FAUST.

BY GOETHE.

(Translation of Anna Swanwick.)

[JOHANN WOLFgang Goethe was born August 28, 1749; went to Leipsic University in 1759; shortly after began to write dramas and songs; in 1771 took a doctor's degree at Strasburg and became an advocate at Frankfort; wrote "Götz von Berlichingen" in 1771, as also the "Wanderer" and "The Wanderer's Storm Song"; settled in Wetzlar for law practice in 1772, but had to fly on account of a love intrigue; in 1773 wrote "Prometheus," some farce satires, the comedy "Erwin and Elmira," and began "Faust"; "The Sorrows of Young Werther" and "Clavigo" in 1774; in 1775 settled in Weimar, became a privy councilor to the duke, and most useful public official; studied and made valuable discoveries in natural science; began "Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship" in 1777; wrote "Iphigenia" in prose 1779, in verse 1786; completed "Egmont" in 1787, and "Tasso" in 1789; was director of the court theater at Weimar, 1791; 1794-1805 was associated with Schiller, and they conducted the literary review Horen together; he finished "Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship" in 1796, "Hermann and Dorothea" in 1797, the first part of "Faust" in 1808, "Elective Affinities" in 1809, "Doctrine of Color" in 1810, and his autobiography "Fancy and Truth" in 1811. In 1815 he issued the "Divan of East and West," a volume of poems; in 1821 "Wilhelm Meister's Wanderjähre," a mélange of various pieces put together by his secretary. In 1831 he finished the second part of "Faust." He died March 22, 1832.]

Scene: Night.

THE TEMPTATION OF FAUST.

A high-vaulted, narrow Gothic chamber. Faust, restless, seated at his desk.

Faust I have, alas! Philosophy,
Medicine, Jurisprudence too,
And to my cost Theology,

With ardent labor, studied through.
And here I stand, with all my lore,
Poor fool, no wiser than before.
Magister, doctor, styled indeed,
Already these ten years I lead,
Up, down, across, and to and fro,

My pupils by the nose-and learn
That we in truth can nothing know!

This in my heart like fire doth burn.

'Tis true, I've more cunning than all your dull tribe,
Magister and doctor, priest, parson, and scribe;

Scruple or doubt comes not to enthrall me,

Neither can devil nor hell now appall me

Hence also my heart must all pleasure forego!
I may not pretend aught rightly to know,
I may not pretend, through teaching, to find
A means to improve or convert mankind.
Then I have neither goods nor treasure,
No worldly honor, rank, or pleasure;
No dog in such fashion would longer live!
Therefore myself to magic I give,

In hope, through spirit-voice and might,
Secrets now veiled to bring to light,
That I no more, with aching brow,
Need speak of what I nothing know;
That I the force may recognize

That binds creation's inmost energies;
Her vital powers, her embryo seeds survey,
And fling the trade in empty words away.
O full-orbed moon, did but thy rays
Their last upon mine anguish gaze!
Beside this desk, at dead of night,
Oft have I watched to hail thy light:
Then, pensive friend! o'er book and scroll,
With soothing power, thy radiance stole !
In thy dear light, ah, might I climb,
Freely, some mountain height sublime,
Round mountain caves with spirits ride,
In thy mild haze o'er meadows glide,
And, purged from knowledge-fumes, renew
My spirit in thy healing dew!

Woe's me! still prisoned in the gloom
Of this abhorred and musty room!
Where heaven's dear light itself doth pass
But dimly through the painted glass!
Hemmed in by book-heaps, piled around,
Worm-eaten, hid 'neath dust and mold,
Which to the high vault's topmost bound,
A smoke-stained paper cloth enfold;
With boxes round thee piled, and glass,
And many a useless instrument,
With old ancestral lumber blent-
This is thy world! a world, alas!
And dost thou ask why heaves thy heart

With tightened pressure in thy breast?
Why the dull ache will not depart,

By which thy life-pulse is oppressed?

Instead of nature's living sphere,
Created for mankind of old,

Brute skeletons surround thee here,

And dead men's bones in smoke and mold.

Up! forth into the distant land!

Is not this book of mystery
By Nostradamus' proper hand,

An all-sufficient guide? Thou❜lt see
The courses of the stars unrolled;
When Nature doth her thoughts unfold
To thee, thy soul shall rise, and seek
Communion high with her to hold,

As spirit doth with spirit speak!
Vain by dull poring to divine
The meaning of each hallowed sign.
Spirits! I feel you hovering near;
Make answer, if my voice ye hear!

