MARGARET
—
All that is fine and good, to hear it so:
Much the same way the preacher spoke,
Only with slightly different phrases.
—
All that is fine and good, to hear it so:
Much the same way the preacher spoke,
Only with slightly different phrases.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v11 - Fro to Gre
6392 (#374) ###########################################
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
―
## p. 6393 (#375) ###########################################
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! unsleeping,
I'm weeping, weeping, weeping,-
The heart within me breaks.
The pots before my window,
Alas! my tears did wet,
As in the early morning
For thee these flowers I set.
## p. 6406 (#388) ###########################################
6406
GOETHE
Within my lonely chamber
The morning sun shone red:
I sat in utter sorrow,
Already on my bed.
Help! rescue me from death and stain!
O Maiden!
Thou sorrow-laden,
Incline thy countenance upon my pain!
IN THE DUNGEON
FAUST
With a bunch of keys and a lamp, before an iron door
SHUDDER, long unfelt, comes o'er me;
A
Mankind's collected woe o'erwhelms me here.
She dwells within the dark, damp walls before me,
And all her crime was a delusion dear!
What! I delay to free her?
I dread, once again to see her?
On! my shrinking but lingers Death more near.
[He grasps the lock: the sound of singing is heard inside. ]
My mother the harlot,
Who put me to death;
My father the varlet,
Who eaten me hath!
Little sister, so good,
Laid my bones in the wood,
In the damp moss and clay:
Then was I a beautiful bird o' the wood:
Fly away! Fly away!
FAUST [unlocking]
She does not dream her lover listens near;
That he the rattling chain, the rustling straw, can hear.
MARGARET [hiding herself on the pallet]
Woe! woe! They come. O death of bitterness!
FAUST [whispering]
Hush! hush! The hour is come that frees thee.
( — —
M
1
I
## p. 6407 (#389) ###########################################
GOETHE
6407
MARGARET [throwing herself before him]
Art thou a man? then pity my distress!
FAUST
Thy cries will wake the guards, and they will seize thee!
[He takes hold of the fetters to unlock them.
MARGARET [on her knees]
Who, headsman! unto thee such power
Over me could give?
Thou'rt come for me at midnight hour:
Have mercy on me; let me live!
Is't not soon enough when morning chime has rung?
[She rises.
And I am yet so young, so young!
And now death comes, and ruin!
I, too, was fair, and that was my undoing.
My love was near, but now he's far;
Torn lies the wreath, scattered the blossoms are.
Seize me not thus so violently!
Spare me! What have I done to thee?
Let me not vainly entreat thee!
I never chanced, in all my days, to meet thee!
FAUST
Shall I outlive this misery?
MARGARET
Now am I wholly in thy might.
But let me suckle, first, my baby!
I blissed it all this livelong night;
They took 't away, to vex me, maybe,
And now they say I killed the child outright.
And never shall I be glad again.
They sing songs about me! 'tis bad of the folk to do it!
There's an old story has the same refrain;
Who bade them so construe it?
FAUST [falling upon his knees]
Here lieth one who loves thee ever,
The thraldom of thy woe to sever.
## p. 6408 (#390) ###########################################
6408
GOETHE
MARGARET [flinging herself beside him]
Oh let us kneel, and call the saints to hide us!
Under the steps beside us,
The threshold under,
Hell heaves in thunder!
The Evil One
With terrible wrath
Seeketh a path
His prey to discover!
FAUST [aloud]
Margaret! Margaret!
MARGARET [attentively listening]
That was the voice of my lover!
'Tis I!
[She springs to her feet: the fetters fall off.
Where is he? I heard him call me.
I am free! No one shall enthrall me.
To his neck will I fly,
On his bosom lie!
On the threshold he stood, and Margaret! calling,
'Midst of hell's howling and noises appalling,
'Midst of the wrathful, infernal derision,
I knew the sweet sound of the voice of the vision!
FAUST
MARGARET
'Tis thou! O, say it once again!
[Clasping him.
