Faust: First Part Read online

  Beginning of Goethe’s liaison, on his return to Weimar, with Christiane Vulpius (1765–1816), whom he married in 1806.

  1788–90

  The Roman Elegies written.

  1790

  Publication of Faust. A Fragment and of Torquato Tasso.

  1794

  Beginning of the friendship between Goethe and Schiller (b.1759); over 1,000 letters exchanged between them in the next eleven years.

  1795

  Publication of the Roman Elegies; 1795–6 Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship; 1797 Hermann and Dorothea.

  1797

  (June) Resumption, with Schiller’s encouragement, of work on Faust (third phase of composition; most of the new material written by 1801).

  1805

  Death of Schiller.

  1808

  Publication of Faust. The First Part of the Tragedy.

  1809

  Publication of The Elective Affinities.

  1819

  Publication of the West-Eastern Divan.

  1825–32

  Johann Peter Eckermann’s conversations with Goethe (published after Goethe’s death).

  1825–31

  Goethe completes Faust. The Second Part of the Tragedy. Publication in 1827 of Act III under the title Helena. A Classical-Romantic Phantasmagoria. Interlude for Faust; part of Act I published in 1828.

  1829

  First public performance of Faust Part One, in Brunswick.

  1832

  Death of Goethe (22 March). Faust Part Two published posthumously.

  1854

  Berlioz, La Damnation de Faust.

  1857

  Liszt, A Faust Symphony.

  1858

  Schumann, settings of scenes from both parts of Faust.

  1859

  Gounod’s opera Faust (based on Part One).

  1862

  Friedrich Theodor Fischer’s parody Faust. The Third Part of the Tragedy, published under the pseudonym Deutobold Symbolizetti Allegoriowitsch Mystifizinsky.

  1868

  Arrigo Boïto’s opera Mefistofele.

  1876

  First production of Faust Parts One and Two, by Otto Devrient in Weimar.

  1887

  Erich Schmidt discovers the Göchhausen transcript of the ‘Urfaust’ and publishes it as Goethe’s Faust in its original form.

  1910

  Gustav Mahler’s setting (in his 8th symphony) of the closing scene of Faust Part Two.

  1925

  Ferruccio Busoni’s opera Doctor Faust.

  1933–7

  Max Reinhard’s Faust productions at the Salzburg Festival.

  1947

  Thomas Mann’s novel Doctor Faustus.

  1957–8

  Gustav Griindgens’ Faust productions in Hamburg.

  FAUST

  PART ONE

  1. DEDICATION* [F.I.

  Uncertain shapes, visitors from the past

  At whom I darkly gazed so long ago,

  My heart’s mad fleeting visions—now at last

  Shall I embrace you, must I let you go?

  Again you haunt me: come then, hold me fast!

  Out of the mist and murk you rise, who so

  Besiege me, and with magic breath restore,

  Stirring my soul, lost youth to me once more.

  You bring back memories of happier days

  And many a well-loved ghost again I greet; 10

  As when some old half-faded legend plays

  About our ears, lamenting strains repeat

  My journey through life’s labyrinthine maze,

  Old griefs revive, old friends, old loves I meet,

  Those dear companions, by their fate’s unkind

  Decree cut short, who left me here behind.

  They cannot hear my present music, those

  Few souls who listened to my early song;

  They are far from me now who were so close,

  And their first answering echo has so long 20

  Been silent. Now my voice is heard, who knows

  By whom? I shudder as the nameless throng

  Applauds it. Are they living still, those friends

  Whom once it moved, scattered to the world’s en

  And I am seized by long unwonted yearning

  For that still, solemn spirit-realm which then

  Was mine; these hovering lisping tones returning

  Sigh as from some Aeolian harp, as when

  I sang them first; I tremble, and my burning

  Tears flow, my stern heart melts to love again. 30

  All that I now possess seems far away

  And vanished worlds are real to me today.

  2. PRELUDE ON THE STAGE*

  [The DIRECTOR. The POET. The CLOWN]

  DIRECTOR. Well, here we are on German soil,

  My friends. Tell me, you two have stood

  By me in bad times and in good:

  How shall we prosper now? My toil,

  Indeed my pleasure, is to please the mob;

  And they’re a tolerant public, I’ll admit.

  The posts and boards are up, and it’s our job

  To give them all a merry time of it. 40

  They’re in their seats, relaxed, eyes opened wide,

  Waiting already to be mystified.

  I know how to content popular taste;

  But I’ve a problem here, it must be said:

  Their customary fare’s not of the best—

  And yet they are appallingly well-read.

  How shall we give them something fresh and new,

  That’s entertaining and instructive too?

  I like to see them all throng through the gate

  Into our wooden paradise, to watch 50

  Them push and shove and labour up that straight

  And narrow way, like babes about to hatch!

