abroad in pieces send it! 'Tis a ragout - success must needs attend it; 'Tis easy
to serve up, as easy to invent. A finish'd whole what boots it to present! Full
soon the public will in pieces rend it.
Poet
How mean such handicraft as this you cannot feel! How it revolts the genuine
artist's mind! The sorry trash in which these coxcombs deal, Is here approved
on principle, I find.
Manager
Such a reproof disturbs me not a whit! Who on efficient work is bent, Must
choose the fittest instrument. Consider! 'tis soft wood you have to split; Think
too for whom you write, I pray! One comes to while an hour away; One from
the festive board, a sated guest; Others, more dreaded than the rest, From
journal - reading hurry to the play. As to a masquerade, with absent minds,
they press, Sheer curiosity their footsteps winging; Ladies display their
persons and their dress, Actors unpaid their service bringing. What dreams
beguile you on your poet's height? What puts a full house in a merry mood?
More closely view your patrons of the night! The half are cold, the half are
rude. One, the play over, craves a game of cards; Another a wild night in
wanton joy would spend. Poor fools the muses' fair regards. Why court for
such a paltry end? I tell you, give them more, still more 'tis all I ask, Thus you
will ne'er stray widely from the goal; Your audience seek to mystify cajole; To
satisfy them - that's a harder task. What ails thee? art enraptured or
distressed?
Poet
Depart! elsewhere another servant choose What! shall the bard his godlike
power abuse? Man's loftiest right, kind nature's high bequest, For your mean
purpose basely sport away? Whence comes his mastery o'er the human
breast, Whence o'er the elements his sway, But from the harmony that,
gushing from his soul, Draws back into his heart the wondrous whole? With
careless hand when round her spindle, Nature Winds the interminable thread
of life; When 'mid the clash of Being every creature Mingles in harsh
inextricable strife; Who deals their course unvaried till it falleth, In rhythmic
flow to music's measur'd tone? Each solitary note whose genius calleth, To
swell the mighty choir in unison? Who in the raging storm sees passion
low'ring? Or flush of earnest thought in evening's glow? Who every blossom in
sweet spring - time flowering Along the loved one's path would strow? Who,
Nature's green familiar leaves entwining, Wreathe's glory's garland, won on
every field? Makes sure Olympus, heavenly powers combining? Man's mighty
spirit, in the bard reveal'd!
Merryman
Come then, employ your lofty inspiration, And carry on the poet's avocation,
Just as we carry on a love affair. Two meet by chance, are pleased, they
linger there, Insensibly are link'd, they scarce know how; Fortune seems now
propitious, adverse now, Then come alternate rapture and despair; And 'tis a
true romance ere one's aware. Just such a drama let us now compose. Plunge
boldly into life - its depths disclose! Each lives it, not to many is it known,
'Twill interest wheresoever seiz'd and shown; Bright pictures, but obscure
their meaning: A ray of truth through error gleaming, Thus you the best elixir
brew, To charm mankind, and edify them too. Then youth's fair blossoms
crowd to view your play, And wait as on an oracle; while they, The tender
souls, who love the melting mood, Suck from your work their melancholy
food; Now this one, and now that, you deeply stir, Each sees the working of
his heart laid bare. Their tears, their laughter, you command with ease, The
lofty still they honour, the illusive love. Your finish'd gentlemen you ne'er can
please; A growing mind alone will grateful prove.
Poet
Then give me back youth's golden prime, When my own spirit too was
growing, When from my heart th' unbidden rhyme Gush'd forth, a fount for
ever flowing; Then shadowy mist the world conceal'd, And every bud sweet
promise made, Of wonders yet to be reveal'd, As through the vales, with
blooms inlaid, Culling a thousand flowers I stray'd. Naught had I, yet a rich
profusion! The thirst for truth, joy in each fond illusion. Give me unquell'd
those impulses to prove; Rapture so deep, its ecstasy was pain, The power of
hate, the energy of love, Give me, oh give me back my youth again!
Merryman
Youth, my good friend, you certainly require When foes in battle round are
pressing, When a fair maid, her heart on fire, Hangs on your neck with fond
caressing, When from afar, the victor's crown, To reach the hard - won goal
inciteth; When from the whirling dance, to drown Your sense, the night's
carouse inviteth. But the familiar chords among Boldly to sweep, with graceful
cunning, While to its goal, the verse along Its winding path is sweetly running;
This task is yours, old gentlemen, to - day; Nor are you therefore less in
reverence held; Age does not make us childish, as folk say, It finds us genuine
children e'en in eld.
Manager
A truce to words, mere empty sound, Let deeds at length appear, my friends!
While idle compliments you round, You might achieve some useful ends. Why
talk of the poetic vein? Who hesitates will never know it; If bards ye are, as
ye maintain, Now let your inspiration show it. To you is known what we
require, Strong drink to sip is our desire; Come, brew me such without delay!
To - morrow sees undone, what happens not to - day; Still forward press,
nor ever tire! The possible, with steadfast trust, Resolve should be the
forelock grasp; Then she will ne'er let go her clasp, And labours on, because
she must.
On German boards, you're well aware, The taste of each may have full sway;
Therefore in bringing out your play, Nor scenes nor mechanism spare!
Heaven's lamps employ, the greatest and the least, Be lavish of the stellar
lights, Water, and fire, and rocky heights, Spare not at all, nor birds, nor
beast, Thus let creation's ample sphere Forthwith in this our narrow booth
appear, And with considerate speed, through fancy's spell, Journey from
heaven, thence through the world, to hell!
Prologue In Heaven
The Lord, The Heavenly Hosts. Afterwards Mephistopheles.
