send. (He proceeds with Wagner.)
Wagner
What feelings, great man, must thy breast inspire, At homage paid thee by this
crowd! Thrice blest Who from the gifts by him possessed Such benefit can
draw! The sire Thee to his boy with reverence shows; They press around,
inquire, advance, Hush'd is the fiddle, check'd the dance. Where thou dost
pass they stand in rows, And each aloft his bonnet throws, But little fails and
they to thee, As though the Host came by, would bend the knee.
Faust
A few steps further, up to yonder stone! Here rest we from our walk. In times
long past, Absorb'd in thought, here oft I sat alone, And disciplin'd myself
with prayer and fast. Then rich in hope, with faith sincere, With sighs, and
hands in anguish press'd, The end of that sore plague, with many a tear, From
heaven's dread Lord, I sought to wrest. The crowd's applause assumes a
scornful tone. Oh, could'st thou in my inner being read, How little either sire
or son, Of such renown deserves the meed! My sire, of good repute, and
sombre mood, O'er nature's powers and every mystic zone, With honest zeal,
but methods of his own, With toil fantastic loved to brood; His time in dark
alchemic cell, With brother adepts he would spend, And there antagonists
compel, Through numberless receipts to blend. A ruddy lion there, a suitor
bold, In tepid bath was with the lily wed. Thence both, while open flames
around them roll'd, Were tortur'd to another bridal bed. Was then the youthful
queen descried With varied colours in the flask; This was our medicine; the
patients died, "Who were restored?" none cared to ask. With our infernal
mixture thus, ere long, These hills and peaceful vales among, We rag'd more
fiercely than the pest; Myself the deadly poison did to thousands give; They
pined away, I yet must live, To hear the reckless murderers blest.
Wagner
Why let this thought your soul o'ercast? Can man do more than with nice skill,
With firm and conscientious will, Practise the art transmitted from the past? If
thou thy sire dost honour in thy youth, His lore thou gladly wilt receive; In
manhood, dost thou spread the bounds of truth, Then may thy son a higher
goal achieve.
Faust
How blest, in whom the fond desire From error's sea to rise, hope still
renews! What a man knows not, that he doth require, And what he knoweth,
that he cannot use. But let not moody thoughts their shadow throw O'er the
calm beauty of this hour serene! In the rich sunset see how brightly glow Yon
cottage homes, girt round with verdant green! Slow sinks the orb, the day in
now no more; Yonder he hastens to diffuse new life. Oh for a pinion from the
earth to soar, And after, ever after him to strive! Then should I see the world
below, Bathed in the deathless evening - beams, The vales reposing, every
height a - glow, The silver brooklets meeting golden streams. The savage
mountain, with its cavern'd side, Bars not my godlike progress. Lo, the ocean,
Its warm bays heaving with a tranquil motion, To my rapt vision opes its
ample tide! But now at length the god appears to sink; A new - born impulse
wings my flight, Onward I press, his quenchless light to drink, The day before
me, and behind the night, The pathless waves beneath, and over me the skies.
Fair dream, it vanish'd with the parting day! Alas! that when on spirit - wing
we rise, No wing material lifts our mortal clay. But 'tis our inborn impulse,
deep and strong, Upwards and onwards still to urge our flight, When far
above us pours its thrilling song The sky - lark, lost in azure light, When on
extended wing amain O'er pine - crown'd height the eagle soars, And over
moor and lake, the crane Still striveth towards its native shores.
Wagner
To strange conceits oft I myself must own, But impulse such as this I ne'er
have known: Nor woods, nor fields, can long our thoughts engage, Their
wings I envy not the feather'd kind; Far otherwise the pleasures of the mind,
Bear us from book to book, from page to page! Then winter nights grow
cheerful; keen delight Warms every limb; and ah! when we unroll Some old
and precious parchment, at the sight All heaven itself descends upon the soul.
