No More Learning

" The belief in witchcraft may perhaps be
considered a somewhat violent illustration, like the change in
public opinion about slavery in this country. But there can be
no doubt that it is talk somebody's, anybody's, everybody's talk
-by which these changes are wrought, by which each generation
comes to feel and think differently from its predecessor.
-
No one ever talks freely about anything without contributing
something, let it be ever so little, to the unseen forces which carry
the race on to its final destiny. Even if he does not make a posi-
tive impression, he counteracts or modifies some other impression,
or sets in motion some train of ideas in some one else, which
helps to change the face of the world. So I shall, in disregard
of the great laudation of silence which filled the earth in the
days of Carlyle, say that one of the functions of an educated man
is to talk; and of course he should try to talk wisely.


## p. 6384 (#363) ###########################################



## p. 6384 (#364) ###########################################

THE GOETHE HOUSE
FRANKFORT-ON-THE-MAIN
I



## p. 6384 (#365) ###########################################

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## p. 6384 (#366) ###########################################

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## p. 6385 (#367) ###########################################

6385
GOETHE
(1749-1832)
BY EDWARD DOWDEN
OHANN WOLFGANG GOETHE was born at Frankfort-on-the-Main
on August 28th, 1749, and died at Weimar on March 22d,
1832. His great life, extending over upwards of fourscore
years, makes him a man of the eighteenth century and also of the nine-
teenth. He belongs not only to German but to European literature.
And in the history of European literature his position is that of suc-
cessor to Voltaire and Rousseau. Humanity, as Voltaire said, had lost
its title-deeds, and the task of the eighteenth century was to recover
them. Under all Voltaire's zeal for destruction in matters of religious
belief lay a positive faith and a creative sentiment,- a faith in human
intellect and the sentiment of social justice. What indefatigable toil!
what indefatigable play! Surely it was not all to establish a nega-
tion. Voltaire poured a gay yet bitter élan into the intellectual move-
ment of his time. Yet amid his various efforts for humanity he
wanted love; he wanted reverence. And although a positive tend-
ency underlies his achievements, we are warranted in repeating the
common sentence, that upon the whole he destroyed more than he
built up.
Voltaire fought to enfranchise the understanding. Rousseau
dreamed, brooded, suffered, to emancipate the heart. A wave of pas-
sion, or at least of sentiment, swept over Europe with the Nouvelle
Héloise,' the 'Émile,' the 'Confessions. It was Rousseau, exclaims
Byron, who "threw enchantment over passion," who "knew how to
make madness beautiful. " Such an emancipation of the heart was felt,
in the eighteenth century, to be a blessed deliverance from the
material interests and the eager yet too arid speculation of the age.
But Byron in that same passage of Childe Harold' names Rousseau
"the self-torturing sophist. " And a sophist Rousseau was. His intel-
lect fed upon fictions, and dangerous fictions,-fictions respecting
nature, respecting the individual man, respecting human society.
Therefore his intellect failed to illuminate, clarify, tranquilize his
heart. His emotions were turbid, restless, and lacking in sanity.
Here then were Goethe's two great predecessors: one a most viva-
cious intelligence, the other a brooding sensibility; one aiming at an
emancipation of the understanding, but deficient in reverence and in
XI-400


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6386
GOETHE
love; the other aiming at an emancipation of the affections, but defi-
cient in sanity of thought. In what relation stood Goethe to these
great forces of the eighteenth century?
In his old age Goethe, speaking of Voltaire, uses the words a
universal source of light. " But as a young man he was repelled by
"the factious dishonesty of Voltaire, and his perversion of so many
worthy subjects. " "He would never have done," says Goethe, "with
degrading religion and the sacred books, for the sake of injuring
priestcraft, as they called it. " Goethe, indeed, did not deny a use to
the spirit of negation. Mephistopheles lives and works. Yet he lives
and works as the unwilling servant of the Lord, and the service he
renders is to provoke men from indolence to activity.
Into the influence of Rousseau, on the contrary, and into the gen-
eral movement of feeling to which Rousseau belonged, Goethe in his
youth was caught, almost inevitably; and he abandoned himself to it
for a time, it might seem without restraint.
Yet Goethe differed from Rousseau as profoundly as he differed
from Voltaire. Rousseau's undisciplined sensibility, morbidly excited
by the harshness or imagined harshness of his fellows, by bodily tor-
ment, by broodings in solitude, became at last one quivering mass of
disease.
"No tragedy had ever a fifth act so squalid. " What a con-
trast to the closing scenes of Goethe's life in that house of his, like
a modest temple of the Muses, listening to Plutarch read aloud by
his daughter-in-law, or serenely active, "ohne Hast aber ohne Rast»
(without haste, but without rest), in widening his sympathies with
men or enlarging his knowledge of nature.
How was this? Why did the ways part so widely for Rousseau
and for Goethe ?
The young creator of 'Werther' may seem to have started on his
career as a German Rousseau. In reality, Werther' expressed only
a fragment of Goethe's total self. A reserve force of will and an in-
tellect growing daily in clearness and in energy would not permit
him to end as Rousseau ended. In Götz von Berlichingen' there
goes up a cry for freedom; it presents the more masculine side of
that spirit of revolt from the bonds of the eighteenth century, that
"return to nature," which is presented in its more feminine aspects
by Werther. ' But by degrees it became evident to Goethe that the
only true ideal of freedom is a liberation not of the passions, not of
the intellect, but of the whole man; that this involves a conciliation
of all the powers and faculties within us; and that such a concilia-
tion can be effected only by degrees, and by steadfast toil.
And so we find him willing during ten years at Weimar to under-
take work which might appear to be fatal to the development of his
genius. To reform army administration, make good roads, work the


