Chapter 3

Is parchment, then, the holy fount before thee, A draught wherefrom thy thirst forever slakes? No true refreshment can restore thee, Save what from thine own soul spontaneous breaks.

WAGNER

Pardon! a great delight is granted When, in the spirit of the ages planted, We mark how, ere our times, a sage has thought, And then, how far his work, and grandly, we have brought.

FAUST

O yes, up to the stars at last! Listen, my friend: the ages that are past Are now a book with seven seals protected: What you the Spirit of the Ages call Is nothing but the spirit of you all, Wherein the Ages are reflected. So, oftentimes, you miserably mar it! At the first glance who sees it runs away. An offal-barrel and a lumber-garret, Or, at the best, a Punch-and-Judy play, With maxims most pragmatical and hitting, As in the mouths of puppets are befitting!

WAGNER

But then, the world—the human heart and brain! Of these one covets some slight apprehension.

FAUST

Yes, of the kind which men attain! Who dares the child’s true name in public mention? The few, who thereof something really learned, Unwisely frank, with hearts that spurned concealing, And to the mob laid bare each thought and feeling, Have evermore been crucified and burned. I pray you, Friend, ’tis now the dead of night; Our converse here must be suspended.

WAGNER

I would have shared your watches with delight, That so our learned talk might be extended. To-morrow, though, I’ll ask, in Easter leisure, This and the other question, at your pleasure. Most zealously I seek for erudition: Much do I know—but to know all is my ambition.

[_Exit_.

FAUST (_solus_)

That brain, alone, not loses hope, whose choice is To stick in shallow trash forevermore,— Which digs with eager hand for buried ore, And, when it finds an angle-worm, rejoices!

Dare such a human voice disturb the flow, Around me here, of spirit-presence fullest? And yet, this once my thanks I owe To thee, of all earth’s sons the poorest, dullest! For thou hast torn me from that desperate state Which threatened soon to overwhelm my senses: The apparition was so giant-great, It dwarfed and withered all my soul’s pretences!

I, image of the Godhead, who began— Deeming Eternal Truth secure in nearness— To sun myself in heavenly light and clearness, And laid aside the earthly man;— I, more than Cherub, whose free force had planned To flow through Nature’s veins in glad pulsation, To reach beyond, enjoying in creation The life of Gods, behold my expiation! A thunder-word hath swept me from my stand.27

With thee I dare not venture to compare me. Though I possessed the power to draw thee near me, The power to keep thee was denied my hand. When that ecstatic moment held me, I felt myself so small, so great; But thou hast ruthlessly repelled me Back upon Man’s uncertain fate. What shall I shun? Whose guidance borrow? Shall I accept that stress and strife? Ah! every deed of ours, no less than every sorrow, Impedes the onward march of life.

Some alien substance more and more is cleaving To all the mind conceives of grand and fair; When this world’s Good is won by our achieving, The Better, then, is named a cheat and snare. The fine emotions, whence our lives we mould, Lie in the earthly tumult dumb and cold. If hopeful Fancy once, in daring flight, Her longings to the Infinite expanded, Yet now a narrow space contents her quite, Since Time’s wild wave so many a fortune stranded. Care at the bottom of the heart is lurking: Her secret pangs in silence working, She, restless, rocks herself, disturbing joy and rest: In newer masks her face is ever drest, By turns as house and land, as wife and child, presented,— As water, fire, as poison, steel: We dread the blows we never feel, And what we never lose is yet by us lamented!

I am not like the Gods! That truth is felt too deep: The worm am I, that in the dust doth creep,— That, while in dust it lives and seeks its bread, Is crushed and buried by the wanderer’s tread.

