Part 1

Produced by Michael Pullen

This book was kindly made available to us by the "Gutenberg Projekt-DE". The project can be reached at the internet address http://gutenberg.aol.de.

This book was generously provided by the German Gutenberg Projekt, which can be found at the web address http://gutenberg.aol.de/.

Faust: The Second Part of the Tragedy

by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

1. Pleasant Landscape 2. Lofty Narrow Gothic Chamber 3. Before the Palace of Menelaus at Sparta 4. High Mountains 5. Open Country

1. Act—Pleasant Landscape

Faust, laid upon a flowery turf, weary, restless, seeking sleep.

Dusk.

A circle of spirits moving in suspension, lovely little figures.

ARIEL.

Song accompanied by Aeolian harps.

When the blossom's springtime rain Sinks hovering over all, When the fields' green blessing Gleams for all earth-born, Little elves' spirit-greatness Hastens where it can help; Whether he be holy, whether wicked, The unfortunate moves them to pity.

You who hover about this head in airy circle, Show yourselves here after noble elfin custom: Soothe the heart's fierce strife, Remove reproach's glowing bitter darts, Purge his inward from experienced horror! Four are the pauses of the nightly while; Now fill them kindly without delay! First lay his head upon the cool pillow, Then bathe him in dew from Lethe's flood! Soon supple are the cramp-stiffened limbs, When, refreshed, he rests toward the day. Fulfill the elves' fairest duty: Give him back to the holy light!

CHORUS

singly, in pairs and many, alternating and gathered.

When the airs fill warmly Around the green-enclosed plain, Sweet scents, misty veils The twilight lowers near, Whispers gentle peace, Rocks the heart in childlike rest And to this weary one's eyes Closes the gate of day.

Night has already sunk in, Closes holy star to star; Great lights, small sparks Glitter near and shine afar; Glitter here mirrored in the lake, Shine above in clear night; Sealing deepest rest's bliss Reigns the moon's full splendor.

The hours are already extinguished, Gone are pain and joy; Feel it beforehand! You shall be well; Trust the new day's gaze! Valleys grow green, hills swell, Thickets to shadowy rest; And in wavering silver waves Waves the crop of harvest.

To attain wish on wish Look toward the gleaming there! You are only gently enfolded; Sleep is shell: cast it off! Hesitate not to be bold, When the crowd lingers doubting; All can the noble achieve, Who understands and swiftly grasps.

Tremendous noise announces the approach of the sun.

ARIEL.

Hark! hark to the storm of the Hours! Sounding for spirit-ears The new day is already born. Rock-gates creak rattling, Phoebus' wheels roll pattering, What noise the light brings! It trumpets, it clarions, Eye blinks and ear astonishes, Unheard-of is not heard. Slip to the flower-crowns, Deeper, deeper, to dwell still, Into the rocks, beneath the leaves! If it strikes you, you are deaf.

FAUST.

Life's pulses beat fresh and living, To gently greet the ethereal twilight. You, Earth, were constant also this night And breathe refreshed anew at my feet, Begin already to surround me with delight. You stir and move a vigorous resolve, Ever to strive toward highest existence.— In dusky light the world lies already opened, The forest resounds with thousand-voiced life, Valley into valley is poured a misty streak; Yet heavenly clarity sinks into the depths, And branches and boughs, freshly refreshed, have sprung From the fragrant abyss, where sunk they slept. Also color from color clears loose from the ground, Where flower and leaf drip from trembling pearl— A paradise becomes the round about me.

Looked upward!—The giant peaks of mountains Already announce the most solemn hour; They may early enjoy the eternal light, Which later turns down to us. Now to the alpine downward-green meadows New radiance and clearness is bestowed, And step by step it has succeeded— She steps forth!—and, alas already blinded, I turn away, pierced by eye-pain.

So it is then, when a longing hope Has fondly wrested itself to the highest wish, Finds fulfillment's gates flung open; Now but breaks from those eternal depths A surplus of flame—we stand astounded. We would ignite life's torch, A sea of fire encircles us, what a fire! Is it love, is it hate, glowing winding round us, With pain and joy alternating enormously, So that we look again to the earth, To shelter us in youth's earliest veil?

So let the sun remain behind me! The waterfall, the cliff rushing through, I behold it with growing rapture. From fall to fall it rolls now in thousand, Then ten-thousand streams pouring, High into the air foam on foam hissing. But how glorious from this storm arising, Arches the changeful duration of the colored bow, Now purely drawn, now dissolving into air, Spreading around fragrant cool showers. It mirrors the human endeavor. Ponder it and you comprehend more exactly: In the colored reflection we have life.