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GOETHE
6387
mines with energetic intelligence, restore the finances to order,- was
this fit employment for one born to be a poet? Except a few lyrics
and the prose Iphigenie,' these years produced no literary work of
importance; yet Goethe himself speaks of them as his "zweite Schrift-
stellerepoche,❞—his second epoch as a writer. They were needful to
make him a master in the art of life, needful to put him into posses-
sion of all his powers. Men of genius are quick growers; but men of
the highest genius, which includes the wisdom of human life, are not
speedily ripe. Goethe had entered literature early; he had stormed
the avenues. Now at six-and-twenty he was a chief figure in Ger-
man, even in European, literature; and from twenty-six to thirty-
seven he published, we may say nothing. But though he ceased to
astonish the world, he was well employed in widening the basis of
his existence; in organizing his faculties; in conciliating passions, in-
tellect, and will; in applying his mind to the real world; in endeavor-
ing to comprehend it aright; in testing and training his powers by
practical activity.
A time came when he felt that his will and skill were mature;
that he was no longer an apprentice in the art of living, but a master
craftsman. Tasks that had grown irksome and were felt to be a dis-
traction from higher duties, he now abandoned. Goethe fled for a
time to Italy, there to receive his degree in the high school of life,
and to start upon a course of more advanced studies. Thenceforward
until his closing days the record is one of almost uninterrupted labor
in his proper fields of literature, art, and science. "In Rome," he
wrote, "I have for the first time found myself, for the first time come
into harmony with myself, and grown happy and rational. " He had
found himself, because his passions and his intellect now co-operated;
his pursuit of truth had all the ardor of a first love; his pursuit of
beauty was not a fantastic chase, but was subject to rational law; and
his effort after truth and his effort after beauty were alike supported
by an adult will.
His task, regarded as a whole, was to do over again the work
of the Renascence. But whereas the Renascence had been a large
national or European movement, advancing towards its ends partly
through popular passions and a new enthusiasm, the work which
Goethe accomplished was more an affair of intelligence, criticism,
conscious self-direction. It was less of a flood sweeping away old
dikes and dams, and more of a dawn quietly and gradually drawing
back the borders of darkness and widening the skirts of light. A
completely developed human being, for the uses of the world,- this
was the ideal in which Goethe's thoughts centred, and towards which
his most important writings constantly tend. A completely developed
State or commonwealth should follow, as an ideal arising out of the


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6388
GOETHE
needs and demands of a complete individual. Goethe knew that
growth comes not by self-observation and self-analysis, but by exer-
cise. Therefore he turned himself and would turn his disciples to
action, to the objective world; and in order that this action may be
profitable, it must be definite and within a limited sphere. He
preaches self-renunciation; but the self-renunciation he commends is
not self-mortification; it is the active self-abandonment of devotion to
our appropriate work. Such is the teaching of Wilhelm Meister':
it traces the progress of a youth far from extraordinary, yet having
within him the capacity for growth, progress through a thousand
errors and illusions, from splendid dreams to modest reality. Life is
discovered by Wilhelm to be a difficult piece of scholarship. The
cry for freedom in Götz,' the limitless sigh of passion heard in
'Werther,' are heard no more. If freedom is to be attained, it can
only be through obedience; if we are to "return to nature," it cannot
be in Rousseau's way but through a wise art of living, an art not at
odds with nature, but its complement:-
"This is an art which does mend nature - but
The art itself is nature. »
If we ask,- for this, after all, is the capital question of criticism. —
What has Goethe done to make us better? the answer is: He has
made each of us aspire and endeavor to be no fragment of manhood,
but a man; he has taught us that to squander ourselves in vain
desires is the road to spiritual poverty; that to discover our appro-
priate work, and to embody our passion in such work, is the way to
true wealth; that such passion and such toil must be not servile, but
glad and free; that the use of our intelligence is not chiefly to
destroy, but to guide our activity in construction; and that in doing
our best work we incorporate ourselves in the best possible way in
the life of our fellows. Such lessons may seem obvious; but they
had not been taught by Goethe's great predecessors, Voltaire and
Rousseau. Goethe, unlike Voltaire, inculcates reverence and love;
unlike Rousseau, he teaches us to see objects clearly as they are, he
trains us to sanity. And Europe needed sanity in the days of Revo-
lution and in the days which followed of Reaction.
Sanity for the imagination Goethe found in classical art. The
young leader of the Romantic revival in Germany resigned his
leadership; he seemed to his contemporaries to have lost the fire.
and impulse of his youth; his work was found cold and formal. A
great change had indeed taken place within him; but his ardor had
only grown steadier and stronger, extending now to every part of his
complex nature. The change was a transition from what is merely
inward and personal to what is outward and general. Goethe cared