Is not this dust, these walls within them hold, The hundred shelves, which cramp and chain me, The frippery, the trinkets thousandfold, That in this mothy den restrain me? Here shall I find the help I need? Shall here a thousand volumes teach me only That men, self-tortured, everywhere must bleed,— And here and there one happy man sits lonely?28 What mean’st thou by that grin, thou hollow skull, Save that thy brain, like mine, a cloudy mirror, Sought once the shining day, and then, in twilight dull,29 Thirsting for Truth, went wretchedly to Error? Ye instruments, forsooth, but jeer at me With wheel and cog, and shapes uncouth of wonder; I found the portal, you the keys should be; Your wards are deftly wrought, but drive no bolts asunder! Mysterious even in open day, Nature retains her veil, despite our clamors: That which she doth not willingly display Cannot be wrenched from her with levers, screws, and hammers. Ye ancient tools, whose use I never knew, Here, since my father used ye, still ye moulder: Thou, ancient scroll, hast worn thy smoky hue Since at this desk the dim lamp wont to smoulder. ’T were better far, had I my little idly spent, Than now to sweat beneath its burden, I confess it! What from your fathers’ heritage is lent, Earn it anew, to really possess it!30 What serves not, is a sore impediment: The Moment’s need creates the thing to serve and bless it!

Yet, wherefore tums my gaze to yonder point so lightly? Is yonder flask a magnet for mine eyes? Whence, all around me, glows the air so brightly, As when in woods at night the mellow moonbeam lies?

I hail thee, wondrous, rarest vial! I take thee down devoutly, for the trial: Man’s art and wit I venerate in thee. Thou summary of gentle slumber-juices, Essence of deadly finest powers and uses, Unto thy master show thy favor free! I see thee, and the stings of pain diminish; I grasp thee, and my struggles slowly finish: My spirit’s flood-tide ebbeth more and more. Out on the open ocean speeds my dreaming; The glassy flood before my feet is gleaming, A new day beckons to a newer shore!

A fiery chariot, borne on buoyant pinions, Sweeps near me now! I soon shall ready be To pierce the ether’s high, unknown dominions, To reach new spheres of pure activity! This godlike rapture, this supreme existence, Do I, but now a worm, deserve to track? Yes, resolute to reach some brighter distance, On Earth’s fair sun I turn my back 31 Yes, let me dare those gates to fling asunder, Which every man would fain go slinking by! ’T is time, through deeds this word of truth to thunder: That with the height of Gods Man’s dignity may vie! Nor from that gloomy gulf to shrink affrighted, Where Fancy doth herself to self-born pangs compel,— To struggle toward that pass benighted, Around whose narrow mouth flame all the fires of Hell,— To take this step with cheerful resolution, Though Nothingness should be the certain, swift conclusion! And now come down, thou cup of crystal clearest! Fresh from thine ancient cover thou appearest, So many years forgotten to my thought! Thou shon’st at old ancestral banquets cheery, The solemn guests thou madest merry, When one thy wassail to the other brought. The rich and skilful figures o’er thee wrought, The drinker’s duty, rhyme-wise to explain them, Or in one breath below the mark to drain them, From many a night of youth my memory caught. Now to a neighbor shall I pass thee never, Nor on thy curious art to test my wit endeavor, Here is a juice whence sleep is swiftly born. It fills with browner flood thy crystal hollow; I chose, prepared it: thus I follow,— With all my soul the final drink I swallow, A solemn festal cup, a greeting to the morn! [He sets the goblet to his mouth. (Chime of bells and choral song.)

CHORUS OF ANGELS.32 Christ is arisen! Joy to the Mortal One, Whom the unmerited, Clinging, inherited Needs did imprison.

FAUST. What hollow humming, what a sharp, clear stroke, Drives from my lip the goblet’s, at their meeting? Announce the booming bells already woke The first glad hour of Easter’s festal greeting? Ye choirs, have ye begun the sweet, consoling chant, Which, through the night of Death, the angels ministrant Sang, God’s new Covenant repeating?

CHORUS OF WOMEN

With spices and precious Balm, we arrayed him; Faithful and gracious, We tenderly laid him: Linen to bind him Cleanlily wound we: Ah! when we would find him, Christ no more found we!

