J > 3 • • • • • • r DRAMATIC WORKS OP. GOETHE: ) i COMPRISING I FAUST, IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS, TORQUATO TASSO, EGMONT, TRANSLATED BY ANNA SWANWICK. AND GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN, TRANSLATED BY SIR WALTER SCOTT, AND CAREFULLY REVISED BY HENRY G. BOHN. LONDON: BELL & DALDY, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 1867. •••••• p CONTENTS. TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE ▼ INTRODUCTIONS .' viii— xvi Faust, (the Intermezzo), Iphigenia, Torquato Tasso, Egmont. FAUST : 1 IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS 155 TORQUATO TASSO 219 EGMONT ••• 317 GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN, Sir Walter Scott's Intro- duction '*^1 The Drama "^^^ 643234 33 1 I TEANSLATOR'S PREFACE. Notwithstanding the numerous versions of Faust which ire already before the public,* and the ability with which fragments of this great poem have been rendered into Engb'sh verse, it is, I believe, admitted, that no translator has yet succeeded in embody- ing its entire spirit in a metrical form. How far I have been successful in accomplishing this difficult task, I must leave others to determine ; I can only say that, impelled by admiration of the splendid poetry scattered through its pages, I have laboured diligently to render my translation a faithful reflection of the original, and if I have sometimes failed, it must not be attributed to any want of earnest endeavour. To the merit of Mr. Hayward's prose version, I gladly record my humble testimony ; yet, notwithstanding the occasional freedom unavoidable in metrical translations, I cannot agree with those who regard prose as an appropriate medium for the ro-production of poetr.v. In original composition, a natural relation is recognized as existing between thought and verse, inasmuch as the latter is the spontaneous utterance of the poetic mind, when, in moments of inspiration, it teems with '* Thoughts which voluntary move Harmonious numbers." But the inspiring influence of such thoughts is also felt, when, instead of springing fi'om the depths of the creative spirit, they are derived from a foreign source; and as the seed, if it take root, and spring forth anew, must produce a flower " Like to the mother-plant in semblance," SO the poetic thought can only find adequate expression in tones which harmonize with the music of the original verse. A poet, in describing the pleasure attending the exercise of the creative faculty, exclaims — " Oh ! to create within the soul is bliss ! " A faint echo of this emotion accompanies the endeavour to body forth the conceptions of the inspired master, and hence it is that passages of the highest beauty are those which least tax the energies of the translator. Far more laborious is the attempt to * I am credibly informed that there are upwards of twenty complete versions in print, and even a greater number of fragments. vi translator's preface. render into verse ideas not essentially poetical ; and the reader, perchance, " Aware of nothing arduous in a task He never undertook," thinks little of " The shifts and turns, The expedients and inventions multiform, To which the mind resorts in chase of terms, Though apt, yet coy, and difficult to win." The endeavour to render into English verse the finer passages of Faust, has been to me a source of the highest enjoyment ; and if others derive any pleasure from the perusal of my translation, I shall feel amply rewarded for the labour attending the less inviting portions of my task. I shall not attempt any analysis of the poem, but merely allude to what appears to me to be the fundamental idea under- lying its varied and complicated elements, and which we find expressed in the prologue, in the words — *' A good man in the direful grasp of ill. His consciousness of right retaineth still." We have here a recognition of conscience as belonging to the deepest roots of man's inner life. The soul, whose inborn ten- dency it is " To rush aloft, to struggle still towards heaven," can never derive permanent satisfaction from low and sensual gratifications ; and when, from the misdirection of its energies, or the ascendancy of the passions, the harmony of the spiritual nature is destroyed, the voice of the inward monitor is still heard in the recesses of the heart, and the agonies of remorse attest that its dictates can never be violated with impunity. This deep moral instinct has