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GOETHE
6389
less than formerly to fling out his private passions, and cared more
to comprehend the world and human life and to interpret these
through art. He did not go into bondage under the authority of the
ancients; but he found their methods right, and he endeavored to
work as they had worked. For a time the reaction carried him too
far: in seeking for what is general, he sometimes passed on to what
is abstract, and so was forced into the error of offering symbols to
represent these abstractions, instead of bodying forth his ideas in
imaginative creations. But in the noble drama of 'Iphigenie,' in the
epic-idyll of 'Hermann und Dorothea,' and in many of the ballads
written during his period of close companionship with Schiller, we
have examples of art at once modern in sentiment and classical in
method.
Goethe's faith in the methods of classical art never passed away,
but his narrow exclusiveness yielded. He became, with certain guid-
ing principles which served as a control, a great eclectic, appropriat-
ing to his own uses whatever he perceived to be excellent. As in
'Hermann und Dorothea' he unites the influences of Greek art with
true German feeling, so in his collection of short lyrics, the West-
Östlicher Divan' (West-Eastern Divan), he brings together the genius
of the Orient and that of the Western world, and sheds over both
the spiritual illumination of the wisdom of his elder years. Gradu-
ally his creative powers waned, but he was still interested in all-
except perhaps politics-that can concern the mind; he was still the
greatest of critics, entering with his intelligence into everything and
understanding everything, as nearly universal in his sympathies as a
human mind can be. The Goethe of these elder years is seen to
most advantage in the 'Conversations with Eckermann. '
The most invulnerable of Goethe's writings are his lyrical poems;
against the best of these, criticism can allege nothing. They need no
interpreter. But the reader who studies them in chronological order
will observe that as time went on, the lyric which is a spontaneous
jet of feeling is replaced by the lyric in which there is constructive
art and considerate evolution. In the poems of the West-Östlicher
Divan' Goethe returns to the lyric of spontaneity, but their inspira-
tion is rather that of a gracious wisdom, at once serious and playful,
than of passion.
His period of romance and sentiment is best represented by 'The
Sorrows of Werther. ' His adult wisdom of life is found most abun-
dantly in Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship. ' The world has long
since agreed that if Goethe is to be represented by a single work, it
shall be by 'Faust. ' And even those who perceive that 'Faust' is
best understood by being taken along with Goethe's other writings--
his early 'Prometheus,' his autobiography, his travels in Italy, his


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6390
GOETHE
classical dramas, his scientific studies, his work as a critic, his vast
correspondence, his conversations in old age- cannot quarrel with
the judgment of the world.
'Faust,' if we include under that name the First and the Second
Parts, is the work of Goethe's whole life. Begun and even far ad-
vanced in early manhood, it was taken up again in his midmost
years, and was completed with a faltering hand in the closing season
of his old age.
What it loses in unity, or at least in harmonious
development as a piece of art, it gains in autobiographical interest.
All his works, Goethe said, constituted a great confession. More than
any other of his writings, Faust' is the confession of his life.
There are two ways in which a reader may deal with 'Faust. '
He may choose for his own delight a fragment, detach it and disre-
gard the rest; he may view this fragment, if he pleases, as a whole,
as a rounded work of art. Such a reader will refuse to pass beyond
the First Part of the vast encyclopædic poem. To do this is legiti-
mate. The earliest form in which we possess the drama, that of the
transcript made by Fräulein von Göchhausen, is a tragedy which
might be named 'The Tragedy of Margaret. ' Possibilities of further
development lay in the subject, were indeed required by the subject,
and Goethe had probably already conceived certain of them; yet the
stadium in the progress of Faust's history included in 'The Tragedy
of Margaret' had a unity in itself. But a reader may approach
'Faust' otherwise; he may view it as expressing the complete mind
of Goethe on some of the deepest problems of human life. Viewing
it thus, he must accept the whole work as Goethe has given it; he
must hold in abeyance, at least for a time, his own particular likings
and dislikes. While keeping his mind open to all the poetry of Faust,
he will soon discover that here is something more than a poem. It
may be unfortunate for the work of art that it belongs, certainly in
its execution, possibly even in the growth of its conception, to far
sundered periods of its author's career, when his feelings respecting
art were different, when his capacity for rendering his ideas was now
more and now less adequate. Such a reader, however, would part
with nothing: in what is admirable he finds the master's hand; in
what is feeble he discovers the same hand, but faltering, and pathetic
in its infirmity. He is interested in 'Faust' not solely or chiefly as
"The Tragedy of Margaret': he finds in it the intellect, the charac-
ter, the life of Goethe; it is a repository of the deepest thoughts and
feelings concerning human existence of a wise seer, a repository in
which he laid by those thoughts and feelings during sixty years of
his mortal wayfaring.
-
From early manhood to extreme old age 'Faust' was with Goethe,
receiving now and again, in Frankfort, in Weimar, in Rome, some