  Our box-office, while it’s still broad daylight,

  Is under siege; before it’s even four

  They want their tickets. Tooth and nail they fight,

  Like some half-famished crowd outside a baker’s door.

  Only the poet’s magic so holds sway

  Over them all: make it, my friend, today!

  POET. Do not remind me of that motley throng,

  Spare me the sight of them! Our spirits fail 60

  And flounder in that stream, we are swept along,

  Against the unruly flood what can prevail?

  Give me the quietness where I belong,

  The poet’s place, the stillness never stale,

  The love and friendship! Only there our art

  Thrives on the blessed nurture of the heart.

  Deep in the soul an impulse there can flow,

  An early song still lisping and unclear;

  Well-formed or ill, its momentary show

  Too soon from Time’s wild crest will disappear. 70

  Often unseen and darkly it must grow,

  Reaching its ripeness after many a year.

  What glisters is the moment’s, born to be

  Soon lost; true gold lives for posterity.

  CLOWN. Must we bring in posterity? Suppose

  Posterity were all I thought about,

  Who’d keep the present public’s boredom out?

  They must be entertained, it’s what one owes

  To them. And with a lad like me

  Performing, they’re enjoying what they see! 80

  Communicate and please! You’ll not retire

  Then into semi-solitude,

  Resentful of the public’s fickle mood;

  The wider circle’s easier to inspire.

  So do what’s needed, be a model poet!

  Let Fancy’s choirs all sing, and interweave

  Reason, sense, feeling, passion—but, by your leave,

  Let a good vein of folly still run through it!

  DIRECTOR. And let’s have enough action, above all!

  They come to look, they want a spectacle. 90

  L
et many things unfold before their eyes,

  Let the crowd stare and be amazed, for then

  You’ll win their hearts, and that’s to win the prize;

  You’ll join the ranks of famous men.

  Mass alone charms the masses; each man finds

  Something to suit him, something to take home.

  Give much, and you’ll have given to many minds;

  They’ll all leave here contented to have come.

  And let your piece be all in pieces too!

  You’ll not go wrong if you compose a stew: 100

  It’s quick to make and easy to present.

  Why offer them a whole? They’ll just fragment

  It anyway, the public always do.

  POET. I note you don’t despise such a métier,

  And have no sense of how it ill beseems

  True art. If I were to do things your way,

  I’d join the bungling amateurs, it seems.

  DIRECTOR. Such a reproach offends me not a whit.

  My aim is our success: I must adopt

  The proper method of achieving it. 110

  What tool’s best, when there’s soft wood to be chopped?

  Consider who you’re writing for! They come,

  Some of them, from sheer boredom; some

  Arrive here fully sated after feeding;

  Others again have just been reading

  The newspapers, God help us all.

  They come with absent thoughts, as if to a masked ball;

  Mere curiosity brings them. As for the display

  Of ladies and their finery, why, they

  Eke out the show, and ask me for no pay! 120

  Why do you dream your lofty dreams of art?

  Why do full houses flatter you as well?

  Take a look at our patrons: you can tell

  Half of them have no taste, and half no heart.

  One will be looking forward to a game

  Of cards after the play, another to a night

  In some girl’s arms. Poor foolish poet, why invite

  Your Muse to toil for this? Make it your aim

  Merely to give them more—give them excess!

  It’s such a hard job to amuse them 130

  That your best plan is to confuse them:

  Do that, and you’ll be certain of success—

  Now what’s the matter? Pain, or ecstasy?

  POET. Leave me, and find some other willing slave!

  Must the poet forgo what Nature gave

  Him as his birthright, forfeit wantonly

  For you that noble gift? How else does he

  Move all men’s hearts, what power but his invents

  The conquest of the elements?

  Song bursts forth from him, a harmonious whole 140

  Engulfs the world and draws it back into his soul.

  Nature spins out her thread, endlessly long,

  At random on her careless spindle wound;

  All individual lives in chaos throng

  Together, mixed like harsh discordant sound.

  Who divides up this dull monotonous drift

  Into a living rhythm? Who can lift

  Particular things into a general sense

  Of some great music’s sacred congruence?

  When passions rage, who makes the tempest sing, 150

  The sunset glow when solemn thought prevails?

  Who scatters all the blossoms of the spring

  On his beloved’s path? Who makes a crown

  Of mere green leaves the symbol of renown

  For high distinction? What is this that fills

  Olympus, joins the gods in unity?—

  The power of Man, revealed in Poetry!

  CLOWN. Use them then, these delightful powers,

  And do your poet’s work, rather as when

  One falls in love to pass the amorous hours. 160

  One meets by chance, one lingers, one is smitten,

  And one’s involvement gradually increases;

  Happiness grows, but soon enough it ceases;

  Joy ends in tears. And somehow then

  It all becomes a novel, ready written.

