Dedication Again you show yourselves, you wavering Forms, Revealed, as you once were, to clouded vision. Shall I attempt to hold you fast once more? Heart’s willing still to suffer that illusion?5 You crowd so near! Well then, you shall endure, And rouse me, from your mist and cloud’s confusion: My spirit feels so young again: it’s shaken By magic breezes that your breathings waken. You bring with you the sight of joyful days,10 And many a loved shade rises to the eye: And like some other half-forgotten phrase, First Love returns, and Friendship too is nigh: Pain is renewed, and sorrow: all the ways, Life wanders in its labyrinthine flight,15 Naming the good, those that Fate has robbed Of lovely hours, those slipped from me and lost. They can no longer hear this latest song, Spirits, to whom I gave my early singing: That kindly crowd itself is now long gone,20 Alas, it dies away, that first loud ringing! I bring my verses to the unknown throng, My heart’s made anxious even by their clapping, And those besides delighted by my verse, If they still live, are scattered through the Earth. 25 I feel a long and unresolved desire For that serene and solemn land of ghosts: It quivers now, like an Aeolian lyre, My stuttering verse, with its uncertain notes, A shudder takes me: tear on tear, entire,30 The firm heart feels weakened and remote: What I possess seems far away from me, And what is gone becomes reality. Prelude On Stage (Director, Dramatist, Comedian) Director You two, who’ve often stood by me, In times of need, when trouble’s breaking,35 Say what success our undertaking Will meet with, then, in Germany? I’d rather like the crowd to enjoy it, Since they live and let live, truly. The stage is set, the boards complete,40 And they await our festivity. They’re seated already, eyebrows raised, Calmly hoping they’ll be amazed. I know how to make the people happy: But I’ve never been so embarrassed: not45 That they’ve been used to the best, you see, Yet they’ve all read such a dreadful lot. How can we make it all seem fresh and new, Weighty, but entertaining too? I’d love to see a joyful crowd, that’s certain,50 When the waves drive them to our place, And with tremendous and repeated surging, Squeeze them through the narrow gate of grace: In the light of day they’re there already, Pushing, till they’ve reached the window,55 As if they’re at the baker’s, starving, nearly Breaking their necks: just for a ticket. Oh! Only poets can work this miracle on men So various: the day is yours, my friend! Dramatist O, don’t speak to me of that varied crew,60 The sight of whom makes inspiration fade. Veil, from me, the surging multitude, Whose whirling will drives us everyway. No, some heavenly silence lead me to, Where for the poet alone pure joy’s at play:65 Where Love and Friendship too grace our hearts, Created and inspired by heavenly arts. Ah! What springs here from our deepest being, What the shy trembling lips in speaking meant, Now falling awry, and now perhaps succeeding,70 Is swallowed in the fierce Moment’s violence. Often, when the first years are done, unseeing, It appears at last, complete, in deepest sense. What dazzles is a Momentary act: What’s true is left for posterity, intact. Comedian 75 Don’t speak about posterity to me! If I went on about posterity, Where would you get your worldly fun? Folk want it, and they’ll still have some. The presence of a fine young man80 Is nice, I think, for everyone. Who, comfortably, shares his wit, And to their moods takes no exception: He’ll make himself a greater hit, And win a more secure reception.85 Be brave, and show them what you’ve got, Have Fantasy with all her chorus, yes, Mind, Reason, Passion, Tears, the lot, But don’t you leave out Foolishness. Director Make sure, above all, plenty’s happening there!90 They come to look, and then they want to stare. Spin endlessly before their faces, So the people gape amazed, You’ve won them by your many paces, You’ll be the man most praised.95 The mass are only moved by things en masse, Each one, himself, will choose the bit he needs: Who brings a lot, brings something that will pass: And everyone goes home contentedly. You’ll give a piece, why then give it them in pieces!100 With such a stew you’re destined for success. Easy to serve, it’s as easy to invent. What use to bring them your complete intent? The Public will soon pick at what you’ve dressed. Dramatist You don’t see how badly such work will do!105 How little it suits the genuine creator! Already, I see, it’s a principle