been characterized as " the hand- writing of the creator on the soul," and is the ground of that reverent faith in humanity which ever distinguishes the noblest minds. But while thus recognizing the moral truth embodied in the poem, I deeply regret the blemishes which, in my opinion, disfigure its pages ; it contains passages which I would fain have omitted or modified, had I not held it to be the imperative duty of a translator to render faithfully even the defects of the original. To those who are curious in contemplating the growth of a work of art, and tracing it through its successive stages of deve- lopment, Faust offers a study of peculiar interest. As early as the year 1774, we find Goethe reading the first scenes of the poem to Klopstock, during the visit of the latter to Frankfort ; from that period, it was resumed at intervals till the year 1790, when it TUANSLATOR S PllEFACU, vii Srst appeared before the public iu the form cf " A Fragment." This fragment Schiller likened to the Torso of Hercules, " mani- festing a vigour and exuberance which betrayed unmistakeably vhe hand of the great master;" it commences with the first monologue and ends with the scene in the cathedral; the sceni. with Valentine, toccether with some other passages, were intro- duced at a subseqi .."nt period. After the lapse of several years, Goethe's thoughts again reverted to Faust, and in 1797 he pro- duced the Dedication, the Prologue for the Theatre, and the Pro- logue in Heaven. The Intermezzo must be referred to the same year. Goethe was continually urged by Schiller to the completion of the work, and the correspondence of the two poets at this period contains several interesting passages relative to its continuation and further development. It was not, however, till the year 1808 after it had been brooded over in the poet's mind for upwards o' thirty years, that the first part of Faust was published i)i its pre- sent form. In compiling the foregoing brief sketch of the progress of the poem, I have followed Diintzer's recent work upon Faust. My translations of Iphigenia and of the first act of Tasso have already appeared in a volume, entitled " Selections from the Dramas of Goethe and Schiller." The remainder of the Tasso, together with my versions of Faust and of Egmont, are published now for the first time. In Goethe's " Dichtung and Wahrheit," known in England as his Autobiography, we have an account of the origin of Goetz von Berlichingen, to which an interest attaches from its having been the first great dramatic work of the author, and also from its translation being among the earliest literary efforts of Sir Walter Scott. When he undertook the task his knowledge of German must have been very imperfect, as his version abounds with errors; these have been corrected in the present edition, and omissions of some length supplied. My publisher has assisted in the alterations, and is respojisibl for the greater number oi them. A. a IiONDON, November, 1860. FAUST.— THE INTERMEZZO. As without some key this scene is utterly incomprehensible to the English reader, a brief notice of some of the allusions it contains is here subjoined; they are dwelt upon at greater length in Duntzer's work. It may be regarded as a kind of satirical jeu d'esprit, and con- sists of a series of epigrams, directed against a variety of false ten- dencies in art, literature, religion, philosophy, and political life. The introductory stanzas are founded upon the Midsummer Night's Dream, and Wieland's Oberon. To celebrate the recon- ciliation of the fairy king and queen a grotesque assemblage of figures appear upon the stage. Common-place musicians, and poetasters, having no conception that every poem must be an organic whole, are satirized as the bagpipe, the embryo spirit, and the little pair. Then follows a series of epigrams, having re- ference to the plastic arts, and directed against that false pietism and aiFected purity which would take a narrow and one-sided view of artistical creations, Nicolai, the sworn enemy of ghosts and Jesuits, is introduced as the inquisitive traveller, and Stol- berg, who severely criticised Schiller's poem, " The Gods of Greece," is alluded to in the couplet headed " Orthodox." Hennings, the editor of two literary journals, entitled the Musaget, and the Genius of the Age, had attacked the Xenien, a series of epigrams, published jointly by Goethe and Schiller ; Goethe, in retaliation, makes him confess