The three Archangels come forward
Raphael
The Sun, in ancient guise, competing With brother spheres in rival song, With
thunder - march, his orb completing, Moves his predestin'd course along; His
aspect to the powers supernal Gives strength, though fathom him none may;
Transcending thought, the works eternal Are fair as on the primal day.
Gabriel
With speed, thought baffling, unabating, Earth's splendour whirls in circling
flight; Its Eden - brightness alternating With solemn, awe - inspiring night;
Ocean's broad waves in wild commotion, Against the rocks' deep base are
hurled; And with the spheres, both rock and ocean Eternally are swiftly
whirled.
Michael
And tempests roar in emulation From sea to land, from land to sea, And
raging form, without cessation, A chain of wondrous agency, Full in the
thunder's path careering, Flaring the swift destructions play; But, Lord, Thy
servants are revering The mild procession of thy day.
The Three
Thine aspect to the powers supernal Gives strength, though fathom thee none
may; And all they works, sublime, eternal, Are fair as on the primal day.
Mephistopheles
Since thou, O Lord, approachest us once more, And how it fares with us, to
ask art fain, Since thou hast kindly welcom'd me of yore, Thou see'st me also
now among thy train. Excuse me, fine harangues I cannot make, Though all
the circle look on me with scorn; My pathos soon thy laughter would awake,
Hadst thou the laughing mood not long forsworn. Of suns and worlds I
nothing have to say, I see alone mankind's self - torturing pains. The little
world - god still the self - same stamp retains, And is as wondrous now as on
the primal day. Better he might have fared, poor wight, Hadst thou not given
him a gleam of heavenly light; Reason, he names it, and doth so Use it, than
brutes more brutish still to grow. With deference to your grace, he seems to
me Like any long - legged grasshopper to be, Which ever flies, and flying
springs, And in the grass its ancient ditty sings. Would he but always in the
grass repose! In every heap of dung he thrusts his nose.
The Lord
Hast thou naught else to say/ Is blame In coming here, as ever, thy sole aim?
Does nothing on the earth to thee seem right?
Mephistopheles
No, Lord! I find things there, as ever, in sad plight. Men, in their evil days,
move my compassion; Such sorry things to plague is nothing worth.
The Lord
Know'st thou my servant, Faust?
Mephistopheles
The doctor?
The Lord
Right.
Mephistopheles
He serves thee truly in a wondrous fashion. Poor fool! His food and drink are
not of earth. An inward impulse hurries him afar, Himself half conscious of his
frenzied mood; From heaven claimeth he the fairest star, And from the earth
craves every highest good, And all that's near, and all that's far, Fails to allay
the tumult in his blood.
The Lord
Though in perplexity he serves me now, I soon will lead him where more light
appears; When buds the sapling, doth the gardener know That flowers and
fruit will deck the coming years.
Mephistopheles
What wilt thou wager? Him thou yet shall lose, If leave to me thou wilt but
give, Gently to lead him as I choose!
The Lord
So long as he on earth doth live, So long 'tis not forbidden thee. Man still must
err, while he doth strive.
Mephistopheles
I thank you; for not willingly I traffic with the dead, and still aver That youth's
plump blooming cheek I very much prefer. I'm not at home to corpses; 'tis my
way, Like cats with captive mice to toy and play.
The Lord
Enough! 'tis granted thee! Divert This mortal spirit from his primal source;
Him, canst thou seize, thy power exert And lead him on thy downward
course, Then stand abash'd, when thou perforce must own, A good man in his
darkest aberration, Of the right path is conscious still.
Mephistopheles
'Tis done! Full soon thou'lt see my exultation; As for my bet no fears I
entertain. And if my end I finally should gain, Excuse my triumphing with all
my soul. Dust he shall eat, ay, and with relish take, As did my cousin, the
renowned snake.
The Lord
Here too thou'rt free to act without control; I ne'er have cherished hate for
such as thee. Of all the spirits who deny, The scoffer is least wearisome to
me. Ever too prone is man activity to shirk, In unconditioned rest he fain
would live; Hence this companion purposely I give, Who stirs, excites, and
must, as devil, work. But ye, the genuine sons of heaven, rejoice! In the full
living beauty still rejoice! May that which works and lives, the ever - growing,
In bonds of love enfold you, mercy - fraught, And Seeming's changeful forms,
around you flowing, Do ye arrest, in ever - during thought!
(Heaven closes, the Archangels disperse.)
Mephistopheles (alone)
The ancient one I like sometimes to see, And not to break with him am
always civil; 'Tis courteous in so great a lord as he, To speak so kindly even
to the devil.
Part I
Dramatis Personae
Characters in the Prologue for the Theatre
The Manager.
The Dramatic Poet.
Merryman.
Characters in the Prologue in Heaven
The Lord.
Raphael, Gabriel, Michael, (The Heavenly Host).
Mephistopheles.
Characters in the Tragedy
Faust, Mephistopheles. Wagner, a Student.
Margaret. Martha, Margaret's Neighbour.
Valentine, Margaret's Brother. Old Peasant. A Student.
Elizabeth, an Acquaintance of Margaret's.
Frosch, Brander, Siebel, Altmayer,
(Guests in Auerbach's Wine Cellar.)
Witches; old and young; Wizards, Will - o' - the - Wisp,
Witch Pedlar,
Protophantasmist, Servibilis, Monkeys, Spirits,
Journeymen,
Country - folk, Citizens, Beggar, Old Fortune - teller,
Shepherd, Soldier, Students, &c.
In the Intermezzo
Oberon. Titania. Ariel. Puck, &c. &c.
Night
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 labour, 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! That 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 appal 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 honour, 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 recognise That binds creation's inmost energies; Her vital