IMPERIAL PALACE

HALL OF THE THRONE

Council of state awaiting the emperor. Trumpets.

Court retinue of every kind, richly clad, advances. The Emperor reaches the throne, at his right the Astrologer.

EMPEROR.

I greet the faithful, beloved, Gathered from near and far.— The wise I see at my side, But where has the fool remained?

YOUNG NOBLE.

Right behind your mantle's train He tumbled down upon the stairs, They carried off the lump of fat; Dead or drunk, none knows.

SECOND YOUNG NOBLE.

Straightway with wondrous speed Another presses to the place. Most curiously is he decked out, Yet mask-like, that all start. The guard at the threshold holds Crosswise the halberds before— Yet there he is, the bold fool!

MEPHISTOPHELES: kneeling at the throne. What is accursed and ever welcome? What is desired and ever banished? What ever taken under protection? What harshly scolded and accused? Whom may you not summon hither? Whom does everyone like to hear named? What approaches your throne's steps? What has banished itself away?

EMPEROR: This time spare your words! Here riddles are out of place, That is the matter of these gentlemen.— Then solve it you! that I'd like to hear. My old fool went, I fear, far afield; Take his place and come to my side.

MURMUR OF THE CROWD: A new fool—To new torment— Whence comes he?—How got he in?— The old one fell—This one has wasted— He was a barrel—Now 'tis a splinter—

EMPEROR: And so, you faithful, beloved, Welcome from near and far! You gather with favorable star, Up there fortune and weal are written for us. Yet say, why in these days, Where we shook off cares, Wore fine beards in mummers' guise And would enjoy only what is cheerful, Should we torment ourselves with counsel? Yet because you think it could not be otherwise, It is done, so be it done.

CHANCELLOR: The highest virtue, like a halo, Surrounds the emperor's head; only he alone Can exercise it validly: Justice!—What all men love, What all demand, wish, hardly forego, Lies with him, to grant it to the people. But ah! What helps the human spirit's reason, The heart's goodness, the hand's readiness, When feverishly it rages throughout the state And evil broods over evil? Who looks down from this high space Into the wide realm, it seems to him a heavy dream, Where misshape rules over misshape, The lawless lawfully overmasters And a world of error unfolds. One robs himself of herds, another a wife, Chalice, cross and candlestick from the altar, Boasts thereof some years With sound skin, with unbroken body. Now plaintiffs press into the hall, The judge pranks on high cushion, Meanwhile surges in grim swell The growing mob of revolt. This one may knock on shame and outrage, Who leans on the most guilty comrade, And: Guilty! you hear pronounced, Where innocence only protects itself. So all the world would rend itself apart, Annihilate what is fitting; How should the sense develop, That alone leads us to what is right? At last a well-meaning man Inclines to the flatterer, the briber, A judge who cannot punish, Joins at last the criminal. I painted black, but a denser veil I'd rather draw before the picture. Resolves are not to be avoided; When all harm, all suffer, Majesty itself goes to robbery.

MASTER OF THE HORSE: How it rages in these wild days! Each strikes and is struck down, And to command one remains deaf. The burgher behind his walls, The knight on the rocky nest Have sworn to outlast us, And hold their forces fast. The mercenary grows impatient, With vehemence demands his pay, And were we no more indebted to him, He'd run away entirely. Forbid who will, what all would, Has stirred into the wasp's nest; The realm, which they should protect, Lies plundered and laid waste. One lets their fury rage wildly, Already half the world is lost; There are still kings out there, Yet none thinks it concerns him.

TREASURER: Who would knock on allies! Subsidies, promised us, Like pipe-water fail to come. Also, lord, in your wide states To whom has possession fallen? Wherever one comes, a new man keeps house, And would live independent, One must watch how he drives; We have given away so many rights, That no right remains to us. Also on parties, whatever they're called, Is no reliance nowadays; Whether they scold or praise, Love and hate became indifferent. The Ghibellines as the Guelphs Hide themselves, to rest; Who now will help his neighbor? Each has for himself to do. The gates of gold are barred, Each scratches and scrapes and gathers, And our coffers remain empty.