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GOETHE
6391
new accession. We can distinguish the strata or formations of youth,
of manhood, and of the closing years. We recognize by their diver-
sities of style those parts which were written when creation was
swift and almost involuntary, a passion and a joy, and those parts
through which Goethe labored at an old man's pace, accomplishing
to-day a hand's-breadth, to-morrow perhaps less, and binding blank
pages into his manuscript, that the sight of the gaps might irritate
him to produce. What unity can such a work possess, except that
which comes from the fact that it all proceeded from a single mind,
and that some main threads of thought-for it would be rash to
speak of a ground idea-run through the several parts and bind
them together? 'Faust' has not the unity of a lake whose circuit
the eye can contemplate, a crystal set among the hills. Its unity is
that of a river, rising far away in mountain solitudes, winding below
many a mirrored cliff, passing the habitations of men, temple and
mart, fields of rural toil and fields of war, reaching it may be dull
levels, and forgetting the bright speed it had, until at last the dash of
waves is heard, and its course is accomplished; but from first to last
one stream, proceeding from a single source. Tourists may pick out
a picturesque fragment of its wanderings, and this is well; but per-
haps it is better to find the poetry of its entire career, from its cloudy
cradle to the flats where it loses itself in the ocean.
one.
The first part of 'Faust' is itself the work of more periods than
The original conception may belong to Goethe's student days
at Strassburg. He had grown weary of the four Faculties, - alas,
even of theology; he had known a maiden as fair and sweet and
simple as Gretchen, and he had left her widowed of her first love;
and there in Strassburg was the presence of that old Cathedral, which
inspired so terrible a scene in the 'Faust. ' From Strassburg he
returned to Frankfort, and no moments of his career of authorship
were more fruitful than these which preceded the first Weimar years.
It was in the heart of the Storm and Stress; it was the time of
'Götz' and 'Mahomet' and the Wandering Jew' and 'Werther'
and Prometheus. ' Here in Faust was another and a nobler Werther
seeking the infinite; here was another Prometheus, a Titan shackled
yet unsubduable. By Goethe's twenty-sixth year the chief portions
of the 'Faust, a Fragment,' published when he was forty-one, had
been written. But two scenes were added in Rome,- one of these
strange in its fantasy, the Witches' Kitchen,—as if to show that the
poet of the North was not quite enslaved by the beauty of classic
art. It was in the last decade of the eighteenth century that
Schiller succeeded in persuading Goethe to open his Faust papers,
and try to recover the threads of his design. Not until 1808, Goethe's
fifty-ninth year, was the First Part published as we now possess it.


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6392
GOETHE
It is therefore incorrect to speak of this Part as the work of the
author's youth; even here a series of strata belonging to different
periods can be distinguished, and critics have contended that even in
this Part may be discovered two schemes or plans not wholly in
harmony each with the other.
The first Fragment was written, as has been said, in the spirit of
the Storm and Stress. Goethe was weary of the four Faculties. The
magic work of the time which was to restore vigor and joy to men
was Nature. This is the theme of the opening scene of 'Faust. '
Among old instruments and dusty folios and ancestral lumber and
brute skeletons, away from Nature and her living founts of inspira-
tion, the old scholar has found neither joy nor true knowledge. He
opens the book of Nostradamus and gazes upon the sign of the Macro-
cosm; here in a symbol he beholds the life and energy of nature:-
"Where shall I grasp thee, infinite Nature, where?
Ye breasts, ye fountains of all life whereon
Hang heaven and earth. »
--
He cannot grasp them; and then turning from the great Cosmos, he
thinks he may at least dare to invoke the spirit of our own mother
planet Earth. But to Faust, with eyes bleared with the dust of the
study, to Faust, living in his own speculations or in dogmatic sys-
tems, the aspect of the Earth Spirit- a living fire. is terrible. He
falls back upon himself almost despairing, when the famulus Wagner
enters. What Werner was to the idealist Wilhelm Meister, Wagner is
to the idealist Faust: the mere scraping together of a little hoard of
barren facts contents Wagner; such grief, such despair as Faust's, are
for this Philistine of learning impossible. And then the fragment of
1790 passes on to Mephistopheles. Whether or not Goethe found the
features of his critical demon in Herder (as Grimm supposes), and
afterwards united these to the more pronounced likeness in his friend
Mephistopheles Merck, matters little. Whether Herder and Merck had
been present or not, Goethe would have found Mephistopheles in his
own heart. For the contrast between the idealist Faust and the real-
ist Mephistopheles exists in some form or other in almost every great
creation of Goethe. It is the contrast between Werther and Albert,
between Tasso and Antonio, between Edward and the Captain. Some-
times the nobler spirit of worldliness is dwelt on, as in the case of
Antonio; sometimes the cold, hard, cynical side, as in the case of
Mephistopheles. The theme of Faust as originally conceived was the
turning of an idealist from his own private thoughts and dreams to
the real world; from all that is unnatural,-systems, speculations, bar-
ren knowledge,- to nature and the founts of life; from the solitary
cell to the company of men; to action, beauty, life, and love. If he
―


