The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 01

Know'st thou my servant, Faust?

MEPHISTOPHELES

The doctor?

THE LORD

Right.

MEPHISTOPHELES

He serves thee truly in a wondrous fashion.Poor fool! His food and drink are not of earth.An inward impulse hurries him afar,Himself half conscious of his frenzied mood;From heaven claimeth he the fairest star,And from the earth craves every highest good,And all that's near, and all that's far,Fails to allay the tumult in his blood.

THE LORD

Though in perplexity he serves me now,I soon will lead him where more light appears;When buds the sapling, doth the gardener knowThat flowers and fruit will deck the coming years!

MEPHISTOPHELES

What wilt thou wager? Him thou yet shall lose,If leave to me thou wilt but give,Gently to lead him as I choose!

THE LORD

So long as he on earth doth live,So long 'tis not forbidden thee.Man still must err, while he doth strive.

MEPHISTOPHELES

I thank you; for not willinglyI traffic with the dead, and still averThat youth's plump blooming cheek I very much prefer.I'm not at home to corpses; 'tis my way,Like cats with captive mice to toy and play.

THE LORD

Enough! 'tis granted thee! DivertThis mortal spirit from his primal source;Him, canst thou seize, thy power exertAnd lead him on thy downward course,Then stand abash'd, when thou perforce must own,A good man in his darkest aberration,Of the right path is conscious still.

MEPHISTOPHELES

'Tis done! Full soon thou'lt see my exultation;As for my bet no fears I entertain.And if my end I finally should gain,Excuse my triumphing with all my soul.Dust he shall eat, ay, and with relish take,As did my cousin, the renownèd snake.

THE LORD

Here too thou'rt free to act without control;I ne'er have cherished hate for such as thee.Of all the spirits who deny,The scoffer is least wearisome to me.Ever too prone is man activity to shirk,In unconditioned rest he fain would live;Hence this companion purposely I give,Who stirs, excites, and must, as devil, work.But ye, the genuine sons of heaven, rejoice!In the full living beauty still rejoice!May that which works and lives, the ever-growing,In bonds of love enfold you, mercy-fraught,And Seeming's changeful forms, around you flowing,Do ye arrest, in ever-during thought!

[Heaven closes, the, Archangels disperse.]

MEPHISTOPHELES (alone)

The ancient one I like sometimes to see,And not to break with him am always civil;'Tis courteous in so great a lord as he,To speak so kindly even to the devil.

FAUST—PART I (1808)33

TRANSLATED BY ANNA SWANWICK

NIGHT

A high vaulted narrow Gothic chamber.

FAUST, restless, seated at his desk.

