C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
Scenes from ‘Faust’
By Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832)
The hope from Error’s deeps to rise forever!
That which one does not know, one needs to use,
And what one knows, one uses never.
But let us not, by such despondence, so
The fortune of this hour embitter!
Mark how, beneath the evening sunlight’s glow,
The green-embosomed houses glitter!
The glow retreats; done is the day of toil;
It yonder hastes, new fields of life exploring;
Ah, that no wing can lift me from the soil,
Upon its track to follow, follow soaring!
Then would I see eternal Evening gild
The silent world beneath me glowing,
On fire each mountain-peak, with peace each valley filled,
The silver brook to golden rivers flowing.
The mountain chain, with all its gorges deep,
Would then no more impede my godlike motion;
And now before mine eyes expands the ocean
With all its bays, in shining sleep!
Yet finally the weary god is sinking;
The new-born impulse fires my mind,—
I hasten on, his beams eternal drinking,
The Day before me and the Night behind,
Above me heaven unfurled, the floor of waves beneath me,—
A glorious dream! though now the glories fade.
Alas! the wings that lift the mind no aid
Of wings to lift the body can bequeath me.
Yet in each soul is born the pleasure
Of yearning onward, upward and away,
When o’er our heads, lost in the vaulted azure,
The lark sends down his flickering lay,
When over crags and piny highlands
The poising eagle slowly soars,
And over plains and lakes and islands
The crane sails by to other shores.
But never yet such impulse felt, as this is.
One soon fatigues on woods and fields to look,
Nor would I beg the bird his wing to spare us:
How otherwise the mental raptures bear us
From page to page, from book to book!
Then winter nights take loveliness untold,
As warmer life in every limb had crowned you;
And when your hands unroll some parchment rare and old,
All heaven descends, and opens bright around you!
Oh, never seek to know the other!
Two souls, alas! reside within my breast,
And each withdraws from, and repels, its brother.
One with tenacious organs holds in love
And clinging lust the world in its embraces;
The other strongly sweeps, this dust above,
Into the high ancestral spaces.
If there be airy spirits near,
’Twixt heaven and earth on potent errands fleeing,
Let them drop down the golden atmosphere,
And bear me forth to new and varied being!
Yea, if a magic mantle once were mine,
To waft me o’er the world at pleasure,
I would not for the costliest stores of treasure—
Not for a monarch’s robe—the gift resign.
When was a human soul, in its supreme endeavor,
E’er understood by such as thou?
Yet hast thou food which never satiates now:
The restless, ruddy gold hast thou,
That runs quicksilver-like one’s fingers through;
A game whose winnings no man ever knew;
A maid that even from my breast
Beckons my neighbor with her wanton glances,
And Honor’s godlike zest,
The meteor that a moment dances,—
Show me the fruits that, ere they’re gathered, rot,
And trees that daily with new leafage clothe them!
Such treasures have I, and can show them.
But still the time may reach us, good my friend,
When peace we crave, and more luxurious diet.
There let at once my record end!
Canst thou with lying flattery rule me,
Until self-pleased myself I see,—
Canst thou with rich enjoyment fool me,
Let that day be the last for me!
The bet I offer.
When thus I hail the Moment flying:
“Ah, still delay—thou art so fair!”—
Then bind me in thy bonds undying,
My final ruin then declare!
Then let the death-bell chime the token,
Then art thou from thy service free!
The clock may stop, the hand be broken,
Then Time be finished unto me!
For which I prayed. Not unto me in vain
Hast thou thy countenance revealed in fire.
Thou gav’st me nature as a kingdom grand,
With power to feel and to enjoy it. Thou
Not only cold, amazed acquaintance yield’st,
But grantest that in her profoundest breast
I gaze, as in the bosom of a friend.
The ranks of living creatures thou dost lead
Before me, teaching me to know my brothers
In air and water and the silent wood.
And when the storm in forests roars and grinds,
The giant firs, in falling, neighbor boughs
And neighbor trunks with crushing weight bear down,
And falling, fill the hills with hollow thunders,—
Then to the cave secure thou leadest me,
Then show’st me mine own self, and in my breast
The deep mysterious miracles unfold.