with you. The finest master is a sloppy worker. Director Such a reproach leaves me unmoved: The man who seeks to be approved,110 Must stick to the best tools for it, Think, soft wood’s the best to split, And have a look for whom you write! See, this is one that boredom drives, Another’s from some overloaded table,115 Or, worst of all, he’s one arrives, Like most, fresh from the daily paper. They rush here mindlessly, as to a Masque, And curiosity inspires their hurry: The ladies bring themselves, and in their best,120 Come and play their parts and ask no fee. What dream of yours is this, exalted verse? Doesn’t a full house make you happy? Have a good look at your patrons first! One half are coarse, the rest are chilly.125 After the show he hopes for card-play: He hopes for a wild night, and a woman’s kiss. Why then do so many poor fools plague, The sweet Muse, for such a goal as this? I tell you, just give them more and more,130 So you’ll never stray far from the mark, Just seek to confuse them, in the dark: To keep them happy, that’s hard - for sure. And now what’s wrong? Delight or Pain? Dramatist Go, look for another scribbler by night!135 Shall the poet throw away the highest right, The right of humanity, that Nature gave, Carelessly, so that you might gain! How will he move all hearts again? How will each element be his slave?140 Is that harmony nothing, from his breast unfurled, That draws back into his own heart, the world? When Nature winds the lengthened filaments, Indifferently, on her eternal spindle, When all the tuneless mass of elements,145 In their sullen discord, jar and jangle – Who parts the ever-flowing ranks of creation, Stirs them, so rhythmic measure is assured? Who calls the One to general ordination, Where it may ring in marvellous accord?150 Who lets the storm wind rage with passion, The sunset glow the senses move? Who scatters every lovely springtime blossom Beneath the footsteps of the one we love? Who weaves the slight green wreath of leaves,155 To honour work well done in every art? What makes Olympus sure, joins deities? The power of Man, revealed by the bard. Comedian So use it then, all this fine energy, And drive along the work of poetry,160 To show how we are driven in Love’s play. By chance we meet, we feel, we stay, And bit by bit we’re tightly bound: Happiness grows, and then it’s fenced around: We’re all inflamed then comes the sorrowing:165 Before you know it, there’s a novel brewing! Why don’t we give such a piece! Grasp the life of man complete! Everyone lives, though it’s seldom confessed, And wherever you grasp, there’s interest.170 In varied pictures there’s little light, A lot of error, and a gleam of right, So the best of drinks is brewed, So the world’s cheered and renewed. Then see the flower of lovely youth collect,175 To hear your words, and view the offering, And every tender nature will extract A melancholy food from what you bring, They’ll gain now this and that from your art, So each sees what is present in their heart.180 They’re readily moved to weeping or to laughter, They’ll admire your verve, and enjoy the show: What’s finished you can never alter after: Minds still in growth will be grateful, though. Dramatist So give me back that time again,185 When I was still ‘becoming’, When words gushed like a fountain In new, and endless flowing, Then for me mists veiled the world, In every bud the wonder glowed,190 A thousand flowers I unfurled, That every valley, richly, showed. I had nothing, yet enough: Joy in illusion, thirst for truth. Give every passion, free to move,195 The deepest bliss, filled with pain, The force of hate, the power of love, Oh, give me back my youth again! Comedian Youth is what you need, dear friend, When enemies jostle you, of course,200 And girls, filled with desire, bend Their arms around your neck, with force, When the swift-run race’s garland Beckons from the hard-won goal, When from the swirling dance, a man205 Drinks until the night is old. But to play that well-known lyre With courage and with grace, Moved by self-imposed desire, At a sweet wandering pace,210 That is your function, Age, And our respect won’t lessen. Age doesn’t make us childish, as they say, It finds that we’re still children. Director That’s enough words for the moment,215 Now let me see some action! While you’re handing out the compliments, You should also make things happen. Why talk so much of inspiration? Delay won’t make it flow, you see.220 Since Poetry gave the gift of creation, Take your