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GOETHE
6393
can really succeed in achieving this wisely and well, Faust is saved.
He is delivered from solitude, the inane of speculation, the vagueness
of idealism, and made one with the band of his toiling fellows. But
to accompany him there is the spirit of base worldliness, the realist,
the cynic, who sees the meaner side of all that is actual, who if pos
sible will seduce Faust into accepting the world apart from that ele-
vating spirit which ennobles actual life, who will try to baffle and
degrade Faust by degrading all that he now seeks,-action and beauty
and life and love.
It is Goethe himself who is at odds with himself,- the realist
Goethe set over against the idealist Goethe; and Mephistopheles is
the base realist, the cynic whose endeavor is to mar the union of
high poetry and high prose in human life, which union of high poetry
with high prose Goethe always looked upon as the true condition of
man's activity. In the Prologue in Heaven, written when Schiller
had persuaded Goethe to take up the threads of his play, the Lord
speaks of Faust as his servant. Mephistopheles wagers that he will
seduce Faust from his allegiance to the Highest.
The Lord does not
wager; he knows:-
"Though now he serve me in a maze of doubt,
Yet I will lead him soon where all is clear;
The gardener knows, when first the bushes sprout,
That bloom and fruit will deck the riper year. »
These vague passionate longings of Faust after truth and reality
and life and love are not evil; they are good: they are as yet indeed
but the sprouting of the immature leaf and bud, but the Lord sees
in these the fruit that is to be. Therefore let Mephistopheles, the
spirit of negation, try his worst, and at the last discover how an
earnest striver's ways are justified by God. Faust may wander, err,
fall, grievously offend,-"as long as man lives, man errs;" but for
him who ever strives upward, through all his errors, there is redemp-
tion in the end.
The poem belongs to its epoch. Faust is the idealist, Mephis-
topheles is the realist, of the eighteenth century. Faust aspires to
nature and freedom like one who had drunk deeply of Rousseau.
Mephistopheles speaks like a degraded disciple of Voltaire, who has
lost his master's positive faith in the human reason. Goethe can ac-
cept as his own neither the position of Voltaire nor that of Rous-
seau; but actually he started in life as an antagonist of Voltaire and
a disciple of Rousseau, and in like manner his Faust starts on his
career as one who longs for a "return to nature. " While from merely
negative criticism nothing virtuous can be born, the vague longings
of one who loves and hopes promise measureless good.


## p. 6394 (#376) ###########################################

6394
GOETHE
Faust's vast aspirations, then, are not sinful; they only need to be
limited and directed to suitable ends. It is as God's servant that he
goes forth with the Demon from his study to the world. And Meph-
istopheles's first attempt to degrade Faust is a failure. In the orgy
of Auerbach's cellar, while the boisterous young bloods clash their
glasses, the old scholar sits silent, isolated, ashamed. It is only by
infecting his blood with the witch's poison that Mephistopheles can
lay hold of the spirit of Faust even for a time; and had he not seen
in the mirror that vision of Helena, whom he rightly loves, and whom
indeed he needs, he could not have put to his lips the filthy brewage
of the witch. But now indeed he is snared; the poison rages in his
veins; for one hour he is transformed into what the world basely calls
a man of pleasure. Yet Faust is not wholly lost: his better self, the
untrained, untamed idealist, begins to reassert its power; the fumes
of the poison dissipate themselves. Guilty though he be, his love of
Margaret is not what Mephistopheles requires that it should be: it is
not calculating, egoistic, cynical, nor dull, easeful, and lethargic. It
is not the crime of an experienced worldling nor of a dull, low liver:
it is the crime of one whose unwise heart and untaught imagination
delude him; and therefore though his fall be deep, it is not fatal.
The wrong he has wrought may be blind and terrible as that of
Othello to Desdemona; but it is not the serpentine stinging of an
Iago or a Mephistopheles.
So through anguish and remorse Faust is doing off the swathe-
bands of delusion, learning to master his will, learning his own heart,
learning the meaning of existence: he does not part from his ideal
self, his high aspirations, his ardent hopes; he is rather transforming
these into realities; he is advancing from dreams to facts, so that in
the end, when his life becomes a lofty prose, it may be interpene-
trated by a noble poetry.
It were long to trace the history of Faust through the ever puri-
fying and ascending scale of energies exhibited in the Second Part
of the drama. Affairs of State, science, art, war-all that Goethe
had known by experience-appear in this encyclopædic poem. One
word, however, must be said respecting the 'Helena. ' It is a mistake
to view this central portion of the Second Part as solely or chiefly
an allegory of the wedlock of classic and romantic art. As science is
shown to form a needful part of Faust's turning from the inane of
metaphysics to the positive world, so from the Greek spirit he learns
sanity and strength; the deliverance of the ideal man in Faust is
aided by the beauty and the healthfulness of classic art. Through
beauty, as Schiller tried to show in his letters on 'Esthetic Culture,'
we attain to freedom. Faust is not an artist, but a man; Helena is
but one of the spirits whose influence is needed to make him real