Faust
Thy heart by one sole impulse is possess'd; Unconscious of the other still
remain! Two souls, alas! are lodg'd within my breast, Which struggle there for
undivided reign: One to the world, with obstinate desire, And closely -
cleaving organs, still adheres; Above the mist, the other doth aspire, With
sacred vehemence, to purer spheres. Oh, are there spirits in the air, Who float
'twixt heaven and earth dominion wielding, Stoop hither from your golden
atmosphere, Lead me to scenes, new life and fuller yielding! A magic mantle
did I but possess, Abroad to waft me as on viewless wings, I'd prize it far
beyond the costliest dress, Nor would I change it for the robe of kings.
Alas, two souls are living in my breast, And one wants to separate itself from
the other. One holds fast to the world with earthy passion And clings with
twining tendrils: The other lifts itself with forceful craving To the very roof of
heaven.
Wagner
Call not the spirits who on mischief wait! Their troop familiar, streaming
through the air, From every quarter threaten man's estate, And danger in a
thousand forms prepare! They drive impetuous from the frozen north, With
fangs sharp - piercing, and keen arrowy tongues; From the ungenial east they
issue forth, And prey, with parching breath, upon thy lungs; If, waft'd on the
desert's flaming wing, They from the south heap fire upon the brain,
Refreshment from the west at first they bring, Anon to drown thyself and field
and plain. In wait for mischief, they are prompt to hear; With guileful purpose
our behests obey; Like ministers of grace they oft appear, And lisp like
angels, to betray. But let us hence! Grey eve doth all things blend, The air
grows chill, the mists descend! 'Tis in the evening first our home we prize Why
stand you thus, and gaze with wondering eyes? What in the gloom thus moves
you?
Faust
Yon black hound See'st thou, through corn and stubble scampering round?
Wagner
I've mark'd him long, naught strange in him I see!
Faust
Note him! What takest thou the brute to be?
Wagner
But for a poodle, whom his instinct serves His master's track to find once
more.
Faust
Dost mark how round us, with wide spiral curves, He wheels, each circle
closer than before? And, if I err not, he appears to me A line of fire upon his
track to leave.
Wagner
Naught but a poodle black of hue I see; 'Tis some illusion doth your sight
deceive.
Faust
Methinks a magic coil our feet around, He for a future snare doth lightly
spread.
Wagner
Around us as in doubt I see him shyly bound, Since he two strangers seeth in
his master's stead.
Faust
The circle narrows, he's already near!
Wagner
A dog dost see, no spectre have we here; He growls, doubts, lays him on his
belly, too, And wags his tail - as dogs are wont to do.
Faust
Come hither, Sirrah! join our company!
Wagner
A very poodle, he appears to be! Thou standest still, for thee he'll wait; Thou
speak'st to him, he fawns upon thee straight; Aught thou mayst lose, again he'll
bring, And for thy stick will into water spring.
Faust
Thou'rt right indeed; no traces now I see Whatever of a spirit's agency. 'Tis
training - nothing more.
Wagner
A dog well taught E'en by the wisest of us may be sought. Ay, to your favour
he's entitled too, Apt scholar of the students, 'tis his due! (They enter the gate
of the town.)
Faust Meets With Mephistopheles
Study
Faust (entering with the poodle)
Now field and meadow I've forsaken; O'er them deep night her veil doth
draw; In us the better soul doth waken, With feelings of foreboding awe, All
lawless promptings, deeds unholy, Now slumber, and all wild desires; The
love of man doth sway us wholly, And love to God the soul inspires.
Peace, poodle, peace! Scamper not thus; obey me! Why at the threshold
snuffest thou so? Behind the stove now quietly lay thee, My softest cushion to
thee I'll throw. As thou, without, didst please and amuse me Running and
frisking about on the hill, So tendance now I will not refuse thee; A welcome
guest, if thou'lt be still.
Ah! when the friendly taper gloweth, Once more within our narrow cell, Then
in the heart itself that knoweth, A light the darkness doth dispel. Reason her
voice resumes; returneth Hope's gracious bloom, with promise rife; For
streams of life the spirit yearneth, Ah! for the very fount of life.
Poodle, snarl not! with the tone that arises, Hallow'd and peaceful, my soul
within, Accords not thy growl, thy bestial din. We find it not strange, that man
despises What he conceives not; That he the good and fair misprizes Finding
them often beyond his ken; Will the dog snarl at them like men?
