Part 2

FAUST. Yes, what one calls knowing! Who dares name the child? The few who recognized aught of it, Foolish enough not to guard their full hearts, Who revealed their feeling, their vision to the mob, Have ever been crucified and burned. I pray you, friend, it is deep in the night, We must break off for now.

WAGNER. I would gladly have kept awake always, To confer with you so learnedly. Yet tomorrow, being the first Easter day, Grant me one and another question. With zeal have I applied myself to study; Though I know much, I would know all. (Exit.)

FAUST (alone). How the head loses not all hope, That ever cleaves to stale stuff, Digs with greedy hand for treasures, And is glad when it finds earthworms!

Shall such a human voice here, Where spirit-fulfillment surrounded me, resound? Yet ah! for this time I thank you, Poorest of all sons of earth. You tore me from despair, Which already would destroy my senses. Ah! the apparition was so giant-great, That I should rightly feel myself a dwarf.

I, image of the deity, who thought himself Already near the mirror of eternal truth, Enjoyed himself in heavenly radiance and clarity, And stripped off the son of earth; I, more than cherub, whose free power Already flowed through nature's veins And, creating, to enjoy godlike life Presumptuously dared in presentiment—how must I atone! A thunder-word has snatched me away.

I may not presume to equal you; Though I possessed the force to attract you, I had not the force to hold you. In that blessed moment I felt myself so small, so great; You thrust me cruelly back, Into uncertain human lot. Who teaches me? what should I avoid? Shall I obey that impulse? Ah! our deeds themselves, as well as our sufferings, They hinder the course of our life.

The most glorious, which the spirit conceived, Ever presses alien and more alien matter; When we attain the good of this world, Then the better is called deceit and illusion. The noble feelings that gave us life Grow numb in earthly throng.

When fantasy else with bold flight And hopeful widened to the eternal, Now a small space suffices her, When happiness on happiness fails in the whirl of time. Care nests at once in the deep heart, There works secret pains, Restlessly sways and disturbs joy and rest; She ever veils herself with new masks, She may appear as house and home, as wife and child, As fire, water, dagger and poison; You tremble at all that does not hit, And what you never lose, that you must ever bewail.

To the gods I am not like! too deeply is it felt; To the worm am I like, that burrows the dust, Which, as it lives nourished in the dust, The wanderer's step destroys and buries.

Is it not dust, that this high wall Narrows with a hundred shelves? The trash, that with thousandfold trumpery Crowds me in this moth-world? Here should I find what I lack? Should I perhaps read in a thousand books, That everywhere men tormented themselves, That here and there a happy one has been?— Why grin you at me, hollow skull? Save that your brain, like mine, once bewildered Sought the light day and in the twilight heavy, With lust for truth, miserably erred. You instruments indeed mock me, With wheel and comb, roller and lever. I stood at the gate, you should be keys; Though your beard is curled, yet you lift not the bolts. Mysteriously in the bright day Nature lets not the veil be robbed; And what she may not reveal to your spirit, That you force not from her with levers and screws. You old gear, which I used not, You stand only here, because my father used you. You old scroll, you are smoked, As long as at this desk the dim lamp smoldered. Far better had I squandered my little, Than to sweat here burdened with the little! What you inherited from your fathers, Acquire it, to possess it. What one uses not, is a heavy load, Only what the moment creates, that can it use.

But why fastens my glance on yonder spot? Is that phial there a magnet to the eyes? Why grows it suddenly lovely-bright around me, As if moonlight wafted around us in the nightly wood?

I greet you, you sole phial, Which I now reverently take down! In you I honor human wit and art. You sum of sweet slumber-juices, You extract of all deadly-fine powers, Show your master your favor! I see you, the pain is soothed, I grasp you, the striving is diminished, The flood-stream of the spirit ebbs by degrees. Out into the high sea am I directed, The mirror-flood glitters at my feet, To new shores lures a new day.