CHORUS OF ANGELS

Christ is ascended! Bliss hath invested him,— Woes that molested him, Trials that tested him, Gloriously ended!

FAUST

Why, here in dust, entice me with your spell, Ye gentle, powerful sounds of Heaven? Peal rather there, where tender natures dwell. Your messages I hear, but faith has not been given; The dearest child of Faith is Miracle. I venture not to soar to yonder regions Whence the glad tidings hither float; And yet, from childhood up familiar with the note, To Life it now renews the old allegiance. Once Heavenly Love sent down a burning kiss Upon my brow, in Sabbath silence holy; And, filled with mystic presage, chimed the church-bell slowly, And prayer dissolved me in a fervent bliss. A sweet, uncomprehended yearning Drove forth my feet through woods and meadows free, And while a thousand tears were burning, I felt a world arise for me. These chants, to youth and all its sports appealing, Proclaimed the Spring’s rejoicing holiday; And Memory holds me now, with childish feeling, Back from the last, the solemn way. Sound on, ye hymns of Heaven, so sweet and mild! My tears gush forth: the Earth takes back her child!

CHORUS OF DISCIPLES

Has He, victoriously, Burst from the vaulted Grave, and all-gloriously Now sits exalted? Is He, in glow of birth, Rapture creative near? Ah! to the woe of earth Still are we native here. We, his aspiring Followers, Him we miss; Weeping, desiring, Master, Thy bliss!

CHORUS OF ANGELS

Christ is arisen, Out of Corruption’s womb: Burst ye the prison, Break from your gloom! Praising and pleading him, Lovingly needing him, Brotherly feeding him, Preaching and speeding him, Blessing, succeeding Him, Thus is the Master near,— Thus is He here! [Illustration]

II

BEFORE THE CITY-GATE

(_Pedestrians of all kinds come forth_.)

SEVERAL APPRENTICES

Why do you go that way?

OTHERS

We’re for the Hunters’ lodge, to-day.

THE FIRST

We’ll saunter to the Mill, in yonder hollow.

AN APPRENTICE

Go to the River Tavern, I should say.

SECOND APPRENTICE

But then, it’s not a pleasant way.

THE OTHERS

And what will _you_?

A THIRD

As goes the crowd, I follow.

A FOURTH

Come up to Burgdorf? There you’ll find good cheer, The finest lasses and the best of beer, And jolly rows and squabbles, trust me!

A FIFTH

You swaggering fellow, is your hide A third time itching to be tried? I won’t go there, your jolly rows disgust me!

SERVANT-GIRL

No,—no! I’ll turn and go to town again.

ANOTHER

We’ll surely find him by those poplars yonder.

THE FIRST

That’s no great luck for me, ’tis plain. You’ll have him, when and where you wander: His partner in the dance you’ll be,— But what is all your fun to me?

THE OTHER

He’s surely not alone to-day: He’ll be with Curly-head, I heard him say.

A STUDENT

Deuce! how they step, the buxom wenches! Come, Brother! we must see them to the benches. A strong, old beer, a pipe that stings and bites, A girl in Sunday clothes,—these three are my delights.

CITIZEN’S DAUGHTER

Just see those handsome fellows, there! It’s really shameful, I declare;— To follow servant-girls, when they Might have the most genteel society to-day!

SECOND STUDENT (_to the First_)

Not quite so fast! Two others come behind,— Those, dressed so prettily and neatly. My neighbor’s one of them, I find, A girl that takes my heart, completely. They go their way with looks demure, But they’ll accept us, after all, I’m sure.

THE FIRST

No, Brother! not for me their formal ways. Quick! lest our game escape us in the press: The hand that wields the broom on Saturdays Will best, on Sundays, fondle and caress.

CITIZEN

He suits me not at all, our new-made Burgomaster! Since he’s installed, his arrogance grows faster. How has he helped the town, I say? Things worsen,—what improvement names he? Obedience, more than ever, claims he, And more than ever we must pay!

