FAUST IN THE COBBLESTONE ABYSS
A Comedy in Four Scenes on Damnation (and other contemporary issues)
by BENJAMIN GAVARRE
Esta obra está bajo la licencia Creative Commons Atribución-NoComercial-SinDerivadas 4.0 Internacional.
bengavarre@gmail.com
PROLOGUE: BEACON HILL VERSION
This Faustian bargain unfolded on the historic, gas-lit cobblestones of Beacon Hill in Boston, Massachusetts—a city heavy with academic rigor and intellectual exhaustion.
The core dilemma remains universal: the struggle between the sterile, frictionless perfection offered by modern "optimization" and the messy, painful, yet beautiful reality of genuine human connection. Mephistopheles appears not as a horned beast, but as an elegant, cynical venture capitalist of the soul. It is a sharp, ironic reflection on modern burnout, designed to resonate deeply while keeping the audience laughing at the absurdity of our own existential dread.
CHARACTERS:
FAUST: 38 years old. An academic and corporate consultant drowning in the mediocrity of hyper-productivity. He lives in a perpetual existential crisis, convinced that the human soul is evaporating through rectangular screens and endless virtual meetings.
MEPHISTOPHELES: Incalculable age. Wears an impeccable ivory linen suit. Speaks with the cadence of a cynical philosopher and a bored aristocrat. Evil, for him, is no longer fire and brimstone, but the absolute optimization of human life.
MARGUERITE: 32 years old. Ceramicist, restorer, and owner of bulletproof cynicism. Lives in the South End. Reads Schopenhauer but pretends to read tarot cards just to scare away tourists and snobs.
DR. STERLING: 45 years old. A Lacanian psychoanalyst with infinite patience. Tries to frame the gothic torments of her patient into the comfortable manuals of modern psychiatry.
SCENE ONE: The Pact on the Bricks
Setting: Louisburg Square, Beacon Hill, Boston. Late afternoon. The autumn leaves are falling over the centuries-old brick sidewalks. There is an air of damp, historic melancholy.
Action: FAUST is sitting on a wrought-iron bench, staring into the void. Beside him, feeding the pigeons with crumbs from ridiculously overpriced artisanal sourdough bread, is MEPHISTOPHELES.
FAUST
(Talking to himself, rubbing his temples)
And then the screen froze. Everyone nodding in silence, in their little boxes, pretending that what we do matters. Hell isn’t other people, Sartre was wrong. Hell is an unstable connection while discussing the "holistic vision of the project." My kingdom for a single moment of real meaning. I’d sell my soul to feel... anything other than fatigue.
MEPHISTOPHELES
(Elegantly tosses a crumb)
I have to admit, the market for souls has hit rock bottom. Existential inflation has terribly devalued them. But yours, Faust, has that delicious hint of classic desperation that collectors like me find absolutely fascinating. Mephistopheles, at your service.
FAUST
(Turns slowly, sizing him up)
Are you one of those real estate scammers trying to buy up the historic brownstones in the neighborhood? You're wasting your time. I only rent. And my lease on life is almost up from sheer exhaustion.
MEPHISTOPHELES
(Laughs softly, a sound that chills the autumn wind)
Earthly real estate... how vulgar. I manage more... intimate properties. I heard your lament into the void. And I’m here to offer you an exit from this loop of mediocrity. I offer you absolution from modernity.
FAUST
Are you the devil? I expected horns. Or at least a crypto bro in a fleece vest.
MEPHISTOPHELES
Horns are a medieval cliché, and crypto was one of my lazier internships. No, Faust. I represent the refined abyss. Do you want absolute knowledge? Do you want to seduce without the tediousness of courtship? Do you want to live without the friction of anxiety?
FAUST
Without friction? That sounds like... anesthesia.
MEPHISTOPHELES
It sounds like the perfection your species uselessly pursues. I’ll give it to you. In exchange for your spirit, when the play ends. A simple transfer of assets. No signing with blood, blood ruins the linen. A handshake will suffice.
FAUST
(Hesitates, looking at the grey New England sky)
I’ve spent ten years studying philosophy just to end up selling "retention strategies" to corporate boards. If the universe is a joke, at least I want to be the one telling it, not the punchline.
(Faust extends his hand. Mephistopheles takes it. The pigeons in the square take flight all at once in a chaos of feathers, and a dull, invisible thunder shakes the cobblestones.)
MEPHISTOPHELES
Consummatum est. Now, brush off that bureaucratic dust. Let’s go find you some real problems.