  Let’s give them that, let’s make that kind of show!

  Use real life and its rich variety!

  They’re living it, but unreflectingly;

  They’ll notice this or that they didn’t know.

  Colourful changing scenes and little sense, 170

  Much error, mixed with just a grain of truth—

  That’s the best drink for such an audience;

  They’ll be refreshed and edified. That way

  It will attract the flower of our youth:

  They’ll hear your words, and think them revelation,

  And every tender soul suck from your play

  A sustenance of melancholy sensation.

  Each will find something in it to excite him

  For what he’ll see’s already there inside him.

  They’re young yet, ready still to laugh or cry; 180

  Fancy still pleases, rhetoric lifts them high.

  The old and hardened are a thankless brood,

  But growing minds can still show gratitude.

  POET. Ah, give me back those years when I

  Myself was still developing,

  When songs poured forth unceasingly

  And thick and fast as from a spring!

  Then still my world was misty-veiled,

  Then promised wonders were in bud;

  I picked the myriad flowers that filled 190

  Those valleys in such plenitude.

  My poverty was rich profusion;

  I longed for truth and loved illusion.

  Give unchecked passion back to me,

  Those deep delights I suffered then,

  Love’s power, and hatred’s energy—

  Give back my youth to me again!

  CLOWN. My friend, youth’s what one needs, of course, when one

  Is in the thick of battle with the foe,

  Or when sweet girls are hanging on 200

  One’s neck and simply won’t let go,

  Or when the finish of a race

  Beckons far off to victory,

  Or when one’s danced at furious pace

  Then spends the night in revelry:

  But boldly, gracefully to play

  Upon the lyre, choose one’s own goal

  And reach it by some charming way

  On random motions of the soul—

  Such is the older poet’s task; and we 210

  Respect you none the less. The proverb’s wrong, you see:

  Age is no second childhood—age makes plain,

  Children we were, true children we remain.

  DIRECTOR. Come, that’s enough of words! What I

  Want now is deeds. While you, my friends,

  Exchange these well-turned compliments,

  The time for useful work slips by.

  Why all this talk of the right mood?

  It won’t just come by dithering.

  Command your Muses, and they’ll sing 220

  To order, if you’re any good!

  You know what we expect of you:

  We’re thirsty for a potent brew.

  Prepare it now! What’s not begun

  Today will still be left undone

  Tomorrow. Never miss a day,

  But boldly and with resolution

  Seize Chance’s forelock and waylay

  The possible before it slips away;

  A started task compels completion. 230

  On German stages, as you know no doubt,

  Producers like to try things out;

  So make sure now we have machines

  And plenty of spectacular scenes!

  Use the sunshine and moonshine lights,

  Use starlight—we have stars galore,

  Water and fire and rocky heights,

  And birds and animals by the score!

  Thus on these narrow boards
you’ll seem

  To explore the entire creation’s scheme— 240

  And with swift steps, yet wise and slow

  From heaven, through the world, right down to hell you’ll go!

  3. PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN*

  [The LORD. The Heavenly Hosts, then MEPHISTOPHELES. The three ARCHANGELS advance.]

  RAPHAEL. The sun proclaims its old devotion

  In rival song with brother spheres,

  And still completes in thunderous motion

  The circuits of its destined years.

  Angelic powers, uncomprehending,

  Are strengthened as they gaze their fill;

  Thy works, unfathomed and unending,

  Retain the first day’s splendour still. 250

  GABRIEL. The glorious earth, with mind-appalling

  Swiftness, upon itself rotates,

  And with the deep night’s dreadful falling

  Its primal radiance alternates.

  High cliffs stand deep in ocean weather,

  Wide foaming waves flood out and in,

  And cliffs and seas rush on together

  Caught in the globe’s unceasing spin.

  MICHAEL. And turn by turn the tempests raging

  From sea to land, from land to sea, 260

  Build up, in passion unassuaging,

  Their chain of furious energy.

  The thunder strikes, its flash is faster,

  It spreads destruction on its way—

  But we, thy messengers, O master,

  Revere thy gently circling day.

  THE THREE IN CHORUS. And each of us, uncomprehending,

  Is strengthened as we gaze our fill;

  For all thy works, sublime, unending,

  Retain their first day’s splendour still. 270

  MEPHISTOPHELES. Your Grace, since you have called on us again

  To see how things are going, and since you

  Have been quite pleased to meet me now and then,

  I thought I’d come and join your retinue.

  Forgive me, but grand words are not my trick;

  I cut a sorry figure here, I know,

  But you would laugh at my high rhetoric

  If you’d not left off laughing long ago.

  The solar system I must leave unsung,

  And to mankind’s woes lend my humbler tongue. 280

  The little earth-god still persists in his old ways,

  Ridiculous as ever, as in his first days.

  He’d have improved if you’d not given