[He opens the book and perceives the sign of the MACROCOSMOS. Ah! at this spectacle, through every sense

What sudden ecstasy of joy is flowing!

I feel new rapture, hallowed and intense,
Through every nerve and vein with ardor glowing.
Was it a god who charactered this scroll,
The tumult in my spirit healing,

O'er my sad heart with rapture stealing,

And by a mystic impulse, to my soul,

The powers of nature all around revealing?
Am I a God? What light intense!

In these pure symbols do I see
Nature exert her vital energy.

Now of the wise man's words I learn the sense;
"Unlocked the spirit-world is lying,

Thy sense is shut, thy heart is dead!

Up scholar, lave, with zeal undying,
Thine earthly breast in the morning-red!"

[He contemplates the sign.
How all things live and work, and ever blending,
Weave one vast whole from Being's ample range!
How powers celestial, rising and descending,

Their golden buckets ceaseless interchange!

Their flight on rapture-breathing pinions winging,
From heaven to earth their genial influence bringing.

Through the wide sphere their chimes melodious ringing!

A wondrous show! but ah! a show alone!

Where shall I grasp thee, infinite nature, where?

Ye breasts, ye fountains of all life, whereon

Hang heaven and earth, from which the withered heart
For solace yearns, ye still impart

Your sweet and fostering tides - where are ye - where?
Ye gush, and must I languish in despair?

[Turns over the leaves of the book impatiently, and perceives the sign of the EARTH SPIRIT.

How all unlike the influence of this sign!
Earth Spirit, thou to me art nigher,
E'en now my strength is rising higher,
E'en now I glow as with new wine;

Courage I feel, abroad the world to dare,
The woe of earth, the bliss of earth to bear,

With storms to wrestle, brave the lightning's glare,

And 'mid the crashing shipwreck not despair.

Clouds gather over me—

The moon conceals her light-
The lamp is quenched –

Vapors are rising-quivering round my head
Flash the red beams - down from the vaulted roof
A shuddering horror floats,
And seizes me!

I feel it, Spirit - prayer-compelled, 'tis thou
Art hovering near!
Unveil thyself!

Ha! How my heart is riven now!

Each sense, with eager palpitation,

Is strained to catch some new sensation!

I feel my heart surrendered unto thee!

Thou must! Thou must, though life should be the fee!

[Seizes the book, and pronounces mysteriously the sign of the SPIRIT. A ruddy flame flashes up; the SPIRIT appears in the flame.

Spirit - Who calls me?

Faust

Spirit

Faust

Dreadful shape!

With might

Thou hast compelled me to appear;
Long hast been sucking at my sphere,
And now-

Woe's me! I cannot bear thy sight!

Spirit To see me thou dost breathe thine invocation,
My voice to hear, to gaze upon my brow;

Me doth thy strong entreaty bow —

Lo! I am here! What cowering agitation

Grasps thee, the demigod! Where's now the soul's deep cry?
Where is the breast, which in its depths a world conceived,
And bore and cherished? which, with esctasy,
To rank itself with us, the spirits, heaved?

Where art thou, Faust? whose voice I heard resound,
Who towards me pressed with energy profound?
Art thou he? Thou, who by my breath art blighted,
Who, in his spirit's depths affrighted,
Trembles, a crushed and writhing worm!

Faust

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

Spirit In the currents of life, in action's storm,

Faust

I float and I wave

With billowy motion!
Birth and the grave,

A limitless ocean,

A constant weaving

With change still rife,

A restless heaving,

A glowing life

Thus time's whirring loom unceasing I ply,

And weave the life-garment of deity.

Thou, restless spirit, dost from end to end

O'ersweep the world; how near I feel to thee! Spirit Thou'rt like the spirit thou dost comprehend,

Not me!

[Vanishes.

THE TEMPTATION OF MARGARET.

Scene: Evening. A small neat room. MARGARET is braiding her

hair.

Margaret I would give something now to know
Who yonder gentleman could be!
He had a gallant air, I trow,

And doubtless was of high degree:
That written on his brow was seen-
Nor else would he so bold have been.

Mephistopheles [to FAUST]

Come in! tread softly! be discreet!

Faust [after a pause]

Begone and leave me, I entreat!

[Exit.