## p. 6395 (#377) ###########################################

GOETHE
6395
and elevated. It is she who qualifies him for achieving practical
work in a high, ideal spirit.
The Fourth Act of the Second Part is wholly concerned with prac-
tical work. What is this which engages the student of the metaphysic
cell, who had gone through the four Faculties, and is now once again
grown old? What is this? Only well-defined and useful activity. He
has rescued some acres of arable land from the rage of the bar-
ren sea.
But Faust is not yet wholly delivered from evil; his activity is use-
ful, indeed, but it lacks the finer grace of charity. He commissions
Mephistopheles to destroy the cottage of old Philemon and Baucis,
which stands in the way of his territorial improvements. It is the
last crime of the unregenerate will. The four gray women-Care
and Blame and Want and Crime-now assail him; but there is vir-
tue in him to the last. However it may be with himself, grant only
that ages hence the children of men, free and happy, may dwell upon
the soil which he has saved for their place of labor and of love,-
grant but this, and even in the anticipation of it he is made pos-
sessor of the highest bliss. Nor indeed is higher permitted to man
on earth. And now that Faust has at last found satisfaction, and
said to the passing moment, "Stay, thou art so fair," the time has
come for Mephistopheles to claim his soul. But in this very aspira-
tion after the perfect joy of others -not his own-Faust is forever
delivered from the Evil One. The gray old man lies stretched upon
the sand. Higher powers than those of his own will take him, guard
him, lead him forward. The messengers of God bear away his im-
mortal part. All Holy Hermits, all Holy Innocents, all Holy Virgins,
the less and the greater Angels, and redeemed women who have
sinned and sorrowed and have been purified, aid in his ultimate puri-
fication. It is the same thought which was interpreted in a lower key
when Wilhelm Meister's fate was intrusted to Natalia. Usefulness
is good; activity is good: but over all these should soar and brood
the Divine graces of life, and love the chief of these. That which
leads us farther than all the rest is what Goethe names "the imperish-
able womanly grace," that of love. And so the great mystery-play
reaches its close.
Edward Dowden.


## p. 6396 (#378) ###########################################

6396
GOETHE
(
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE. - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe was born at
Frankfort-on-the-Main, August 28th, 1749; he attended the University
of Leipzig 1765-1768, and went to Strassburg in 1770, where he met
Herder, made the acquaintance of Shakespeare, and in 1771 took his
degree. Götz von Berlichingen' in 1773 announced the dawn of a
new era in German letters, and in 1774 The Sorrows of Werther'
made the poet world-famous. In 1775 Goethe accepted the invitation
of Duke Carl August and went to Weimar, which remained thence-
forth his home. The Italian journey, marking an epoch in the poet's
life, took place in 1786-1787. The 'Faust Fragment' appeared in
1790. The friendship with Schiller, also of far-reaching importance.
in Goethe's life, began in 1794 and was terminated only by Schiller's
death in 1805. Hermann and Dorothea' was published in 1797. In
1806 Goethe married Christiane Vulpius. The First Part of 'Faust'
appeared in 1808;-in 1816 the poet is at work upon his 'Autobiog-
raphy' and the Italian Journey'; the first part of Wilhelm Meis-
ter's Apprenticeship' appeared in 1821, and was completed in 1829.
'Faust' was finished on July 20th, 1831. Goethe died at Weimar on
March 22d, 1832.
R
FROM FAUST'
CHORUS OF THE ARCHANGELS; FROM THE PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN
Shelley's Translation
APHAEL - The sun makes music as of old
Amid the rival spheres of heaven,
On its predestined circle rolled
With thunder speed; the angels even
Draw strength from gazing on its glance,
Though none its meaning fathom may
The world's unwithered countenance
Is bright as at creation's day.
Gabriel-And swift and swift with rapid lightness
The adorned earth spins silently,
Alternating Elysian brightness
With deep and dreadful night; the sea
Foams in broad billows from the deep
Up to the rocks, and rocks and ocean,
Onward, with spheres which never sleep,
Are hurried in eternal motion.
Michael — And tempests in contention roar
-
From land to sea, from sea to land;
And raging, weave a chain of power,
Which girds the earth as with a band.


## p. 6397 (#379) ###########################################

GOETHE
6397
A flashing desolation there
Flames before the thunder's way;
But thy servants, Lord, revere
The gentle changes of thy day.
CHORUS OF THE THREE
The angels draw strength from thy glance,
Though no one comprehend thee may;
Thy world's unwithered countenance
Is bright as on creation's day.
OH
SCENES FROM FAUST'
Translated by Bayard Taylor
All the following selections from Faust' are from Taylor's translation.
Copyright 1870, by Bayard Taylor, and reprinted here by permission of
and special agreement with Mrs. Taylor, and Houghton, Mifflin & Co. ,
publishers, Boston.
FAUST AND WAGNER
FAUST
H, HAPPY he, who still renews
The hope from Error's deeps to rise forever!
That which one does not know, one needs to use,
And what one knows, one uses never.
But let us not, by such despondence, so
The fortune of this hour embitter!
Mark how, beneath the evening sunlight's glow,
The green-embosomed houses glitter!
The glow retreats; done is the day of toil;
It yonder hastes, new fields of life exploring;
Ah, that no wing can lift me from the soil,
Upon its track to follow, follow soaring!
Then would I see eternal Evening gild
The silent world beneath me glowing,
On fire each mountain-peak, with peace each valley filled,
The silver brook to golden rivers flowing.
The mountain chain, with all its gorges deep,
Would then no more impede my godlike motion;
And now before mine eyes expands the ocean
With all its bays, in shining sleep!
Yet finally the weary god is sinking;
The new-born impulse fires my mind,-


