so
 
 V. 

 
 c 
 
 
 Ao. ^^2. 
 
 FAUST. 
 
 A DRAMATIC POEM,
 
 FAUST: 
 
 A DRAMATIC POEM. 
 
 BT 
 
 GOETHE. 
 
 TKANSLATED INTO ENGLISH PROSE, WITH NOTES, 
 
 BT THE LATE 
 
 ABRAHAM [HAY WARD. 
 
 ELEVENTH EDITION. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 GEORGE BELL AND SONS, YORK STREET, 
 COVENT GARDEN. 
 
 1890.
 
 p^ 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 Fl H 
 
 1^ 
 
 1 V 
 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 
 TO HIE 
 
 
 ON OF THE TRA]^ 
 
 fSL: 
 
 
 Ix tins Edition much of the matter has been re- 
 arranged, the Notes are augmented by about a third, 
 and an Appendix of some length has been annexed. 
 The translation itself was found to require only a few 
 verbal corrections ; yet even as regards the transla- 
 tion, I lay the work before the public with much more 
 confidence than formerly, both on account of the trying 
 ordeal it has passed through, and the many advantages 
 I have enjoyed in revising it. 
 
 It is singular (and to the student of German litera- 
 ture at once cheering and delightful) to see the in- 
 terest which Germans of the cultivated class take in 
 the fame of their great authors, and most particularly 
 of Goethe. They seem willing to undergo every sort 
 of labour to convey to foreigners a just impression of 
 his excellence ; 'and many German gentlemen have 
 voluntarily undertaken the irksome task of verifying 
 
 1375G26
 
 VI PREFACE, 
 
 my translation word for word by the original. The 
 amateurs of German literature in this country, also, 
 partake of the same spirit of enthusiasm, and I have 
 received many valuable suggestions in consequence. 
 My German friends will find that I have retained a few 
 expressions objected to by tliem, but they must do me 
 the justice to remember that they are as likely to err 
 from not knowing the full force of an English idiom., 
 as I am from not knowing the full force of a German 
 one. Another fertile source of improvement has been 
 afforded me by the numerous critical notices of my 
 work. 
 
 Besides these advantages, I have recently (1S33) 
 paid another visit to Germany, during which I had the 
 pleasure of talking over the puzzling parts of the poem 
 witli many of the most eminent living writers and 
 artists, and some of Goethe's intimate friends and 
 connexions. Among those, for instance, whom I 
 have to thank for the kindest and most flattering 
 reception, are Tieck, von Chamisso,* Franz Horn, the 
 Baron de la Motte Fouque, Dr. Hitzig,t Retzsch, and 
 Madame de Goethe. M. Varnhagen von Ense, and 
 Dr. Eckerraann of Weimar (names associated by more 
 than one relation with Goethe's), whom I imfortunateiy 
 missed seeing, have each favoured me with suggestions 
 or notes. I think, therefore, I may now venture to 
 
 * The real authoi- of Peter Sdilemil, most unaccountably attri- 
 buted by tlie English translator to De la Motte Fouque. 
 "t" President of the Literary Society of Berlin.
 
 PREFACE. Vll 
 
 say, that the notes to this edition contain the sum of 
 all that can be asserted with confidence as to the allu- 
 sions and passages which have been made the subject 
 of controversy. 
 
 I have no desire to prolong the discussion as to the 
 comparative merit of prose and metrical translations ; 
 but, to prevent renewed misconstruction, I take this 
 opportunity of briefly restating my views. 
 
 Here (it may be said) is a poem, which, in addition 
 to the exquisite charm of its versification, is supposed 
 to abound in philosophical notions and practical maxims 
 of life, and to have a great moral object in view. It 
 is written in a language comparatively unfettered by 
 rule, presenting great facilities for the composition of 
 words, and, by reason of its ductile qualities, naturally, 
 as it were, and idiomatically adapting itself to every 
 variety of versification. The author is a man whose 
 genius inclined (as his proud position authorised) him 
 to emplov the licence thus enjoyed by the writers of 
 his country to the full, and in the compass of this 
 single production he has managed to introduce almost 
 every conceivable descx-iption of metre and rhythm. 
 The translator of such a work into English, a lan- 
 guage strictly subjected to that " literary legislation,"* 
 from which it is the present (perhaps idle) boast of Ger- 
 many to be free, is obviously in this dilemma : he 
 must sacrifice cither metre or meaning ; and in a poem 
 which it is not uncommon to hear referred to in evi- 
 
 * MUhlenfel's Tiecture. 
 b 2
 
 via PREFACE. 
 
 dencc of the moral, metaphysical, or theological views 
 of the author, — which, as already intimated, has ex- 
 ercised a great part of its -.videly-spread influence by 
 qualities that have no more necessary connection with 
 verse than prose, it is surely best to sacrifice metre. 
 
 The dilemma was fairly stated in the Edinburgh 
 Review : — " When people are once aware how very 
 rare a thing a successful translation must ever be, from 
 the nature of the case, they will be more disposed to 
 admit the prudence of lessening the obstacles as much 
 as possible. There will be no lack of difficulties to 
 surmount, (of that the French school may rest assured,) 
 after removing out of the way every restraint that can 
 be spared. If the very measure of the original can 
 be preserved, the delight with which our ear and ima- 
 gination recognize its return, add incomparably to the 
 triumph and the effect. Many persons, however, are 
 prepared to dispense with this condition, who, never- 
 theless, shrink from extending their indulgence to a 
 dispensation from metre altogethei-. But it is really 
 the same question which a writer and his critics have 
 to determine in both cases. If the difficulty of the par- 
 ticular metre, or of metre generally, can be mastered 
 without sacrificing more on their account than they 
 are worth, they ought undoubtedly to be preserved. 
 What, however, in any given case, is a nation to 
 do, until a genius shall arise who can reconcile contra- 
 dictions which are too strong for ordinary hands ? 
 In the meanwhile, is it not the wisest course to make
 
 PREFACE. IX 
 
 tlie most favourable bargain tbat tbe nature of the 
 dilemma oflers ? Unless the public is absurd enough 
 to abjure the literature of all languages which are not 
 universallj understood, there can be no member of the 
 public who is not dependent, in one case or another, 
 upon translations. The necessity of this refuge for 
 the destitute being once admitted, it follows that they 
 are entitled to the best that can be got. What is the 
 best ? Surely that in which the least of the original 
 is lost — least lost in those qualities which are the most 
 important. The native air and real meaning of a 
 work are more essential qualities than the charm of 
 its numbers, or the embellishments and the passion of 
 its poetic style. The first is the metal and the weight ; 
 the second is the plating and the fashion." — No. 115, 
 pp. 112, 113.* 
 
 A writer in the Examiner speaks still more de- 
 cidedly, and claims for prose translators a distinction 
 which we should hardly have ventured to claim for 
 ourselves : — 
 
 " Every one knows the magnificent translation left 
 by Shelley of the Prologue in Heaven and the May- 
 Day Night- Scene ; fragments which, of themselves, 
 have won many a young mind to the arduous study of 
 the German language. By the industry of the present 
 translator we learn, that many passages we have been 
 in the habit of admiring in those translations are not 
 
 * This article lias been translated into Ficnch and republished 
 in the lieviie Britannique.
 
 r PREFACE. 
 
 only perversions but direct contradictions of the corre- 
 sponding passages in Goethe, and that Shelley wanted 
 a few months' study of German to make him equal to 
 a translation of Faust. V\e do not think the trans- 
 lator need have troubled himself with any dissertation 
 of this sort, in order to justify the design of a prose 
 translation of Faust. ' ^ly main object,' he says, ' in 
 these criticisms is to shake, if not remove, the very 
 disadvantageous impressions that hav-fe hitherto been 
 prevalent of Faust, and keep public opinion sus 
 peuded concerning Goethe, till some poet of congenial 
 spirit shall arise capable of doing justice to this the 
 most splendid and interesting of his works.' Why 
 not go further than this, and contend that a mind 
 strongly imbued with poetical feeling, and rightly 
 covetous of an acquaintance with the poet, will not 
 rest satisfied with anything short of as exact a render- 
 ing of his words as the diiferent phraseology of the 
 two languages will admit? In such a translation, be 
 it never so well executed, we know that much is lost ; 
 but nothing that is lost can be enjoyed without study- 
 ing the language. No poetical translation can give the 
 rhythm and rhyme of the original ; it can only sub- 
 stitute the rhythm and rhyme of the translator ; and 
 fur the sake of this substitute ice must renounce some 
 portion of the original sense, and nearly all the expres- 
 sions ; lohereas, by a prose translation, we can arrive 
 perfectly at the thoughts, and very nearly at the xcords 
 of the original. When these (as in Faust) have spruno-
 
 PREFACE. XI 
 
 from the brain of an inspired master, have been brooded 
 over, matured, and elaborated during a great portion 
 of a life, and finally issue forth, bearing upon them 
 the stamp of a creative authority, to what are we to 
 sacrifice any part or particle which can he made to 
 survive in a literal transcript or paraphrase of prose ? 
 To the pleasure of being simultaneously tickled by the 
 metres of a native poetaster, which, if capable of 
 giving any enjoyment at all, will find themselves better 
 wedded to his own original thoughts, and which, were 
 they the happiest and most musical in the world, can 
 never ring out natural and concording music to aspi- 
 rations born in another time, clime, and place, nor 
 harmonize, like the original metres, with that tone of 
 mind to which they should form a kind of orchestral 
 accompaniment in its creative mood. The sacred and 
 mysterious union of thought with verse, twin horn and 
 immortally wedded from the moment of their common 
 birth, can tiever be understood by those who desire 
 verse translations of good poetry. 
 
 " Nevertheless, the translator of poetry must be a 
 poet, although he translates in prose. Such only can 
 have sufiicient feeling to taste the original to the core, 
 combined with a sufficient mastery of language to give 
 burning word for burning word, idiom for idiom, and 
 the form of expression which comes most home in 
 English for that which comes most home in German. 
 Such a task, in fact, is one requiring a great propor- 
 tion of fire, as well as delicacy and judgment, and by
 
 XU PREFACE. 
 
 no means what Dr. Johnson thought it — a task to be 
 executed by any one who can read and understand 
 the original." — March 24, 1833. 
 
 Another influential journal followed nearly the same 
 line of argument: — 
 
 "To the combination — unhappily too rare — of 
 genius and energy, few things are impossible ; and we 
 further venture to assert that, of the two undertakings, 
 such a prose translation as the present is far more 
 difficult than a metrical version could be, always sup- 
 posing the possession of an eminent power of language, 
 and a pure poetical taste, to be equal in the one 
 attempt and the other." — The Athenceum for April 
 27th, 1833. 
 
 Some critics have compared a prose translation to a 
 skeleton. The fairer comparison would be to an 
 engraving from a picture ; where we lose, indeed, the 
 charm of colouring, but the design, invention, compo- 
 sition, expression, nay the very light and shade of the 
 original, may be preserved. 
 
 It may not be deemed wholly inapplicable to remark, 
 that unrhymed verse had to encounter, on its intro- ' 
 duction in most countries, a much larger share of 
 prejudiced opposition than prose translations of poetry 
 seem destined to encounter among us. Milton 
 found it necessary to enter on an elaborate and, it 
 must be owned, rather dogmatical defence ; and so 
 strong was the feeling against Klopstock, that Goethe's 
 father refused to admit the Messiah into his house on
 
 PREFACE. XUI 
 
 account of its not being in rhyme, and it was read by 
 his ■wife and children by stealth.* 
 
 Two weighty authorities bearing on the subject 
 have appeared very recently : — 
 
 " Verse (says the student in Mr. Bulwer's Pilgrims 
 of the Rhine) cannot contain the refinino- subtle 
 thoughts which a great prose writer embodies ; the 
 rhyme eternally cripples it ; it properly deals with 
 the common problems of human nature which are 
 now hackneyed, and not with the nice and philoso- 
 ])hising corollaries which may be drawn from them. 
 Thus, though it would seem at first a paradox, com- 
 monplace is more the element of poetry than of 
 prose. And, sensible of this, even Scliiller wrote 
 the deepest of modern tragedies, his Fiesco, in 
 prose." — p. 317. 
 
 This is not quoted as precisely in point, and it is 
 only fair to add that Mr. Coleridge (indeed what else 
 could be expected from the translator of Wallenstein?) 
 was for verse : — 
 
 " I have read a good deal of Mr. Hay ward's ver- 
 sion, and I think it done in a very manly style ; but 
 I do not admit the argument for prose translations. 
 I would in general rather see verse attempted in so 
 capable a language as ours. The French cannot help 
 themselves, of course, with such a language as theirs." 
 — Table Talk, vol. ii., p. 118. 
 