And when the perfect moon before my gaze
Comes up with soothing light, around me float
From every precipice and thicket damp
The silvery phantoms of the ages past,
And temper the austere delight of thought.
I now am conscious. With this ecstasy,
Which brings me near and nearer to the gods,
Thou gav’st the comrade, whom I now no more
Can do without, though, cold and scornful, he
Demeans me to myself, and with a breath,
A word, transforms thy gifts to nothingness.
Within my breast he fans a lawless fire,
Unwearied, for that fair and lovely form:
Thus in desire I hasten to enjoyment,
And in enjoyment pine to feel desire.
My heart is sore:
I never shall find it,
Ah, nevermore!
The grave is here;
The world is gall
And bitterness all.
Is racked and crazed;
My thought is lost,
My senses mazed.
My heart is sore:
I never shall find it,
Ah, nevermore!
At the pane I sit;
To meet him, him only,
The house I quit.
His noble size,
The smile of his mouth,
The power of his eyes,
Of his talk, the bliss
In the clasp of his hand,
And ah! his kiss!
My heart is sore:
I never shall find it,
Ah, nevermore!
For him alone;
Ah, dared I clasp him,
And hold, and own!
To heart’s desire,
And on his kisses
At last expire!
Thou art a dear, good-hearted man,
And yet, I think, dost not incline that way.
For love, my blood and life would I surrender,
And as for faith and church, I grant to each his own.
Then, too, thou honorest not the Holy Sacraments.
’Tis long since thou hast been to mass or to confession.
Believest thou in God?
“I believe in God!” to say?
Ask priest or sage the answer to declare,
And it will seem a mocking play,
A sarcasm on the asker.
Who dare express Him?
And who profess Him,
Saying: I believe in Him!
Who, feeling, seeing,
Deny His being,
Saying: I believe Him not!
The All-enfolding,
The All-upholding,
Folds and upholds he not
Thee, me, Himself?
Arches not there the sky above us?
Lies not beneath us, firm, the earth?
And rise not, on us shining
Friendly, the everlasting stars?
Look I not, eye to eye, on thee,
And feel’st not, thronging
To head and heart, the force,
Still weaving its eternal secret,
Invisible, visible, round thy life?
Vast as it is, fill with that force thy heart,
And when thou in the feeling wholly blessed art,
Call it, then, what thou wilt,—
Call it Bliss! Heart! Love! God!—
I have no name to give it!
Feeling is all in all:
The Name is sound and smoke,
Obscuring Heaven’s clear glow.
Much the same way the preacher spoke,
Only with slightly different phrases.
All hearts that beat beneath the heavenly day—
Each in its language—say;
Then why not I in mine as well?
And yet some hitch in’t there must be,
For thou hast no Christianity.
That thou art in such company.
Within my deepest, inmost soul I hate.
In all my life there’s nothing
Has given my heart so keen a pang of loathing
As his repulsive face has done.
I’ve else, for all, a kindly will,
But, much as my heart to see thee yearneth,
The secret horror of him returneth;
And I think the man a knave, as I live!
If I do him wrong, may God forgive!
When once inside the door comes he,
He looks around so sneeringly,
And half in wrath:
One sees that in nothing no interest he hath:
’Tis written on his very forehead
That love, to him, is a thing abhorrèd.
I am so happy on thine arm,
So free, so yielding, and so warm,
And in his presence stifled seems my heart.
In a niche of the wall a shrine, with an image of the Mater Dolorosa.Pots of flowers before it
Thou sorrow-laden,
Thy gracious countenance upon my pain!
With anguish smarting,
Thou lookest up to where thy Son is slain!
The sad sighs gather,
And bear aloft thy sorrow and his pain!
Beyond expressing,
The pangs that wring my flesh and bone!
Why this anxious heart so burneth,
Why it trembleth, why it yearneth,
Knowest thou, and thou alone!
What woe, what woe and sorrow
Within my bosom aches!
