Prolog in Heaven
The Lord. The heavenly hosts.
And then Mephistopheles.
The three archangels come forward.
Raphael.
The sun joins his brother-spheres
in their ancient singing-tourney
concluding his appointed journey,
as usual, to thundrous cheers.
The sight of it gives us dominion
none can grasp or comprehend;
Your works today are just as grand
and brilliant as they were Day One.
Gabriel.
With awesome swiftness
day displaces utter darkness.
Now the terrible abyss.
Now the light of paradise.
Where it crashes on the rocks
ocean turns to ocean spray.
Earth's ceaseless turning on its axis
carries cliff and sea away.
Michael.
One storm against another vies,
sea to land, land to sea;
they cast a chain around the skies
of fundamental energy,
each devastating flash
followed by a thundercrash.
And yet Your heralds, Lord, all praise
the placid changing of Your days.
All Three.
The sight of it gives us dominion
none can grasp or comprehend;
Your works today are just as grand
and brilliant as they were Day One.
Mephistopheles.
Lord, as You have come to see us once again
and want to hear if things are going well,
and as You're glad enough to see me now and then,
I'm here among Your retinue as well.
I'm sorry, if it's lofty words You're after;
You'll get no speech from me (despite their jeers).
And if You hadn't weaned Yourself of laughter,
my sorry words would crack You up, and soon You'd be in tears!
Of suns and worlds I've only this to say:
men plague each other every day.
The little earth god is bizarre,
eccentric as he was Day One;
he'd have a better life by far
had he never seen the sun!
Though he likes to call it Reason,
he's beastlier than any of Your beasts!
He seems to me —if You'll pardon the expression—
like one of those long-leggedy locusts
always flying through the air, that hop along
and always sing the same old tinny song.
He's not content to crawl there near the roots
but sticks his nose in trivial pursuits.
The Lord.
Is that all you have to say?
Must you be so negative?
Is anything on earth okay?
Mephistopheles.
Lord, no! What an awful place to live!
Humankind is pitiful. Their grieving is incessant.
I find it challenging to make their lives less pleasant!
The Lord.
Do you know Faust?
Mephistopheles.
The academic?
The Lord.
He's my servant!
Mephistopheles.
Now there's a piece of work.
That madman's food and drink aren't on the menu!
The fool has really popped his cork.
He's half aware his mind has changed its venue.
From heaven he expects the brightest star,
from earth the most intense delight;
but, all in all, whether near or far,
nothing satisfies the man, that's his plight.
The Lord.
Though now he serves me in confusion,
I'll rectify his thinking soon enough.
The gardener gives the budding tree his love;
in time the tree yields fruit in sweet profusion.
Mephistopheles.
Care to bet? If I'm allowed
to lead him down the garden path,
I guar-an-tee, You'll lose him yet!
The Lord.
As long as Faust is drawing breath,
do your worst, go right ahead.
Ambitious men do err because of pride.
Mephistopheles.
Thanks, Lord. And anyway, I don't much like
engaging with the recent dead.
I much prefer a blushing cheek.
I'm not at home when corpses call.
I like to hear the mouse's squeak.
The Lord.
It's settled then—you're free
to try and subjugate his will
and lead this wayward soul downhill
with any trick that's up your sleeve—but you agree
to eat your words in public if you're wrong.
A good man knows the righteous way
even in his darkest hour—you shall see!
Mephistopheles.
That's fine with me. (This won't take long.
I don't sweat this wager in the least.
I'm well aware of what's at stake.
I'm gonna get to strut my stuff and boast,
but Doctor Faust ... now, he be bitin' dust
like my relative, the celebrated snake!)
The Lord.
You've always surfaced when and where you pleased,
and that's all right—I don't despise the likes of you.
Of all the many miscreants I know,
it's rogues like you who trouble me the least.
Mankind prefers siesta over toil;
he'll soon be wanting total peace and quiet.
So you're perfect for the job. Peddle your snake oil.
Though you'll have to work like hell before he'll buy it!
But you, my worthy sons, rejoice!
For Beauty is alive and endlessly diverse.
May the Process of Becoming that informs the Universe
hold you ever in Love's sublime embrace!
And everything ephemeral or inconstant in appearance
may you grasp through contemplation and quiet perseverance.
The Gates of Heaven close.
The archangels go their separate ways.
Mephistopheles.
I like to see the Old Guy now and then.
And to stay on friendly terms, I toe the line.
It's awfully nice that someone at His level
should be so down-to-earth . . . with me, the devil!