## p. 6398 (#380) ###########################################

6398
GOETHE
I hasten on, his beams eternal drinking,
The Day before me and the Night behind.
Above me heaven unfurled, the floor of waves beneath me,-
A glorious dream! though now the glories fade.
Alas! the wings that lift the mind no aid
Of wings to lift the body can bequeath me.
Yet in each soul is born the pleasure
Of yearning onward, upward and away,
When o'er our heads, lost in the vaulted azure,
The lark sends down his flickering lay,
When over crags and piny highlands
The poising eagle slowly soars,
And over plains and lakes and islands
The crane sails by to other shores.
WAGNER
I've had, myself, at times, some odd caprices,
But never yet such impulse felt, as this is.
One soon fatigues on woods and fields to look,
Nor would I beg the bird his wing to spare us:
How otherwise the mental raptures bear us
From page to page, from book to book!
Then winter nights take loveliness untold,
As warmer life in every limb had crowned you;
And when your hands unroll some parchment rare and old,
All heaven descends, and opens bright around you!
FAUST
One impulse art thou conscious of, at best;
Oh, never seek to know the other!
Two souls, alas! reside within my breast,
And each withdraws from, and repels, its brother.
One with tenacious organs holds in love
And clinging lust the world in its embraces;
The other strongly sweeps, this dust above,
Into the high ancestral spaces.
If there be airy spirits near,
'Twixt heaven and earth on potent errands fleeing.
Let them drop down the golden atmosphere,
And bear me forth to new and varied being!
Yea, if a magic mantle once were mine,
To waft me o'er the world at pleasure,
I would not for the costliest stores of treasure
Not for a monarch's robe-the gift resign.


## p. 6399 (#381) ###########################################

GOETHE
6399
FAUST AND MEPHISTOPHELES
FAUST
ANST thou, poor Devil, give me whatsoever ?
C
When was a human soul, in its supreme endeavor,
E'er understood by such as thou?
Yet hast thou food which never satiates now:
The restless, ruddy gold hast thou,
That runs quicksilver-like one's fingers through;
A game whose winnings no man ever knew;
A maid that even from my breast
Beckons my neighbor with her wanton glances,
And Honor's godlike zest,
The meteor that a moment dances,-
Show me the fruits that, ere they're gathered, rot,
And trees that daily with new leafage clothe them!
MEPHISTOPHELES
Such a demand alarms me not:
Such treasures have I, and can show them.
But still the time may reach us, good my friend,
When peace we crave, and more luxurious diet.
-
FAUST
When on an idler's bed I stretch myself in quiet,
There let at once my record end!
Canst thou with lying flattery rule me,
Until self-pleased myself I see,-
Canst thou with rich enjoyment fool me,
Let that day be the last for me!
The bet I offer.
MEPHISTOPHELES
Done!
FAUST
—
And heartily!
When thus I hail the Moment flying:
"Ah, still delay-thou art so fair! "
Then bind me in thy bonds undying,
My final ruin then declare!
Then let the death-bell chime the token,
Then art thou from thy service free!
The clock may stop, the hand be broken,
Then Time be finished unto me!


## p. 6400 (#382) ###########################################

6400
GOETHE
FOREST AND CAVERN
FAUST [alone]
SP
PIRIT sublime, thou gav'st me, gav'st me all
For which I prayed. Not unto me in vain
Hast thou thy countenance revealed in fire.
Thou gav'st me nature as a kingdom grand,
With power to feel and to enjoy it. Thou
Not only cold, amazed acquaintance yield'st,
But grantest that in her profoundest breast
I gaze, as in the bosom of a friend.
The ranks of living creatures thou dost lead
Before me, teaching me to know my brothers
In air and water and the silent wood.
And when the storm in forests roars and grinds,
The giant firs, in falling, neighbor boughs
And neighbor trunks with crushing weight bear down,
And falling, fill the hills with hollow thunders,-
Then to the cave secure thou leadest me,
Then show'st me mine own self, and in my breast
The deep mysterious miracles unfold.
And when the perfect moon before my gaze
Comes up with soothing light, around me float
From every precipice and thicket damp
The silvery phantoms of the ages past,
And temper the austere delight of thought.
That nothing can be perfect unto Man
I now am conscious. With this ecstasy,
Which brings me near and nearer to the gods,
Thou gav'st the comrade, whom I now no more
Can do without, though, cold and scornful, he
Demeans me to myself, and with a breath,
A word, transforms thy gifts to nothingness.
Within my breast he fans a lawless fire,
Unwearied, for that fair and lovely form:
Thus in desire I hasten to enjoyment,
And in enjoyment pine to feel desire.