his own unfitness to be a leader of the Muses, and his readiness to assign a place on the German Parnassus to any one who was willing to bow to his au- thority. Nicolai again appears as the inquisitive traveller, and Lavater is said to be alluded to as the crane. The metaphysical philosophers are next the objects of the poet's satire ; allusion is made to the bitter hostility manifested by the contending schools, the characteristics of which are so well known that it is needle' to dwell upon them here. The philosophers are succeeded by t politicians ; " the knowing ones," who, in the midst of politic revolutions, manage to keep in with the ruling party, are co) trasted with those unfortunate individuals who are unable i accommodate themselves to the new order of things. In revoli tionary times also, parvenus are raised to positions of eminence while worthless notabilities, deprived of their hereditary splen dour, are unable to maintain their former dignified position " The massive ones" typify the men of the revolution, the leaders of the people, who, heedless of intervening obstacles, march straight on to their destined goal. Puck and Ariel, who had in- troduced the shadowy proccssioii, again make their appearance, f-iiii the fairy pageant vanishes into air. What relation this fantastic assemblage bears to Faust is not immediately obvious, unless, indeed, as Diintzer suggests, the poet meant to sluidow forth the various distractions with which Mephistopliiles endeavours to dissipate the mind of Faust, who had turned with disgust from the witch-society of the Brocken. INTRODUCTION. TOllQUATO TASSO. xiii thus prepared for his distracted flight from Ferrara, and Goethe has introduced prospectively the touching incident related by Manso, — how, in the disguise of a shepherd, he presented himself to his sister Cornelia, to whom he related his story in language so pathetic, that she fainted from the violence of her grief. His return to Ferrara, his imprisonment in the Hospital of Santa Anna, and his subsequent miserable wanderings from city to city, are not mentioned in the drama; but the allusion of Alphonso to the crown which should adorn him on the Capitol, brings to our remembrance the aifecting circumstances of his death. It appears from his letters, that at one period of his life, he earnestly desired a triumph similar to that which Petrarca had enjoyed ; but when at length this honour was accorded him, when a period was assigned for this splendid pageant, a change had come over his spirit. His long suiferings had weaned his thoughts from earth ; he felt that the hand of death was upon him, and hoped — to use his own words — " to go crowned, not as a poet to the Capitol, but with glory as a saint to Heaven." On the eve of the day appointed for the ceremony, he expired at the monastery of Saint Onofrio, and his remains^ habited in a mag- nificent toga, and adorned with a laurel crown, were carried in procession through the streets of Rome, Goethe has faithfully portrayed the times in which Tasso lived, and circumstances apparently trivial have an historical significance, and impart an air of reality to the drama. Thus the fanciful occupation and picturesque attire of the Prin- cess and Countess at the opening of the piece, transport us at once to that graceful court where the pastoral- drama was invented and refined, and where, not long before, Tasso's ' Aminta,' which is considered one of the most beautiful specimens of this species of composition, had been performed for the first time with enthu- siastic applause. The crown adorning the bust of Ariosto, together with the enthusiastic admiration expressed for that poet by Antonio, is like- wise characteristic of the age. The ' Orlando Furioso' had been composed at the same court about fifty years before, and had become so universally popular, that, according to Bernardo Tasso, the father of Torquato, " neither learned man nor artisan, no youth, no maid, no old man, could be satisfied with a single perusal ;" — " passengers in the streets, sailors in their boats, and virgins in their chambers, sang for their disport the stanzas of Ariosto*." The project of dethroning this monarch of Parnassus, or, at least , of placing upon his own brow a crown as glorious, appears • Black'8 Life of T^sso. JS.iv INTRODUCTION.