Alone, and ah! unsleeping,
I’m weeping, weeping, weeping,—
The heart within me breaks.
Alas! my tears did wet,
As in the early morning
For thee these flowers I set.
Within my lonely chamber
The morning sun shone red:
I sat in utter sorrow,
Already on my bed.
O Maiden!
Thou sorrow-laden,
Incline thy countenance upon my pain!
With a bunch of keys and a lamp, before an iron door
Mankind’s collected woe o’erwhelms me here.
She dwells within the dark, damp walls before me,
And all her crime was a delusion dear!
What! I delay to free her?
I dread, once again to see her?
On! my shrinking but lingers Death more near.
Who put me to death;
My father the varlet,
Who eaten me hath!
Little sister, so good,
Laid my bones in the wood,
In the damp moss and clay:
Then was I a beautiful bird o’ the wood:
Fly away! Fly away!
That he the rattling chain, the rustling straw, can hear.
Over me could give?
Thou’rt come for me at midnight hour:
Have mercy on me; let me live!
Is’t not soon enough when morning chime has rung?[She rises.
And now death comes, and ruin!
I, too, was fair, and that was my undoing.
My love was near, but now he’s far;
Torn lies the wreath, scattered the blossoms are.
Seize me not thus so violently!
Spare me! What have I done to thee?
Let me not vainly entreat thee!
I never chanced, in all my days, to meet thee!
But let me suckle, first, my baby!
I blissed it all this livelong night;
They took ’t away, to vex me, maybe,
And now they say I killed the child outright.
And never shall I be glad again.
They sing songs about me! ’tis bad of the folk to do it!
There’s an old story has the same refrain;
Who bade them so construe it?
The thraldom of thy woe to sever.
Under the steps beside us,
The threshold under,
Hell heaves in thunder!
The Evil One
With terrible wrath
Seeketh a path
His prey to discover!
Where is he? I heard him call me.
I am free! No one shall enthrall me.
To his neck will I fly,
On his bosom lie!
On the threshold he stood, and Margaret! calling,
’Midst of hell’s howling and noises appalling,
’Midst of the wrathful, infernal derision,
I knew the sweet sound of the voice of the vision!
’Tis he! ’tis he! Where now is all my pain?
The anguish of the dungeon, and the chain?
’Tis thou! Thou comest to save me,
And I am saved!
Again the street I see
Where first I looked on thee;
And the garden, brightly blooming,
Where I and Martha wait thy coming.
So fain I stay, when thou delayest![Caressing him.
If longer here thou stayest, We shall be made to dearly rue it. My friend, so short a time thou ’rt missing, And hast unlearned thy kissing? Why is my heart so anxious, on thy breast? Where once a heaven thy glances did create me, A heaven thy loving words expressed, And thou didst kiss as thou wouldst suffocate me— Kiss me! Or I’ll kiss thee![She embraces him. Ah, woe! thy lips are chill, And still. How changed in fashion Thy passion! Who has done me this ill?[She turns away from him. I’ll clasp thee, soon, with warmth a thousandfold; But follow now! ’Tis all I beg of thee. And in thy lap wilt take me once again. How comes it that thou dost not shrink from me?— Say, dost thou know, my friend, whom thou mak’st free? I’ve drowned the baby born to thee. Was it not given to thee and me? Thee, too!—’Tis thou! It scarcely true doth seem— Give me thy hand! ’Tis not a dream! Thy dear, dear hand!—But, ah, ’tis wet! Why, wipe it off! Methinks that yet There’s blood thereon. Ah, God! what hast thou done? Nay, sheathe thy sword at last! Do not affray me! Thy words will slay me! Now I’ll tell thee the graves to give us: Thou must begin to-morrow The work of sorrow! The best place give to my mother, Then close at her side my brother, And me a little away, But not too very far, I pray! And here, on my right breast, my baby lay! Nobody else will lie beside me!