 * Dichtung und Wahrhcit, b. 3. The Messiali is in hexameter 
 ve 'c, distineuishcd from the Greek and Latin hexameters by tlie 
 frequent substitution of trochees for spondees.
 
 XIV PREFACE. 
 
 Mr. Coleridge is here confounding general capability 
 with capability for the pm-poses of translation, in which 
 the English language is confessedly far inferior to the 
 German, though, considering the causes of this infe- 
 riority, many may be induced to regard it more as a 
 merit than a defect. Still the fact is undoubted, that 
 the pliancy and elasticity of the instrument with which 
 they work, enable the Germans to transfer the best 
 works of other nations almost verbatim to their litera- 
 ture, — witness their translations of Shakespeare, in 
 which the very puns are inimitably hit off ; whilst our 
 best translations are good only on a principle of com- 
 pensation : the authors omit a great many of the 
 beauties of their original, and, by way of set-off, insert 
 a great many of their own. In Mr. Coleridge's Wallen- 
 stein for example : — 
 
 " The intelligible forms of ancient poets. 
 The fair humanities of old religion, 
 The Power, the Beauty, and the Majesty ; 
 That had their haunts in dale, or piny mountain, 
 Or forest by slow stream, or pebbly spring. 
 Or chasms and wat'ry depths ; all these have vanished, 
 They live no longer in the faith of reason." 
 
 These seven lines are a beautiful amplification of 
 two : — 
 
 " Die alten Fabelwesen sind nicht mehr. 
 Das reizende Geschlecht ist ausgewandert." 
 
 liiterally : — 
 
 " The olc 
 The fas 
 
 With regard to the dispute about free and literal 
 
 " The old fable-existences are no more, 
 The fascinating race has emigrated."
 
 PREFACE. XV 
 
 translation, however, Mrs, Austin, by one happy 
 reference, has satisfactorily determined the principle, 
 and left nothing but the application in each individual 
 case to dispute about : — 
 
 " It appears to me that Goethe alone (so far as I 
 have seen) has solved the pjroblem. In his usual 
 manner he turned the subject on all sides, and saw- 
 that there are two aims of translation, perfectly dis- 
 tinct, nay, opposed ; and that the merit of a work of 
 this kind is to be judged of entirely with reference to 
 Its aim. 
 
 " ' There are two maxims of translation,' says he; 
 ' the one requires that the author of a foreign nation 
 be brought to us in such a manner that we may regard 
 him as our own ; the other, on the contrary, demands 
 of us that we transport ourselves over to him, and adopt 
 his situation, his mode of speaking, his peculiarities. 
 The advantages of both are sufSciently known to all 
 instructed persons from masterly examples. ' 
 
 " Here, then, ' the battle between free and literal 
 translation,' as the accomplished writer of an article in 
 the last Edinburgh Review calls it, is set at rest for 
 ever, by simply showing that there is nothing to fight 
 about ; that each is good with relation to its end — the 
 one when matter alone is to be transferred, the other 
 when matter and form." — Characteristics of Goethe, 
 <&c., vol. i., pp. 32 to 34. 
 
 Few will deny that both matter and form are im- 
 portant in Goethe's Faust ; in such a case we want
 
 xvi PREFACE. 
 
 to know, not what may be said for the author, or how 
 his thoughts and style may be improved upon, but 
 what he himself has said, and how he has said it. This 
 brincrs me to another notion of mine, which has been 
 rather hastily condemned. At page Ixxxix of my 
 original Preface I had said : — " Acting on his theory, 
 he (M. Sainte-Aulaire) has given a clear and spirited, 
 but vague and loose, paraphrase of the poem, instead 
 of a translation of it ; invariably shunning the difficulties 
 which various meanings present, by boldly deciding 
 upon one, instead of trying to shadow out all of them 
 — which I regard as one of the highest triumphs a 
 translator can achieve — and avoiding the charge of 
 incorrectness by making it almost impossible to say 
 whether the best construction has suggested itself 
 or not." On this the able critic in the Edinburgh 
 Review remarks : — "Mr. Hay ward says, that one 'of the 
 highest triumphs of a translator, in a passage capable 
 of various meanings, is to shadow out them all. In 
 reply to this, our first remark is, that his own practice, 
 according to his own account of it, is inconsistent with 
 his rule. In the course of his inquiries he says, that 
 ' he has not unfrequently had three or four different 
 interpretations suggested to him by as many accom- 
 plished German scholars, each ready to do battle for 
 his own against the world.' What then ? Does he 
 say that he has attempted to shadow out them all ? 
 So far from it, he insists — we dare say with justice — ■ 
 that readers who may miss their favourite interpreta-
 
 PREFACE. XVU 
 
 tion in his version of any passage, are bound to give 
 him the credit of having wilfully 'rejected it.'" — 
 No. 115, p. 133. 
 
 The writer contrasts, as inconsistent, passages re- 
 ferring to different descriptions of difHculties. The 
 following is an example of my theory. At the begin- 
 ning of the prison scene {post, p. Hi) occurs this 
 puzzling line : — 
 
 " Fort ! dein zagen zogert den Tod heran." 
 
 Two interpretations, neither quite satisfactory, are 
 suggested to me : it may mean either that death is 
 advancing whilst Faust remains irresolute, or that 
 death is accelerated by his irresolution. Having, 
 therefore, first ascertained that the German word 
 zogern corresponds with the English word linger, and 
 that, in strictness, neither could be used as an active 
 verb, I translated the passage literally: "On! tliy 
 irresolution lingers death hitherwards ; " and thus 
 shadowed out the same meanings, and gave the same 
 scope to commentary, as the original. Of course, this 
 is only practicable where exactly corresponding ex- 
 pressions can be had ; for instance, in the passage to 
 which tlie note at p. 157 relates, we have no corre- 
 sponding expression for Das Werdende, and must there- 
 fore be content with a paraphrase ; but, in the latter 
 part of the same passage, I see no reason for Shelley's 
 changing enduring (tlie plain translation otdauernden) 
 into sweet and melaucholy, nor for M. Sainte-Aulaire's
 
 Xviii TREFACE. 
 
 rciKlcring- the two last lines of the speech by — et sou- 
 mettez d Vepreuve de la sagesse les fantmnes que de 
 vagues dcsirs vous presentent, thereby gaining nothing 
 in point of perspicuity, when he had corresponding 
 French expressions at his command. Not unfrequently 
 the literal meaning of a word (as in ein dunkler Bhren- 
 man), or the grammatical construction of a passage 
 (as in Boch hast Du Speise, &c.) is disputed ; and as 
 it is impossible to construe two ways at once, in such 
 instances rejection is unavoidable. 
 
 This may suffice to show the practicability of my 
 theory in the only cases I meant it to embrace. It may 
 be useful to show by an instance how much mischief 
 may result from the neglect of it. The alchymical 
 description, as explained by Mr. Griffiths (p. 173) has 
 been generally regarded as a valuable illustration of 
 the literary peculiarities of Goethe. Now all preced- 
 ing translators, considering it as rubbish, had skipped, 
 or paraphrased, or mistranslated it ; so that the 
 French or English reader, however well acquainted 
 with alchymical terms, could make nothing of it. I 
 was as much in the dark as my predecessors ; but I 
 thought that there might be something in it, though 
 I could see nothing ; I therefore translated the pas- 
 sage word for word, and then sent it to Mr. Griffiths. 
 His very interesting explanation was the consequence. 
 This may be called an extreme case, but it shows the 
 folly of excluding or altering plain words because we 
 ourselves are unable at the moment to interpret them ;
 
 PREFACE. XIX 
 
 and as a fact within my own immediate experience, I 
 may add, that expressions seemingly indifferent in their 
 proper places, so frequently supply the key to subse- 
 quent allusions, that a translator always incurs the 
 risk of breakino: some link in the chain of association 
 by a change. For instance, in my first edition I fol- 
 lowed Shelley in translating vereinzelt sich, — masses 
 itself, under an idle notion that the context required 
 it ; and everybody thought me right, until Mr. Heraud 
 (author of " The Descent into Hell," A:c. .tc.) proved 
 to me that the most obvious signification [scatters 
 itself) was the best, and that I had disconnected the 
 folloAving line and marred the continuity of the whole 
 description by the change. 
 
 " I was wont boldly to affirm," says Mr. Coleridge, 
 " that it would be scarcely more difficult to push a 
 stone out from the pyramids with the bare hand, than 
 to alter a word, or the position of a word, in Shak- 
 speare or Milton, (in their most important works at 
 least), without making the author say something else, 
 or something worse, than he does say." This ob- 
 servation is strictly applicable to the First Part of 
 Faust. 
 
 Again, the most beautiful expressions in poetry (such 
 expressions as Dante is celebrated for) are often in 
 direct defiance of rule and authority, and afford ample 
 scope for cavilling. Is the translator to dilute or 
 filter them, for fear of startling the reader by novelty 
 or involving him in momentary doubt ? I am sorry
 
 KX PREFACE. 
 
 to say that Mr. Coleridge has given some sanction to 
 those who might be inclined to answer this question 
 affirmatively. After making Wallenstein exclaim : 
 
 " This anguish will be wearied down, I know ; 
 What pang is permanent with man ?" 
 
 he adds in a note: — " A very inadequate translation 
 
 of the original:" 
 
 " Verschmcrzen werd' ich diesen Srhlag, das weiss ich, 
 Denn was verschmerzte nicht der Mensch ? " 
 
 Literally : 
 
 " I shall grieve down this blow, of that I 'm conscious ; 
 What does not man grieve down ?" 
 
 I trust my very high and constantly expressed ad- 
 miration of Mr. Coleridge, will be held some apology 
 for the presumption of the remark — but I really see 
 no reason for excludino- the literal translation from 
 the text.* One of our most distinguished men of 
 letters, who knew the Gei-man poets only through 
 translations, once complained to mo that he seldom 
 found them painting, or conveying a fine image, by a 
 word ; as in the line — 
 
 " IIow sweet the moonlight sleeps upon that bank." 
 
 How should he, unless that mode of translation which 
 I have thus ventured on vindicating, he pursued ? 
 
 In Appendix, No. 1, I have added an analysis of 
 the second and concluding part of Faust, just full 
 
 * Since this was written, the literal translation has been adopted. 
 See the last edition of Coleridge's Works.
 
 PREFACE. XX^ 
 
 enough to give a general notion of tlie plot, if plot it 
 can be called, where plot is none. I have been re- 
 commended to translate the whole, but it struck me 
 that the scenes were too disconnected to excite much 
 interest, and that the poetiy had not substance enough 
 to support a version into prose. As I have said 
 ah'eadj in another place,* the Second Part presents 
 few of those fine trains of philosophic thinking, or 
 those exquisite touches of natural feeling, which form 
 the great attraction of the First. The principal charm 
 will be found to consist in the idiomatic ease of the 
 language, the spirit with which the lighter measures 
 are struck otf, and the imrivalled beauty of the de- 
 scriptive passages ; which last are to be found in equal 
 number in both parts, but are the only passages of 
 the continuation which would bear transplanting with- 
 out a ruinous diminution of effect. Besides, my own 
 opinion is, that the First Part wiU henceforth be read, 
 as formerly, by and for itself ; nor would I advise 
 tliose who wish to enjoy it thoroughly and retain the 
 most favourable impression of it, to look at the Second 
 Part at all. " Goethe's Faust should have remained 
 a fragment. The heart-thrilling last scene of the 
 First Part, Margaret's heavenly salvation, which works 
 so powerfully upon the mind, should have remained 
 the last ; as indeed, for sublimity and impressiveness, 
 it pcrha])s stands alone in the whole circle of literature. 
 It had a fine effect, — how Faust, in the manner of 
 
 * The Foreign Quarterly Review, No. 23, Art. 4. 
 C
 
 xxii TREFACE. 
 
 the spirits that flitted round him, disappeared,— how- 
 mists veiled him from our sight, given over to inex- 
 orable Destiny, on whom, hidden from us, the duty of 
 condemning or acquitting him devolved. The spell is 
 now broken."* 
 
 In Appendix, No. 2, will be found an account of 
 the Story of Faust, and the various productions in art 
 and literature that have grown out of it. 
 
 * Stieglitz, Sage vom Doctor FumI. 
 Temple, Januarijy 1831.
 
 ADVERTISEMENT 
 
 PREFIXED TO 
 
 THE FIRST PUBLISHED EDITION. 
 