orders then from Poetry. You know what’s wanted here, We need strong ale to appear: So brew me a barrel right away!225 Tomorrow won’t do what’s undone today, We shouldn’t waste a minute, so Decide what’s possible, and just Grasp it firmly like a hoe, Make sure that you let nothing go,230 And work it about, because you must. On the German stage, you see, Everyone tries out what he can: Don’t fail to show me, I’m your man, Your trap-doors, and your scenery.235 Use heavenly lights, the big and small, Squander stars in any number, Rocky cliffs, and fire, and water, Birds and creatures, use them all. So in our narrow playhouse waken240 The whole wide circle of creation, And stride, deliberately, as well, From Heaven, through the world, to Hell. Prologue In Heaven (God, the Heavenly Hosts, and then Mephistopheles.) (The Three Archangels step forward.) Raphael The Sun sings out, in ancient mode, His note among his brother-spheres,245 And ends his pre-determined road, With peals of thunder for our ears. The sight of him gives Angels power, Though none can understand the way: The inconceivable work is ours,250 As bright as on the primal day. Gabriel And swift, and swift, beyond conceiving, The splendour of the Earth turns round, A Paradisial light is interleaving, With night’s awesome profound.255 The ocean breaks with shining foam, Against the rocky cliffs deep base, And rock and ocean whirl and go, In the spheres’ swift eternal race. Michael And storms are roaring in their race260 From sea to land, and land to sea, Their raging forms a fierce embrace, All round, of deepest energy. The lightning’s devastations blaze Along the thunder-crashes’ way:265 Yet, Lord, your messengers, shall praise The gentle passage of your day. All Three The sight of it gives Angels power Though none can understand the way, And all your noble work is ours,270 As bright as on the primal day. Mephistopheles Since, O Lord, you near me once again, To ask how all below is doing now, And usually receive me without pain, You see me too among the vile crowd.275 Forgive me: I can’t speak in noble style, And since I’m still reviled by this whole crew, My pathos would be sure to make you smile, If you had not renounced all laughter too. You’ll get no word of suns and worlds from me.280 How men torment themselves is all I see. The little god of Earth sticks to the same old way, And is as strange as on that very first day. He might appreciate life a little more: he might, If you hadn’t lent him a gleam of Heavenly light:285 He calls it Reason, but only uses it To be more a beast than any beast as yet. He seems to me, saving Your Grace, Like a long-legged grasshopper: through space He’s always flying: he flies and then he springs,290 And in the grass the same old song he sings. If he’d just lie there in the grass it wouldn’t hurt! But he buries his nose in every piece of dirt. God Have you nothing else to name? Do you always come here to complain?295 Does nothing ever go right on the Earth? Mephistopheles No, Lord! I find, as always, it couldn’t be worse. I’m so involved with Man’s wretched ways, I’ve even stopped plaguing them, myself, these days. God Do you know, Faust? Mephistopheles The Doctor? God My servant, first! Mephistopheles 300 In truth! He serves you in a peculiar manner. There’s no earthly food or drink at that fool’s dinner. He drives his spirit outwards, far, Half-conscious of its maddened dart: From Heaven demands the brightest star,305 And from the Earth, Joy’s highest art, And all the near and all the far, Fails to release his throbbing heart. God Though he’s still confused at how to serve me, I’ll soon lead him to a clearer dawning,310 In the green sapling, can’t the gardener see The flowers and fruit the coming years will bring. Mephistopheles What do you wager? I might win him yet! If you give me your permission first, I’ll lead him gently on the road I set. God 315 As long as he’s alive on Earth, So long as that I won’t forbid it, For while man strives he errs. Mephistopheles My thanks: I’ve never willingly seen fit To spend my time amongst the dead,320 I much prefer fresh cheeks instead. To corpses, I close up my house: Or it’s too like a cat with a mouse. God Well and good, you’ve said what’s needed! Divert this spirit from his source, You know how to trap him, lead him,325 On your downward course, And when you must, then stand, amazed: A good man, in his darkest yearning, Is still aware of virtue’s ways. Mephistopheles 330 That’s fine! There’s hardly any waiting. My wager’s more