'Tis he! 'tis he! Where now is all my pain?
The anguish of the dungeon, and the chain?
'Tis thou! Thou comest to save me,
And I am saved!
Again the street I see
Where first I looked on thee;
And the garden, brightly blooming,
Where I and Martha wait thy coming.
FAUST [struggling to leave]
Come! Come with me!
## p. 6409 (#391) ###########################################
GOETHE
6409
MARGARET
Delay, now!
So fain I stay, when thou delayest!
FAUST
Away, now!
If longer here thou stayest,
We shall be made to dearly rue it.
MARGARET
'Tis I! Come on!
Kiss me! -canst no longer do it?
My friend, so short a time thou 'rt missing,
And hast unlearned thy kissing?
Why is my heart so anxious, on thy breast?
Where once a heaven thy glances did create me,
A heaven thy loving words expressed,
And thou didst kiss as thou wouldst suffocate me -
Kiss me!
Or I'll kiss thee!
Ah, woe! thy lips are chill,
And still.
How changed in fashion
Thy passion!
Who has done me this ill?
FAUST
[Caressing him.
Come, follow me! My darling, be more bold:
I'll clasp thee, soon, with warmth a thousandfold;
But follow now! 'Tis all I beg of thee.
FAUST
MARGARET [turning to him]
And is it thou? Thou, surely, certainly?
MARGARET
[She embraces him.
[She turns away from him.
Thou wilt unloose my chain,
And in thy lap wilt take me once again.
How comes it that thou dost not shrink from me? -
Say, dost thou know, my friend, whom thou mak'st free?
## p. 6410 (#392) ###########################################
6410
GOETHE
FAUST
Come! come! The night already vanisheth.
MARGARET
My mother have I put to death;
I've drowned the baby born to thee.
Was it not given to thee and me?
Thee, too! -'Tis thou! It scarcely true doth seem
Give me thy hand! 'Tis not a dream!
Thy dear, dear hand! - But, ah, 'tis wet!
Why, wipe it off! Methinks that yet
There's blood thereon.
Ah, God! what hast thou done?
Nay, sheathe thy sword at last!
Do not affray me!
FAUST
Oh, let the past be past!
Thy words will slay me!
MARGARET
No, no! Thou must outlive us.
Now I'll tell thee the graves to give us:
Thou must begin to-morrow
The work of sorrow!
The best place give to my mother,
Then close at her side my brother,
And me a little away,
But not too very far, I pray!
And here, on my right breast, my baby lay!
Nobody else will lie beside me! -
Ah, within thine arms to hide me,
That was a sweet and a gracious bliss,
But no more, no more can I attain it!
I would force myself on thee and constrain it,
And it seems thou repellest my kiss:
And yet 'tis thou, so good, so kind to see!
FAUST
If thou feelest it is I, then come with me!
MARGARET
-
Out yonder?
## p. 6411 (#393) ###########################################
GOETHE
6411
FAUST
To freedom.
MARGARET
If the grave is there,
Death lying in wait, then come!
From here to eternal rest:
No further step-no, no!
Thou goest away! O Henry, if I could go!
FAUST
Thou canst! Just will it! Open stands the door.
MARGARET
I dare not go: there's no hope any more.
Why should I fly? They'll still my steps waylay!
It is so wretched, forced to beg my living,
And a bad conscience sharper misery giving!
It is so wretched, to be strange, forsaken,
And I'd still be followed and taken!
FAUST
I'll stay with thee.
MARGARET
Be quick! Be quick!
Save thy perishing child!
Away! Follow the ridge
Up by the brook,
Over the bridge,
Into the wood,
To the left, where the plank is placed
In the pool!
Seize it in haste!
'Tis trying to rise,
'Tis struggling still!
Save it! Save it!
FAUST
Recall thy wandering will!
One step, and thou art free at last!
MARGARET
If the mountain we had only passed!
There sits my mother upon a stone,-
## p. 6412 (#394) ###########################################
6412
GOETHE
I feel an icy shiver!