MARSHAL: What misfortune must I also experience! We would save every day And need more every day, And daily grows new torment for me. The cooks lack nothing; Wild boars, harts, hares, roes, Capons, chickens, geese and ducks, The deputations, sure rents, They still come in tolerably. However at the end wine fails. When formerly in the cellar cask on cask heaped, Of best hills and vintages, Then slurps endless guzzling Of noble lords the last drop out. The city council must tap its store too, One grabs for tankards, grabs for bowls, And beneath the table lies the feast. Now should I pay, reward all; The Jew will not spare me, He procures anticipations, That feast year on year ahead. The swine come not to fatness, Pledged is the bolster in the bed, And on the table comes bread eaten beforehand.

EMPEROR: Say, fool, know you too of a need?

MEPHISTOPHELES: I? By no means. To behold the splendor around, You and your own!—Lacked there confidence, Where majesty inevitably commands, Prepared power scatters hostility? Where good will, powerfully through reason, And activity, manifold, at hand? What could unite there to mischief, To darkness, where such stars shine?

MURMUR: That is a knave—Who well understands— He lies himself in—As long as it goes— I know already—What's behind it— And what then?—A project—

MEPHISTOPHELES: Where lacks it not somewhere in this world? To this one this, to that one that, but here lacks the money. From the floor indeed it is not to be raked; Yet wisdom knows to fetch the deepest forth. In mountain veins, foundation walls Is gold coined and uncoined to find, And ask you me, who brings it to day: Gifted man's nature—and spirit's force.

CHANCELLOR: Nature and spirit—so one speaks not to Christians. Therefore one burns atheists, Because such speech is highly dangerous. Nature is sin, spirit is devil, They harbor between them doubt, Their misshapen bastard child. Not so to us!—The old lands of the emperor Have only two races arisen, They worthily support his throne: The saints are they and the knights; They stand against every tempest And take church and state as reward. To the mob-mind of confused spirits Develops a resistance: The heretics are they! the witch-masters! And they corrupt town and land. These would you now with impudent jests Blacken into these high circles; You nestle on corrupted heart, To the fool they are near akin.

MEPHISTOPHELES: Thereby I recognize the learned sir! What you not touch, stands miles from you, What you not grasp, lacks to you wholly, What you not reckon, believe you, is not true, What you not weigh, has for you no weight, What you not coin, that, you think, counts not.

EMPEROR: Thereby our wants are not settled, What would you now with your Lenten sermon? I have sated the eternal how and when; There lacks money, well then, procure it.

MEPHISTOPHELES: I procure, what you will, and procure more; Though it is easy, yet the easy is hard; It lies already there, but to obtain it, That is the art, who knows to begin? Consider only: in those terror-times, Where floods of men drowned land and folk, As this and that one, however much it frightened him, Hid his dearest here—and therewhither. So was it ever in mighty Rome's time, And so forth, until yesterday, yes until today. All that lies in the ground silently buried, The ground is the emperor's, he shall have it.

TREASURER: For a fool he speaks not badly, That is truly the old emperor's right.

CHANCELLOR: The Satan lays you gold-wrought snares: It does not go with pious rightful things.

MARSHAL: Brought he us but at court welcome gifts, I'd gladly have a bit of wrong.

MASTER OF THE HORSE: The fool is clever, promises what profits all; The soldier asks not, whence it comes.

MEPHISTOPHELES: And think you perhaps by me deceived, Here stands a man! there, ask the astrologer! In circles upon circles he knows hour and house; So say then: how looks it in the heaven?

MURMUR: Two rogues are they—Understand each other— Fool and phantast—So near the throne— One mat-sung—Old poem— The fool blows in—The wise speaks—

ASTROLOGER: The sun itself, it is pure gold, Mercury, the messenger, serves for favor and pay, Lady Venus has smitten you all, Early as late she looks on you lovely; The chaste Luna moods whimsically; Mars, hits he not, then threatens his force. And Jupiter remains yet the fairest sheen, Saturn is great, to the eye far and small. Him as metal we revere not much, In worth low, but in weight heavy. Yea! when to Sol fair Luna joins, To silver gold, then is it cheerful world; The rest is all to be attained: Palaces, gardens, little breasts, red cheeks, That all procures the highly learned man, Who can that, which none of us can.

EMPEROR: I hear doubly, what he speaks, And yet it convinces me not.

MURMUR: What shall that to us?—Threshed jest— Calendar-craft—Chemistry— That heard I oft—And hoped falsely— And comes he too—So is he a dupe—

MEPHISTOPHELES: There they stand around and marvel, Trust not the high find, The one raves of mandrakes, The other of the black dog. What should it, that the one wits, Another accuses of sorcery, When yet once his sole itches, When his sure step denies. You all feel the secret working Of the eternally ruling nature, And from the lowest districts Creeps up living trace. When it pinches in all limbs, When it grows uncanny at the place, Only straight resolved dig and hack, There lies the minstrel, lies the treasure!