than safe I’m thinking. When I achieve my goal, in winning, You’ll let me triumph with a swelling heart. He’ll eat the dust, and with an art,335 Like the snake my mother, known for sinning. God You can appear freely too: Those like you I’ve never hated. Of all the spirits who deny, it’s you, The jester, who’s most lightly weighted.340 Man’s energies all too soon seek the level, He quickly desires unbroken slumber, So I gave him you to join the number, To move, and work, and play the devil. But you the genuine sons of light,345 Enjoy the living beauty bright! Becoming, that works and lives forever, Embrace you in love’s limits dear, And all that may as Appearance waver, Fix firmly with everlasting Idea! (Heaven closes, and the Archangels separate.) Mephistopheles (alone) 350 I like to hear the Old Man’s words, from time to time, And take care, when I’m with him, not to spew. It’s very nice when such a great Gentleman, Chats with the devil, in ways so human, too! Scene I: Night (In a high-vaulted Gothic chamber, Faust, in a chair at his desk,restless.) Ah! Now I’ve done Philosophy,355 I’ve finished Law and Medicine, And sadly even Theology: Taken fierce pains, from end to end. Now here I am, a fool for sure! No wiser than I was before:360 Master, Doctor’s what they call me, And I’ve been ten years, already, Crosswise, arcing, to and fro, Leading my students by the nose, And see that we can know - nothing!365 It almost sets my heart burning. I’m cleverer than all these teachers, Doctors, Masters, scribes, preachers: I’m not plagued by doubt or scruple, Scared by neither Hell nor Devil –370 Instead all Joy is snatched away, What’s worth knowing, I can’t say, I can’t say what I should teach To make men better or convert each. And then I’ve neither goods nor gold,375 No worldly honour, or splendour hold: Not even a dog would play this part! So I’ve given myself to Magic art, To see if, through Spirit powers and lips, I might have all secrets at my fingertips.380 And no longer, with rancid sweat, so, Still have to speak what I cannot know: That I may understand whatever Binds the world’s innermost core together, See all its workings, and its seeds,385 Deal no more in words’ empty reeds. Lines 1–500 of 8015. Load more
Dedication Again you show yourselves, you wavering Forms, Revealed, as you once were, to clouded vision. Shall I attempt to hold you fast once more? Heart’s willing still to suffer that illusion? 5 You crowd so near! Well then, you shall endure, And rouse me, from your mist and cloud’s confusion: My spirit feels so young again: it’s shaken By magic breezes that your breathings waken. You bring with you the sight of joyful days, 10 And many a loved shade rises to the eye: And like some other half-forgotten phrase, First Love returns, and Friendship too is nigh: Pain is renewed, and sorrow: all the ways, Life wanders in its labyrinthine flight, 15 Naming the good, those that Fate has robbed Of lovely hours, those slipped from me and lost. They can no longer hear this latest song, Spirits, to whom I gave my early singing: That kindly crowd itself is now long gone, 20 Alas, it dies away, that first loud ringing! I bring my verses to the unknown throng, My heart’s made anxious even by their clapping, And those besides delighted by my verse, If they still live, are scattered through the Earth. 25 I feel a long and unresolved desire For that serene and solemn land of ghosts: It quivers now, like an Aeolian lyre, My stuttering verse, with its uncertain notes, A shudder takes me: tear on tear, entire, 30 The firm heart feels weakened and remote: What I possess seems far away from me, And what is gone becomes reality. Prelude On Stage (Director, Dramatist, Comedian) Director You two, who’ve often stood by me, In times of need, when trouble’s breaking, 35 Say what success our undertaking Will meet with, then, in Germany? I’d rather like the crowd to enjoy it, Since they live and let live, truly. The stage is set, the boards complete, 40 And they await our festivity. They’re seated already, eyebrows raised, Calmly hoping they’ll be amazed. I know how to make the people happy: But I’ve never been so embarrassed: not 45 That they’ve been used to the best, you see, Yet they’ve all read such a dreadful lot. How can we make it all seem fresh and new, Weighty, but entertaining too? I’d love to see a joyful crowd, that’s certain, 50 When the waves drive them to our place, And with tremendous and repeated surging, Squeeze them through the narrow gate of grace: In the