sorrow of the world surrounding him, that he is affected. He is like
Satan in the Book of Job, except that he is offering his victim luxuries
instead of pains. In the prologue in Heaven he speaks with such a jaunty
air that Professor Blackie's translation has omitted the passage as
irreverent. He is the spirit that _denies_--sceptical and cynical, the
anti-Christian that is in us all. His business is to depreciate
spiritual values, and to persuade mortals that there is no real
distinction between good and bad, or between high and low. We have seen
in the character of Cornelius in _Marius the Epicurean_ "some inward
standard ... of distinction, selection, refusal, amid the various
elements of the period." Here is the extreme opposite. There is no
divine discontent in him, nor longing for happier things. He would never
have said that he would climb to heaven upon a ladder of razor edges.
There is nothing of the fallen angel about him at all, for he is a
spirit perfectly content with an intolerable past, present, and future.
Before the throne of God he swaggers with the same easy insolence as in
Martha's garden. He is the very essence and furthest reach of paganism.

So we have this curious fact, that Marlowe's Faust is the pagan and
Mephistophilis the idealist; while Goethe reverses the order, making
paganism incarnate in the fiend and idealism in the nobler side of the
man. It is a far truer and more natural story of life than that which
had suggested it; for in the soul of man there is ever a hunger and
thirst for the highest, however much he may abuse his soul. At the
worst, there remains always that which "a man may waste, desecrate,
never quite lose."

One more contrast marks the difference of the two plays, namely, the
fate of Faust. Marlowe's Faust is utterly and irretrievably damned. On
the old theory of an essential antagonism between the secular and the
sacred, and upon the old cast-iron theology to which the intellect of
man was enjoined to conform, there is no escape whatsoever for the
rebel. So the play leads on to the sublimely terrific passage at the
close, when, with the chiming of the bell, terror grows to madness in
the victim's soul, and at last he envies the beasts that perish--

"For, when they die,
Their souls are soon dissolved in elements;
But mine must live still to be plagued in hell.
Curs'd be the parents that engender'd me!
No, Faustus, curse t