BEGGAR (_sings_)

Good gentlemen and lovely ladies, So red of cheek and fine of dress, Behold, how needful here your aid is, And see and lighten my distress! Let me not vainly sing my ditty; He’s only glad who gives away: A holiday, that shows your pity, Shall be for me a harvest-day!

ANOTHER CITIZEN

On Sundays, holidays, there’s naught I take delight in, Like gossiping of war, and war’s array, When down in Turkey, far away, The foreign people are a-fighting. One at the window sits, with glass and friends, And sees all sorts of ships go down the river gliding: And blesses then, as home he wends At night, our times of peace abiding.

THIRD CITIZEN

Yes, Neighbor! that’s my notion, too: Why, let them break their heads, let loose their passions, And mix things madly through and through, So, here, we keep our good old fashions!

OLD WOMAN (_to the Citizen’s Daughter_)

Dear me, how fine! So handsome, and so young! Who wouldn’t lose his heart, that met you? Don’t be so proud! I’ll hold my tongue, And what you’d like I’ll undertake to get you.

CITIZEN’S DAUGHTER

Come, Agatha! I shun the witch’s sight Before folks, lest there be misgiving: ’Tis true, she showed me, on Saint Andrew’s Night, My future sweetheart, just as he were living.

THE OTHER

She showed me mine, in crystal clear, With several wild young blades, a soldier-lover: I seek him everywhere, I pry and peer, And yet, somehow, his face I can’t discover.

SOLDIERS

Castles, with lofty Ramparts and towers, Maidens disdainful In Beauty’s array, Both shall be ours! Bold is the venture, Splendid the pay! Lads, let the trumpets For us be suing,— Calling to pleasure, Calling to ruin. Stormy our life is; Such is its boon! Maidens and castles Capitulate soon. Bold is the venture, Splendid the pay! And the soldiers go marching, Marching away!

FAUST AND WAGNER

FAUST

Released from ice are brook and river By the quickening glance of the gracious Spring; The colors of hope to the valley cling, And weak old Winter himself must shiver, Withdrawn to the mountains, a crownless king: Whence, ever retreating, he sends again Impotent showers of sleet that darkle In belts across the green o’ the plain. But the sun will permit no white to sparkle; Everywhere form in development moveth; He will brighten the world with the tints he loveth, And, lacking blossoms, blue, yellow, and red, He takes these gaudy people instead. Turn thee about, and from this height Back on the town direct thy sight. Out of the hollow, gloomy gate, The motley throngs come forth elate: Each will the joy of the sunshine hoard, To honor the Day of the Risen Lord! They feel, themselves, their resurrection: From the low, dark rooms, scarce habitable; From the bonds of Work, from Trade’s restriction; From the pressing weight of roof and gable; From the narrow, crushing streets and alleys; From the churches’ solemn and reverend night, All come forth to the cheerful light. How lively, see! the multitude sallies, Scattering through gardens and fields remote, While over the river, that broadly dallies, Dances so many a festive boat; And overladen, nigh to sinking, The last full wherry takes the stream. Yonder afar, from the hill-paths blinking, Their clothes are colors that softly gleam. I hear the noise of the village, even; Here is the People’s proper Heaven; Here high and low contented see! Here I am Man,—dare man to be!

WAGNER

To stroll with you, Sir Doctor, flatters; ’Tis honor, profit, unto me. But I, alone, would shun these shallow matters, Since all that’s coarse provokes my enmity. This fiddling, shouting, ten-pin rolling I hate,—these noises of the throng: They rave, as Satan were their sports controlling. And call it mirth, and call it song!

PEASANTS, UNDER THE LINDEN-TREE (_Dance and Song_.)

All for the dance the shepherd dressed, In ribbons, wreath, and gayest vest Himself with care arraying: Around the linden lass and lad Already footed it like mad: Hurrah! hurrah! Hurrah—tarara-la! The fiddle-bow was playing.