A fire-chariot floats, on light pinions, Toward me! I feel myself ready, To pierce the ether on new path, To new spheres of pure activity. This high life, this godlike bliss! You, but now a worm, and you deserve this? Yes, turn your back resolved On the sweet sun of earth! Presume to tear open the gates, Before which each gladly sneaks past! Here is time, by deeds to prove, That manly dignity yields not to the height of gods, Not to tremble before that dark cave, In which fantasy condemns itself to its own torment, To strive toward that passage, Around whose narrow mouth all hell flames; To decide cheerfully for this step, And were it with danger, to flow away into nothing.

Now come down, crystalline pure bowl! Forth from your old case, On which I thought not for many years! You gleamed at the fathers' joyous feasts, Cheered the grave guests, When one passed you to another. The richly artful splendor of many images, The drinker's duty, to explain them in rhyme, To empty the hollow at one draught, Reminds me of many a youthful night. I will now offer you to no neighbor, I will not show my wit on your art. Here is a juice, that quickly makes drunk; With brown flood it fills your hollow. Which I prepare, which I choose, The last draught now be, with whole soul, As festive high greeting, to the morning brought! (He sets the bowl to his mouth.) Bell-ringing and choral song.

CHORUS OF ANGELS. Christ is arisen! Joy to the mortal, Whom the pernicious, Creeping, mortal Failings surrounded.

FAUST. What deep humming, what clear tone Draws the glass from my mouth with force? Proclaim you dull bells already The first festal hour of Easter? You choirs, sing you already the consoling song, Which once, around the night of the grave, from angels' lips rang, Certainty to a new covenant?

CHORUS OF WOMEN. With spices Had we tended him, We his faithful Had laid him down; Cloths and bands Cleanly wound we round him, Ah! and we find Christ no more here.

CHORUS OF ANGELS. Christ is arisen! Blessed the loving one, Who the afflicting, Healing and exercising Trial endured.

FAUST. What seek you, mighty and gentle, You heavenly tones, at me in the dust? Sound there where soft men are. The message I hear well, but faith lacks me; The miracle is faith's dearest child. To those spheres I dare not strive, Whence the lovely tidings sound; And yet, to this sound from youth accustomed, It calls me back now into life. Once the kiss of heavenly love Poured down on me in solemn Sabbath-stillness; Then sounded so presentimentful the bell's full tone, And a prayer was fervent enjoyment; An incomprehensibly lovely longing Drove me, through wood and meadow to go, And under thousand hot tears Felt I a world arise. This song proclaimed youth's merry play, Spring-festival's free happiness; Remembrance holds me now, with childlike feeling, From the last, solemn step back. O sound on, you sweet heavenly songs! The tear wells, the earth has me again!

CHORUS OF DISCIPLES. Has the buried one Already upward gone, Living, exalted, Gloriously raised; Is he in growth-air Near to creating joy. Ah! on earth's breast We are for sorrow here. Left he his own, Languishing, here behind; Ah! we bewail, Master, your bliss!

CHORUS OF ANGELS. Christ is arisen, From corruption's womb. Tear from bonds Joyfully loose! Actively him praising, Love demonstrating, Brotherly feasting, Preaching traveling, Bliss promising— To you the Master is near, To you he is here!

Before the Gate

Strollers of every sort go forth.

SOME APPRENTICES. Why then out there?

OTHERS. We go out to the Hunter's House.

THE FIRST. But we will wander to the mill.

AN APPRENTICE. I advise you, to go to the Water-Hof.

SECOND. The way there is not at all fine.

THE SECOND ONES. What are you doing then?

A THIRD. I go with the others.

FOURTH. Come up to Burgdorf, surely there you'll find The fairest girls and the best beer, And quarrels of the first sort.

FIFTH. You over-merry fellow, Itches your hide for the third time? I'll not go, I shudder at the place.

MAIDSERVANT. No, no! I go back into the town.

ANOTHER. We'll surely find him standing by those poplars.

FIRST. That is no great luck for me; He'll walk at your side, With you only will he dance on the green. What are your joys to me!

ANOTHER. Today he's surely not alone, The curly-head, she said, would be with him.