There sits my mother upon a stone,
And her head is wagging ever.
She beckons, she nods not, her heavy head falls o'er;
She slept so long that she wakes no more.
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
―
## p. 6393 (#375) ###########################################
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! unsleeping,
I'm weeping, weeping, weeping,-
The heart within me breaks.
The pots before my window,
Alas! my tears did wet,
As in the early morning
For thee these flowers I set.
## p. 6406 (#388) ###########################################
6406
GOETHE
Within my lonely chamber
The morning sun shone red:
I sat in utter sorrow,
Already on my bed.
Help! rescue me from death and stain!
O Maiden!
Thou sorrow-laden,
Incline thy countenance upon my pain!
IN THE DUNGEON
FAUST
With a bunch of keys and a lamp, before an iron door
SHUDDER, long unfelt, comes o'er me;
A
Mankind's collected woe o'erwhelms me here.
She dwells within the dark, damp walls before me,
And all her crime was a delusion dear!
What! I delay to free her?
I dread, once again to see her?
On! my shrinking but lingers Death more near.
[He grasps the lock: the sound of singing is heard inside. ]
My mother the harlot,
Who put me to death;
My father the varlet,
Who eaten me hath!
Little sister, so good,
Laid my bones in the wood,
In the damp moss and clay:
Then was I a beautiful bird o' the wood:
Fly away! Fly away!
FAUST [unlocking]
She does not dream her lover listens near;
That he the rattling chain, the rustling straw, can hear.
MARGARET [hiding herself on the pallet]
Woe! woe! They come. O death of bitterness!
FAUST [whispering]
Hush! hush! The hour is come that frees thee.
( — —
M
1
I
## p. 6407 (#389) ###########################################
GOETHE
6407
MARGARET [throwing herself before him]
Art thou a man? then pity my distress!
FAUST
Thy cries will wake the guards, and they will seize thee!
[He takes hold of the fetters to unlock them.
MARGARET [on her knees]
Who, headsman! unto thee such power
Over me could give?
Thou'rt come for me at midnight hour:
Have mercy on me; let me live!
Is't not soon enough when morning chime has rung?
[She rises.
And I am yet so young, so young!
And now death comes, and ruin!
I, too, was fair, and that was my undoing.
My love was near, but now he's far;
Torn lies the wreath, scattered the blossoms are.
Seize me not thus so violently!
Spare me! What have I done to thee?
Let me not vainly entreat thee!
I never chanced, in all my days, to meet thee!
FAUST
Shall I outlive this misery?
MARGARET
Now am I wholly in thy might.
But let me suckle, first, my baby!
I blissed it all this livelong night;
They took 't away, to vex me, maybe,
And now they say I killed the child outright.
And never shall I be glad again.
They sing songs about me! 'tis bad of the folk to do it!
There's an old story has the same refrain;
Who bade them so construe it?
FAUST [falling upon his knees]
Here lieth one who loves thee ever,
The thraldom of thy woe to sever.
## p. 6408 (#390) ###########################################
6408
GOETHE
MARGARET [flinging herself beside him]
Oh let us kneel, and call the saints to hide us!
Under the steps beside us,
The threshold under,
Hell heaves in thunder!
The Evil One
With terrible wrath
Seeketh a path
His prey to discover!
FAUST [aloud]
Margaret! Margaret!
MARGARET [attentively listening]
That was the voice of my lover!
'Tis I!
[She springs to her feet: the fetters fall off.
Where is he? I heard him call me.
I am free! No one shall enthrall me.
To his neck will I fly,
On his bosom lie!
On the threshold he stood, and Margaret! calling,
'Midst of hell's howling and noises appalling,
'Midst of the wrathful, infernal derision,
I knew the sweet sound of the voice of the vision!
FAUST
MARGARET
'Tis thou! O, say it once again!
[Clasping him.
'Tis he! 'tis he! Where now is all my pain?
The anguish of the dungeon, and the chain?
'Tis thou! Thou comest to save me,
And I am saved!
