SCENES FROM THE FAUST OF

GOETHE.

SCENE I.-Prologue in Heaven. The Lord and the Host of Heaven.

Enter three Archangels.

RAPHAEL.

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,

ΤΟ

Which girds the earth, as with a band.— 20

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.1

1 RAPHAEL.

The sun sounds, according to ancient custom,
In the song of emulation of his brother-spheres,
And its fore-written circle

Fulfils with a step of thunder.

Its countenance gives the Angels strength
Though no one can fathom it.

The incredible high works

Are excellent as at the first day.

GABRIEL.

And swift, and inconceivably swift,

The adornment of earth winds itself round,
And exchanges Paradise-clearness

With deep dreadful night.

The sea foams in broad waves

From its deep bottom, up to the rocks,
And rocks and sea are torn on together
In the eternal swift course of the spheres.

MICHAEL.

And storms roar in emulation

From sea to land, from land to sea,
And make, raging, a chain
Of deepest operation round about.
There flames a flashing destruction
Before the path of the thunderbolt.
But thy servants, Lord, revere
The gentle alternations of thy day.

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.

30

As thou, O Lord, once more art kind enough
To interest thyself in our affairs—
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,
You will excuse me if I do not talk

In the high style which they think fashionable;
My pathos certainly would make you laugh too,
Had you not long since given over laughing.
Nothing know I to say of suns and worlds; 40
I observe only how men plague themselves;—
The little god o' the world keeps the same stamp,
As wonderful as on creation's day :-
A little better would he live, hadst thou
Not given him a glimpse of Heaven's light
Which he calls reason, and employs it only
To live more beastlily than any beast.

With reverence to your Lordship be it spoken,
He's like one of those long-legged grasshoppers,
Who flits and jumps about, and sings for ever 50
The same old song i' the grass. There let him
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.1
Even I am sorry for man's days of sorrow;
I could myself almost give up the pleasure
Of plaguing the poor things.

He serves you in a fashion quite his own;
And the fool's meat and drink are not of earth.
His aspirations bear him on so far
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,
I will soon lead him forth to the clear day. 70
When trees look green full well the gardener
knows

That fruits and blooms will deck the coming year.

1 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
To lead him softly on my path.

THE LORD.

As long

As he shall live upon the earth, so long
Is nothing unto thee forbidden-Man
Must err till he has ceased to struggle.

MEPHISTOPHELES.

Thanks.

And that is all I ask; for willingly

80

I never make acquaintance with the dead.
The full fresh cheeks of youth are food for me,
And if a corpse knocks, I am not at home.
For I am like a cat-I like to play

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.