But ah! Despite my will, it stands confessed, Contentment welleth up no
longer in my breast. Yet wherefore must the stream, alas, so soon be dry,
That we once more athirst should lie? Full oft this sad experience hath been
mine; Nathless the want admits of compensation; For things above the earth
we learn to pine, Our spirits yearn for revelation, Which nowhere burns with
purer beauty blent, Than here in the New Testament. To ope the ancient text
an impulse strong Impels me, and its sacred lore, With honest purpose to
explore, And render into my love German tongue.
(He opens a volume, and applies himself to it.)
'Tis writ, "In the beginning was the Word!" I pause, perplex'd! Who now will
help afford? I cannot the mere Word so highly prize; I must translate it
otherwise, If by the spirit guided as I read. "In the beginning was the Sense!"
Take heed, The import of this primal sentence weigh, Lest thy too hasty pen
be led astray! Is force creative then of Sense the dower? "In the beginning
was the Power!" Thus should it stand: yet, while the line I trace, A something
warns me, once more to efface. The spirit aids! from anxious scruples freed, I
write, "In the beginning was the Deed!"
Am I with thee my room to share, Poodle, thy barking now forbear, Forbear
thy howling! Comrade so noisy, ever growling, I cannot suffer here to dwell.
One or the other, mark me well, Forthwith must leave the cell. I'm loath the
guest - right to withhold; The door's ajar, the passage clear; But what must
now mine eyes behold! Are nature's laws suspended here? Real is it, or a
phantom show? In length and breadth how doth my poodle grow! He lifts
himself with threat'ning mien, In likeness of a dog no longer seen! What
spectre have I harbour'd thus! Huge as a hippopotamus, With fiery eye,
terrific tooth! Ah! now I know thee, sure enough! For such a base, half -
hellish brood, The key of Solomon is good.
Spirits (without)
Captur'd there within is one! Stay without and follow none! Like a fox in iron
snare, Hell's old lynx is quaking there,
But take heed! Hover round, above, below,
To and fro, Then from durance is he freed! Can ye aid him, spirits all, Leave
him not in mortal thrall! Many a time and oft hath he Served us, when at
liberty.
Faust
The monster to confront, at first, The spell of Four must be rehears'd;
Salamander shall kindle, Writhe nymph of the wave, In air sylph shall dwindle,
And Kobold shall slave.
Who doth ignore The primal Four, Nor knows aright Their use and might,
O'er spirits will he Ne'er master be!
Vanish in the fiery glow, Salamander! Rushingly together flow. Undine!
Shimmer in the meteor's gleam, Sylphide! Hither bring thine homely aid,
Incubus! Incubus! Step forth! I do adjure thee thus! None of the Four Lurks
in the beast: He grins at me, untroubled as before; I have not hurt him in the
least. A spell of fear Thou now shalt hear. Art thou, comrade fell, Fugitive
from Hell? See then this sign, Before which incline The murky troops of Hell!
With bristling hair now doth the creature swell.
Canst thou, reprobate, Read the uncreate, Unspeakable, diffused Throughout
the heavenly sphere, Shamefully abused, Transpierced with nail and spear!
Behind the stove, tam'd by my spells, Like an elephant he swells; Wholly now
he fills the room, He into mist will melt away. Ascend not to the ceiling!
Come, Thyself at the master's feet now lay! Thou seest that mine is no idle
threat. With holy fire I will scorch thee yet! Wait not the might That lies in the
triple - glowing light! Wait not the might Of all my arts in fullest measure!
Mephistopheles
(As the mist sinks, comes forward from behind the stove, in the dress of a
travelling scholar) Why all this uproar? What's the master's pleasure?
Faust
This then the kernel of the brute! A traveling scholar? Why I needs must
smile.
Mephistopheles
Your learned reverence humbly I salute! You've made me swelter in a pretty
style.
Faust
Thy name?
Mephistopheles
The question trifling seems from one, Who it appears the Word doth rate so
low; Who, undeluded by mere outward show, To Being's depths would
penetrate alone.
Faust
With gentlemen like you indeed The inward essence from the name we read,
As all too plainly it doth appear, When Beelzebub, Destroyer, Liar, meets the