Again the street I see
Where first I looked on thee;
And the garden, brightly blooming,
Where I and Martha wait thy coming.
FAUST [struggling to leave]
Come! Come with me!
## p. 6409 (#391) ###########################################
GOETHE
6409
MARGARET
Delay, now!
So fain I stay, when thou delayest!
FAUST
Away, now!
If longer here thou stayest,
We shall be made to dearly rue it.
MARGARET
'Tis I! Come on!
Kiss me! -canst no longer do it?
My friend, so short a time thou 'rt missing,
And hast unlearned thy kissing?
Why is my heart so anxious, on thy breast?
Where once a heaven thy glances did create me,
A heaven thy loving words expressed,
And thou didst kiss as thou wouldst suffocate me -
Kiss me!
Or I'll kiss thee!
Ah, woe! thy lips are chill,
And still.
How changed in fashion
Thy passion!
Who has done me this ill?
FAUST
[Caressing him.
Come, follow me! My darling, be more bold:
I'll clasp thee, soon, with warmth a thousandfold;
But follow now! 'Tis all I beg of thee.
FAUST
MARGARET [turning to him]
And is it thou? Thou, surely, certainly?
MARGARET
[She embraces him.
[She turns away from him.
Thou wilt unloose my chain,
And in thy lap wilt take me once again.
How comes it that thou dost not shrink from me? -
Say, dost thou know, my friend, whom thou mak'st free?
## p. 6410 (#392) ###########################################
6410
GOETHE
FAUST
Come! come! The night already vanisheth.
MARGARET
My mother have I put to death;
I've drowned the baby born to thee.
Was it not given to thee and me?
Thee, too! -'Tis thou! It scarcely true doth seem
Give me thy hand! 'Tis not a dream!
Thy dear, dear hand! - But, ah, 'tis wet!
Why, wipe it off! Methinks that yet
There's blood thereon.
Ah, God! what hast thou done?
Nay, sheathe thy sword at last!
Do not affray me!
FAUST
Oh, let the past be past!
Thy words will slay me!
MARGARET
No, no! Thou must outlive us.
Now I'll tell thee the graves to give us:
Thou must begin to-morrow
The work of sorrow!
The best place give to my mother,
Then close at her side my brother,
And me a little away,
But not too very far, I pray!
And here, on my right breast, my baby lay!
Nobody else will lie beside me! -
Ah, within thine arms to hide me,
That was a sweet and a gracious bliss,
But no more, no more can I attain it!
I would force myself on thee and constrain it,
And it seems thou repellest my kiss:
And yet 'tis thou, so good, so kind to see!
FAUST
If thou feelest it is I, then come with me!
MARGARET
-
Out yonder?
## p. 6411 (#393) ###########################################
GOETHE
6411
FAUST
To freedom.
MARGARET
If the grave is there,
Death lying in wait, then come!
From here to eternal rest:
No further step-no, no!
Thou goest away! O Henry, if I could go!
FAUST
Thou canst! Just will it! Open stands the door.
MARGARET
I dare not go: there's no hope any more.
Why should I fly? They'll still my steps waylay!
It is so wretched, forced to beg my living,
And a bad conscience sharper misery giving!
It is so wretched, to be strange, forsaken,
And I'd still be followed and taken!
FAUST
I'll stay with thee.
MARGARET
Be quick! Be quick!
Save thy perishing child!
Away! Follow the ridge
Up by the brook,
Over the bridge,
Into the wood,
To the left, where the plank is placed
In the pool!
Seize it in haste!
'Tis trying to rise,
'Tis struggling still!
Save it! Save it!
FAUST
Recall thy wandering will!
One step, and thou art free at last!
MARGARET
If the mountain we had only passed!
There sits my mother upon a stone,-
## p. 6412 (#394) ###########################################
6412
GOETHE
I feel an icy shiver!
There sits my mother upon a stone,
And her head is wagging ever.
She beckons, she nods not, her heavy head falls o'er;
She slept so long that she wakes no more.