— TOPOHATO TASSO. from his own letters early to have awakened the ambition 9 Tasso. ^ > The subordinate characters of the drama are also historicai portraits. Alphonso II. is represented by his biographers as the liberal patron of the arts, and as treating Tasso at this period with marked consideration ; nor had he yet manifested that im- placable and revengeful spirit which has rendered his memory justly hateful to posterity. In the relation which subsisted between this prince and Tasso, Goethe has exhibited the evils resulting from the false spirit of patronage prevalent at that period throughout Italy, when talent was regarded as the neces- sary appendage of rank, and works of genius were considered ai belonging rather to the patron than to the individual by whoir they had been produced, Antonio Montecatino, the Duke's secretary, is also drawE from life. He is an admirable pei'sonification of that spirit o-^ worldly wisdom which looks principally to material results, ans contemplates promotion and court favour as the highest objectJ of ambition. This " earth-born prudence," having little sympathy with poetic genius, affects to treat it with contempt, resents as presumptuous its violation of ordinary rules, holds up its foibles and eccentricities to ridicule, and at the same time envies the homage paid to it by mankind. At the period of the drama, the court of Ferrara was graced by the presence of Leonora, Countess of Scandiano, in whore Goethe has portrayed a woman eminently graceful and accom- plished, but who fails to win our sympathy because her ruling sentiment is vanity. Tasso paid to this young beauty the trbute of public homage, and addressed to her some of his most beautiful sonnets ; according to Ginguene, however, his sentiment for her was merely poetical, and could easily ally itself with the more genuine, deep, and constant affection which he entertained for Leonora of Este. Lucretia and Leonora of Este were the daughters of Renee of K'rance, celebrated for her insatiable thirst for knowledge, and for «iie variety and depth of her studies. She became zealously attached to the tenets of the Reformers, in consequence of which she was deprived of her children, and closely imprisoned for twelve years. To the intellectual power, the knowledge, heresy, and con- sequent misfortunes of her unhappy mother, the Princesf Leonora twice alludes in the course of the drama. The daughten of this heroic woman inherited her mental superiority, and Leonora, the younger, is celebrated by various writers for her genius, learning, beauty, and early indifference to the pleasure' of the world. INTRODUCTIOK— EGMONT In Schiller's critique upon the tragedy of Egmont, Goethe is censured for departing from the truth of history in the delinea- tion of his hero's character, and also for misrepresenting the circumstances of his domestic life. The Egmont of history left behmd him a numerous family, anxiety for whose welfare detained him in Brussels when most of his friends sought safety in flight. His withdrawal would have entailed the confiscation of his pro- perty, and he shrank from exposing to privation those whose happiness was dearer to him than life ; — a consideration which he repeatedly urged in his conferences with the Prince of Orange, when the latter insisted upon the necessity of escape. We see here, not the victim of a blind and fool-hardy confidence, as por- trayed in Goethe's drama, but the husband and father, regardless of his personal safety in anxiety for the interests of his tiimily. I shall not inquire which conception is best suited for the purposes of art, but merely subjoin a few extracts from the same critique, in which Schiller does ample justice to Goethe's admir- able delineation of the age and country in which the drama is cast, and which are peculiarly valuable from the pen of so com- petent an authority as the historian of the Fall of the Nether- lands, " Egmont's tragical death resulted from the relation in which he stood to the nation and the government ; hence the action of the drama is intimately connected with the political life of the period — an exhibition of which forms its indispensable ground- work. But if we consider what an infinite number of minute circumstances must concur in order to exhibit the spirit of an age, and the political condition of a people, and the art required to combine so many isolated features into an intelligible and organic whole ; and if we contemplate, moreover, the peculiar character of the Netherlands, consisting not of one nation, but of an aggregate of many smaller states, separated from each other by the sharpest contrasts, we shall not cease to wonder at the creative genius, which, triumphing over all these difficulties, conjures up before us, as with an enchanter's wand, the Nether- lands of the sixteenth century. XYl INTRODUCTION.