SCENES FROM THE FAUST OF GOETHE. SCENE I.-Prologue in Heaven. the Host of Heaven. The Lord and Enter three Archangels. RAPHAEL. THE sun makes music as of old With thunder speed: the Angels even GABRIEL. And swift and swift, with rapid lightness, With deep and dreadful night; the sea MICHAEL. And tempests in contention roar A flashing desolation there, Flames before the thunder's way; But thy servants, Lord, revere The gentle changes of thy day. ΙΟ 20 CHORUS OF THE THREE. The Angels draw strength from thy glance, 1 RAPHAEL. The sun sounds, according to ancient custom, Fulfils with a step of thunder. Its countenance gives the Angels strength The incredible high works Are excellent as at the first day. GABRIEL. And swift, and inconceivably swift, The adornment of earth winds itself round, With deep dreadful night. The sea foams in broad waves From its deep bottom, up to the rocks, MICHAEL. And storms roar in emulation From sea to land, from land to sea, Of deepest operation round about. CHORUS. Thy countenance gives the Angels strength, Though none can comprehend thee: And all thy lofty works Are excellent as at the first day. Such is a literal translation of this astonishing chorus; it is impossible to represent in another language the melody of the versification; even the Enter MEPHISTOPHELES. MEPHISTOPHELES. As thou, O Lord, once more art kind enough To interest thyself in our affairs 30 And ask, "How goes it with you there below?" And as indulgently at other times Thou tookest not my visits in ill part, Thou seest me here once more among thy household. Though I should scandalize this company, In the high style which they think fashionable; With reverence to your Lordship be it spoken, lie, Burying his nose in every heap of dung. THE LORD. Have you no more to say? Do you come here Always to scold, and cavil, and complain? Seems nothing ever right to you on earth? volatile strength and delicacy of the ideas escape in the crucible of translation, and the reader is surprised to find a caput mortuum. MEPHISTOPHELES. No, Lord! I find all there, as ever, bad at best. THE LORD. Knowest thou Faust? MEPHISTOPHELES. The Doctor? THE LORD. Aye; my servant Faust. MEPHISTOPHELES. In truth 60 He serves you in a fashion quite his own; That he is half aware of his own folly; For he demands from Heaven its fairest star, And from the earth the highest joy it bears, Yet all things far, and all things near, are vain To calm the deep emotions of his breast. THE LORD. Though he now serves me in a cloud of error, That fruits and blooms will deck the coming year. Although the words at best were probably left standing through oversight, there is no authority for omitting them.-ED. MEPHISTOPHELES. What will you bet?-now I am winning sure of Only, observe you give me full permission THE LORD. As long As he shall live upon the earth, so long MEPHISTOPHELES. Thanks. And that is all I ask; for willingly 80 I never make acquaintance with the dead. A little with the mouse before I eat it. THE LORD. Well, well! it is permitted thee. Draw thou His spirit from its springs; as thou find'st power; Seize him and lead him on thy downward path; And stand ashamed when failure teaches thee That a good man, even in his darkest longings, Is well aware of the. right way. MEPHISTOPHELES. Well and good. 90 I am not in much doubt about my bet, And if I lose, then 'tis your turn to crow; Enjoy your triumph then with a full breast. Aye; dust shall he devour, and that with pleasure, Like my old paramour, the famous Snake. |