light of day they’re there already, Pushing, till they’ve reached the window, 55 As if they’re at the baker’s, starving, nearly Breaking their necks: just for a ticket. Oh! Only poets can work this miracle on men So various: the day is yours, my friend! Dramatist O, don’t speak to me of that varied crew, 60 The sight of whom makes inspiration fade. Veil, from me, the surging multitude, Whose whirling will drives us everyway. No, some heavenly silence lead me to, Where for the poet alone pure joy’s at play: 65 Where Love and Friendship too grace our hearts, Created and inspired by heavenly arts. Ah! What springs here from our deepest being, What the shy trembling lips in speaking meant, Now falling awry, and now perhaps succeeding, 70 Is swallowed in the fierce Moment’s violence. Often, when the first years are done, unseeing, It appears at last, complete, in deepest sense. What dazzles is a Momentary act: What’s true is left for posterity, intact. Comedian 75 Don’t speak about posterity to me! If I went on about posterity, Where would you get your worldly fun? Folk want it, and they’ll still have some. The presence of a fine young man 80 Is nice, I think, for everyone. Who, comfortably, shares his wit, And to their moods takes no exception: He’ll make himself a greater hit, And win a more secure reception. 85 Be brave, and show them what you’ve got, Have Fantasy with all her chorus, yes, Mind, Reason, Passion, Tears, the lot, But don’t you leave out Foolishness. Director Make sure, above all, plenty’s happening there! 90 They come to look, and then they want to stare. Spin endlessly before their faces, So the people gape amazed, You’ve won them by your many paces, You’ll be the man most praised. 95 The mass are only moved by things en masse, Each one, himself, will choose the bit he needs: Who brings a lot, brings something that will pass: And everyone goes home contentedly. You’ll give a piece, why then give it them in pieces! 100 With such a stew you’re destined for success. Easy to serve, it’s as easy to invent. What use to bring them your complete intent? The Public will soon pick at what you’ve dressed. Dramatist You don’t see how badly such work will do! 105 How little it suits the genuine creator! Already, I see, it’s a principle with you. The finest master is a sloppy worker. Director Such a reproach leaves me unmoved: The man who seeks to be approved, 110 Must stick to the best tools for it, Think, soft wood’s the best to split, And have a look for whom you write! See, this is one that boredom drives, Another’s from some overloaded table, 115 Or, worst of all, he’s one arrives, Like most, fresh from the daily paper. They rush here mindlessly, as to a Masque, And curiosity inspires their hurry: The ladies bring themselves, and in their best, 120 Come and play their parts and ask no fee. What dream of yours is this, exalted verse? Doesn’t a full house make you happy? Have a good look at your patrons first! One half are coarse, the rest are chilly. 125 After the show he hopes for card-play: He hopes for a wild night, and a woman’s kiss. Why then do so many poor fools plague, The sweet Muse, for such a goal as this? I tell you, just give them more and more, 130 So you’ll never stray far from the mark, Just seek to confuse them, in the dark: To keep them happy, that’s hard - for sure. And now what’s wrong? Delight or Pain? Dramatist Go, look for another scribbler by night! 135 Shall the poet throw away the highest right, The right of humanity, that Nature gave, Carelessly, so that you might gain! How will he move all hearts again? How will each element be his slave? 140 Is that harmony nothing, from his breast unfurled, That draws back into his own heart, the world? When Nature winds the lengthened filaments, Indifferently, on her eternal spindle, When all the tuneless mass of elements, 145 In their sullen discord, jar and jangle – Who parts the ever-flowing ranks of creation, Stirs them, so rhythmic measure is assured? Who calls the One to general ordination, Where it may ring in marvellous accord? 150 Who lets the storm wind rage with passion, The sunset glow the senses move? Who scatters every lovely springtime blossom Beneath the footsteps of the one we love? Who weaves the slight green wreath of leaves, 155 To honour work well done in every art? What makes Olympus sure, joins deities? The power of Man, revealed by the bard. Comedian So use it then, all this fine energy, And drive along the work of poetry, 160 To show how we are driven in Love’s play. By chance we meet, we feel, we stay, And bit by bit we’re tightly bound: Happiness grows, and then it’s fenced around: We’re all inflamed then comes the sorrowing: 165 Before you know it, there’s a novel brewing! Why don’t we give such a piece! Grasp the life of man complete! Everyone lives, though it’s seldom confessed, And wherever you grasp, there’s interest. 