It is here
That our long journey terminates, my friends.
Upon this spot I trust, if all goes well,
To give your long tried patience recompense.
FAUST
Recompense? I am sceptical of it!
But we deserve this. None but idiots
Would have come with you to this boiling land
On a wild-goose chase; on each step of which
One gets a fleeting panoramic view
Of kinds of misery one did not guess
Existed in the world. Those lepers, beggars,
Cripples, fanatics, reptiles—all the swarms
Of loathsome creatures we have passed—will haunt
My dreams forever with new vivid masks
Of nightmare. Recompense? There isn't any!
SATAN
Await the event. You shall have recompense.
OLDHAM
Satan, what is your meaning? What event
Do you await here? You have been to us,
Through our long journey, secretive and close
Of all your purposes—from day to day
Giving no hint of your to-morrow's plan
Nor of our destination. Now, I think,
Silence is not a virtue. Have we come
In fact to our last halt?
SATAN
This is the spot
Toward which our course unswervingly has aimed
Since the first day. This vast and ruined shrine,
Built in forgotten times to unknown gods,
And now in timeless solitude enfolded,
Has long been known to me. Here, in retreat
From the world's noises, dwells a holy man,
A wonder-worker of unfathomed power,
Now long forgotten by the troubled world
Except me only. 'Tis his aged hand
Shall open to you those celestial gates
We come to enter.
FAUST