FAUST

I have, alas! Philosophy,Medicine, Jurisprudence too,And to my cost Theology,With ardent labor, studied through.And here I stand, with all my lore,Poor fool, no wiser than before.Magister, doctor styled, indeed,Already these ten years I lead,Up, down, across, and to and fro,My pupils by the nose,—and learn,That we in truth can nothing know!That in my heart like fire doth burn.'Tis true, I've more cunning than all your dull tribe,Magister and doctor, priest, parson, and scribe;Scruple or doubt comes not to enthrall me,Neither can devil nor hell now appal me—Hence also my heart must all pleasure forego!I may not pretend aught rightly to know,I may not pretend, through teaching, to findA means to improve or convert mankind.Then I have neither goods nor treasure,No worldly honor, rank, or pleasure;No dog in such fashion would longer live!Therefore myself to magic I give,In hope, through spirit-voice and might,Secrets now veiled to bring to light,That I no more, with aching brow,Need speak of what I nothing know;That I the force may recognizeThat binds creation's inmost energies;Her vital powers, her embryo seeds survey,And fling the trade in empty words away.O full-orb'd moon, did but thy raysTheir last upon mine anguish gaze!Beside this desk, at dead of night,Oft have I watched to hail thy light:Then, pensive friend! o'er book and scroll,With soothing power, thy radiance stole!In thy dear light, ah, might I climb,Freely, some mountain height sublime,Round mountain caves with spirits ride,In thy mild haze o'er meadows glide,And, purged from knowledge-fumes, renewMy spirit, in thy healing dew!Woe's me! still prison'd in the gloomOf this abhorr'd and musty room!Where heaven's dear light itself doth passBut dimly through the painted glass!Hemmed in by book-heaps, piled around,Worm-eaten, hid 'neath dust and mold,Which to the high vault's topmast bound,A smoke-stained paper doth enfold;With boxes round thee piled, and glass,And many a useless instrument,With old ancestral lumber blent—This is thy world! a world! alas!And dost thou ask why heaves thy heart,With tighten'd pressure in thy breast?Why the dull ache will not depart,By which thy life-pulse is oppress'd?Instead of nature's living sphere,Created for mankind of old,Brute skeletons surround thee here,And dead men's bones in smoke and mold.Up! Forth into the distant land!Is not this book of mysteryBy Nostradamus' proper hand,An all-sufficient guide? Thou'lt seeThe courses of the stars unroll'd;When nature doth her thoughts unfoldTo thee, thy-soul shall rise, and seekCommunion high with her to hold,As spirit cloth with spirit speak!Vain by dull poring to divineThe meaning of each hallow'd sign.Spirits! I feel you hov'ring near;Make answer, if my voice ye hear!

[He opens the book and perceives the sign of the Macrocosmos.]

Ah! at this spectacle through every sense,What sudden ecstasy of joy is flowing!I feel new rapture, hallow'd and intense,Through every nerve and vein with ardor glowing.Was it a god who character'd this scroll,The tumult in my-spirit healing,O'er my sad heart with rapture stealing,And by a mystic impulse, to my soul,The powers of nature all around revealing.Am I a god? What light intenseIn these pure symbols do I seeNature exert her vital energy?Now of the wise man's words I learn the sense; "Unlock'd the spirit-world is lying, Thy sense is shut, thy heart is dead! Up scholar, lave, with zeal undying, Thine earthly breast in the morning-red!"

[He contemplates the sign.]

How all things live and work, and ever blending,Weave one vast whole from Being's ample range!How powers celestial, rising and descending,Their golden buckets ceaseless interchange!Their flight on rapture-breathing pinions winging,From heaven to earth their genial influence bringing.Through the wild sphere their chimes melodious ringing!A wondrous show! but ah! a show alone!Where shall I grasp thee, infinite nature, where?Ye breasts, ye fountains of all life, whereonHang heaven and earth, from which the withered heartFor solace yearns, ye still impartYour sweet and fostering tides-where are ye-where?Ye gush, and must I languish in despair?

[He turns over the leaves of the book impatiently, and perceives the sign of the Earth-spirit.]

How all unlike the influence of this sign!Earth-spirit, thou to me art nigher,E'en now my strength is rising higher,E'en now I glow as with new wine;Courage I feel, abroad the world to dare,The woe of earth, the bliss of earth to bear,With storms to wrestle, brave the lightning's glare,And mid the crashing shipwreck not despair.Clouds gather over me—The moon conceals her light—The lamp is quench'd—Vapors are arising—Quiv'ring round my headFlash the red beams—Down from the vaulted roofA shuddering horror floats,And seizes me!I feel it, spirit, prayer-compell'd, 'tis thouArt hovering near!Unveil thyself!Ha! How my heart is riven now!Each sense, with eager palpitation,Is strain'd to catch some new sensation!I feel my heart surrender'd unto thee!Thou must! Thou must! Though life should be the fee!

[He seizes the book, and pronounces mysteriously the sign of the spirit. A ruddy flame flashes up; the spirit appears in the flame.]

SPIRIT

Who calls me?

FAUST (turning aside)

Dreadful shape!

SPIRIT

With might,Thou hast compell'd me to appear,Long hast been sucking at my sphere,And now—

FAUST

Woe's me! I cannot bear thy sight!