 I COMMENCED this translation without the slightest 
 idea of publishing it, and even when, by aid of pre- 
 face and notes, I thought I had produced a book 
 which might contribute something towards the pro- 
 motion of German literature in this country, I still 
 felt unwiUing to cast it from me beyond the power of 
 alteration or recalL I therefore circulated the whole 
 of the first impression amongst my acquaintance, and 
 made up my mind to be guided by the general tenor 
 of the opinions I might receive from them. I also 
 wished the accuracy of my version to be verified by 
 as many examinations as possible, and I hoped to get 
 some additional matter for the notes. " The com- 
 plete explanation of an author (says Dr. Johnson) 
 not systematic and consequential, but desultory and 
 vagrant, abounding in casual illusions and light hints, 
 
 is not to be expected from any single scholiast. What 
 
 c 2
 
 XXIV ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 can be known will be collected by chance from the 
 recesses of obscure and obsolete papers (or from j-are 
 and curious books), perused commonly with some 
 other view. Of this knowledge every man has some, 
 and none has much ; but when an author has engaged 
 the public attention, those who can add anything to 
 his illustration, communicate their discoveries, and 
 time produces what had eluded diligence." 
 
 The result of the experiment has been so far satis- 
 factory, that I am now emboldened to lay the work 
 before the public, with some not unimportant altera- 
 tions and additions suggested by subsequent inquiry 
 or by friends. 
 
 Temple, Feb. 25th, IS.'.?.
 
 TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE 
 
 TO THE EDITIOX PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION. 
 
 The outline of Faust's story is already familiar 
 enough, and I have given aU that I think necessary in 
 the way of illustration or commentary in the notes. 
 In this place, therefore, I have principally to explain 
 the motives which led to the following hazardous and, 
 some may think, presumptuous undertaking. 
 
 It was first suggested to me by a remark made by 
 ^Ir. Charles Lamb to an honoui-ed friend of mine :* 
 that he had derived more pleasure from the meagre 
 Latin versions of the Greek tragedians, than from 
 any other versions of them he was acquainted with. 
 The following remarks by Goethe himself confirmed 
 me in it: — 
 
 " We Germans had the advantage that several 
 sio'nificant works of foreign nations were first trans- 
 lated in an easy and clear manner. Shakspeare 
 
 • [The Rev. H. F. Gary, translator of Dante and Pindar.] — " I 
 have read of a man who being, by his ignorance of Greek, com- 
 pelled to gratify his curiosity with the Latin printed on the opposit'j 
 page, declared that, from the rude simplicity of the lines, literally 
 rendered, he formed nobler ideas of the Homeric majesty than fror.i 
 tlie laboured elegance of polislied versions." — Johnson's Life oj 
 Fope.
 
 XXVI TRANSLATOR S PREFACE. 
 
 translated into prose, first by Wieland, then by Escb- 
 enburg, being a reading generally intelligible and 
 adapted to every reader, was enabled to spread 
 rapidly, and produce a great effect. I honour both 
 rhythm and rhyme, by which poetry first becomes 
 poetry ; but the pi-operly deep and radically opera- 
 tive, — the truly developing and quickening, is that 
 which remains of the poet, when he is translated into 
 prose. The inward substance then remains in its 
 purity and fulness : which, when it is absent, a 
 dazzling exterior often deludes us with the semblance 
 of, and, when it is present, conceals."* 
 
 This will be admitted to be very high authority in 
 favour of prose translations of poetry ; and no one 
 who knows " Faust " will deny, that it is the poem 
 of all others of which a prose translation is most 
 imperatively required, — for the simple reason, that it 
 teems with thought, and has long exercised a widely- 
 spread influence by qualities independent of metre 
 and rhyme. I am not aware that I can illustrate my 
 meaning better than by the following extract from a 
 German Review.! It forms part of a critical notice 
 
 * Aus meijiem Lehen : Ditchlung unci Walirheit Th.iii.b.ll. 
 
 Hardly a sinrrle sentence of the Englisli version, published under 
 the title of Memoirs of Goethe, is to be depended upon. The 
 translation of Shakspeare, mentioned by Goethe, was originally 
 undertaken by Wieland, who, according to Griiber, was paid at 
 the rate of two Thalers (six shillings) per sheet. He completed 
 twenty-two of the plays ; which were afterwards re-publishcd by 
 Eschenburg with the rest translated by himsalf, 
 
 + Die Blatter fiir Litcrmi^he Unterhaltung. — Leipzig.
 
 TRANSLATOR S PREFACE. XXVll 
 
 of a work by M. Rosenkranz, and (with all its exag- 
 geration and enthusiasm) may be taken as a fair 
 sample of the light in which " Faust " is considered 
 in Germany : — 
 
 " The various attempts to continue the infinite 
 matter of Faust where Goethe drops it, although in 
 themselves fruitless and unsuccessful, at least show 
 in what manifold ways this great poem may he con- 
 ceived, and how it presents a different side to every 
 individuahty. As the sun-beam breaks itself dif- 
 ferently in every eye, and the starred heaven and 
 nature are different for every soul-mirror, so it is with 
 this immeasurable and exhaustless poem. We have 
 illustrators and continuers of Faust, who, captivated 
 by the practical wisdom which pervades it, considered 
 the whole poem as one great collection of maxims of 
 life ; we have met with others who saw nothing else 
 in it but a pantheistical solution of the enigma of 
 existence ; others again, more alive to the genius of 
 poetry, admired only the poetical clothing of the 
 ideas, which otherwise seemed to them to have little 
 significance; and others again saw nothing peculiai 
 but the felicitous exposition of a philosophical theory, 
 and the specification of certain errors of practical life. 
 All these are right ; for from all these points of view 
 Faust is great and significant ; but whilst it appears 
 to follow these several directions as radiations from a 
 focus, at the same time it contains (but for the most 
 part concealed) its peculiar, truly great, and principal
 
 XXVlll TRANSLATOR S PREFACE. 
 
 direction ; and this is the reconcilement of the o-reat 
 contradiction of the world, the estahlishnient of peace 
 between the Real and the Tdeal. No one who loses 
 sight of this the great foundation of Faust, will find 
 himself in a condition — we do not say to explain or 
 continue, but even to read and comprehend the poem. 
 This principal basis underlies all its particular tenden- 
 cies — the religious, the philosophical, the scientific, 
 the practical ; and for this very reason is it, that 
 the theologian, the scholar, the soldier, the man of 
 the world, and the student of philosophy, to what- 
 ever school he may belong, are all sure of finding 
 something to interest them in this all-embracino- 
 production." 
 
 Surely a work of which this, or anything like it, 
 can be said, deserves to be translated as literally as 
 the genius of our language will admit ; with an 
 almost exclusive reference to the strict meaning of 
 the Avords, and a comparative disregard of the beau- 
 ties which are commonly thought peculiar to poetry, 
 should they prove irreconcileable with the sense. I 
 am not saying that they will prove so, for the noblest 
 conceptions and most beautiful descriptions in Faust 
 would be noble and beautiful in any language capable 
 of containing them, be it as unmusical and harsh as 
 it would, — 
 
 " As sunshine broken on a rill, 
 Though turned astray, is sunshine still." 
 
 Still less am I saying that such a translation would
 
 TRANSLATOR S TREFACE. SXIS 
 
 be the Lest, or should be the only one. But I 
 venture to think that it may possess some interest 
 and utility now ; when, at the distance of nearly half 
 a century from the first apjjearance of the work, 
 nothing at all approximating to an accurate version 
 of it exists. With one or two exceptions, all attempts 
 by foreigners (foreigners as regards Germany, I 
 mean), to translate even solitary scenes or detached 
 passages from Faust, are crowded with the most 
 extraordinary mistakes, not of words merely, but of 
 spirit and tone ; and the author's fame has suffered 
 accordingly. For no warnings on the part of those 
 who know and would fain manifest the truth, can 
 entirely obviate the deteriorating influence of such 
 versions on the mind. " I dare say," the reader 
 replies, "that what you tell me about this translation 
 may be right, but the author's meaning can hardly 
 be so obscured or perverted as to prevent my forming 
 some notion of his powers." 
 
 Now I print this translation witli the view of 
 proving to a certain number of my literary friends, 
 and through them perhaps to the public at large, that 
 they have hitherto had nothing from which they can 
 form a just estimate of Faust; and with this view, 
 and this view only, I shall prefix a few remarks on 
 the English and French translators who have pre- 
 ceded me. 
 
 [Here followed remarks on Lord Francis Egerton 
 (now Lord EUesmere), Shelley, the author of the trans-
 
 XXX TRANSLATOR S PREFACE. 
 
 lation published with the English edition of Retzsch's 
 Outlines, the author of the translated passages in 
 Blackwood's Magazine, No. 39 (Dr. Anster), Madame 
 de Stael, and MM. de Saiute-Aulaire, Stapfer, and 
 Gerard. These remarks are omitted because their 
 original purpose has been fulfilled.] 
 
 My main object in these criticisms is to shake, if 
 not remove, the very disadvantageous impressions that 
 have hitherto been prevalent of "Faust," and keep 
 public opinion suspended concerning Goethe till some 
 poet of congenial spirit shall arise, capable of doing 
 justice to this, the most splendid and interesting of 
 his works. By my translation, also, I shall be able 
 to show what he is not, though it will be quite im- 
 possible for me to show what he is. " II me reste 
 (says M. Stapfer), a protester centre ceux qui, apres 
 la lecture de cette traduction, s'imagineraient avoir 
 acquis une idee complete de I'original. Porte sur tel 
 ouvrage traduit que ce soit, le jugement serait errone , 
 il le serait surtout a I'egard de celui-ci, a cause de la 
 perfection continue du style. Qu'on se figure tout le 
 charme de I'Amphitryon de Moliere joint a, ce que les 
 poesies de Parny ofirent de plus gracieux, alors seule- 
 ment on pourra se croire dispense de le lire." 
 
 If I do not say something of the sort, it is only 
 because I cannot decide with what English names 
 Moliere and Parny would be most aptly replaced. 
 The merely English reader, however, will perhaps 
 take my simple assurance, that, from the admitted
 
 TRAXSLATOK S PKEFACK. XXXI 
 
 beauty of Goethe's versification, no writer loses more 
 by being submitted to the crucible of prose ; though, 
 at the same time, very few -writers can afford to lose 
 so much ; as Dryden said of Shakspeare, if his em- 
 broideries were burnt down, there would still be silver 
 at the bottom of the melting-pot. The bloom-like 
 beauty of the songs, in particular, vanishes at the 
 bare touch of a translator; as regards these, there- 
 fore, I may as well own at once that I am inviting my 
 friends to a sort of Barmecide entertainment, where 
 fancy must supply all the materials for banqueting. 
 I have one comfort, however : the poets have hitherto 
 tried their hands at them in vain ; and I am backed by 
 very high authority in declaring the most beautiful — 
 Mtine Bull ist kin — to be utterly untranslatable. 
 Indeed, it is only by a lucky chance that a succession 
 of simple heartfelt expressions or idiomatic felicities in 
 one language, are ever capable of exact representation 
 in another. Two passages already quoted appear well 
 adapted to exemplify what I mean. When Margaret 
 exclaims : — 
 
 " Sag Niemand dass du schon hey Gretclu-n warst," 
 
 it is quite impossible to render in English the finely 
 shaded meaning of her/. Here, therefore, Germany 
 has the best of it, but when we translate — 
 
 " Schon war ich audi, iind das war mein verderbpn," 
 
 " I was fair too, and that was my undoing " — we 
 greatly improve upon the original, and add a delicacy 
 which I defy any German to imitate.
 
 XXxii TRANSLATOH S PREFACE. 
 
 My only object in giving a sort of rhythmical ar- 
 rangement to the lyrical parts, was to convey some 
 notion of the variety of versification which forms one 
 great charm of the poem. The idea was first sug- 
 gested to me by Milton's translation of the Ode to 
 Tyrrha, entitled : " Quis multa gracilis te piier in 
 rosa, rendered almost word for word without rime, 
 accordina: to the Latin measure, as near as the Ian- 
 guage will admit." But I have seldom, if ever, made 
 any sacrifice of sense for the purpose of rounding a 
 line in the lyrics or a period in the regular prose ; 
 proceeding throughout on the rooted conviction, that, 
 if a translation such as mine be not literal, it is value- 
 less. By literal, however, must be understood merely 
 that I have endeavoured to convey the precise meaning 
 of Goethe : an object often best attainable by pre- 
 serving the exact form of expression employed by 
 him, unless, indeed, it be an exclusively national one. 
 Even then I have not always rejected it : for one 
 great advantage to be anticipated from such trans- 
 lations is the naturalisation of some of those pregnant 
 modes of expression in which the German language 
 is so remarkably rich. Idioms, of course, belong to 
 a wholly difiereut category. My remarks apply only 
 to those phrases and compounds where nothing is 
 wanting to make an Englishman perfectly au fait of 
 them, but to think out the full meaning of the words. 
 In all such cases I translate literally, in direct de- 
 fiance to those sagacious critics, who expect to catc 1
 
 TRANSLATOR S PREFACE. SXXUl 
 
 tlie spirit of a work of genius as dogs lap water from 
 the Nile, and vote a German author unreadable unless 
 all his own and his country's peculiarities are planed 
 awav. In short, my theory is, that if the English 
 reader, not knowing German, be made to stand in 
 the same relation to " Faust " as the English reader, 
 thoroughly acquainted with German, stands in towards 
 it — i.e., if the same impressions be conveyed through 
 the same sort of medium, whether bright or dusky, 
 coarse or fine — the very extreme point of a translator's 
 duty has been attained. 
 