170 In varied pictures there’s little light, A lot of error, and a gleam of right, So the best of drinks is brewed, So the world’s cheered and renewed. Then see the flower of lovely youth collect, 175 To hear your words, and view the offering, And every tender nature will extract A melancholy food from what you bring, They’ll gain now this and that from your art, So each sees what is present in their heart. 180 They’re readily moved to weeping or to laughter, They’ll admire your verve, and enjoy the show: What’s finished you can never alter after: Minds still in growth will be grateful, though. Dramatist So give me back that time again, 185 When I was still ‘becoming’, When words gushed like a fountain In new, and endless flowing, Then for me mists veiled the world, In every bud the wonder glowed, 190 A thousand flowers I unfurled, That every valley, richly, showed. I had nothing, yet enough: Joy in illusion, thirst for truth. Give every passion, free to move, 195 The deepest bliss, filled with pain, The force of hate, the power of love, Oh, give me back my youth again! Comedian Youth is what you need, dear friend, When enemies jostle you, of course, 200 And girls, filled with desire, bend Their arms around your neck, with force, When the swift-run race’s garland Beckons from the hard-won goal, When from the swirling dance, a man 205 Drinks until the night is old. But to play that well-known lyre With courage and with grace, Moved by self-imposed desire, At a sweet wandering pace, 210 That is your function, Age, And our respect won’t lessen. Age doesn’t make us childish, as they say, It finds that we’re still children. Director That’s enough words for the moment, 215 Now let me see some action! While you’re handing out the compliments, You should also make things happen. Why talk so much of inspiration? Delay won’t make it flow, you see. 220 Since Poetry gave the gift of creation, Take your orders then from Poetry. You know what’s wanted here, We need strong ale to appear: So brew me a barrel right away! 225 Tomorrow won’t do what’s undone today, We shouldn’t waste a minute, so Decide what’s possible, and just Grasp it firmly like a hoe, Make sure that you let nothing go, 230 And work it about, because you must. On the German stage, you see, Everyone tries out what he can: Don’t fail to show me, I’m your man, Your trap-doors, and your scenery. 235 Use heavenly lights, the big and small, Squander stars in any number, Rocky cliffs, and fire, and water, Birds and creatures, use them all. So in our narrow playhouse waken 240 The whole wide circle of creation, And stride, deliberately, as well, From Heaven, through the world, to Hell. Prologue In Heaven (God, the Heavenly Hosts, and then Mephistopheles.) (The Three Archangels step forward.) Raphael The Sun sings out, in ancient mode, His note among his brother-spheres, 245 And ends his pre-determined road, With peals of thunder for our ears. The sight of him gives Angels power, Though none can understand the way: The inconceivable work is ours, 250 As bright as on the primal day. Gabriel And swift, and swift, beyond conceiving, The splendour of the Earth turns round, A Paradisial light is interleaving, With night’s awesome profound. 255 The ocean breaks with shining foam, Against the rocky cliffs deep base, And rock and ocean whirl and go, In the spheres’ swift eternal race. Michael And storms are roaring in their race 260 From sea to land, and land to sea, Their raging forms a fierce embrace, All round, of deepest energy. The lightning’s devastations blaze Along the thunder-crashes’ way: 265 Yet, Lord, your messengers, shall praise The gentle passage of your day. All Three The sight of it gives Angels power Though none can understand the way, And all your noble work is ours, 270 As bright as on the primal day. Mephistopheles Since, O Lord, you near me once again, To ask how all below is doing now, And usually receive me without pain, You see me too among the vile crowd. 