STUDENT. Lightning, how the worthy wenches stride! Brother, come! we must accompany them. A strong beer, a biting tobacco, And a maid in finery, that is now my taste.

CITIZEN-GIRL. Just look at the fine lads! It is truly a disgrace. They could have the very best company, And run after these servants! SECOND STUDENT (to the first). Not so fast! there behind come two, They are quite nicely dressed, My neighbor is among them; I am much inclined to the girl. They go their quiet step And yet take us in the end with them.

FIRST. Brother, no! I am not fond of being constrained. Quick! that we lose not the venison. The hand that on Saturday wields her broom Will on Sunday caress you best.

CITIZEN. No, he pleases me not, the new burgomaster! Now, since he is, he grows daily bolder. And for the town what does he do then? Grows it not worse every day? Obey must we more than ever, And pay more than erewhile.

BEGGAR (sings). You good sirs, you fair ladies, So finely dressed and ruddy-cheeked, Vouchsafe to look on me, And see and soften my need! Let me not scrape in vain! Only he is glad who gives. A day that all men celebrate, Be for me a harvest-day.

ANOTHER CITIZEN. Nothing better know I on Sundays and holidays Than a discourse of war and war's alarm, When far, far off, in Turkey, The peoples beat upon each other. One stands at the window, drinks one's little glass And sees down the river the colored ships glide; Then returns at evening home glad, And blesses peace and peaceful times.

THIRD CITIZEN. Neighbor, yes! so let me too have it. They may split their heads, May all go topsy-turvy; But at home let it stay the old way. OLD WOMAN (to the citizen-girls). Eh! how dressed up! the fair young blood! Who should not gape at you?— Only not so proud! it is already well! And what you wish, that would I well procure.

CITIZEN-GIRL. Agathe, away! I take heed To walk publicly with such witches; She let me, on St. Andrew's night, See the future lover bodily— THE OTHER. To me she showed him in the crystal, Soldier-like, with several bold ones; I look about, I seek him everywhere, Yet will he not meet me.

SOLDIERS. Castles with high Walls and battlements, Girls with proud Scorning minds Would I win! Bold is the toil, Glorious the reward!

And the trumpet Let us woo, As to joy, So to ruin. That is a storming! That is a life! Girls and castles Must yield. Bold is the toil, Glorious the reward! And the soldiers March away.

Faust and Wagner.

FAUST. Freed from ice are stream and brooks Through spring's lovely, quickening glance; In the vale greens hope's happiness; The old winter, in his weakness, Drew back into the rough mountains. From there he sends, fleeing, only Powerless shivers of grainy ice In streaks over the verdant field; But the sun endures no white, Everywhere moves formation and striving, All would she enliven with colors; Yet of flowers lacks it in the district, She takes dressed-up humans instead. Turn yourself, from these heights To look back on the town. From the hollow gloomy gate Pours a motley throng. Each suns himself today so gladly. They celebrate the resurrection of the Lord, For they themselves are arisen, From low houses' stuffy rooms, From handicraft's and trade's bonds, From the pressure of gables and roofs, From the streets' crushing narrowness, From the churches' venerable night Are they all brought to the light. See only, see! how nimbly the crowd Scatters through gardens and fields, How the river, in breadth and length Moves so many merry boats, And over-laden to sinking Departs this last skiff. Even from the mountain's distant paths Blink colored garments at us. I hear already the village's tumult, Here is the people's true heaven, Contented rejoices great and small. Here am I human, here may I be!

WAGNER. With you, Doctor, to walk Is honorable and is gain; Yet would I not alone lose myself here, Because I am a foe to all that is rude. The fiddling, shouting, nine-pin throwing Is to me a most hateful sound; They rage as driven by evil spirit And call it joy, call it song.

Peasants under the linden. Dance and song.

The shepherd dressed him for the dance, With colored jacket, ribbon and wreath, Trim was he clad. Already round the linden was it full, And all danced already like mad. Hey! Hey! Hey-sa! Hi-sa! He! So went the fiddle-bow.