He broke the ranks, no whit afraid, And with his elbow punched a maid, Who stood, the dance surveying: The buxom wench, she turned and said: “Now, you I call a stupid-head!” Hurrah! hurrah! Hurrah—tarara-la! “Be decent while you’re staying!”

Then round the circle went their flight, They danced to left, they danced to right: Their kirtles all were playing. They first grew red, and then grew warm, And rested, panting, arm in arm,— Hurrah! hurrah! Hurrah—tarara-la! And hips and elbows straying.

Now, don’t be so familiar here! How many a one has fooled his dear, Waylaying and betraying!

And yet, he coaxed her soon aside, And round the linden sounded wide. Hurrah! hurrah! Hurrah—tarara-la! And the fiddle-bow was playing.

OLD PEASANT

Sir Doctor, it is good of you, That thus you condescend, to-day, Among this crowd of merry folk, A highly-learned man, to stray. Then also take the finest can, We fill with fresh wine, for your sake: I offer it, and humbly wish That not alone your thirst is slake,— That, as the drops below its brink, So many days of life you drink!

FAUST

I take the cup you kindly reach, With thanks and health to all and each.

(_The People gather in a circle about him_.)

OLD PEASANT

In truth, ’tis well and fitly timed, That now our day of joy you share, Who heretofore, in evil days, Gave us so much of helping care. Still many a man stands living here, Saved by your father’s skillful hand, That snatched him from the fever’s rage And stayed the plague in all the land. Then also you, though but a youth, Went into every house of pain: Many the corpses carried forth, But you in health came out again.

FAUST

No test or trial you evaded: A Helping God the helper aided.

ALL

Health to the man, so skilled and tried. That for our help he long may abide!

FAUST

To Him above bow down, my friends, Who teaches help, and succor sends!

(_He goes on with_ WAGNER.)

WAGNER

With what a feeling, thou great man, must thou Receive the people’s honest veneration! How lucky he, whose gifts his station With such advantages endow! Thou’rt shown to all the younger generation: Each asks, and presses near to gaze; The fiddle stops, the dance delays. Thou goest, they stand in rows to see, And all the caps are lifted high; A little more, and they would bend the knee As if the Holy Host came by.

FAUST

A few more steps ascend, as far as yonder stone!— Here from our wandering will we rest contented. Here, lost in thought, I’ve lingered oft alone, When foolish fasts and prayers my life tormented. Here, rich in hope and firm in faith, With tears, wrung hands and sighs, I’ve striven, The end of that far-spreading death Entreating from the Lord of Heaven! Now like contempt the crowd’s applauses seem: Couldst thou but read, within mine inmost spirit, How little now I deem, That sire or son such praises merit! My father’s was a sombre, brooding brain, Which through the holy spheres of Nature groped and wandered, And honestly, in his own fashion, pondered With labor whimsical, and pain: Who, in his dusky work-shop bending, With proved adepts in company, Made, from his recipes unending, Opposing substances agree. There was a Lion red, a wooer daring, Within the Lily’s tepid bath espoused, And both, tormented then by flame unsparing, By turns in either bridal chamber housed. If then appeared, with colors splendid, The young Queen in her crystal shell, This was the medicine—the patients’ woes soon ended, And none demanded: who got well? Thus we, our hellish boluses compounding, Among these vales and hills surrounding, 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!

WAGNER

Why, therefore, yield to such depression? A good man does his honest share In exercising, with the strictest care, The art bequeathed to his possession! Dost thou thy father honor, as a youth? Then may his teaching cheerfully impel thee: Dost thou, as man, increase the stores of truth? Then may thine own son afterwards excel thee.

FAUST

O happy he, who still renews 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.

WAGNER

I’ve had, myself, at times, some odd caprices, 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!

FAUST

One impulse art thou conscious of, at best; O, 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.

WAGNER