MURMUR: Mine lies in the foot like lead-weight— Mine cramps in the arm—That is gout— Mine crawls on the great toe— Mine hurts the whole back— After such signs were here The richest treasure-district.

EMPEROR: Only hastily! you slip not away again, Test your lying foams And show us straight the noble rooms. I lay sword and scepter down And will with own high hands, If you lie not, complete the work, Send you, if you lie, to hell.

MEPHISTOPHELES: The way there I might find perhaps— Yet can I not enough proclaim, What everywhere possessionless waiting lies. The peasant, who plows the furrow, Lifts a gold pot with the clod, Saltpeter hopes he from the loam wall And finds golden-golden roll Frightened, rejoiced in paltry hand. What vaults are to be burst, In what clefts, what passages Must the treasure-conscious press, To the neighborhood of the underworld! In wide, old-guarded cellars Of golden tankards, dishes, plates He sees rows set up; Goblets stand of rubies, And would he make use of them, Beside lies ancient liquor. Yet—will you trust the knowing one— Rotten is long since the wood of the staves, The wine-stone created the wine a cask. Essences of such noble wines, Gold and jewels not alone Enwrap themselves with night and horror. The wise searches here unwearied; By day to recognize, that are pranks, In darkness mysteries are at home.

EMPEROR: Those I leave you! What should the gloomy profit? Has something worth, it must come to day. Who knows the knave in deep night exactly? Black are the cows, so the cats gray. The pots below, full of gold-weight— Draw your plow and plow them to light.

MEPHISTOPHELES: Take pick and spade, dig yourself, The peasant's work makes you great, And a herd of golden calves, They tear themselves from the ground. Then without hesitation, with rapture Can you yourself, will adorn the beloved; A shining color—and radiance-stone enhances Beauty as majesty.

EMPEROR: Only straight, only straight! How long shall it last!

ASTROLOGER: Lord, moderate such urgent desire, Let first pass by the motley joyous play; Scattered being leads us not to the goal. First must we in composure reconcile ourselves, Earn the lower through the higher. Who wills good, be first good; Who wills joy, soothe his blood; Who demands wine, let press ripe grapes; Who hopes wonder, strengthen his faith.

EMPEROR: So be the time spent in merriment! And quite wished comes Ash Wednesday. Meanwhile we celebrate, in any case, Only merrier the wild carnival.

MEPHISTOPHELES: How desert and fortune chain themselves, Falls to fools never in mind; Had they the philosopher's stone, The wise would lack to the stone.

Spacious hall with side-chambers

HERALD: Think not, you are in German bounds Of devil-, fool- and death-dances; A cheerful feast awaits you. The lord, on his Roman marches, Has, to his use, to your pleasure, Crossed the high Alps, Won himself a cheerful realm. The Emperor, he, on holy soles First begged the right to power, And when he went to fetch the crown, Has brought us also the cap. Now we are all newborn; Each worldly-wise man Draws it comfortably over head and ears; It resembles him to crazed fools, He is beneath as wise as he can. I see already, how they throng, Separate swaying, fondly pair; Pressing closes chorus to chorus. In here, out there, only unwearied; It remains yet finally as before With their hundred-thousand pranks The world a single great fool.

GARDEN WOMEN: Your applause to win, We adorned ourselves this night, Young Florentine women Followed German court's pomp; Wear in brown locks Many a cheerful flower's trim; Silk threads, silk flakes Play their role here. For we hold it deserving, Praiseworthy quite and all, Our flowers, shining artificial, Bloom throughout the whole year. Of all-colored carved bits Was done symmetrical right; May you wit at piece by piece, Yet the whole draws you. Dainty are we to behold, Gardeners and gallant; For the nature of women Is so near akin to art.

HERALD: Let the rich baskets see, That you bear on the heads, That swell colorful on the arm, Each choose, what pleases. Hastily, that in leaf and walks A garden opens! Worthy are they to be thronged, Shopwomen as the ware.

GARDEN WOMEN: Haggle now at the cheerful place, Yet no bargaining take place! And with witty short word Know each, what he has.

OLIVE BRANCH WITH FRUITS: No flower-bloom I envy, All strife I avoid; 'Tis against nature to me: Am I yet the marrow of the land And, as sure pledge, Peace-sign of every field. Today, hope I, shall it succeed me, To adorn a worthy fair head.