— Ah, within thine arms to hide me, That was a sweet and a gracious bliss, But no more, no more can I attain it! I would force myself on thee and constrain it, And it seems thou repellest my kiss: And yet ’tis thou, so good, so kind to see! Death lying in wait, then come! From here to eternal rest: No further step—no, no! Thou goest away! O Henry, if I could go! Why should I fly? They’ll still my steps waylay! It is so wretched, forced to beg my living, And a bad conscience sharper misery giving! It is so wretched, to be strange, forsaken, And I’d still be followed and taken! Save thy perishing child! Away! Follow the ridge Up by the brook, Over the bridge, Into the wood, To the left, where the plank is placed In the pool! Seize it in haste! ’Tis trying to rise, ’Tis struggling still! Save it! Save it! One step, and thou art free at last! There sits my mother upon a stone,— I feel an icy shiver! There sits my mother upon a stone, And her head is wagging ever. She beckons, she nods not, her heavy head falls o’er; She slept so long that she wakes no more. She slept, while we were caressing: Ah, those were the days of blessing! I’ll venture, then, to bear thee forth. Grasp me not so murderously! I’ve done, else, all things for the love of thee. My wedding day it was to be! Tell no one thou hast been with Margaret! Woe for my garland! The chances Are over—’tis all in vain! We shall meet once again, But not at the dances! The crowd is thronging, no word is spoken: The square below And the streets overflow: The death-bell tolls, the wand is broken. I am seized, and bound, and delivered— Shoved to the block—they give the sign! Now over each neck has quivered The blade that is quivering over mine. Dumb lies the world like the grave! Useless talking, delaying, and praying! My horses are neighing: The morning twilight is near. He! he! suffer him not! What does he want in this holy spot? He seeks me! Ye angels, holy cohorts, guard me, Camp around, and from evil ward me! Henry! I shudder to think of thee. Methought it was very sweet; When ’twas jolly and merry every way, And I blithely moved my feet. Hath clawed me with his crutch: I stumbled over the door of a grave; Why leave they open such? It is the crowd, for me in service moiling, Till Earth be reconciled to toiling, Till the proud waves be stayed, And the sea girded with a rigid zone. With all thy dikes and bulwarks daring; Since thou for Neptune art preparing— The Ocean Devil—carousal great. In every way shall ye be stranded; The elements with us are banded, And ruin is the certain fate. Collect a crowd of men with vigor, Spur by indulgence, praise, or rigor,— Reward, allure, conscript, compel! Each day report me, and correctly note How grows in length the undertaken moat. They spake not of a moat, but of—a grave. Infects what I so long have been retrieving; This stagnant pool likewise to drain Were now my latest and my best achieving. To many millions let me furnish soil, Though not secure, yet free to active toil; Green, fertile fields, where men and herds go forth At once, with comfort, on the newest earth, And swiftly settled on the hill’s firm base, Created by the bold, industrious race. A land like Paradise here, round about; Up to the brink the tide may roar without, And though it gnaw, to burst with force the limit, By common impulse all unite to hem it. Yes! to this thought I hold with firm persistence; The last result of wisdom stamps it true: He only earns his freedom and existence Who daily conquers them anew. Thus here, by dangers girt, shall glide away Of childhood, manhood, age, the vigorous day: And such a throng I fain would see,— Stand on free soil among a people free! Then dared I hail the Moment fleeing: “Ah, still delay—thou art so fair!” The traces cannot, of mine earthly being, In æons perish,—they are there! In proud fore-feeling of such lofty bliss, I now enjoy the highest Moment,—this! To catch but shifting shapes was his endeavor: The latest, poorest, emptiest Moment—this,— He wished to hold it fast forever. Me he resisted in such vigorous wise, But Time is lord, on earth the old man lies. The clock stands still— The index falls. If past, then why? Past and pure Naught, complete monotony! What good for us, this endlessly creating?