 But though pretty confident of the correctness of 
 this theory, I am far from certain that my practice 
 uniformly accords with it. As the translation, however, 
 has been executed at leisure moments, was finished 
 many months ago, and has undergone the careful 
 revisal of friends, I think I can answer for its general 
 accuracy ; but in a work so crowded with elliptical 
 and idiomatic, nay even provincial, modes of expres- 
 sion, and containing so many doubtful allusions, Ss 
 "Faust," it is morally impossible to guard against 
 individual errors, or what, at any rate, may be repre- 
 sented as such by those who will not give the trans- 
 lator credit for having weighed and rejected the 
 constructions they may chance to prefer. In the 
 course of my inquiries, I have not unfrequently had 
 three or four difl"crent interpretations suggested to me 
 by as many accomplished German scholars, each ready 
 to do battle for his own against the world. There are
 
 XXXIV TRANSLATOR S PREFACE. 
 
 also some few meanings which all reasonable people 
 confess themselves unable to un-earth, — or rather, un- 
 heaven ; for it is by rising, not sinking, that Goethe 
 leaves his readers behind, and in nearly all such in- 
 stances, we respect, despite of our embarrassment, the 
 aspirations of a master-mind, soaring proudly up into 
 the infinite unknown, and though failing possibly in 
 the full extent of its aim, yet bringing back rich tokens 
 of its flight. 
 
 " Faust" has never yet been published with notes, 
 with the exception of a very few added to the French 
 translations, in vrhich none of the real difficulties are 
 removed. I have endeavoured to supply this deficiency 
 by bringing together all the information I could collect 
 among an extensive circle of German acquaintance. 
 I have also ransacked all the commentaries I could ffet, 
 though nothing can be more unsatisfactory than the 
 result. They are almost exclusively filled with trashy 
 amplifications of the text, not unfreqnently dilating 
 into chapters what Goethe had condensed in a line. 
 I have named the whole of them in an Appendix. 
 That of Dr. Schubart is said to be the only one which 
 ever received any token of approbation from Goethe. 
 A few parallel passages from English poets will also 
 be found in the notes. They are merely such as inci- 
 dentally suggested themselves ; except, indeed, that I 
 re-read the greater part of Wordsworth, Coleridge and 
 Shelley, during the progress of the undertaking. 
 
 I fear it will be quite impossible for me to acknow-
 
 TRANSLATOR S TREFACE, XXXV 
 
 Icdcje all the assistance I have received, hut there are 
 a few kind co-operators whom I think it a duty to 
 name, though without their knowledge and perhaps 
 contrary to theu* wish. 
 
 I certainly owe most to my old master and friend 
 Mr. Heilner, whose consummate critical knowledge of 
 both languages enabled him to afford the most effective 
 aid in disentangling the perplexities of the work ; and 
 to my friend Mr. Hills, one of the best German scho- 
 lars I know, in whose richly-stored mind and fine taste 
 I found a perfect treasure-house of all that is most 
 beautiful in the most beautiful creations of genius, and 
 an almost infallible criterion of propriety. But it is 
 also with pride and pleasure that I otfer my best ac- 
 knowledgments for very valuable aid to — Mrs. John 
 Austin, the elegant translator of The German Prince's 
 Tour : Dr. Bernays, Professor of the German Lan- 
 guage and Literature at King's College, and one of 
 those who have reflected most honour on that Institu- 
 tion by their works : my clever and warm-hearted 
 friend, Mr. Heller, Attache to the Prussian Embassy? 
 Mr. A. Troppaneger, a German gentleman of loammg 
 and taste now residing in London : Dr. Jacob Grimm, 
 the first philologist of this or perhaps of any age, and 
 an eminently successful cultivator of the most inter- 
 esting department of German literature besides : and 
 last not least, A. W. von Scldegel, whose enduring 
 claims to general admiration are at once too various to 
 be easily enumerated and too well known to need enu-
 
 xxxvi translator's preface. 
 
 merating. There is yet another highly distinguished 
 friend, whose name I should have been enabled to 
 add, had not his regretted absence in a foreign country 
 deprived me of it. When I reflect how much I owed 
 to him on a former occasion of the kind, I cannot con- 
 tempLate tlie omission without a pang.* 
 
 In conclusion I have only to say, that, as I followed 
 no one implicitly, my friends are not answerable for 
 my mistakes ; and that I shall be much obliged to 
 any one who will suggest any amendment in the trans- 
 lation or any addition to the notes, as at some futm-e 
 time I may re-print or publish the work. 
 
 * [I alluded to Mr. G. C. Lewis, translator of Boekh's Domestic 
 Policy of the Athenians and (with Mr. H. Tuffnell) Mliller'? 
 History of the Dorians. He looked over my translation from 
 Savigny for me.] 
 
 Temple, January 5th, 183;!
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 Ye approach again, ye wavering shapes, which once, 
 in the morning of life, presented yourselves to my trou- 
 bled view ! Shall I try, this time, to hold you fast ? 
 Do I feel my heart still inclined to that delusion ? Ye 
 crowd upon me! well then, ye may hold dominion 
 over me, as ye rise around out of vapour and mist. My 
 bosom feels youthfully agitated by the magic breath 
 which atmospheres your train. 
 
 Ye bring whh you the images of happy days, and 
 many loved shades arise : like to an old half-expired 
 Tradition, rises First-love, with Friendship, in their 
 company. The pang is renewed : the plaint repeats 
 the labyrinthine mazy course of life, and names the 
 dear ones, who, cheated of fair hours by fortune, have 
 vanished away before me. 
 
 They hear not the following lays — the souls to whom 
 1 sang my first. Dispersed is the friendly throng — 
 the first echo, alas, has died away I My sorrow voices 
 
 /'
 
 2 DEDICATION. 
 
 itself to the stranger many : their very applause makes 
 my heart sick ; and all that in other days was gladdened 
 by my song — if still living, strays scattered through 
 the world. 
 
 And a yearning, long unfelt, for that quiet pensive 
 Spirit-realm seizes me. 'Tis hovering even now, in 
 half-formed tones, — my lisping lay, like the ^Eolian 
 harp. A tremor seizes me : tear follows tear : the aus- 
 tere heart feels itself growing mild and soft. What 
 I have, I see as in the distance ; and what is gone, 
 becomes a reality to me.
 
 PROLOGUE FOR THE THEATRE 
 
 Manager — Thkatre-Poet — Merryman. 
 
 Manager. Ye two, who have so often stood by me 
 in need and tribulation, say, what hopes do you hap- 
 pen to entertain of our undertaking upon German 
 ground ? I wish very much to please the multitude, 
 particularly because it lives and lets live. The posts, 
 the boards, are put up, and every one looks forward 
 to a feast. There they sit already, cool, with ele- 
 vated brows, and would fain be set a wondering. I 
 know how the spirit of the people is propitiated ; yet 
 I have never been in such a dilemma as now. True, 
 they are not accustomed to the best, but they have 
 read a terrible deal. How shall we manage it — that 
 all be fresh and new, and pleasing and instructive, at 
 once ? For assuredly I like to see the multitude, 
 when the stream ru&hes towards our booth, and, with 
 powerfully-repeated undulations, forces itself through 
 the narrow portal of grace — when, in broad day-light, 
 already before four, they elbow their way to the 
 paying-place, and risk breaking their necks for a 
 ticket, as in a famine at bakers' doors for bread. It 
 Is the poet only that works this miracle on people so 
 various — my friend, oh ! do it to-day ! 
 
 b2
 
 4 PROLOGUE FOR TIIE THEATRE. 
 
 Poet. Oh! speak not to me of that motley multi- 
 tude, at whose very aspect one's spirit takes flight. 
 Veil from me that undulating throng, wliich sucks us, 
 an'ainst our will, into the whirlpool. No I conduct me 
 to the quiet, heavenly nook, where alone pure enjoy- 
 ment blooms for the poet — where love and friendship, 
 with godlike hand, create and cherish our hearts' bless- 
 in o-s. Ah ! what there hath gushed from us in the 
 depths of the breast, what the lip stammered trem- 
 bhngly to itself — now failing, and now perchance suc- 
 ceeding — the wild moment's sway swallows up. Often 
 only when it has endured through years, does it ap- 
 pear in completed form. What glitters, is born for 
 the moment ; the genuine remains unlost to posterity. 
 
 Merryman. If I could but hear no more about 
 posterity! Suppose I chos(3 to talk about posterity, 
 who then would make fun for cotemporaries ? That 
 they will have — and ought to have it. The presence of 
 a o-allantlad, too, is always something, I should think. 
 Who knows how to impart himself agreeably — he 
 will never be soured by popular caprice. He desires 
 a large circle, to agitate it the more certainly. Then 
 do but try your best, and show yourself a model. Let 
 Fancy, with all her choruses, — Reason, Understand- 
 ing, Feeling, Passion, but — mark me well — not without 
 Folly, be heard. 
 
 Manager. But, most particularlj--, let there be 
 incident enough. People come to look ; their greatest 
 pleasure is to see. If much is spun off" before their 
 eyes, so that the many can gape with astonishment, 
 vou have then gained in breadth immediately; you 
 are a great favourite. You can only subdue the mass 
 by mass. Each eventually picks out something for 
 himself. Who brings much, will bring something to 
 many a one, and all leave the house content. If you
 
 PROLOGUE FOR THK THEATRE. 5 
 
 give a piece, give it at once in pieces I With such a 
 hash, you cannot but succeed. It is easily served 
 out, as easily as invented. "What avails it to presenl 
 a whole? the public will pull it to pieces for you not- 
 withstanding. 
 
 Poet. You feel not the baseness of such a hr.ndi- 
 craft ; how little that becomes the true artist ! The 
 daubing of these fine sparks, I see, is already a maxim 
 with you. 
 
 Manager. Such a reproof does not mortify me at 
 all. A man who intends to work properly, must have 
 an eye to the best tool. Consider, you have soft wood 
 to split ; and only look whom you are writing for ! 
 Whilst one is driven by ennui, the other comes satiated 
 from a meal of too many dishes; and, what is worst of 
 all, very many a one comes from I'eading the news- 
 papers. People hurry dissipated to us, as to masque- 
 rades; and curiosity only wings every step. The ladies 
 give themselves and their finerj'^ as a treat, and play 
 with us without pay. What are you dreaming about 
 on your poetical height ? What is it that makes a full 
 house merry ? Look closely at your patrons ! Half 
 are cold, half raw. One hopes for a game of cards 
 after the play ; another, a wild night on the bo'Jom of 
 a wench. Why, poor fools that ye are, do ye give the 
 sweet Pluses much trouble for such an end? I tell 
 you, only give more, and more, and more again ; thus 
 vou can never be wide of your mark. Try only to 
 mystify the people ; to satisfy them is hard— What is 
 come to you ? Delight or pain ^ 
 
 Poet. Begone and seek thyself another servant ! 
 The jioet, forsooth, is wantonly to sport away for thy 
 sake the highest right, the right of man, which Nature 
 bestows upon him ! By what stirs he every heart? By 
 what subdues he every element ? Is it not the har-
 
 G PROLOGUE FOR THE THEATRE. 
 
 mony — •which hursts from out his hreast, and sucks the 
 world hack again into liis heart? When Nature, care- 
 lessly winding, foi'ces the thread's interminable length 
 upon the spindle; when the confused multitude of all 
 Beings jangles out of tune and harsh, — who, life- 
 infusing, so disposes the ever equably-flowing scries, 
 that it moves rhythmically ? Who calls the Individual 
 to the general consecration — where it strikes in glo- 
 rious accords ? Who bids the tempest rage to pas- 
 sions V the evening-red glow in the pensive spirit ? 
 Who scatters on the loved one's path all beauteous 
 blossomings of spring? Who wreathes the unmeaning 
 green leaves into a garland of honour for deserts of all 
 kinds ? Who ensures 01}Tiipus ? — associates Gods ? 
 Man's Power revealed in the Poet. 
 