WREATH OF EARS: Ceres' gifts, to trim you, Will stand gracious and lovely: The most wished to use Be as your ornament fair.

FANCY WREATH: Colored flowers, like mallows, From the moss a wonder-bloom! To nature 'tis not usual, Yet fashion brings it forth.

FANCY NOSEGAY: My name to you to say, Would not venture Theophrastus; And yet hope I, if not all, But to some to please, Whom I might well suit, If she wove me in the hair, If she would resolve, Grant me place at the heart.

ROSE BUDS: May colored fancies Bloom for the day's fashion, Be wondrous-strange in shape, As nature never unfolds; Green stems, golden bells, Peep forth from rich locks!— Yet we—keep ourselves hidden: Happy, who finds us fresh. When summer announces itself, Rose bud ignites itself, Who may spare such fortune? The promise, the granting, That rules in Flora's realm Glance and sense and heart alike.

GARDENER: Flowers see calmly sprout, Charmingly circle your head; Fruits would not seduce, Tasting one may enjoy them. Offer brownish faces Cherries, peaches, king-plums, Buy! for against tongue and palate Holds the eye poorly as judge. Come, of ripest fruits With taste and lust to feast! Of roses one may poetize, Into the apples one must bite. Be it allowed, us to pair To your rich youth-bloom, And we trim ripe wares' Fulness neighborly up. Under merry bindworks, In adorned arbor's bay, All is at once to find: Bud, leaf, flower, fruit.

MOTHER: Maiden, when you came to light, I adorned you in the cap; Were so lovely of face And so tender of body. Thought you straight as bride, Wed to the richest, Thought you as little wife. Alas! now is already many a year Useless flown, The suitors' motley crowd Quickly passed by; Danced with the one nimble, Gavest the other fine hint With the elbow. Whatsoever feast one devised, Was kept in vain, Forfeit-play and third man Would not take effect; Today the fools are loose, Dear, open your lap, Stays well one hanging.

WOODCUTTER: Only room! only clearance! We need spaces, We fell trees, That crack, strike; And when we carry, There gives it thrusts. To our praise Bring this to clearness; For worked not rough ones Also in the land, How came fine ones For themselves about, So much they witted? Of that be taught! For you would freeze, If we not sweated.

PULCINELLE: You are the fools, Born bent. We are the clever, Who never carried aught; For our caps, Jackets and rags Are light to bear; And with pleasure We ever idle, Slipper-footed, Through market and crowd To run hither, Gaping to stand, To crow at us; On such sounds Through throng and mass Eel-like to slip, Together to hop, United to rage. You may praise us, You may scold us, We let it hold.

PARASITES: You sturdy bearers And your brothers-in-law, The charcoal-burners, Are our men. For all bowing, Yes-nodding, Wound phrases, The double-blowing, That warms and cools, As one feels, What could it profit? It might fire Itself enormous From heaven come, Gave it not logs And coal-carriages, That hearth-width To glow enkindled. There roasts and splutters it, There cooks and bubbles it. The true savorer, The plate-licker, He smells the roast, He scents fish; That stirs to deeds At patron's table.

DRUNKARD: Be nothing adverse to me today! Feel myself so frank and free; Fresh lust and cheerful songs, I myself had fetched them hither. And so I drink! Drink, drink! Clink, you! Tinke, tinke! You there beyond, come here! Clink, so 'tis done. Shrieked my little wife indeed indignant, Turned up her nose at this motley coat, And, however I strutted, Scolded me a mask-stick. Yet I drink! Drink, drink! Clinked! Tinke, tinke! Mask-sticks, clink! When it sounds, so 'tis done. Say not, that I've gone astray, For I am, where it pleases me. Lends not the host, lends the hostess, And at end lends the maid. Ever I drink! Drink, drink! Up, you others! Tinke, tinke! Each to each! so henceforth! Methinks, 'tis done. How and where I delight myself, May it ever happen; Let me lie, where I lie, For I'd not stand longer.

CHORUS: Each brother drink, drink! Toast freshly a tinke, tinke! Sit fast on bench and splinter! Beneath the table 'tis done to him.

SATIRIST: Know you, what should first Right cheer us poets? Might I sing and speak, What none would hear.

AGLAIA: Grace we bring into life; Lay grace into the giving.

HEGEMONE: Lay grace into the receiving, Lovely 'tis, to attain the wish.

EUPHRASYNE: And in still days' bounds Most graceful be the thanking.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”