SCENE TWO: The Couch and the Demon
Setting: Dr. Sterling’s office. High ceilings, exposed brick walls, a worn leather couch, and a bookshelf packed with Freud, Lacan, and Jung.
Action: FAUST is pacing back and forth. DR. STERLING observes him from her armchair. MEPHISTOPHELES is lounging on the couch, flipping through a psychology textbook with evident mockery, invisible to the doctor.
DR. STERLING
Faust, last session we talked about your depersonalization in the workplace. Today you walk in and tell me you are the master of time and matter. That is a... drastic leap.
FAUST
Because there are no limits anymore, Doctor! Yesterday I read the Divine Comedy in ancient Tuscan while solving a mathematical theorem that had been unanswered for centuries. And the restaurant... did I tell you about the restaurant?
MEPHISTOPHELES
(Without looking up from the book)
Tell her how you made the waiter forget his own existence just by glaring at him. A fascinating exercise in applied nihilism.
FAUST
(To Mephistopheles, in a furious whisper)
You shut up, the poor guy ended up weeping in the kitchen!
DR. STERLING
(Writing carefully)
Are you speaking to your projections, Faust? You’ve materialized your desire for control into an imaginary figure. A "Mephistopheles" who grants you permission to act out your repressed impulses. It’s a brilliant defense mechanism, I must admit.
MEPHISTOPHELES
(Slams the book shut)
"Defense mechanism." What insolence! I have spent eons destroying empires and this woman with a master's degree reduces me to a symptom. Faust, tell her I liked Jung better. He at least had the decency to be afraid of me.
FAUST
He is not a projection, Doctor, he smells like sandalwood and brimstone and he won't stop criticizing your interior design!
DR. STERLING
Faust, the taboo of madness in our society makes us fear our own metaphors. You are using the myth of the Faustian pact to process your panic over free will. If the "Devil" controls everything, you are not responsible for abandoning your previous life.
FAUST
(Stops pacing, genuinely struck by the argument)
Responsible? But... the pact was real. I felt it. I felt the void.
MEPHISTOPHELES
(Stands up, deeply offended)
Of course it was real! Go on, break her antique vase. Make it levitate. Show her that science is a child’s toy in the face of primordial darkness!
FAUST
(Clenching his fists)
I’m not breaking anything. Doctor... what if the problem isn’t that I’m crazy? What if the problem is that absolute power is tremendously boring? I met Marguerite. A woman at the pottery studio down the street. And this... entity... wants me to conquer her using cheap mind tricks.
DR. STERLING
The "entity" wants you to avoid vulnerability. Genuine courtship implies the possibility of rejection. Rejection hurts. Your demon is nothing more than your avoidance of pain.
MEPHISTOPHELES
I am profoundly offended by the banality of this era.
SCENE THREE: Clay and Cynicism
Setting: Marguerite’s studio in the South End. Clay pots, pottery wheels, clay dust illuminated by the late afternoon light pouring through high factory windows.
Action: MARGUERITE is covered in mud up to her elbows, working at the wheel. FAUST stands nearby, uncomfortable. MEPHISTOPHELES is leaning against the doorframe, filing his nails with a crystal file.
MARGUERITE
(Without stopping the wheel)
So, Faust. You quit consulting, burned your tailored suits, and now you dedicate yourself to... what exactly? Wandering the squares reciting Goethe and scaring the tourists?
FAUST
To exploring the limits of human will. To unraveling the very fabric of reality.
MEPHISTOPHELES
(Whispering in Faust’s ear)
Too dense. Tell her that her eyes are two abysses where reason shipwrecks. Artists love a good shipwreck.
FAUST
(Repeating like an automaton)
Your eyes... are two abysses where my reason shipwrecks.
MARGUERITE
(Stops the wheel abruptly. Looks at him with a raised eyebrow)
Look, Faust. I like you. You have this "puppy run over by existentialism" vibe that is sometimes endearing. But if you're going to spout twenties poète maudit lines at me, I'm going to have to ask you to leave so I can finish this pitcher.
FAUST
(Blushing, glaring at Mephistopheles furiously)
I told you!
MARGUERITE
Who did you tell? It's just you, me, and my deformed vase.
MEPHISTOPHELES
This woman is made of stone. Use coercive charisma. Cloud her mind. Make the entire studio revolve around her. Make her see the immensity of the cosmos in you!