## p. 6401 (#383) ###########################################

GOETHE
6401
MARGARET
[At the spinning-wheel, alone]
Y PEACE is gone,
Μ'
My heart is sore:
I never shall find it,
Ah, nevermore!
Save I have him near,
The grave is here;
The world is gall
And bitterness all.
My poor weak head
Is racked and crazed;
My thought is lost,
My senses mazed.
My peace is gone,
My heart is sore:
I never shall find it,
Ah, nevermore!
To see him, him only,'
At the pane I sit;
To meet him, him only,
The house I quit.
His lofty gait,
His noble size,
The smile of his mouth,
The power of his eyes,
And the magic flow
Of his talk, the bliss
In the clasp of his hand,
And ah! his kiss!
My peace is gone,
My heart is sore:
I never shall find it,
Ah, nevermore!
My bosom yearns
For him alone;
Ah, dared I clasp him,
And hold, and own!
XI-401


## p. 6402 (#384) ###########################################

6402
GOETHE
·
PRO
And kiss his mouth
To heart's desire,
And on his kisses
At last expire!
ROMISE me, Henry! -
MARTHA'S GARDEN
Must we?
MARGARET
I honor them.
FAUST
What I can!
How is 't with thy religion, pray?
Thou art a dear, good-hearted man,
And yet, I think, dost not incline that way.
MARGARET
Leave that, my child! Thou know'st my love is tender;
For love, my blood and life would I surrender,
And as for faith and church, I grant to each his own.
FAUST
That's not enough: we must believe thereon.
MARGARET
FAUST
MARGARET
Would that I had some influence!
Then, too, thou honorest not the Holy Sacraments.
FAUST
MARGARET
Desiring no possession.
'Tis long since thou hast been to mass or to confession.
Believest thou in God?
FAUST
My darling, who shall dare
"I believe in God! " to say?
i


## p. 6403 (#385) ###########################################

GOETHE
6403
Ask priest or sage the answer to declare,
And it will seem a mocking play,
A sarcasm on the asker.
MARGARET
Then thou believest not!
FAUST
Hear me not falsely, sweetest countenance!
Who dare express Him?
And who profess Him,
Saying: I believe in Him!
Who, feeling, seeing,
Deny His being,
Saying: I believe Him not!
The All-enfolding,
The All-upholding,
Folds and upholds he not
Thee, me, Himself?
Arches not there the sky above us?
Lies not beneath us, firm, the earth?
And rise not, on us shining
Friendly, the everlasting stars?
Look I not, eye to eye, on thee,
And feel'st not, thronging
To head and heart, the force,
Still weaving its eternal secret,
Invisible, visible, round thy life?
Vast as it is, fill with that force thy heart,
And when thou in the feeling wholly blessed art,
Call it, then, what thou wilt,-
Call it Bliss! Heart! Love! God! -
I have no name to give it!
Feeling is all in all:
The Name is sound and smoke,
Obscuring Heaven's clear glow.
MARGARET
—
All that is fine and good, to hear it so:
Much the same way the preacher spoke,
Only with slightly different phrases.
FAUST
The same thing, in all places,
All hearts that beat beneath the heavenly day-


## p. 6404 (#386) ###########################################

6404
GOETHE
!
Each in its language—say;
Then why not I in mine as well?
Dear love!
To hear it thus, it may seem passable;
And yet some hitch in't there must be,
For thou hast no Christianity.
MARGARET
How so?
FAUST
MARGARET
I've long been grieved to see
That thou art in such company.
FAUST
MARGARET
The man who with thee goes, thy mate,
Within my deepest, inmost soul I hate.
In all my life there's nothing
Has given my heart so keen a pang of loathing
As his repulsive face has done.
FAUST
Nay, fear him not, my sweetest one!
MARGARET
eel his presence like something ill.
I've else, for all, a kindly will,
But, much as my heart to see thee yearneth,
The secret horror of him returneth;
And I think the man a knave, as I live!
If I do him wrong, may God forgive!
FAUST
There must be such queer birds, however.
MARGARET
Live with the like of him may I never!
When once inside the door comes he,
He looks around so sneeringly,
And half in wrath:
One sees that in nothing no interest he hath:


## p. 6405 (#387) ###########################################

GOETHE
6405
'Tis written on his very forehead
That love, to him, is a thing abhorrèd.
I am so happy on thine arm,
So free, so yielding, and so warm,
And in his presence stifled seems my heart.
FAUST
Foreboding angel that thou art!
IN THE DUNGEON
In a niche of the wall a shrine, with an image of the Mater Dolorosa.
Pots of flowers before it
MARGARET
[Putting fresh flowers in the pots]
NCLINE, O Maiden,
Thou sorrow-laden,
Thy gracious countenance upon my pain!
The sword thy heart in,
With anguish smarting,
Thou lookest up to where thy Son is slain!
Thou seest the Father;
The sad sighs gather,
And bear aloft thy sorrow and his pain!
Ah, past guessing,
Beyond expressing,
The pangs that wring my flesh and bone!
Why this anxious heart so burneth,
Why it trembleth, why it yearneth,
Knowest thou, and thou alone!
Where'er I go, what sorrow,
What woe, what woe and sorrow
Within my bosom aches!
Alone, and ah!