— EGMONT. '* Not only do we behold these men living and working before us, we dwell among them as their familiar associates ; we see on the one hand, the joyous sociability, the hospitality, the loquacity, the somewhat boastful temper of the people, their republican spirits, ready to boil up at the slightest innovation, and often subsiding again as rapidly on the most trivial grounds; and on the other hand, we are made acquainted with the burthens under which they groaned, from the new mitres of the bishops, to the French psalms which they were forbidden to sing ; — nothing is omitted, no feature introduced which does not bear the stamp of nature and of truth. Such delineation is not the result of premeditated effort, nor can it be commanded by art ; it can only be achieved by the poet whose mind is thoroughly imbued with his subject; from him such traits escape unconsciously, and without design, as they do from the individuals whose characters they serve to portray. " The few scenes in which the citizens of Brussels are intro- duced appear to us to be the result of profound study, and it would be difficult to find, in so few words, a more admirable historical monument of the Netherlands of that period. " Equally graphic is that portion of the picture which portrays the spirit of the government, though it must be confessed that the artist has here somewhat softened down the harsher features of the original. This is especially true in reference to the cliaracter of the Duchess of Parma. Before his Duke of Alva we tremble, without however turning from him with aversion ; he is a firm, rigid, inaccessible character ; ' a brazen tower without gates, the garrison of which must be furnished with wings.' The prudent forecast with which he makes his arrangements for Egmont's arrest, excites our admiration, while it removes him from our sympathy. The remaining characters of the drama are delineated with a few masterly strokes. The subtle, taciturn Orange, with his timid, yet comprehensive and all-combining mind, is depicted in a single scene. ]^oth Alva and Egmont are mirrored in the men by whom they are surrounded. This mode of delineation is admirable. The poet, in order to concentrate the interest upon Egmont, has isolated his hero, and omitted all mention of Count Horn, who shared the same melancholy fate." The appendix to Schiller's History of the Fall of the Nether- lands contains an interesting account of the trial and execution ,of the Counts Egmont and Horn, which is, however, too long for insertion here. ^ ' » ; ^'i^^ ^ >> DRAMATIS PERSONiE 1 * • . ..• > I * • Characters in the Prologue for the Theatre The Manaukr The Dramatic Poet. Merryman. Characters in the PrologiLe in JJeavm The Lord, Raphael \ Gabriel \ The Heavenly Hosts. Michael J Mephistopheles. Characters in the Tragedy. Faust. Mephistopheles. Wagner, a Student. Margaret. Martha, Margaret's Neighbour. Valentine, INIargaret's Brother. Old Peasant. A Student. Elizabeth, an acquaintance of Margaret's. Frosch, *] Brander, I (.^gg^g j^ Auerbach's Wine-Cellai. Si E BEL, I AlTxMAYER, J Witches, old and young; Wizards, Will-o'the-Wisp, Witch Pedla/ ProtDphaiitasmist, Servibilis, Monkeys, Spirits, Journeymen, Coun. try-Folk, Citizens, Beggar, Old Fortune-Teller, Shejiherd, Soldier Students, &c. In the Intermezzo. Oberon. I Ariel. 'liTANiA. i Puck, &c., &c. ' < /. c c < DEDICATION. Dim fomis, ye hover near, a shadowy train. As erst upon my troubl'd sight ye stole. Shall I yet strive to hold you once again? Still for the fond illusion yearns mv soul? \ Ye press around ! Come then, resume your reign, As upwards from the vapoury mist ye roll. Within my breast youth's throbbing pulses bound, Fann'd by the magic air that breathes around. Shades fondly-loved appear, your train attending. And visions fair of many a blissful day ; First-love and friendship their fond accents blending, Like to some dim, traditionary lay; Sorrow revives, her wail of anguish sending Back o'er life's chequer' d labyrinthine way, Recalling cherishd friends, in lifes fair morn, From my embrace, by cruel fortune torn. Alas ! my closing song they hear no more, The friends, for whom my earlier strains I sang; Dispers'd the thi'ong