SPIRIT

To see me thou dost breathe thine invocation,My voice to hear, to gaze upon my brow;Me doth thy strong entreaty bow—Lo! I am here!—What cowering agitationGrasps thee, the demigod! Where's now the soul's deep cry?Where is the breast, which in its depths a world conceiv'd,And bore and cherished? which, with ecstasy,To rank itself with us, the spirits, heaved?Where art thou, Faust? Whose voice heard I resoundWho toward me press'd with energy profound?Art thou he? Thou,—who by my breath art blighted,Who, in his spirit's depths affrighted,Trembles, a crush'd and writhing worm!

FAUST

Shall I yield, thing of flame, to thee?Faust, and thine equal, I am he!

SPIRIT

In the currents of life, in action's storm,I float and I waveWith billowy motion!Birth and the grave,O limitless ocean,A constant weavingWith change still rife,A restless heaving,A glowing life–Thus time's whirring loom unceasing I ply,And weave the life-garment of deity.

FAUST

Thou, restless spirit, dost from end to endO'ersweep the world; how near I feel to thee!

SPIRIT

Thou'rt like the spirit, thou dost comprehend,Not me! [Vanishes.]

FAUST (deeply moved)

Not theeWhom then?I, God's own image!And not rank with thee! [A knock.]Oh death! I know it-'tis my famulus—My fairest fortune now escapes!That all these visionary shapesA soulless groveller should banish thus!

[WAGNER in his dressing gown and night-cap, a lamp in his hand. FAUST turns round reluctantly.]

WAGNER

Pardon! I heard you here declaim;A Grecian tragedy you doubtless read?Improvement in this art is now my aim,For now-a-days it much avails. IndeedAn actor, oft I've heard it said, as teacher,May give instruction to a preacher.

FAUST

Ay, if your priest should be an actor too,As not improbably may come to pass.

WAGNER

When in his study pent the whole year through,Man views the world, as through an optic glass,On a chance holiday, and scarcely then,How by persuasion can he govern men?

FAUST

If feeling prompt not, if it doth not flowFresh from the spirit's depths, with strong controlSwaying to rapture every listener's soul,Idle your toil; the chase you may forego!Brood o'er your task! Together glue,Cook from another's feast your own ragout,Still prosecute your paltry game,And fan your ash-heaps into flame!Thus children's wonder you'll excite,And apes', if such your appetite;But that which issues from the heart alone,Will bend the hearts of others to your own.

WAGNER

The speaker in delivery, will findSuccess alone; I still am far behind.

FAUST

A worthy object still pursue!Be not a hollow tinkling fool!Sound understanding, judgment true,Find utterance without art or rule;And when in earnest you are moved to speak,Then is it needful cunning words to seek?Your fine harangues, so polish'd in their kind,Wherein the shreds of human thought ye twist,Are unrefreshing as the empty wind,Whistling through wither'd leaves and autumn mist!

WAGNER

Oh God! How long is art,Our life how short! With earnest zealStill as I ply the critic's task, I feelA strange oppression both of head and heart.The very means—how hardly are they won,By which we to the fountains rise!And, haply, ere one half the course is run,Check'd in his progress, the poor devil dies.

FAUST

Parchment, is that the sacred fount whence rollWaters he thirsteth not who once hath quaffed?Oh, if it gush not from thine inmost soul,Thou hast not won the life-restoring draught.

WAGNER

Your pardon! 'tis delightful to transportOneself into the spirit of the past,To see in times before us how a wise man thought,And what a glorious height we have achieved at last.

FAUST

Ay, truly! even to the loftiest star!To us, my friend, the ages that are pass'dA book with seven seals, close-fasten'd, are;And what the spirit of the times men call,Is merely their own spirit after all,Wherein, distorted oft, the times are glass'd.Then truly, 'tis a sight to grieve the soul!At the first glance we fly it in dismay;A very lumber-room, a rubbish-hole;At best a sort of mock-heroic play,With saws pragmatical, and maxims sage,To suit the puppets and their mimic stage.