 Merryman. Employ these fine powers then, and 
 carry on your poetical affairs as one carries on a love- 
 adventure. — Accidentally one approaches, one feels, 
 one stays, and little by little one gets entangled. The 
 happiness increases, — then it is disturbed ; one is 
 delighted, — then comes distress ; and before one is 
 aware of it, it is even a romance. Let us also give a 
 play in this manner. Do but grasp into the thick of 
 human life ! Every one lives it, — to not many is it 
 known ; and seize it where you will, it is interesting. 
 Little clearness in motley images! much falsehood and 
 a spark of truth ! this is the way to brew the best 
 liquor, which refreshes and edifies all the world. Then 
 assembles youth's fairest flower to see your play, and 
 listens to the revelation. Then every gentle mind 
 sucks melancholy nourishment for itself from out your 
 work; then one while this, and one while that, is stirred 
 up; each one sees what he carries in his heart. They 
 are as yet equally ready to weep and to laugh ; they 
 still honour the soaring, are pleased with the glitter.
 
 PROLOGUE FOR THE THEATRE. 7 
 
 One who is formed, there is no such thing as pleasing; 
 one who is formiuir, will always be grateful. 
 
 O ' I/O 
 
 Foet. Then give me also back again the times, 
 when I myself was still forminc: ; when a fountain of 
 crowded lays sprang freshly and unbrokenly forth ; 
 when mists veiled the world before me, — the bud still 
 promised miracles ; when I gathered the thousand 
 flowers which profusely filled all the dales ! I had 
 nothing, and yet enough, — the longing after truth, and 
 the pleasure in delusion ! Give me back those im- 
 pulses untamed, — the deep, pain-fraught happiness, 
 the energy of hate the might of love! — Give me back 
 ray youth ! 
 
 Merryman. Youth, my good friend, you want in- 
 deed, when foe? press you hard in the fight, — when the 
 loveliest of lassos cling with ardour round your neck, — 
 when from afar, the garland of the swift course beckons 
 from the hard-won goal, — when, after the dance's 
 maddening whirl, one drinks away the night carousing. 
 But to strike the familiar lyre with spirit and grace, to 
 sweep along, with happy wanderings, towards a self- 
 appointed aim;-^that, old gentlemen, is 3'our duty, and 
 we honour you not the less on that account. Old age 
 does not make childish, as men say ; it only finds us 
 still as true children. 
 
 Manager. Words enough have been interchanged; 
 let me now see deeds also. Whilst yi,u are turning 
 compliments, something useful may be done. What 
 boots it to stand talkinij about beine; in the vein? The 
 hesitatmg never is so. If ye once give j'ourselves out 
 for poets, — command poesy. You well know what we 
 want; we would sip strong drink — now brew away im- 
 mediately ! What is not duing to-day is not done to- 
 morrow ; and no day should be wasted in dallying. 
 Resolution should boldly seize the possible by the fore-
 
 8 PROLOGUE FOR THE THEATRE. 
 
 lock at once. She will then not let it go, and works 
 on, because she cannot help it. 
 
 You know, upon our German stage, every one tries 
 what he likes. Therefore spare me neither scenery 
 nor machinery upon this day. Use the greater and 
 the lesser light of heaven ; you are free to squander 
 the stars; there is no want of water, fire, rocks, beasts, 
 and birds. So tread, in this narrow booth, the whole 
 circle of creation ; and travel, with considerate speed, 
 from Heaven, through the World, to Hell.
 
 FAUST 
 
 PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN. 
 
 The Lord — the Heavenly Hosts. Afterwards 
 Mephistophkles. 
 
 The Tliree Archangels come forward. 
 
 c ' <■ ^Baphael. The sun chimes in, as ever, with the 
 emulous music of his brother spheres, and performs 
 his prescribed journey with thunder-speed. His as- 
 pect gives strength to the angels, though none can 
 fathom him. Thy inconceivably sublime works are 
 glorious as on the first day. 
 
 Gabriel. And rapid, inconceivably rapid, the pomp 
 of the earth revolves ; the brightness of paradise 
 alternates with deep, fearful night. The sea foams up 
 in broad waves at the deep base of the rocks ; and 
 rock and sea are whirled on in the ever rapid course 
 of the spheres. 
 
 Michael. And storms are roaring as if in rivalry, 
 from sea to land, from land to sea, and form all 
 around a chain of the deepest ferment in their rage. 
 There, Hashing desolation flares before the path of 
 the thunder-clap. But thy messengers, Lord, respect 
 the mild going of thy day.
 
 10 PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN, 
 
 The Three. Thy aspect gives strength to the 
 angels, though none can fathom thee, and all thy 
 suhlime works are glorious as on the first day. 
 
 MepMstopheles. Since, Lord, you approach once 
 again, and inquire how things are going on with us, 
 and on other occasions were generally not displeased 
 to see me — therefore is it that you see me also among 
 your suite. Excuse me, I cannot talk fine, not though 
 the whole circle should cry scorn on me. My pathos 
 would certainly make you laugh, had you not left off 
 laughing. I have nothing to say about suns and 
 worlds ; I only mark how men are plaguing them- 
 selves. The little god of the world continues ever of 
 the same stamp, and is as odd as on the first day. 
 He would lead a somewhat better life of it, had you 
 not given him a glimmering of heaven's light. He 
 calls it reason, and uses it only to be more brutal 
 than every other brute. He seems to me, with your 
 Grace's leave, like one of the long-legged grass- 
 hoppers, which is ever flying, and bounding as it flies, 
 and then sings its old song in the grass ; — and would 
 that he did but lie always in the grass ! He thrusts 
 his nose into every puddle. 
 
 The Lord. Have you nothing else to say to me ? 
 Are you always coming for no other purpose than to 
 complain ? Is nothing ever to your liking upon 
 earth ? 
 
 MepMstopheles. No, Lord ! I find things there, 
 as ever, miserably bad. Men, in their days of wretch- 
 edness, move my pity ; even I myself have not the 
 heart to torment the poor things. 
 
 The Lord. Do you know Faust ? 
 
 MepMstopheles. The Doctor ? 
 
 The Lord. My servant ? 
 
 MepMstopheles. Verily ! he serves you after a
 
 PROLOGUE IN' HEAVEN". 11 
 
 faslilon of his own. The fool's meat and drink are 
 not of earth. The ferment impels him towards 
 the far away. He himself is half conscious of his 
 madness. Of heaven — he demands its brightest 
 stars ; and of earth — its every highest enjoyment ; 
 and all the near, and all the far, contents not his 
 deeply-agitated breast. 
 
 The Lord. Although he does but serve me in 
 perplexity now, I shall soon lead him into light. 
 ^Vl■^en the tree buds, the gardener knows that blossom 
 and fruit will deck the coming years. 
 
 Mephistoj:>heles. What will you wager ? you shall 
 lose him yet, if you give me leave to guide him 
 quietly my own way. 
 
 The Lord. So long as he lives upon the earth, so 
 long be it not forbidden to thee. Man is liable to 
 error, whilst his struggle lasts. 
 
 Mcphistopheles. I am much obliged to you for 
 that ; for I have never had any fancy for the dead. 
 I like plump, fresh cheeks the best. I am not at 
 home to a corpse. I am like the cat with the mouse. 
 
 The Lord. Enough, it is permitted thee. Divert 
 tliis spirit from his original source, and bear him, if 
 thou canst seize him, down on tliy own path with 
 thee. And stand abashed, when thou art compelled 
 to own — a good man, in his dark strivings, may still 
 be conscious of tlie rio'ht wav. 
 
 Mcphistopheles. Well, well, — only it will not last 
 lone;. I am not at all in iiain for mv wao;er. Should 
 I succeed, excuse my triumphing with my whole 
 soul. Dust shall he eat, and with a relish, like my 
 cousin, the renowned snake. 
 
 The Lord. There also you are free to act as you 
 like. I have never hated the like of you. Of all the 
 epirits that deny, the scoffer is the least offensive to
 
 12 PROLOGUE IX HEAVEN. 
 
 me. Plan's activity is all too prone to slumber : he 
 soon gets fond of unconditional repose ; I am there- 
 fore glad to give him a companion, who stirs and 
 works, and must, as devil, be doing. But ye, the 
 true children of heaven, rejoice in the living profusion 
 of beauty. The creative essence, which works and 
 lives through all time, embrace you within the happy 
 bounds of love ; and what hovers in changeful seem- 
 ing, do ye fix firm with everlasting thoughts. 
 
 [Heaven closes, the Archangels disperse. 
 
 Mephistopheles [alone). I like to see the Ancient 
 One occasionally, and take care not to break with him. 
 It is reall}'^ civil in so great a Lord, to speak so kindly 
 with the Devil himself.
 
 THE DRAMA. 
 
 NIGHT. 
 
 Faost in a high-vaulted narrow Gothic chamber, seated 
 restlessly at his desk. 
 
 Faust. I have now, alas, by zealous exertion, 
 thoroughly mastered philosophy, the jurist's craft, 
 and medicine, — and to my sorrow, theology too. Here 
 I stand, poor fool that I am, just as wise as before. 
 I am called Master, ay, and Doctor, and have now 
 for nearly ten years been leading my pupils about-^ 
 up and down, crossways and crooked ways — by the 
 nose ; and see that we can know nothing ! This it 
 is that almost burns up the heart within me. True, 
 I am cleverer than all the solemn triflers — doctors, 
 masters, writers, and priests. No doubts nor scruples 
 trouble me ; I fear neither hell nor the devil. For 
 this very reason is all joy torn from me. I no longer 
 fancy I know anj'thing worth knowing ; I no longer 
 fancy I could teach anything to better and to convert 
 mankind. Then I have neither land nor money, nor 
 honour and rank in the world. No dog would like to 
 hve so any longer. I have therefore devoted myself 
 to magic — whether, through the power and voice of 
 the Spirit, many a mystery might not become known
 
 14 NIGHT-SCENE. 
 
 to ine ; tliat I may no longer, with l)ittei' sweat, be 
 oljliged to speak of what I do not know ; that I may 
 learn what hokls the world together in its inmost 
 core, see all the springs and seeds of production, and 
 drive no longer a paltry traffic in words. 
 
 Oh ! would that thou, radiant moonlight, wert 
 looking for the last time upon my misery ; thou, for 
 whom I have sat watching so many a midnight at 
 this desk ; then, over books and papers, melancholy 
 friend, didst thou appear to me ! Oh ! tliat I might 
 wander on the mountain-tops in thy loved light — 
 hover with spirits round the mountain caves — flit 
 over the fields in thy glimmer, and, disencumbered 
 from all the fumes of knowledge, bathe myself sound 
 in thy dew ! 
 
 Woe is me ! am I still penned up in this dun- 
 geon ? — accursed, musty, walled hole ! — where even 
 the precious light of heaven breaks mournfully thi'ough 
 painted panes, stinted by this heap of books, — which 
 worms eat — dust begrimes — which, up to the very 
 top of the vault, a smoke-smeared paper encom- 
 passes ; with glasses, boxes ranged round, with in- 
 struments ])iled up on all sides, ancestral lumber 
 stuffed in with the rest. This is thy world, and a 
 precious world it is ! 
 
 And dost thou still ask, why thy heart flutters con- 
 finedly in thy bosom ? — Why a vague aching deadens 
 within thee every stirring principle of life ? — Instead 
 of the animated nature, for which God made man, 
 thou hast nought around thee but beasts' skeletons 
 and dead men's bones, in smoke and mould. 
 
 Up I away ! out into the wide world ! And this 
 mysterious book, from Nostradamus' own hand, is it 
 not guide enough for thee ! Thou then knowest t!ie 
 course of the stars, and, when nature instructs thee,
 
 NIGHT-SCENE. 15 
 
 the soul's essence then rises up to thee, as one spirit 
 speaks to another. Vain ! that (kill poring here 
 expounds the holy signs to thee ! Ye are hovering, 
 ye Spirits, near me ; answer me if you hear me. 
 
 \^He opeiis the hook and perceives the sign of the Macrocosm. 
 
 Ah I what rapture thrills all at once through all 
 my senses at this sight ! I feel fresh, hallowed life- 
 joy, new-glowing, shoot through nerve and vein. Was 
 it a ffod that traced these signs ? — which still the 
 storm within me, fill my poor heart with gladness, 
 and, by a mystical intuition, unveil the powers of 
 nature all around me. Am I a god ? All grows so 
 bright ! I see, in these pure lines, Nature herself 
 working in my soul's presence. Now for the first 
 time do I conceive what the sage saith, — " The spirit- 
 world is not closed. Thy sense is shut, thy heart 
 is dead ! Up, acolyte ! bathe, untired, thy earthly 
 breast in the morning-red. " [He contemplates the s-ic/n. 
 
 How all weaves itself into the whole ; one works 
 and lives in the other. How heavenly powers ascend 
 and descend, and reach each other the golden buck- 
 ets, — with bliss-exhaling pinions, press from heaven 
 through earth, all ringing harmoniously through the 
 All. 
 