who greeted me of yore, And mute the voices that resjDonsive rang ; My tuneful grief 'mong strangers now I pour. E'en their applauding tones inflict a pang. And those to whom my music once seenid sweet, If yet on earth, are scatter'd ne'er to meet. A strange, unwonted longing doth upraise To yon calm spirit-realm my yearning soul! In soften' d cadence, as when Zephyr plays With ^ol's harp, my tuneful numlDers roll; My pulses thrill, the tear unbidden strays, My stedfost heart resigns its self-control; As from afar the present meets my view. While what hath pass'd away alone seems true. PROLOGUE FOIi THE THEATRE Manager, Dramatic Poet, Merryman. MANAGER. Ye twain, whom I so oft have found True friends in trouble and distress. Say, in our scheme on German ground, What prospect have M^e of success ? Fain would I please the public, win their thanks ; They live and let live, that I call fair play ; The posts are ready fix'd, and laid the planks, And all anticipate a treat to-day. They've ta"en their places, and with eyebrows raisd^ Sit patiently, and fain would be aiiiaz'd. I know the art to hit the public taste. Yet so perplex'd I ne'er have been before; 'Tis true, theyre not accustom'd to the best. But then they read immensely, thafs the bore. Plow make our entertainment striking, new, And yet significant and ])leasing too? For to be plain, I love to see the throng. As to our booth the living tide progresses ; As wave on wave successive rolls along. And thi'ough the narrow gate in tumult presses. Still in broad dav, ere vet the clock strikes four. Their way to the receiver's box they take ; And, as in famine at the baker's door, For tickets are content their necks to break. Such various minds the bard alone can sway, My friend, oh work this miracle to-day 1 POET. Oh speak not of the motley multitude. Whose aspect puts each gentler thought to flight; Shut out the noisy crowd, whose vortex rude Draws down the spirit with resistless might. Lead me to some still nook, where none intrude. Where only for the bard blooms pure delight, ' B 2 FAUST. Where love and friendship, fair angelic powers, Crown with the heart's best joys the cii'cling hours What in the spirit's depths was there conceived, "What there the timid lip shap"d forth in sound, Imperfect now, now adequate believ'd, In the wild tumult of the hour is drown'd; The perfect work, through years of toil achiev'd. Appears, at length, with finish"d beauty crown'd; What dazzles satisfies the present hour, The genuine lives, of coming years the dower. ME BUY MAN. This cant about posterity I hate; About posterity were I to prate. Who then the living would amuse, for they Require diversion, ay, and 'tis their due. A sprightly fellow's presence at your play. Methinks should always go for something too ; Whose ready wit a genial vein inspires. He'll ne'er be wounded by the captious throng; A wider circle doubtless he desires. Where sympathy exalts the power of song. To work, then! Prove a master in your art! Fancy invoke, with all her choral train — Let reason, passion, feeling, bear their part, But mark ! let folly mingle in the strain. MAJSTAGER. And chief, let incidents enough arise ! A show they want, they come to feast their eyes. When stirring scenes before them are display' d At which the wond'ring multitude may gaze, Your reputation is already made. And popular applause your toil repays. A mass alone wall with the mass succeed. Then each at length selects what he requires Who bringeth much, of many suits the need, And each contented from the house retires. What though your drama .should like patchwoi-k show, No matter — the ragout will take, I know; As easy 'tis to servo as to invent PROLOGUE. 5 A finish'd whole what boots it to present, 'Twill be in pieces by the public rent. POET. How mean such handicraft you cannot feel ! How it degrades the genuine artist's mind! The bungling work in which these coxcombs deal. Is an establish' d maxim here, I find. MANAGER. Such a reproof disturbs me not a whit ! Who on efficient working is intent, Must choose the most appropriate instrument. Consider! 'tis soft wood you have to split. Remember too for w^hom you write, I pray! One comes perchance to while an hour away,' One from the festive board, a sated guest ; Others, whom more I dread than all the rest. From journal-reading hurry to the play. With absent minds, as to a masque they press. By ciiriosity alone drawn here ; Ladies display their persons and their dress, And without pay in character appear. 