, old marble-face,
Who front me from the corner with that grave
Virtuous Father-of-your-Country look,
I pay you my respects; you are a light
Of leading, as I see you now. Your soul
Was never shaken by convulsive doubts
Of life or man or liberty; you built
Unsceptical of bricks, but such as lay
To hand you took, nor did your purpose shake
At prescient thought of how your edifice
Might be turned pest-house some day. Undismayed
By doubt, you rose, and in heroic mould
Led—dauntless, patient, incorruptible—
A riot over taxes. Not a star
In all the vaults of heaven could trouble you
With whisperings of more transcendent goals.
O despicable, admirable man!
How much I envy you—the devil take you!
[The bust of Washington and its pedestal move
slightly; gradually they change and shape themselves
into the figure of a well-dressed man, rather short
and stocky, with a sociable, commonplace face. His
head, however, is very peculiarly modelled; it reminds
one, indescribably and faintly, of the fact that
men sprang from beasts. The high position of the
ears help this impression, as does also the astonishing
animal brilliance of the eyes. Faust, passing
his hand over his forehead, turns away.

FAUST

This is what comes of smoking far too much.

SATAN

Good evening, Mr. Faust.

FAUST

Well, I'll be damned!...
And who, I beg, are you?

SATAN

I ask your pardon
For thus appearing in a way unknown
To strict convention. But I never set
Great store by custom; and though nowadays
I follow the proprieties, still I feel
That one need not be slavish—

FAUST

Who are you?
What are you talking of? How did you get here?

SATAN

I am, sir, Nicholas Satan, at your service.

FAUST

Nicholas Satan! Quite a name. Perhaps
Some relative of the illustrious one?

SATAN

Himself.

FAUST

Stop this cheap foolishness! Who are you?
Or shall I ring for the police?

SATAN

I am
Satan. If I appeared with colored fire
And lightnings round me, you would doubt no more.
But like your narrow and near-sighted age,
You know me not in my own natural shape.
Now let this end! Here is my proof. You once
Summoned me to your aid, and, when I came,
Weakly rejected me. You were a boy
In college, and a woman blackmailed you—
A low, crude matter. I had settled it
Swiftly, if you had let me. We alone,
We three, on Harvard Bridge—night—and beneath,
A practicable river: ah, it was
A child's task! But you faltered.... You recall,
Possibly.

FAUST

I recall.... So you are he.
I did not know you.

SATAN

Let's forget the past.
We meet now under happier auspices.

FAUST

Incredible.

SATAN

No, quite an honest fact
Am I.

FAUST

I hardly can persuade myself