— What is created then annihilating? “And now it’s past!” Why read a page so twisted? ’Tis just the same as if it ne’er existed, Yet goes in circles round as if it had, however: I’d rather choose, instead, the Void forever. And saved from evil scheming: Whoe’er aspires unweariedly Is not beyond redeeming. And if he feels the grace of love That from on high is given, The blessed hosts, that wait above, Shall welcome him to heaven! By the penitent, the glorious, Helped to make the fight victorious, And the lofty work is ended. We this precious soul have won us; Evil ones we forced to shun us; Devils fled us when we hit them: ’Stead of pangs of hell, that bit them, Love pangs felt they, sharper, vaster: Even he, old Satan Master, Pierced with keenest pain retreated. Now rejoice! The work’s completed! Hath sorely pressed us; It were not pure and fair, Though ’twere asbestus. When every element The mind’s high forces Have seized, subdued, and blent, No angel divorces Twin natures single grown, That inly mate them: Eternal love alone Can separate them. We now are seeing Nearer and nearer move Spiritual Being. The clouds are growing clear; And moving throngs appear Of blessed boys, Free from the earthly gloom, In circling poise, Who taste the cheer Of the new springtime bloom Of the upper sphere. Let them inaugurate Him to the perfect state, Now, as their peer! Him, as a chrysalis: Therefore achieve we now Pledge of our bliss. The earth-flakes dissipate That cling around him! See, he is fair and great! Divine Life hath crowned him. The spirit lifted: There women, floating past, Are upward drifted: The Glorious One therein, With star-crown tender,— The pure, the Heavenly Queen, I know her splendor. Let me in the azure Tent of Heaven, in light unfurled, Here thy Mystery measure! Justify sweet thoughts that move Breast of man to meet thee, And with holy bliss of love Bear him up to greet thee! With unconquered courage we Do thy bidding highest; But at once shall gentle be, When thou pacifiest. Virgin, pure in brightest sheen, Mother sweet, supernal,— Unto us Elected Queen, Peer of Gods Eternal! Light clouds are circling Around her splendor,— Penitent women Of natures tender, Her knees embracing, Ether respiring, Mercy requiring! Thou, in immaculate ray, Mercy not leavest, And the lightly led astray, Who trust thee, receivest! In their weakness fallen at length, Hard it is to save them: Who can crush, by native strength, Vices that enslave them? Whose the foot that may not slip On the surface slanting? Whom befool not eye and lip, Breath and voice enchanting? Of endless Eden: Receive our pleading, Transcendent Maiden, With mercy laden! Him, thy Son, a Godlike vision; By the tears like balsam stealing, Spite of Pharisees’ derision; By the box, whose ointment precious Shed its spice and odors cheery; By the locks, whose softest meshes Dried the holy feet and weary!— Whither Abram’s flocks were driven; By the jar, whose restoration To the Savior’s lips was given; By the fountain pure and vernal, Thence its present bounty spending,— Overflowing, bright, eternal, Watering the worlds unending!— Body of the Lord hath lain; By the arm which, from the portal, Warning, thrust me back again; By the forty years’ repentance In the lonely desert land; By the blissful farewell sentence Which I wrote upon the sand!— Unto sinful women ever,— Liftest them to win the highest Gain of penitent endeavor,— So, from this good soul withdraw not— Who but once forgot, transgressing, Who her loving error saw not— Pardon adequate, and blessing! With mercy laden, In light unfading, Thy gracious countenance upon my bliss! My loved, my lover, His trials over In yonder world, returns to me in this! Already above us; He, for this love of ours, Will richlier love us. Early were we removed, Ere Life could reach us; Yet he hath learned and proved, And he will teach us. New to himself, he scarce divines His heritage of new-born Being, When like the Holy Host he shines. Behold, how he each band hath cloven The earthly life had round him thrown, And through his garb, of ether woven, The early force of youth is shown! Vouchsafe to me that I instruct him! Still dazzles him the Day’s new glare. Who, feeling thee, shall follow there! Where she beams salvation; Gratefully to blessed fate Grow, in re-creation! Be our souls, as they have been, Dedicate to thee! Virgin Holy, Mother, Queen, Goddess, gracious be! But as symbols are sent: Earth’s insufficiency Here grows to Event: The Indescribable, Here it is done: The Woman Soul leadeth us Upward and on!
[Comes forth from the palace, groping his way along the door-posts]
[Soaring in the higher atmosphere, bearing the immortal part of Faust]