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, Half are unfeeling, half uncultur'd. rude. One hopes the night in wanton joy to spend, Another's thinking of a game of cards; Why, ye poor fools, for such a paltry end. Plague the coy muse, and court her fair regards^ Only give more and 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. Ah! what comes oer you? rapture or vexation? POET. Depart! elsewhere another servant choose! What! shall the bard his godlike power abuse? Man's loftiest right, kind nature's high bequest. For yom* mean purpose basely sport away? Whence comes his mast'rv o'er the human breast? "WTiat bends the elements beneath his sway ? FAUST. Oh, is it not his own poetic soul, Whose gushing harmony, with strong control, DraAvs back into his heart the wondrous whole ? When round her spindle, with unceasing drone, Nature still whirls th' unending thread of life; When Being's jarring crowds, together thrown. Mingle in harsh inextricable strife; Whose spirit quickens the unvarying: round, And bids it flow to music's measur'd tone: Who calls the individual to resound. With nature's chords in noble unison? Who hears the voice of passion in the storm ? Who sees the flush of thought in evening's glow: Who lingers fondly round the lov'd one's form, Spring's fairest blossoms in her path to strow? Who from unmeaning leaves a wreath doth tAvine For glory, gather" d in whatever field? Who raises mortals to the realms divine? — • Man's lofty spirit in the bard reveal' d. MERRYMAN. Come then, employ your lofty inspiration, And carry on +he poet's avocation. Just as we carry on a love-atfair. Fortune together brings a youthful pair ; They're touch'd, their spirits rise with fond elation, Insensibly they're 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, 'TAvill interest wheresoever seiz'd and shosN-n; Bright pictures, but obscure their meaning, A ray of truth through error gleaming. This is the best elixir vou can brew. To charm mankind, and edify them too. Then youth's fair blossoms crowd to view youi' play, And wait as on an oracle; while they, The tender souls, who love the melting mood. Suck from youi work their melancholy food; PROLOnUE. With wonder and deli-lit they witness there, The secret working of their hearts laid b^ire ; Their tears, their hxughter you command with ease ; The dazzling, the illusive still they love. Still doth each lofty thought their reverence move, 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, Through vales, with odorous blooms mlaid, Culling a thousand flowers I stray' d, And every bud sweet promise made. Of wonders still to be reveal'd. Nought had I, yet a rich profusion ; _ The thirst for truth, joy in each fond illusion. Give me unqueird those impulses to prove;— Rapture so deep, its ecstasy was pam. 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 you press, When a fair maid, her heart on fire, Han^'-s on your neck with fond caress ; AVlien from afar, the victors crown, Allures you in the race to run; Or when in revelry you drown Yom- sense, the whirling dance being done But the familiar chords among Boldly to sweep, with graceful cunning. While to its goal, the verse along Its winding path is sweetly running ;_ With you, old gentlemen, this duty lies; Nor are you thence less rev'rend m our eves; That ao-e doth make us childish, some maintain— No it but finds us children once again. 8 FATJST. MANAGER. A truce to words, mere emi^ty sound. Let deeds at leiigtli appear, my friends, While idle compliments 3^011 round, You might achieve some useful ends. "N^-li y 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 our present need is known. Strong- draughts will suit our taste alone; Come, brew me such without delay! That which to-day is not begun, Is on the morrow still undone ! In dallying never lose a day ! Resolve should grasp, as if inspired. The Possible, with courage bold. Then she will ne'er resign her hold. But labour on with zeal untir'd. 