 What a show ! but Ah ! a show only ! Where 
 shall I seize thee, infinite nature ? Ye breasts, 
 where ? ye sources of all life, on which hang heaven 
 and earth, towards which the blighted breast presses 
 — ye gush, ye suckle, and am I thus languishing in 
 vain ? 
 
 [He turns over the book indignantly, and sees the sign 
 of the Spirit of the Earth. 
 
 How differently this sign afi'ects me ! Thou, 
 Spuic of the Earth, art nearer to me. Ah-eady do 
 I feel my energies exalted, already glow as with new
 
 16 NIGIIT-SCENE. 
 
 wine ; I feel courage to venture into the world ; to 
 endure earthly weal, eartlily woe ; to wrestle with 
 storms, and stand unshaken mid the shipwreck's 
 crash. — Clouds thicken over me ; the moon pales her 
 light ; the lamp dies away ; exhalations arise ; red 
 beams flash round my head ; a cold shuddering flickers 
 down from the vaulted roof and fastens on me ! I 
 feel it — thou art flitting round me, prayer-compelled 
 Spirit. Unveil thyself ! Ah ! what a tearing in 
 my heart — all my senses are up-stirring to new 
 sensations ! I feel my whole heart surrendered to 
 thee. Thou must — thou must! — should it cost me 
 my life. 
 
 [He seizes the hook and pronounces mystically the sign 
 
 of the Spirit. A red fiarne flashes np ; the Spibit 
 
 appears in the jlaine. 
 
 Spirit. Who calls to me ? 
 
 Faust {averting his face). Horrible vision ! 
 
 Spirit. Thou hast compelled me hither, by dint 
 of long sucking at my sphere. And now — 
 
 Faust. Torture ! I endure thee not. 
 
 Spirit. Thou, prayest, panting, to see me, to hear 
 my voice, to see my face. Thy powerful invocation 
 works upon me. I am here ! What pitiful terror 
 seizes thee, the demigod ! Where is the soul's call- 
 ing ? Where is the breast, that created a world in 
 itself, and upbore and cherished it ? which, with 
 tremors of delight, swelled to lift itself to a level with 
 us, the Spirits. W^here art thou, Faust ? whose 
 voice rang to me, who pressed towards me with all his 
 energies ? Art thou he ? thou, who, at the bare per- 
 ception of my breath, art shivering through all the 
 depths of life, a trembling, writhing worm ? 
 
 Faust. Shall I yield to thee, child of fire ? I am 
 he, am Faust thy equal.
 
 NIGHT SCENE. 1 7 
 
 Spirit. In the tides of life, 
 
 In the storm of action, 
 
 I am tossed up and down, 
 
 I drift hither and thither, 
 
 Birth and grave, 
 
 An eternal sea, 
 
 A changeful weaving, 
 
 A glowing life — 
 Thus I work at the whizzing loom of time. 
 And weave the Uving clothing of the Deity. 
 
 Faust. Busy spirit, thou who sweepest round the 
 wide world, how near I feel to thee ! 
 
 Spirit. Thou art mate for the Spirit whom thou 
 couceivest, not for me. [Tlie Spirit vanisJics. 
 
 Faust {collapsing). Not for thee! For whom then? 
 I, the image of the Deity, and not mate for even thee I 
 
 [A knocking at the door. 
 
 Oh, death ! I know it : that is my amanuensis. My 
 fairest fortune is turned to nought. That the im- 
 idea'd groveller must disturb this fulness of visions! 
 
 [Wagxer enters in his dressing-gown and night-cap, with a 
 lamp in his hand. Faust turns round in displeasure. 
 
 y^ Wagner. Excuse me — I hear you declaiming ; 
 vou were surely reading a Greek tragedy. I should 
 like to improve myself in this art, for now-a-days it 
 influences a good deal. I have often heard say, a 
 j)layer might instruct a priest. 
 
 Faust. Yes, when the priest is a player, as may 
 likely enough come to pass occasionally. 
 
 Wagner. Ah ! when a man is so confined to his 
 study, and hardly sees the world of a holyday — hardly 
 through a telescope, only from afar — how is he to lead 
 it by persuasion ? 
 
 Faust. If you do not feel it, you will not get it by 
 
 c
 
 18 NIGHT SCENE. 
 
 hunting' for it, — if it does not gush from the soul, 
 and subvluc the hearts of all hearers with orio-inal 
 delight. Sit at it for ever — glue together — cook up a 
 hash from the feast of others, and blow the paltry 
 flames out of your own little heap of ashes ! You 
 may gain the admiration of children and apes, if you 
 have a stomach for it ; but you will never touch the 
 hearts of others, if it does not flow fresh from your own. 
 
 Wagner. But it is elocution that makes the ora- 
 tor's success. I feel well that I am still far behind 
 hand. 
 
 Faust. Try what can be got by honest means — • 
 Be no tinkling fool ! — Reason and good sense are ex- 
 pressed with little art. And when you are seriously 
 intent on saying something, is it necessary to hunt 
 for words ? Your speeches, I say, which are so glit- 
 tering, in which ye crisp the shreds of humanity, are 
 uurefreshing as the mist-wind which whistles through 
 the withered leaves in autumn. 
 
 Wagner. Oh, God ! art is long, and our life is 
 short. Often indeed, during my critical studies, do I 
 sufi^er both in head and heart Plow hard it is to 
 compass the means by which one mounts to the foun- 
 tain-head ; and before he has got half way, a poor 
 devil must probably die ! 
 
 Faust. Is parchment the holy well, a drink from 
 which allays the thirst for ever ? Thou hast not 
 gained refreshment, if it gushes not from thy own soul. 
 
 Wagner. Excuse me I it is a great pleasure to 
 transport one's-self into the spirit of the times ; to see 
 how a wise man has thought before us, and to what a 
 ff'lorious height we have at last carried it. 
 
 Faust. Oh, yes, up to the very stars. My friend, 
 the past ages are to us a book with seven seals. 
 What you term the spirit of the times., is at bottom
 
 NIGHT SCENE, 19 
 
 only your own spirit, in wliich the times are reflected. 
 A miserable exhibition, too, it frequently is ! One 
 runs away from it at the first glance ! A dirt-tub 
 and a luraber-roora ! — and, at best, a puppet-show 
 play, with tine pragmatical saws, such as may happen 
 to sound well in the mouths of tlie puppets ! 
 
 Wagner. But the world ! the heart and mind of 
 man ! every one would like to know something about 
 that. 
 
 Faust. Aye, what is called knowing ! Who dares 
 call the child by its true name ? The few who have 
 ever known anything about it, who sillily enough did 
 not keep a guard over their full hearts, who revealed 
 what they liad felt and seen to the multitude, — these, 
 time immemorial, have been crucified and burned. I 
 beg, friend — the night is far advanced — for the pre- 
 sent we must break off. 
 
 Wagner. I could fain have kept waking to con- 
 verse with you so learnedly. To-morrow, however, 
 the first day of Easter, permit me a question or two 
 more. Zealously have I devoted myself to study. 
 True, I know much ; but I would faiu know all. \^Exit. 
 
 Faust {alone). How all hope only quits not the 
 brain, which clings perseveringly to trash, — gropes 
 with greedy hand for treasures, and exults at finding 
 eartli -worms ! 
 
 Dai'C such a human voice sound here, where all 
 around me teemed with spirits ? Yet ah, this once I 
 thank thee, thou poorest of all the sons of earth. 
 Thou didst snatch me from despair, which had well- 
 nigh got the better of sense. Alas ! the vision was 
 so giant-great, that I felt quite shrunk into a dwarf. 
 
 I, formed in God's own image, who already thouglit 
 myself near to the mirror of eternal, truth ; who re- 
 velled, in heaven's lustre and clearness, with the 
 
 c2
 
 20 NIGHT SCENE. 
 
 earthly part of me stripped off ; I, more than cherub, 
 whose free spirit ah-eady, in its imaginative soarings, 
 aspired to ghde through nature's veins, and, in creat- 
 ing, enjoy the hfe of gods — how must I atone for it ! 
 a thunder-word has swept me wide away. 
 
 I dare not presume to mate myself with thee. If 
 I have possessed the power to draw thee to me, I 
 had no power to hold thee. In that blest moment, 
 I felt so little, so great ; you ci-uelly thrust me back 
 upon the luieertain lot of humanity. Who will teach 
 me ? What am I to shun ? Must I obey that im- 
 pulse ? Alas ! our actions, equally with our suffer- 
 ing's, cloo; the course of our lives. 
 
 Something foreign, and more foreign, is ever chng- 
 ing to the noblest conception the mind can form. 
 When we have attained to the good of this world, 
 what is better is termed falsehood and vanity. The 
 glorious feelings which gave us life, grow torpid in 
 the worldly bustle. 
 
 If phantasy, at one time, on daring wing, and full 
 of hope, dilates to infinity, — a little space is now 
 enough for her, when venture after venture has been, 
 wrecked in the whirlpool of time. Care straightway 
 nestles in the depths of the heart, hatches vague tor- 
 tures there, rocks herself restlessly, and frightens joy 
 and peace away. She is ever putting on new masks ; 
 she may appear as house and land, as wife and child, 
 as fire, water, dagger and poison. You tremble be- 
 fore all that does not befall you, and must be always 
 wailing what you never lose. 
 
 I am not like the godheads ; I feel it but too 
 deeply. I am like the worm, which drags itself 
 through the dust, — which, as it seeks its living in the 
 dust, is crushed and bmied by the step of the 
 passer-by.
 
 NIGHT SCEXE. 21 
 
 Is it not dust ? all that in a liundred shelves con- 
 tracts this lofty wall— the frippery, which, with its 
 tl ousand forms of emptiness, cramps me up in this 
 moth-world ? Shall I find what I want here ? Must 
 I go on reading in a thousand hooks, that men have 
 every where been miserable, that now and then there 
 Las been a happy one. 
 
 Thou, hollow scull, what mean'st thou by that 
 grin ? but that thy brain, like mine, was once bewil- 
 dered, — sought the bright day, and, with an ardent 
 longing after truth, went miserably astray in the 
 twilight ? 
 
 Ye instruments are surely mocking me, with your 
 wheels and cogs, cylinders and collars. I stood at 
 the gate, ye were to be the key ; true, your wards 
 are curiously twisted, but you raise not the bolt. In- 
 scrutable at broad day, nature does not suffer herself 
 to be robbed of her veil ; and what she does not choose 
 to reveal to thy mind, thou wilt not wrest from her 
 by levers and screws. 
 
 Thou, anticpiated lumber, which I have never used, 
 thou art here only because my father had occasion 
 for j-ou. Thou, old roll, hast been growing smoke- 
 besmeared since the dim lamp first smouldered at this 
 desk. Far better would it be for me to have squan- 
 dered away the little I possess, than to be sweating 
 here under the burthen of that little. To possess 
 what thou hast inherited from thy sires, enjoy it. 
 What one does not profit by, is an oppressive burden ; 
 what the moment brings forth, that only can it pro- 
 fit by. 
 
 But why are my looks fastened on that spot : is 
 that phial there a magnet to my eyes ? Why, of a 
 sudden, is all so exquisitely bright, as when the 
 nioonlij^ht breathes round one beniu'litcd in the wood ?
 
 22 NIGHT SCENE. 
 
 I hail thee, tliou precious phial, Avhich I now talie 
 down with reverence ; in thee I honour the wit and 
 art of man. Thou abstraction of kind soporific juices, 
 thou concentration of all refined deadly essences, show 
 thy favour to thy master ! I see thee, and the pang 
 is mitigated ; I grasp thee, and the struggle abates : 
 the spirit's flood-tide ebbs by degrees. I am beckoned 
 out into the wide sea ; the glassy wave glitters at 
 my feet ; another day invites to other shores. 
 
 A chariot of fire waves, on light pinions, down to 
 me. 1 feel prepared to permeate the realms of space, 
 on a new track, to new spheres of pure activity. 
 This sublime existence, this god-like beatitude ! And 
 thou, worm but now, dost thou merit it ? Aye, only 
 resolutely turn thy back on the lovely sun of this 
 earth ! Dare to tear up the gates which each will- 
 ingly slinks by ! Now is the time to show by deeds 
 that man's dignity yields not to God's sublimity, — to 
 quail not in presence of that dark abyss, in which 
 phantasy damns itself to its own torments — to struggle 
 onwards to that pass, round whose narrow mouth all 
 Hell is flaming ; calmly to resolve upon the step, even 
 at the risk of dropping into nothingness. 
 
