BRANDER

Through last night's long hours, Poor Midge, alone and comfortless, wept out Her heart, believing all that you had said.

And when I spoke to her, she cried: "Go, go!

I am lost where none can help me; all my dreams Shudder and perish, even as he has perished; Yet they shall live again--but he will die!" ...

Thus darkness falls from you upon men's hearts.

I know not if G.o.d's deep forgiving love To such as you is granted....

FAUST

Midge could tell A truer tale. Her eyes were full of light And wonder as she heard me.

BRANDER

And she now Weeps comfortless!

FAUST

And shall I then regret?

Is her soul yours, that you appraise and know?

Life stirs in her: and like the agonies Of all life's birth, it shakes her: yet one day She shall rise strong, sister to mighty winds, A new and holy wonder in her eyes.

Tell her from me that I have not forgotten My promise in the church that I would come.

But if I come not, let her come to me!-- Let her come with me on my luminous road.

BRANDER

Pity her, and the hosts that with her stand Shelterless from the blasts of your wild hate.

FAUST

Who loves must hate, who hates must burn with love....

I hate the world; but like the breath of life, Sustaining me even yet a little while, Is my surpa.s.sing love for its great hopes.

Aye, in the hour when I knew myself alone, My hate cried: Smite!--because of thy great love For one irradiant form that is to be.

Now is my hate a lamp of tenderness-- Now I destroy because I love beyond-- I build, I triumph with bright domes that rise In laughing loveliness into the morning!

BRANDER

I love you and I pity you--and I go.

FAUST

We shall not meet again.

[_Brander goes out._

FAUST

He will go down Not singing, no, not singing!...

(_He once more takes up the ma.n.u.script, and turns to the last pages_)

And now, when from my shoulders like a load Begins to slip the weariness of life, And a new vigor fills me--now it seems That death is hovering close. O Grisly One, Whom once I thought a not unwelcome guest To my cold troubled house, I am not glad To hear thy steps without. For in my halls Lights kindle, and the music sobs and sings In ecstasy of other guests than thee....

(_He takes up his pen and turns to the end of the ma.n.u.script, as if to write_)

Can this poor strength suffice me to complete These final words? Nay, better to leave unsaid The few last lines my vanity desires To tell and justify my end and fall Like flourish of bright trumpets. Let them sleep Unuttered; for the burden of my song Is voiced already in these labored leaves; And it is well, unfinished and unclosed Should stop this record, whose concluding words Of fairer hope, of sheerer miracle, Some greater hand than mine shall some day write And seal the chronicle--nay, never seal it!

[_The butler enters._

BUTLER

There is a man waiting to see you, sir.

FAUST

Let him come in.

BUTLER

I beg your pardon, sir-- Can I do nothing for you?

FAUST

Thank you, nothing.

[_The butler goes out again, Satan enters. He is dressed in a long black cloak of foreign cut; for the first time, he has the look of sinister majesty appropriate to the Prince of h.e.l.l._

SATAN

Master, your slave is here!

FAUST

This fooling still?

SATAN

What little service would my conqueror wish?

FAUST

Peace from your childish talk. The game is done.

Quite well you knew that, came I victor forth, I would not, for all treasure in the world, Have such an one as servant, who can serve No end that I desire.

SATAN

Aha! At last Light penetrates that cobwebbed cranium, And I can laugh in public! All these months, I several times have come perilously near Bursting with mirth at the rare spectacle.

FAUST