II. Calf of Gold, strongest god below! To his temple overflowing Crowds before his vile shape bowing, The monster dares insult the skies. With contempt he views around him All the vaunted human race, As they strive in abject toil, As with souls debased they circle Round about the pedestal. Satan, he conducts the ball.
All. Satan, he conducts the ball.
Cho. A strange story this of thine.
Val. (aside). And stranger still is he who sings it.
Wag. (offering a cup to Mephistopheles). Will you honor us by partaking of wine?
Mep. With pleasure. Ah! (Taking Wagner by the hand, and scrutinizing his palm.) Behold what saddens me to view. See you this line?
Wag. Well!
Mep. A sudden death it presages,— You will be killed in mounting to th' assault!
Sie. You are then a sorcerer!
Mep. Even so. And your own hand shows plainly To what fate condemns. What flower you would gather Shall wither in the grasp.