WAGNER

But then the world and man, his heart and brain!Touching these things all men would something know.

FAUST

Ay! what 'mong men as knowledge doth obtain!Who on the child its true name dares bestow?The few who somewhat of these things have known,Who their full hearts unguardedly reveal'd,Nor thoughts, nor feelings, from the mob conceal'd,Have died on crosses, or in flames been thrown.—Excuse me, friend, far now the night is spent,For this time we must say adieu.

WAGNER

Still to watch on I had been well content,Thus to converse so learnedly with you.But as tomorrow will be Easter-day,Some further questions grant, I pray;With diligence to study still I fondly cling;Already I know much, but would know everything. [Exit.]

FAUST (alone)

How him alone all hope abandons never,To empty trash who clings, with zeal untired,With greed for treasure gropes, and, joy-inspir'd,Exults if earth-worms second his endeavor.And dare a voice of merely human birth,E'en here, where shapes immortal throng'd, intrude?Yet ah! thou poorest of the sons of earth,For once, I e'en to thee feel gratitude.Despair the power of sense did well-nigh blast,And thou didst save me ere I sank dismay'd;So giant-like the vision seem'd, so vast,I felt myself shrink dwarf'd as I survey'd!I, God's own image, from this toil of clayAlready freed, with eager joy who hail'dThe mirror of eternal truth unveil'd,Mid light effulgent and celestial dayI, more than cherub, whose unfetter'd soulWith penetrative glance aspir'd to flowThrough nature's veins, and, still creating, knowThe life of gods,—how am I punish'd now!One thunder-word hath hurl'd me from the goal!Spirit! I dare not lift me to thy sphere.What though my power compell'd thee to appear,My art was powerless to detain thee here.In that great moment, rapture-fraught,I felt myself so small, so great;Fiercely didst thrust me from the realm of thoughtBack on humanity's uncertain fate!Who'll teach me now? What ought I to forego?Ought I that impulse to obey?Alas! our every deed, as well as every woe,Impedes the tenor of life's onward way!E'en to the noblest by the soul conceiv'd,Some feelings cling of baser quality;And when the goods of this world are achiev'd,Each nobler aim is term'd a cheat, a lie.Our aspirations, our soul's genuine life,Grow torpid in the din of earthly strife.Though youthful phantasy, while hope inspires,Stretch o'er the infinite her wing sublime,A narrow compass limits her desires,When wreck'd our fortunes in the gulf of time.In the deep heart of man care builds her nest,O'er secret woes she broodeth there,Sleepless she rocks herself and scareth joy and rest;Still is she wont some new disguise to wear—She may as house and court, as wife and child appear,As dagger, poison, fire and flood;Imagined evils chill thy blood,And what thou ne'er shalt lose, o'er that dost shed the tear.I am not like the gods! Feel it I must;I'm like the earth-worm, writhing in the dust,Which, as on dust it feeds, its native fare,Crushed 'neath the passer's tread, lies buried there.Is it not dust, wherewith this lofty wall,With hundred shelves, confines me round;Rubbish, in thousand shapes, may I not callWhat in this moth-world doth my being bound?Here, what doth fail me, shall I find?Read in a thousand tomes that, everywhere,Self-torture is the lot of