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. The lights of heaven, both great and small, produce ; Squander away the stars, expend Fii-e, rocks, and water, without end ; And birds and beasts of all kinds introduce. Thus the whole circle of creation bring Within the girdle of our wooden shell, And with considerate speed, on foncy's wing, Jom-ney from heaven, thence through the earth, to hell PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN. The Lord. The Heavenly Hosts. Afterwards Mephistopheles. The three Archangels come forward, HAPHAEL. Still quiring as in ancient time With brother spheres in rival song, The sun with thunder-march sublime Moves his predestin'd course along. Angels are strengthened by his sight, Though fathom him no angel may ; Kesplendent are the orbs of light. As on creation's primal day. GABRIEL. And lightly spiuts earth's gorgeous sphere. Swifter than thought its rapid flight; Alternates Eden-brightness clear, ^^'ith solemn, dread -inspiring night ; The foaming waves, %vith murmurs hoarse^ Against the rocks' deep base are hurl'd ; And in the sphere's eternal course. Are rocks and ocean swiftly whirl' d. MICHAEL. And rival tempests rush amain From sea to land, from land to sea, And raging form a wondrous chain Of deep mj'sterious agency. Full in the thunder's fierce career. Flaming the swift destructions play; But, Lord, thy messengers revere The mild procession of thy day. THE THREE. Angels are strengthen"d by the sight. Though fathom thee no angel may ; Thy works still shine with splendour bright. As on creation's primal day. 10 FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES. Since, Lord, thy levee thou again dost hold. To learn how all things are progressing here. Since thou hast kindly welcom'd me of old. Thou see'st me now among thy suite appear. Excuse me, fine harangues I cannot make. Though all the circle look on me with scorn ; ]\Iy pathos soon thy laughter would awake, Had" St thou the laughing mood not long forswom» Concerning suns and worlds Tve nought to say, I but consider man's self-torturing lot, As wondi'ous now as on creation's day, His stamp the little world-god changeth not. A somewhat better life he'd lead, poor wight. But for thy gift, a gleam of heavenly light ; Reason he calls it, and doth use it so. That e'en than brutes more brutish he doth grow. With all due deference he apjDears to me Much like your long-legged grasshopper to be, Which flits about, and flyino^ bounds alono-. Then in the grass sings his familiar song; Would he but always in the gi-ass repose ! In every dirty place he thrusts his nose. THE LORD. Hast thou nought else to say ? Is thy sole aim In coming here, as ever, but to blame ? Does nothing on the earth to thee seem right? MEPHISTOPHELES. No, Lord ! Things there are in a wretched plight Men's sorrow from my heart I so deplore. E'en I would not torment the poor things more. THE LORD. Say, is to thee my servant, Faustus, known ? MEPHISTOPHELES. The doctor? THE LORD. Him I mean. MEPHISTOPHELES. Well, we must own. His ser'S'ice in a curious way is shown. PROLOGUE. 11 Poor fool ! He liveth not on earthly food An inward impulse hurries him afar. Himself half conscious of his frenzied mood; From heaven he claims its bri<^htest star, From earth demands its highest good. Nor can their gathered treasures soothe to rest, The cravings of his agitated breast. THE LORD. Though now he serve me with imperfect sight, I will ere long conduct him to the light. The gard'ner knoweth, when the green appears. That flowers and fruit will crown the coming years. MEPHISTOPHELES. What wilt thou wager ? Mine he yet shall be. Let me, with thy permission, be but free. Him my own way with quiet lure to guide ! THE LORD. So long as on the earth he doth abide. So long it shall not be forbidden thee i Man, while he striveth, stiU is prone to err. MEPHISTOPHELES. I'm much oblig'd, the dead delight not me ! The plump fresh cheek of youth I much prefer. I'm not at home to corpses ; 'tis my way, Like cats with captive mice to toy and play. THE LORD. Enough ! it is permitted thee ! Divert This mortal spirit from his source divine, And, can'st thou seize on him, thy power exert To draw him downward, and to make him thine. Then stand abash'd, when baffl'd thou shalt own, A good man, in the direful grasp of ill. His consciousness of right retaineth still. MEPHISTOrHF.LES. Well, well, — the wager will be quickly won. For my success 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 of yore, my cousin, the old snake. 12 FAUST. THE LORD. Here too tliou'rt free to act without control. Towards such as thou, I entertain no hale. Among the spirits of denial, thee, The scoffer, I esteem least reprobate. Prone to relax is man's activity; In indolent rej)ose 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 ! Let the creative power your spirits bound With love's eternal and benign control,