275 Forgive me: I can’t speak in noble style, And since I’m still reviled by this whole crew, My pathos would be sure to make you smile, If you had not renounced all laughter too. You’ll get no word of suns and worlds from me. 280 How men torment themselves is all I see. The little god of Earth sticks to the same old way, And is as strange as on that very first day. He might appreciate life a little more: he might, If you hadn’t lent him a gleam of Heavenly light: 285 He calls it Reason, but only uses it To be more a beast than any beast as yet. He seems to me, saving Your Grace, Like a long-legged grasshopper: through space He’s always flying: he flies and then he springs, 290 And in the grass the same old song he sings. If he’d just lie there in the grass it wouldn’t hurt! But he buries his nose in every piece of dirt. God Have you nothing else to name? Do you always come here to complain? 295 Does nothing ever go right on the Earth? Mephistopheles No, Lord! I find, as always, it couldn’t be worse. I’m so involved with Man’s wretched ways, I’ve even stopped plaguing them, myself, these days. God Do you know, Faust? Mephistopheles The Doctor? God My servant, first! Mephistopheles 300 In truth! He serves you in a peculiar manner. There’s no earthly food or drink at that fool’s dinner. He drives his spirit outwards, far, Half-conscious of its maddened dart: From Heaven demands the brightest star, 305 And from the Earth, Joy’s highest art, And all the near and all the far, Fails to release his throbbing heart. God Though he’s still confused at how to serve me, I’ll soon lead him to a clearer dawning, 310 In the green sapling, can’t the gardener see The flowers and fruit the coming years will bring. Mephistopheles What do you wager? I might win him yet! If you give me your permission first, I’ll lead him gently on the road I set. God 315 As long as he’s alive on Earth, So long as that I won’t forbid it, For while man strives he errs. Mephistopheles My thanks: I’ve never willingly seen fit To spend my time amongst the dead, 320 I much prefer fresh cheeks instead. To corpses, I close up my house: Or it’s too like a cat with a mouse. God Well and good, you’ve said what’s needed! Divert this spirit from his source, You know how to trap him, lead him, 325 On your downward course, And when you must, then stand, amazed: A good man, in his darkest yearning, Is still aware of virtue’s ways. Mephistopheles 330 That’s fine! There’s hardly any waiting. My wager’s more than safe I’m thinking. When I achieve my goal, in winning, You’ll let me triumph with a swelling heart. He’ll eat the dust, and with an art, 335 Like the snake my mother, known for sinning. God You can appear freely too: Those like you I’ve never hated. Of all the spirits who deny, it’s you, The jester, who’s most lightly weighted. 340 Man’s energies all too soon seek the level, He quickly desires unbroken slumber, So I gave him you to join the number, To move, and work, and play the devil. But you the genuine sons of light, 345 Enjoy the living beauty bright! Becoming, that works and lives forever, Embrace you in love’s limits dear, And all that may as Appearance waver, Fix firmly with everlasting Idea! (Heaven closes, and the Archangels separate.) Mephistopheles (alone) 350 I like to hear the Old Man’s words, from time to time, And take care, when I’m with him, not to spew. It’s very nice when such a great Gentleman, Chats with the devil, in ways so human, too! Scene I: Night (In a high-vaulted Gothic chamber, Faust, in a chair at his desk, restless.) Ah! Now I’ve done Philosophy, 355 I’ve finished Law and Medicine, And sadly even Theology: Taken fierce pains, from end to end. Now here I am, a fool for sure! No wiser than I was before: 360 Master, Doctor’s what they call me, And I’ve been ten years, already, Crosswise, arcing, to and fro, Leading my students by the nose, And see that we can know - nothing! 365 It almost sets my heart burning. I’m cleverer than all these teachers, Doctors, Masters, scribes, preachers: I’m not plagued by doubt or scruple, Scared by neither Hell nor Devil – 370 Instead all Joy is snatched away, What’s worth knowing, I can’t say, I can’t say what I should teach To make men better or convert each. And then I’ve neither goods nor gold, 375 No worldly honour, or splendour hold: Not even a dog would play this part! So I’ve given myself to Magic art, To see if, through Spirit powers and lips, I might have all secrets at my fingertips. 380 And no longer, with rancid sweat, so, Still have to speak what I cannot know: That I may understand whatever Binds the world’s innermost core together, See all its workings, and its seeds, 385 Deal no more in words’ empty reeds.