The Man. Who speaks?
Mephistophiles. Your humble servant. I often astonish travellers by my marvellous natural gifts: I am a ventriloquist.
The Man. I have certainly seen a face like that before in an engraving.
Mephistophiles (aside). The count has truly a good memory.
The Man. Blessed be Christ Jesus!
Mephistophiles. Forever and ever, amen!—(Muttering as he disappears behind a rock:) Curses on thee, and thy stupidity!
The Man. My poor son! through the sins of thy father and the madness of thy mother, thou art doomed to perpetual darkness—blind! Living only in dreams and visions, thou art never destined to attain maturity! Thou art but the shadow of a passing angel, flitting rapidly over the earth, and melting into the infinite of ...
Ha! what an immense eagle that is fluttering just there where the stranger disappeared behind the rocks!
The Eagle. Hail! I greet thee! hail!
The Man. He is as black as night; he flies nearer; the whirring of his vast wings stirs me like the whistling hail of bullets in the fight.