human-kind,With but one mortal happy, here and thereThou hollow skull, that grin, what should it say,But that thy brain, like mine, of old perplexed,Still yearning for the truth, hath sought the light of day,And in the twilight wandered, sorely vexed?Ye instruments, forsooth, ye mock at me,—With wheel, and cog, and ring, and cylinder;To nature's portals ye should be the key;Cunning your wards, and yet the bolts ye fail to stir.Inscrutable in broadest light,To be unveil'd by force she doth refuse,What she reveals not to thy mental sightThou wilt not wrest from her with levers and with screws.Old useless furnitures, yet stand ye here,Because my sire ye served, now dead and gone.Old scroll, the smoke of years dost wear,So long as o'er this desk the sorry lamp hath shone.Better my little means hath squandered quite awayThan burden'd by that little here to sweat and groan!Wouldst thou possess thy heritage, essayBy use to render it thine own!What we employ not but impedes our way;That which the hour creates, that can it use alone!But wherefore to yon spot is riveted my gaze?Is yonder flasket there a magnet to my sight?Whence this mild radiance that around me plays,As when, 'mid forest gloom, reigneth the moon's soft light?Hail, precious phial! Thee, with reverent awe,Down from thine old receptacle I draw!Science in thee I hail and human art.Essence of deadliest powers, refin'd and sure,Of soothing anodynes abstraction pure,Now in thy master's need thy grace impart!I gaze on thee, my pain is lull'd to rest;I grasp thee, calm'd the tumult in my breast;The flood-tide of my spirit ebbs away;Onward I'm summon'd o'er a boundless main,Calm at my feet expands the glassy plain,To shores unknown allures a brighter day.Lo, where a car of fire, on airy pinion,Comes floating towards me! I'm prepar'd to flyBy a new track through ether's wide dominion,To distant spheres of pure activity.This life intense, this godlike ecstasy—Worm that thou art such rapture canst thou earn!Only resolve, with courage stern and high,Thy visage from the radiant sun to turn!Dare with determin'd will to burst the portalsPast which in terror others fain would steal!Now is the time, through deeds, to show that mortalsThe calm sublimity of gods can feel;To shudder not at yonder dark abyssWhere phantasy creates her own self-torturing brood;Right onward to the yawning gulf to press,Around whose narrow jaws rolleth hell's fiery flood;With glad resolve to take the fatal leap,Though danger threaten thee, to sink in endless sleep!Pure crystal goblet! forth I draw thee nowFrom out thine antiquated case, where thouForgotten hast reposed for many a year!Oft at my father's revels thou didst shine;To glad the earnest guests was thine,As each to other passed the generous cheer.The gorgeous brede of figures, quaintly wrought,Which he who quaff'd must first in rhyme expound,Then drain the goblet at one draught profound,Hath nights of boyhood to fond memory brought.I to my neighbor shall not reach thee now,Nor on thy rich device shall I my cunning show.Here is a juice, makes drunk without delay;Its dark brown flood thy crystal round doth fill;Let this last draught, the product of my skill,My own free choice, be quaff'd with resolute will,A solemn festive greeting, to the coming day![He places the goblet to his mouth.]