 Now come down, pure crystal goblet, on which I 
 have not thought for many a year, — forth from your 
 old receptacle ! You glittered at my father's festivi- 
 ties ; you gladdened the grave guests, as one passed 
 you to the other. The gorgeousness of the many 
 artfully-wrought images, — the drinker's duty to ex- 
 plain them in rhyme, to empty the contents at a 
 draught, — remind me of many a night of mv youth. 
 I shall not now pass you to a neighbour : I shall not 
 now display my wit on your devices. Here is a juice 
 which soon intoxicates. It fills your cavity with its 
 brown flood. Be this last drauoht — which I have
 
 NIGHT SCENE. 23 
 
 brewed, which I choose — quaffed, with my Avhole soul, 
 as a solemn festal greeting to the morn. 
 
 iHe places the goblet to his mouth. The ringing of hells 
 and singing of choi'uses. 
 
 CHORUS OF ANGELS. 
 
 Christ is arisen ! 
 Joy to the mortal, 
 Whom the corrupting, 
 Creeping, hereditary 
 Imperfections enveloped. 
 
 Faust. What deep humming, what clear strain, 
 draws irresistibly the goblet from my mouth ? Are 
 ye hollow-sounding bells already proclaiming the first 
 festal hour of Easter? Are ye choruses already 
 singing the comforting hymn, which once, round the 
 night of the sepulchre, pealed forth, from angel lips, 
 assurance to a new covenant ! 
 
 CHORUS OF WOMEN. 
 
 With spices 
 
 Had we embalmed him ; 
 
 We, his faithful ones. 
 
 Had laid him out. 
 
 Clothes and bands 
 
 Cleanlily swathed we round ; 
 
 Ah ! and we find 
 
 Christ no more here ! 
 
 CHORUS OF ANGELS. 
 
 Christ is arisen ! 
 Happy the loving one, 
 Who the afflicting, 
 Wholesome and chastening 
 Trial has stood !
 
 24 NIGHT SCENE. 
 
 Faust. Why, ye heavenly tones, subduing and 
 soft, do you seek me out in the dust ? Peal out, 
 where weak men are to be found ! I hear the mes- 
 sage, but want faith. Miracle is the pet child of 
 faith. I dare not aspire to those spheres from whence 
 the glad tidings sound ; and yet, accustomed to this 
 sound from infancy, it even now calls me back to life. 
 In other days, the kiss of heavenly love descended 
 upon me in the solemn stillness of the Sabbath ; then 
 the full-toned bell sounded so fraught with mystic 
 meaning, and a prayer was intense enjoyment. A 
 longing, inconceivably sweet, drove me forth to wander 
 over wood and plain, and amidst a thousand burning 
 tears, I felt a world rise up to me. This anthem 
 harbingered the gay sports of youth, the unchecked 
 happiness of spring festivity. Recollection now holds 
 me back, with childlike feeling, from the last decisive 
 step. Oh ! sound on, ye sweet heavenly strains ! 
 The tear is flowing, earth has me again. 
 
 CHORUS OF DISCIPLES. 
 
 The Buried One, 
 Already on high, 
 Living, subhme. 
 Has gloriously raised himself ' 
 He is, in reviving bliss, 
 Near to creating joy. 
 Ah ! on earth's bosom 
 Are we for suffering here ! 
 He left us, his own, 
 L^guishing here below I 
 Alas ! we weep over. 
 Master, thy happy lot !
 
 NIGHT SCENE. 
 
 CHORUS OF ANGELS. 
 
 Christ is arisen 
 
 Out cf corruption's lap. 
 
 Joyfully tear yourselves 
 
 Loose from your bonds ! 
 
 Ye, in deeds giving praise to him. 
 
 Love manifesting, 
 
 Breaking bread brethren-like, 
 
 Travelling and preaching him. 
 
 Bliss promising — 
 
 You is the master nigh. 
 
 For you is he here !
 
 26 
 
 BEFORE THE GATE. 
 
 Promenaders of all kinds pass out. 
 
 Some Mechanics. Why that way ? 
 
 Others. We are going up to the Jagerhaus. 
 
 The Former. But we are going to the mill. 
 
 A Mechanic. I advise you to go to the Wasserhof. 
 
 A Second. The road is not at all pleasant. 
 
 The others. What shall you do then ? 
 
 A Third. I am going with the others. 
 
 A Fourth. Come up to Burghdorf ; you are there 
 sure of finding the prettiest girls and the best beer, 
 and rows of the first order. 
 
 A Fifth. You wild fellow, is your skin itching for 
 the third time ? I dont like going there ; I have a 
 horror of the place. 
 
 Servant Girl. No, no. 1 shall return to the town. 
 
 Another. We shall find him to a certainty by those 
 poplars. 
 
 The First. That is no great gain for me. He 
 will walk by your side. With you alone does he 
 dance upon the green. What have I to do with your 
 pleasures ? 
 
 The Second. He is sure not to be alone to-day. 
 The curly-head, he said, would be with him. 
 
 Student. The devil ! how the brave wenches step 
 out ; come along, brother, we must go with them. 
 Strong beer, stinging tobacco, and a girl in full trim, 
 — that now is my taste. 
 
 Citizen's Daughters. Now do but look at those
 
 BEFORE THE GATE. 27 
 
 fiue lads ! It is really a shame. They might have 
 the hest of company, and are running after these 
 servant-girls. 
 
 Second Stiuknt to the First. Not so fast ! there 
 are two coming up behind ; they are trimly dressed 
 out. One of them is my neighbour ; I have a great 
 liking for the girl. They are walking in their quiet 
 way, and yet will suffer us to join them in the end. 
 
 The First. No, brother. I do not like to be under 
 restraint. Quick, lest we lose the game. The hand 
 that twirls the mop on a Saturday, will fondle you best 
 on Sundays. 
 
 Tmiyiisman. No, the new Burgomaster is not to 
 my taste ; now that he has become so, he is daily 
 getting bolder ; and what is he doing for the town ? 
 Is it not growing worse every day ? One is obliged 
 to submit to more restraints than ever, and pay more 
 than in any time before. 
 
 Beggar (sings). Ye good gentlemen, ye lovely 
 ladies, so trimly dressed and rosy cheeked, be pleased 
 to look upon me, to regard and relieve my wants. Do 
 not suffer me to sing here in vain. The free-handed 
 only is light-hearted. Be the day, which is a hohday 
 to all, a harvest-day to me. 
 
 Another Toionsman. I know nothing better on 
 Sundays and holidays than a chat of war and war's 
 alarms, when people are fighting, behind, far away in 
 Turkey. A man stands at the window, takes off his 
 glass, and sees the painted vessels glide down the 
 river ; then returns home glad at heart at eve, and 
 blesses peace and times of peace. 
 
 Third Townsman. Aye, neighbour, I have no ob- 
 jection to that ; they may break one another's heads, 
 and turn everything tojisy-turvy, for aught I care ; 
 only let things at home remain as they arc.
 
 28 BEFORE THE GATE. 
 
 An Old Woman to the Citizens' Daughters. Hey 
 dey : how smart ! the pretty young creatures. Who 
 would not be smitten with you ? Only not so proud ! 
 it is all very well ; and what you wish, I should know 
 how to put you in the way of getting. 
 
 Citizen s Brighter. Come along, Agatha. I take 
 care not to be seen with such witches in public ; true, 
 on Saint Andrew's eve, she showed me my future 
 sweetheart in flesh and blood. 
 
 The other. She showed me mine in the glass, 
 soldier-like, with other bold fellows ; I look around, 
 I seek him everywhere, but I can never meet with 
 him. 
 
 iSoldier. 
 
 Towns with lofty 
 Walls and battlements. 
 Maidens with proud 
 Scornful thoughts, 
 I fain would win. 
 Bold the adventure. 
 Noble the reward. 
 
 And the trumpets 
 
 Are our summoners 
 
 As to joy 
 
 So to death. 
 
 That is a storming. 
 
 That is a life for you ! 
 
 Maidens and towns 
 Must surrender. 
 Bold the adventure. 
 Noble the reward— 
 And the soldiers 
 Are ofi".
 
 BEFORE THE GATE. 29 
 
 Facst and Wagner. 
 Faust. River and rivulet are freed from ice by tlio 
 gay quickening glance of the spring. The joys of 
 hope are budding in the dale. Old winter, in his 
 weakness, has retreated to the bleak mountains ; from 
 thence he sends, in his flight, nothing but impotent 
 showers of hail, in flakes, over the green-growing 
 meadows. But the Sun endures no white. Produc- 
 tion and growth are everywhere stii'ring ; he is about 
 to enliven everything with colours. The landscape 
 wants flowers ; he takes gaily-dressed men and women 
 instead. Turn and look back from this rising ground 
 upon the town Forth from the gloomy portal presses 
 a motley crowd. Every one suns himself so willingly 
 to-day. They celebrate the rising of the Lord, for 
 they themselves have arisen ; — from the damp rooms of 
 mean houses, from the bondage of mechanical drud- 
 gery, from the confinement of gables and roofs, from 
 the stifling narrowness of streets, from the venerable 
 gloom of churches, are they all raised up to the open 
 light of day. But look, look ! how quickly the mass 
 scatters itself through the gardens and fields ; how 
 the river, in breadth and length, tosses many a merry 
 bark upon its surface, and how this last wherry, over- 
 laden almost to sinking, moves ofi". Even from the 
 farthest paths of the mountain, gay-coloured dresses 
 glance upon us. I hear already the bustle of the 
 village ; here is the true heaven of the multitude ; big 
 and little are huzzaing joyously. Here, I am a man 
 — here, I may be one. 
 
 Wagner. To walk with you, Sir Doctor, is honour 
 and profit But I would not lose myself here alone, 
 because I am an enemy to coarseness ef every sort. 
 Fiddling, shouting, skittle-playing, are sounds tho-
 
 30 BEFORE TIIE GATE. 
 
 roughly detestable to me. People run riot as if the 
 devil was driving them, and call it merriment, call it 
 singing. 
 
 RUSTICS UNDER THE LIME TREE. 
 
 DANCE AND SONG. 
 
 Tlie swain di'essed himself out for the dance. 
 With party-coloui-ed jacket, ribbon and garland. 
 Smartly was he dressed ! 
 
 The ring romid the lime-tree was already fuU, 
 And all were dancing like mad. 
 
 Huzza ! Huzza ! 
 
 Tira-lira-hara-la ! 
 Merrily went the fiddle-stick. 
 
 He pressed eagerly in, 
 Gave a maiden a push 
 With his elbow : 
 The buxom girl turned round 
 And said — " Now that I call stupid." 
 
 Huzza ! Huzza ! 
 
 Tu'a-lira-hara-la ! 
 « Don't be so iU bred." 
 
 Yet nimbly sped it in the ring ; 
 They turned right, they turned left. 
 And all the petticoats were flying. 
 They grew red, they grew warm. 
 And rested panting arm-in-arm, 
 
 Huzza ! Huzza ! 
 
 Tira-lira-hara-la ! 
 And elbow on hip. 
 
 " Have done now ! don't be so fond ! " 
 How many a man has cajoled and
 
 BEFORE THE GATE. 3] 
 
 Deceived his betrothed. 
 
 But he coaxed her aside, 
 
 And far aud wide echoed from the lime-tree 
 
 Huzza ! Huzza ! 
 
 Tira-lii'a-hara-la ! 
 Shouts and fiddle-sticks. 
 
 Old Peasant. Doctor, this is really good of you, 
 uot to scorn us to-day, and great scholar as j'ou are, 
 to mingle in this crowd. Take then the fairest jug, 
 ■which we have filled with fresh liquor : I pledge you 
 in it, aud pray aloud that it may do more than quench 
 your thirst — may the number of drops which it holds 
 be added to your days ! 
 
 Faust. I accept the refreshing draught, and wish 
 you all health and happiness in return. 
 
 [ The people collect round him. 
 
 Old Peasant. Of a surety it is well done of you, 
 to appear on this glad day. You have been our friend 
 in evil days, too, before now. Many a one stands 
 here alive whom your father tore from the hot fever's 
 rage, when he stayed the pestilence. You too, at 
 that time a young man, went into every sick-house : 
 many a dead body was borne forth, but you came out 
 safe. You endured many a sore trial. The Helper 
 above helped the helper. 
 
 All. Health to the tried friend — may he long 
 have the power to help ! 
 
 Faust. Bend before Him on high, who caches 
 how to help, and sends help. 
 
 [He proceeds with Wagner. 
 
 Wagner. What a feeling, great man, must you 
 experience at the honours paid you by this multitude. 
 Oh, happy he who can turn his gifts to so good an 
 account. The father points you out to his boy ; all
 
 32 BEFORE THE GATE. 
 
 ask, and press, and hurry round. The fiddle stops, 
 the dancer pauses. As you go by, they range them- 
 selves in rows, caps fly into the air, and they all but 
 bend the knee as if the Host were passing. 
 