He pressed hastily near, Then bumped he against a girl With his elbow; The fresh wench turns herself, and Says: Now, that I find dumb! Hey! Hey! Hey-sa! Hi-sa! He! Be not so rude!

Yet nimbly in the circle went it, They danced right, they danced left, And all skirts flew. They grew red, they grew warm And rested breathing arm in arm, Hey! Hey! Hey-sa! Hi-sa! He! And hip to elbow.

And do not be so familiar! How many a one has not his bride Lied to and deceived! He flattered her aside, And from the linden resounded it far. Hey! Hey! Hey-sa! Hi-sa! He! Cry and fiddle-bow.

OLD PEASANT. Doctor, that is kind of you, That you disdain us not today, And midst this press of folk, As such a learned man, go. So take also the fairest jug, Which we with fresh drink filled, I bring it and wish aloud, That it not only stills your thirst. The number of drops that it holds Be to your days added.

FAUST. I take the refreshing draught And wish you all weal and thanks. (The people gather in a circle around.)

OLD PEASANT. In truth, it is well done, That you appear on the glad day; You dealt with us aforetime In evil days well. Full many a one stands living here Whom your father yet at last Snatched from the hot fever-frenzy, When he set the plague its bound. Also then you, a young man, Went into every sick-house, Full many a corpse was carried forth, But you came out sound, Endured many a hard proof; The helper above helped the helper.

ALL. Health to the proven man, That he may help long!

FAUST. Before that one above stand bent, Who teaches to help and sends help. (He goes on with Wagner.)

WAGNER. What a feeling must you, o great man, Have at the reverence of this crowd! O happy, who from his gifts Can draw such an advantage! The father shows you to his boy, Each asks and presses and hastens, The fiddle stops, the dancer waits. You go, in rows they stand, The caps fly up; And little lacks, so they bent the knee, As came the Venerable.

FAUST. Only a few steps more up to yonder stone, Here will we rest from our wandering. Here sat I oft in thoughtful solitude And tormented me with prayer and fasting. Rich in hope, firm in faith, With tears, sighs, wringing of hands Thought I the end of that pest From the Lord of heaven to force. The crowd's applause sounds now like scorn. O could you read in my inner, How little father and son Were worth such a fame! My father was a dark man of honor, Who over nature and her holy circles In honesty, yet in his own way, With whimsical toil mused; Who, in company of adepts, Shut himself in the black kitchen, And, after endless receipts, Poured together the adverse. There became a red lion, a bold wooer, In the lukewarm bath of the lily wedded, And both then with open flame-fire From one bridal chamber into another tortured. Appeared thereupon with colored hues The young queen in the glass; Here was the medicine, the patients died, And none asked: who recovered? So have we with hellish electuaries In these valleys, these mountains Raged far worse than the pest. I myself gave the poison to thousands. They withered, I must live to see, That one praises the impudent murderers.

WAGNER. How can you grieve yourself therefor! Does not a worthy man enough, The art, entrusted him, Conscientiously and punctually to practice? When you as youth honored your father, You were gladly received by him; When you as man increased science, Your son can attain a higher goal.

FAUST. O happy, who can yet hope, To emerge from this sea of error! What one knows not, that one just needed, And what one knows, one cannot use. But let us not through such gloom This hour's fair good blight! Behold, how in evening-sun's glow The green-girt cottages shimmer. It moves and yields, the day is survived, There hastens it forth and furthers new life. O that no wing lifts me from the ground To strive after it and ever after! I saw in eternal evening-ray The silent world at my feet, All heights kindled, every vale soothed, The silver brook flow in golden streams. Not hindered then the godlike course The wild mountain with all its gorges; Already opens the sea with warmed bays Before the astonished eyes. Yet seems the goddess finally to sink; But the new impulse awakes, I hasten forth, her eternal light to drink, Before me the day and behind me the night, The heaven above me and beneath me the waves. A fair dream, while she withdraws. Ah! to the spirit's wings becomes so lightly No bodily wing unite. Yet is it to each innate That his feeling upward and forward presses, When above us, in blue space lost, Her trilling song the lark sings; When over rugged pine-heights The eagle spreads hovering, And over plains, over lakes The crane strives toward home.

