Faust, Part One

by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Poetry is not simply a fashion of expression: it is the form of expression absolutely required by a certain class of ideas.

To attempt to represent Poetry in Prose, is very much like attempting to translate music into speech.

What dazzles, for the Moment spends its spirit: What’s genuine, shall Posterity inherit.

Who scatters every fairest April blossom Along the shining path of Love?

A mind, once formed, is never suited after; One yet in growth will ever grateful be.

I nothing had, and yet enough for youth— Joy in Illusion, ardent thirst for Truth. Give, unrestrained, the old emotion, The bliss that touched the verge of pain, The strength of Hate, Love’s deep devotion,— O, give me back my youth again!

Of suns and worlds I’ve nothing to be quoted; How men torment themselves, is all I’ve noted. The little god o’ the world sticks to the same old way, And is as whimsical as on Creation’s day. Life somewhat better might content him, But for the gleam of heavenly light which Thou hast lent him: He calls it Reason—thence his power’s increased, To be far beastlier than any beast.

As long as he on earth shall live, So long I make no prohibition. While Man’s desires and aspirations stir, He cannot choose but err.

A good man, through obscurest aspiration, Has still an instinct of the one true way.

I’ve studied now Philosophy And Jurisprudence, Medicine,— And even, alas! Theology,— From end to end, with labor keen; And here, poor fool! with all my lore I stand, no wiser than before:

Most zealously I seek for erudition: Much do I know—but to know all is my ambition.

As goes the crowd, I follow.

Here high and low contented see! Here I am Man,—dare man to be!

Worse than the pestilence, have passed. Thousands were done to death from poison of my giving; And I must hear, by all the living, The shameless murderers praised at last!

At night, one learns his house to prize:—

The proverb says: One’s own warm hearth And a good wife, are gold and jewels worth.

MARTHA I mean, have you not felt desire, though ne’er so slightly? MEPHISTOPHELES I’ve everywhere, in fact, been entertained politely. MARTHA I meant to say, were you not touched in earnest, ever? MEPHISTOPHELES One should allow one’s self to jest with ladies never. MARTHA Ah, you don’t understand!

FAUST What murmurest thou? MARGARET (half aloud) He loves me—loves me not.

I’d ask you, longer here to tarry, But evil tongues in this town have full play. It’s as if nobody had nothing to fetch and carry, Nor other labor, But spying all the doings of one’s neighbor: And one becomes the talk, do whatsoe’er one may.

MARGARET (At the spinning-wheel, alone.) My peace is gone, My heart is sore: I never shall find it, Ah, nevermore! Save I have him near. The grave is here; The world is gall And bitterness all. My poor weak head Is racked and crazed; My thought is lost, My senses mazed. My peace is gone, My heart is sore: I never shall find it, Ah, nevermore! To see him, him only, At the pane I sit; To meet him, him only, The house I quit. His lofty gait, His noble size, The smile of his mouth, The power of his eyes, And the magic flow Of his talk, the bliss In the clasp of his hand, And, ah! his kiss! My peace is gone, My heart is sore: I never shall find it, Ah, nevermore! My bosom yearns For him alone; Ah, dared I clasp him, And hold, and own! And kiss his mouth, To heart’s desire, And on his kisses At last expire!

FAUST (dancing with the young witch) A lovely dream once came to me; I then beheld an apple-tree, And there two fairest apples shone: They lured me so, I climbed thereon. THE FAIR ONE Apples have been desired by you, Since first in Paradise they grew; And I am moved with joy, to know That such within my garden grow.

23 DREARY DAY A FIELD. FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES. FAUST In misery! In despair! Long wretchedly astray on the face of the earth, and now imprisoned! That gracious, ill-starred creature shut in a dungeon as a criminal, and given up to fearful torments! To this has it come! to this!—Treacherous, contemptible spirit, and thou hast concealed it from me!—Stand, then,—stand! Roll the devilish eyes wrathfully in thy head! Stand and defy me with thine intolerable presence! Imprisoned! In irretrievable misery! Delivered up to evil spirits, and to condemning, unfeeling Man! And thou hast lulled me, meanwhile, with the most insipid dissipations, hast concealed from me her increasing wretchedness, and suffered her to go helplessly to ruin!

We have abandoned verse.

MARGARET Thine am I, Father! rescue me! Ye angels, holy cohorts, guard me, Camp around, and from evil ward me! Henry! I shudder to think of thee. MEPHISTOPHELES She is judged! VOICE (from above) She is saved! MEPHISTOPHELES (to FAUST) Hither to me! (He disappears with FAUST.) VOICE (from within, dying away) Henry! Henry!

Bayard Taylor (1825–1878)