[The ringing of bells, and choral voices.]

CHORUS OF ANGELS

Christ is arisen!Mortal, all hail to thee,Thou whom mortality,Earth's sad reality,Held as in prison.

FAUST

What hum melodious, what clear silvery chime,Thus draws the goblet from my lips away?Ye deep-ton'd bells, do ye, with voice sublime,Announce the solemn dawn of Easter-day?Sweet choir! are ye the hymn of comfort singing,Which once around the darkness of the grave,From seraph-voices, in glad triumph ringing,Of a new covenant assurance gave?

CHORUS OF WOMEN

We, his true-hearted,With spices and myrrh.Embalmed the departed,And swathed Him with care;Here we conveyed Him,Our Master, so dear;Alas! Where we laid Him,The Christ is not here.

CHORUS OF ANGELS

Christ is arisen!Blessed the loving one,Who from earth's trial-throes,Healing and strengthening woes,Soars as from prison.

FAUST

Wherefore, ye tones celestial, sweet and strong,Come ye a dweller in the dust to seek?Ring out your chimes believing crowds among,The message well I hear, my faith alone is weak;From faith her darling, miracle, hath sprung.Aloft to yonder spheres I dare not soar,Whence sound the tidings of great joy;And yet, with this sweet strain familiar when a boy,Back it recalleth me to life once more.Then would celestial love, with holy kiss,Come o'er me in the Sabbath's stilly hour,While, fraught with solemn meaning and mysterious power,Chim'd the deep-sounding bell, and prayer was bliss;A yearning impulse, undefin'd yet dear,Drove me to wander on through wood and field;With heaving breast and many a burning tear,I felt with holy joy a world reveal'd.Gay sports and festive hours proclaim'd with joyous pealingThis Easter hymn in days of old;And fond remembrance now doth me, with childlike feeling,Back from the last, the solemn step, withhold.O still sound on, thou sweet celestial strain!The tear-drop flows—Earth, I am thine again!

CHORUS OF DISCIPLES

He whom we mourned as dead,Living and glorious,From the dark grave hath fled,O'er death victorious;Almost creative blissWaits on His growing powers;Ah! Him on earth we miss;Sorrow and grief are ours.Yearning He left His own,Mid sore annoy;Ah! we must needs bemoan,Master, thy joy!

CHORUS OF ANGELS

Christ is arisen,Redeem'd from decay.The bonds which imprisonYour souls, rend away!Praising the Lord with zeal,By deeds that love reveal,Like brethren true and lealSharing the daily meal,To all that sorrow feelWhisp'ring of heaven's weal,Still is the Master near,Still is He here!

BEFORE THE GATE Promenaders of all sorts pass out.

ARTISANS

Why choose ye that direction, pray?

OTHERS

To the hunting-lodge we're on our way.

THE FIRST

We toward the mill are strolling on.

A MECHANIC

A walk to Wasserhof were best.

A SECOND

The road is not a pleasant one.

THE OTHERS

What will you do?

A THIRD

I'll join the rest.

A FOURTH

Let's up to Burghof, there you'll find good cheer,The prettiest maidens and the best of beer,And brawls of a prime sort.

A FIFTH

You scapegrace! How?Your skin still itching for a row?Thither I will not go, I loathe the place.

SERVANT GIRL

No, no! I to the town my steps retrace.

ANOTHER

Near yonder poplars he is sure to be.

THE FIRST

And if he is, what matters it to me!With you he'll walk, he'll dance with none but you,And with your pleasures what have I to do?

THE SECOND

Today he will not be alone, he saidHis friend would be with him, the curly-head.

STUDENT

Why how those buxom girls step on!Come, brother, we will follow them anon.Strong beer, a damsel smartly dress'd,Stinging tobacco—these I love the best.

BURGHER'S DAUGHTER

Look at those handsome fellows there!'Tis really shameful, I declare;The very best society they shun,After those servant-girls forsooth, to run.

SECOND STUDENT (to the first)

Not quite so fast! for in our rear,Two girls, well-dress'd, are drawing near;Not far from us the one doth dwell,And, sooth to say, I like her well.They walk demurely, yet you'll see,That they will let us join them presently.

THE FIRST

Not I! restraints of all kinds I detest.Quick! let us catch the wild-game ere it flies;The hand on Saturday the mop that pliesWill on the Sunday fondle you the best.

BURGHER

No, this new Burgomaster; I like him not, God knows;No, he's in office; daily more arrogant he grows;And for the town, what doth he do for it?Are not things worse from day to day?To more restraints we must submit;And taxes more than ever pay.

BEGGAR (sings)

Kind gentlemen and ladies fair,So rosy-cheek'd and trimly dress'd,Be pleas'd to listen to my prayer;Relieve and pity the distress'd.Let me not vainly sing my lay!His heart's most glad whose hand is free.Now when all men keep holiday,Should be a harvest-day to me.

OTHER BURGHER

On holidays and Sundays naught know I more invitingThan chatting about war and war's alarms,When folk in Turkey, up in arms,Far off, are 'gainst each other fighting.We at the window stand, our glasses drainAnd watch adown the stream the painted vessels gliding;Then joyful we at eve come home again,And peaceful times we bless, peace long-abiding.

THIRD BURGHER