WAGNER. I myself had oft whimsical hours, Yet such an impulse have I never felt. One easily sees one's fill of wood and fields; The bird's pinion will I never envy. How differently bear us the spirit-joys From book to book, from leaf to leaf! There become winter-nights sweet and fair, A blessed life warms all limbs, And ah! unroll you but a worthy parchment, So sinks the whole heaven down to you.

FAUST. You are conscious only of the one impulse, O learn never the other to know! Two souls dwell, ah! in my breast, Which one would part from the other; The one holds, in coarse love-lust, Itself to the world with clinging organs; The other lifts violently itself from dust To the fields of high ancestors. O if there are spirits in the air, Who ruling weave 'twixt earth and heaven, Then descend from the golden haze And lead me to new, motley life! Yes, were but a magic mantle mine, And bore it me to foreign lands! For the costliest garments should it serve me, Not be sold for a king's mantle.

WAGNER. Call not the well-known host, That streaming spreads in the vapor-realm, Prepares for man thousandfold danger, From all ends hither. From north presses the sharp spirit-tooth On you, with arrow-pointed tongues; From east they draw, drying, hither, And feed on your lungs; When the midday sends them from the desert, Heap glow on glow around your crown; So brings the west the swarm, that first refreshed, To drown you and field and meadow. They like to hear, turned to harm gladly, Obey gladly, because they like to deceive us; They present themselves as sent from heaven, And lisp angelic, when they lie. But let us go! grayed is already the world, The air cooled, the mist falls! At evening one prizes first the house.— Why stand you so and gaze astonished out? What can seize you in the twilight so?

FAUST. See you the black dog through seed and stubble stray?

WAGNER. I saw him long since, not important seemed he to me.

FAUST. Regard him well! for what hold you the beast?

WAGNER. For a poodle, that in his way Plagues himself on the master's scent.

FAUST. Note you, how in wide snail-circle He round us and ever nearer hunts? And err I not, then draws a fire-whirl Behind on his paths.

WAGNER. I see naught but a black poodle; It may well be eye-deception with you.

FAUST. Methinks, that he magically soft snares To future band around our feet draws.

WAGNER. I see him uncertain and fearful spring around us, Because he, instead of his master, sees two unknown.

FAUST. The circle grows narrow, already is he near!

WAGNER. You see! a dog, and no ghost is there. He growls and doubts, lays on his belly, He wags. All dog-custom.

FAUST. Join us! Come here!

WAGNER. It is a poodle-foolish beast. You stand still, he waits; You speak to him, he strives up to you; Lose something, he will bring it, Spring into the water after your staff.

FAUST. You have likely right; I find not the trace Of any spirit, and all is training.

WAGNER. To the dog, when well bred, Even a wise man is inclined. Yes, your favor deserves he quite and wholly, He, the students' excellent scholar. (They go into the town-gate.)

Study

Faust entering with the poodle.

FAUST. Left have I field and meadow, Which a deep night covers, With presentimentful, holy awe Wakes in us the better soul. Fallen asleep are now wild impulses With every stormy deed; Mankind's love stirs, God's love stirs now.

Be quiet, poodle! run not hither and thither! At the threshold why sniff you here? Lay you behind the stove, My best cushion give I you. As you out on the mountainous way Through running and springing delighted us, So take now also from me the care, As a welcome quiet guest.

Ah when in our narrow cell The lamp friendly burns again, Then grows it bright in our bosom, In the heart, that itself knows. Reason begins again to speak, And hope again to bloom, One longs for life's brooks, Ah! for life's source.

Growl not, poodle! To the holy tones, Which now my whole soul embrace, The beastly sound will not fit. We are wont, that men deride What they understand not, That they before the good and fair, Which is often burdensome to them, murmur; Will the dog, like them, grumble?

“Stories of the world, in your language.”