FAUST
(Struggling with himself, sweating)
No. I don't want her to see the cosmos. Marguerite... the truth is, I’m terrified. I don't know what I'm doing. I feel like I hold the universe in my head and I have no one to tell. And I came here because... because your hands smell like wet earth. And it's the only real thing I've felt in months.
MARGUERITE
(Her face softens. She wipes her hands on her apron)
Wet earth. Alright. That’s slightly less pretentious.
MEPHISTOPHELES
(Grabbing his head, scandalized)
Emotional vulnerability! No! It’s the kryptonite of the underworld! Faust, you're ruining it, you sound like a needy mammal!
MARGUERITE
(Steps closer to Faust)
Life is a mess, Faust. It’s raw clay and half the time it explodes in the kiln. I don't know what the hell is going on in your head...
FAUST
(Smiles bitterly)
Literally.
MARGUERITE
...but if you want to sit there, keep quiet for a bit, and help me clean up the mud, you can stay. But no abysses and no cosmos. Just water and rags.
FAUST
(Feeling like he can breathe for the first time)
I would love that.
MEPHISTOPHELES
(Pacing furiously)
Unacceptable! I did not give you dominion over the universe so you could wipe down an artisan's table! I’m going to burn this place down. A celestial lightning bolt. No, infernal!
(Mephistopheles raises his hand, preparing to blow up the studio. Faust sees him, and in an act of pure will, intervenes before Marguerite notices anything.)
FAUST
Marguerite, watch out!
(Faust trips on purpose, knocking over a shelving unit full of defective mugs. The crash is deafening. Mephistopheles’ spell is broken by the sheer, clumsy physical chaos.)
MARGUERITE
(Sighing, looking at the disaster)
Well. I suppose you did need to clean. Grab the broom, Lord of the Cosmos.
(Faust smiles, kneeling to pick up the broken shards of clay. Mephistopheles looks at him with absolute disgust.)
SCENE FOUR: The Rescission
Setting: Dr. Sterling’s office. Nighttime. Only a warm desk lamp illuminates the room.
Action: FAUST is seated, serene. DR. STERLING finishes writing in her notebook. MEPHISTOPHELES is standing by the door with his arms crossed and an expression of glacial annoyance.
DR. STERLING
So, when you broke the mugs, did you feel that you were also breaking your bond with this... omnipotent authority figure?
FAUST
I didn't just feel it. I understood it. I realized that the pain, the clumsiness, the fear of being rejected by Marguerite, having to pick up the broken pieces from the floor... that friction is what makes us human. Mephistopheles offered me a life without friction. An illusion. The perfect algorithm of existence.
MEPHISTOPHELES
(Approaching, venomous)
I offered you divinity and you preferred to play in the mud. You are a historical disappointment, Faust. Your predecessors at least asked for empires, armies, eternal youth. You settle for a cynical woman who makes crooked pots and a therapist who charges by the hour to listen to you complain.
FAUST
(Looking directly at where Mephistopheles stands, but speaking for the doctor as well)
And that is exactly why I'm canceling the deal.
MEPHISTOPHELES
(Lets out a dry, sharp laugh)
There is no return policy. Souls are not seasonal apparel.
FAUST
Of course there is. A pact requires two aligned wills. You need my obedience to your emptiness. And I choose the absurd, the mess, the clay, and the anguish. I choose to suffer on my own, without your help. I strip you of your power over me. You are irrelevant.
(Mephistopheles’ expression changes. The elegance cracks for a microsecond, revealing something ancient and terrified. He takes a step back.)
MEPHISTOPHELES
Hell is banality, Faust. You will return to your panic attacks. You will go back to feeling useless. And I won't be there to give you meaning.
FAUST
That is exactly the point. Goodbye, Mephi.
(Mephistopheles opens his mouth to say something grandiloquent, but the room’s light flickers once, emitting the dry click of a switch. When the light stabilizes, the corner is empty. Only a very faint smell of ozone and burnt coffee remains.)
DR. STERLING
(Observes Faust, noticing the profound shift in his posture)
Faust? You look... different. The tension in your shoulders is gone. What just went through your mind?
FAUST
(Leans back in the chair, crosses his legs, and offers a quiet, tired, but absolutely free smile)
You know what, Doctor... I think I just hung up on the devil.
DR. STERLING
(Smiles faintly and closes her notebook)
I think that’s excellent. And tell me, how do you feel about that disconnection?
FAUST
I feel... wonderfully terrified of what I’m going to do tomorrow.
(Dr. Sterling nods. Faust looks toward the window, watching the night fall over the cobblestones of the city.)
CURTAIN