 Faust. Only a few steps further, up to that stone 
 yonder ! Here we will rest from our walk. Here 
 many a time have I sat, thoughtful and solitary, and 
 mortified myself with prayer and fasting. Rich in 
 hope, firm in faith, I thought to extort the stoppage 
 of that pestilence from the Lord of Heaven, with 
 tears, and sighs, and wringing of hands. The ap- 
 plause of the multitude now sounds to me like derision. 
 Oh ! couldst thou read in my inmost soul, how little 
 father and son have merited such an honour ! My 
 father was a worthy, sombre man, who, honestl}^ but 
 in his own way, meditated, with whimsical applica- 
 tion, on nature and her hallowed circles ; who, in the 
 company of adepts, shut himself up in the dark labo- 
 ratory, and fused contraries together after numberless 
 recipes. There was a red lion, a bold lover, married 
 to the lily in the tepid bath, and then both, with open 
 flame, tortured from one bridal chamber to another. 
 K the young queen, with varied hues, then appeared 
 in the glass — this was the physic ; the patients died, 
 and no one inquired who recovered. Thus did we, 
 with hellish electuaries, rage in these vales and moun- 
 tains far worse than the pestilence. I myself have 
 given the poison to thousands ; they pined away, 
 and I must survive to hear the reckless murderers 
 praised ! 
 
 Wagner. How can you make yourself uneasy on 
 that account ? Is it not enough for a good man to 
 practise conscientiously and scrupulously the art that 
 has been handed over to him ? If, in youth, you 
 honour your father, you will willingly learn from
 
 BEFORE THE GATE. 5'6 
 
 him : if, in manhood, you extend the bounds of know- 
 ledge, your son may mount still higher than you. 
 
 Faust. Oh, happy he, who can still hope to emerge 
 from this sea of error ! We would use the very thing 
 we know not, and cannot use what we know. But 
 let us not embitter the blessing of this hour by such 
 melancholy reflections. See, how the green-girt 
 cottages shimmer in the setting Sun ! He bends and 
 sinks — the day is overlived. Yonder he hurries off, 
 iind quickens other life. Oh ! that I have no wing 
 to lift me from the ground, to struggle after, for ever 
 after, him ! I should see, in everlasting evening 
 beams, the stilly world at my feet, — every height on 
 fire, — every vale in repose, — the silver brook flowing 
 into golden streams. The rugged mountain, with all 
 its dark defiles, would not then break my godlike 
 course. — Already the sea, with its heated bays, opens 
 on my enraptured sight. Yet the god seems at last 
 to sink away. But the new impulse wakes. I hurry 
 on to drink his everlasting light, — the day before me 
 and the night behind, — the heavens above, and under 
 me the waves. — A glorious dream ! as it is passing, 
 he is gone. Alas, no bodily wing will so easily keep 
 pace with the wings of the mind. Yet it is the in- 
 born tendency of our being for feeling to strive up- 
 wards and onwards ; when, over us, lost in the blue 
 expanse, the lark sings its trilling lay : when, over 
 rugged pine-covered heights, the outspread eagle 
 soars ; and over marsh and sea, the crane struggles 
 onwards to her home. 
 
 Wagner. I myself have often had my whimsical 
 moments, but I never yet experienced an impulse of 
 the kind. One soon looks one's fill of woods and 
 fields. I shall never envy the wings of the bird. 
 How differently the pleasm-es of the mind bear us. 
 
 D
 
 34 BEFORE THE GATE. 
 
 from book to book, from page to page. With them, 
 winter nights become cheerful and bright, a happy- 
 life warms every limb, and, ah ! when you actually 
 unroll a precious manuscript, all heaven comes down 
 to you. 
 
 Faust. Thou art conscious only of one impulse. 
 Oh, never become acquainted with the other ! Tws 
 souls, alas, dwell in my breast : the one would fain 
 separate itself from the other. The one clincfs, with 
 persevering fondness, to the world, with organs like 
 cramps of steel : the other lifts itself energetically 
 froHi the mist to the realms of an exalted ancestry. 
 Oh ! if there be spirits in the air, which hover ruling 
 'twixt earth and heaven, descend ye, from your golden 
 atmosphere, and lead me off to a new variegated life. 
 Aye, were but a magic mantle mine, and could it bear 
 me into foreign lands, I would not part with it for the 
 costliest garments — not for a king's mantle. 
 
 Wagner. Invoke not the well-known troop, which 
 diffuses itself, streaming, through the atmosphere, 
 and prepares danger in a thousand forms, from every 
 quarter, to man. The sharp-fanged spirits, with ar- 
 rowy tongues, press upon you from the north ; from 
 the east, they come parching, and feed upon your 
 lungs. If the south sends from the desert those which 
 heap fire after fire upon thy brain, the west brings 
 the swarm which only refreshes, to drown fields, mea- 
 dows, and yourself. They are fond of listening, ever 
 keenly alive for mischief: they obey with pleasure, 
 because they take pleasure to delude; they feign to be 
 sent from heaven, and lisp like angels when they lie. 
 But let us be going ; the earth is already grown grey, 
 the air is chill, the mist is falling ; it is only in the 
 evening that we set a proper value on our homes. 
 Why do you stand still, and gaze with astonishment
 
 BEFORE THE GATE. 35 
 
 thus ? What can thus fix your attention in the 
 gloaming ? 
 
 Faust. Seest thou the black clog ranging throuo-h 
 the corn and stubble ? 
 
 Wagner. I saw him long ago ; he did not strike 
 me as any thing particular. 
 
 Faust. Mark him well ! for what do you take the 
 brute? 
 
 Wagner. For a poodle, who, in his way, is puzzling- 
 out the track of his master. 
 
 Faust. Dost thou mark how, in wide spiral curves, 
 he quests round and ever nearer us? and, if I err not, 
 a line of fire follows upon his track. 
 
 Wagner. I see nothing but a black poodle; you 
 may be deceived by some optical illusion. 
 
 Faust. It appears to me, that he is drawino- lioht 
 magical nooses, to form a toil around our feet. 
 
 Wagner. I see him bounding hesitatingly and shily 
 around us, because, instead of his master, he sees two 
 strangers. 
 
 Favst. The circle grows narrow ; he is alreadyclose. 
 
 Wagner. You see, it is a dog, and no spirit. He 
 growls and hesitates, crouches on his belly and wao-s 
 with his tail — all as dogs are wont to do. 
 
 Faust. Come to us! — Hither! 
 
 Wagner. It's a droll creature of a dog. Stand 
 still, and he will sit on his hind legs; speak to him, and 
 he will jump upon you ; lose aught, and he will fetch 
 it to you, and jump into the water for your stick. 
 
 Faust. I believe you are right; I find no trace of 
 a spirit, and all is training. 
 
 Wagner. Even a wise man may become attached 
 tu a dog when he is well brought up. And ho richly 
 deserves all your favour, — he, the accomplished pupil of 
 your students, as he is. [Tkey enter the gate of the town. 
 
 1)2
 
 36 
 
 FAUST'S STUDY. 
 
 Faust entering ivith the poodle. 
 
 I have left plain and meadow veiled in deep night, 
 which wakes the better soul within us with a holy feel- 
 ing of foreboding awe. Wild desires are now sunk in 
 sleep, with e\Qrj deed of violence: the love of man is 
 stirrino- — the iuve of God is stirrins; now. 
 
 Be quiet, poodle, run not hither and thither. What 
 are you snuffling at on the threshold ? Lie down behind 
 the stove ; there is my best cushion for you. As with- 
 out, upon the mountain path, you amused us by running 
 and gambolling, so now receive my kindness as a wel- 
 come quiet guest. 
 
 Ah ! when the lamp is again burning friendily in our 
 narrow cell, then all becomes clear in our bosom, — in 
 the heart that knows itself. Reason begins to speak, 
 and hope to bloom, again ; we yearn for the streams^ 
 oh yes, for the fountain, of life. 
 
 Growl not, poodle ; the brutish sound ill harmonises 
 with the hallowed tones which now possess my whole 
 soul. We are accustomed to see men deride what they 
 do not understand — to see them snarl at the good and 
 beautiful, which is often troublesome to them. Is the 
 dog disposed to snarl at it like them? But ah ! I feel 
 already that, much as I may wish for it, contentment 
 wells no longer from my breast. Yet why must the 
 stream be so soon dried up, and we again lie thirsting? 
 I have had so much experience of that ! This want.
 
 FAUST S STUDY. O / 
 
 however, admits of beino- compensated. We learn to 
 prize that wliich is not of this earth; we long for reve- 
 lation, which nowhere burifs more majestically or more 
 heautifully than in the New Testament. I feel impelled 
 to open the original text — to translate for once, with 
 upright feehng, the sacred original into my darling 
 
 [He opens a volume, and disposes himself for 
 the taslc. 
 
 It is written: " In the beginning was the Word." 
 Here I am already at a stand — Avho will help me on ? 
 I cannot possibly value the Word so highly; I must 
 translate it differently, if I am truly inspired by the 
 spirit. It is written: "In the beginning Avas the 
 Sense. " Consider well the first line, that your pen be 
 not over hasty. Is it the sense that influences and 
 produces every thing ? It should stand thus : "In 
 the beo-innino- was the Power.'' Yet, even as I am 
 writing down this, something warns me not to keep to 
 it. The spirit comes to my aid ! At once I sec my 
 way, and write confidently : "In the beginning was 
 the Deed." 
 
 If I am to share the chamber with you, poodle, cease 
 vour howling — cease your barking. I cannot endure 
 so troublesome a companion near to me. One of us 
 two must quit the cell. It is with reluctance that I 
 withdraw the rights of hospitality ; the door is open — 
 the way is clear for you. But what do I see ! Can 
 that come to pass by natural means ? Is it shadow — 
 is it reality ? IIow long and broad my poodle grows I 
 He raises himself powerfully ; that is not the form of 
 a dog ! What a phantom I have brought into the 
 house ! — he looks already like a liippopotamus, with 
 fiery eyes, terrific teeth. Ah ! I am sure of thee ! 
 Solomon's key is good for such a half-hcUish brooil.
 
 38 faust's study. 
 
 Spirits in the passage. 
 
 One is caught within ! 
 Stay without, follow none 
 As in the gin the fox, 
 Quakes an old lynx of heli 
 
 But take heed ! 
 Hover thithei", hover back, 
 
 Up and down, 
 And he is loose ! 
 If ye can aid him. 
 Leave him not in the lurch 
 For he has already done 
 Much to serve us. 
 Faust. First to confront the beast. 
 Use I the spell of the four : 
 
 Salamander shall glow. 
 
 Undine twine, 
 
 Sylph vanish, 
 
 Kobold bo moving 
 Who did not know 
 
 The elements, 
 Their power and properties, 
 
 Were no master 
 
 Over the spirits. 
 
 Vanish in flame, 
 
 Salamander ! 
 Rushingly flow together, 
 
 Undine ! 
 Shine in meteor beauty. 
 
 Sylph ! 
 Bring homely help, 
 Incubus ! Incubus ! 
 Step forth and make an end of it. 
 
 No one of the four sticks in the beast. lie liefj
 
 Faust's study. 39 
 
 undlstiu'bed and grins at me. I have not yet made 
 him fceL Thou shalt hear me conjure stronger. 
 
 Art thou, fellow, 
 
 A scapeling from hell ! 
 
 Then see this sign ! 
 
 To which bend the dark troop. 
 
 He is already swelling up with bristling hair. 
 
 Reprobate ! 
 
 Can'st thou read him ? — 
 
 The unoriginated, 
 
 Unpronounceable, 
 
 Throuo-h all heaven diffused. 
 
 Vilely transpierced ? 
 
 Driven behind the stove, it is swelling like an ele- 
 phant ; it fills the whole space, it is about to vanish 
 into mist. Rise not to the ceiling ! Down at thy 
 master's feet ! Thou see'st I do not threaten in vain. 
 I will scorcii thee with holy fire. Wait not for the 
 thrice crlowina; light. Wait not for the strongest of 
 my spells. 
 
 [MepliistopheUi comes foncard as the mist sinlcs, in the dress 
 of a travelling scholar, from behind the stove.] 
 
 Wherefore such a fuss ? What may be your plea- 
 sure ? 
 
 Faust. This, then, was the kernel of the poodle I 
 A travelling scholar ? The casus makes me laugh. 
 
 Mephistojjheles. I salute your learned worship. 
 You have made me sweat with a vengeance. 
 
 Faust. What is thy name ? 
 
 Mephistopheles. The question strikes me as trifling 
 for one who rates the Word so low ; who, far estranged 
 from all mere outward seeming, looks only to the 
 essence of things.
 
 40 Faust's study. 
 
 Faust. With such gentlemen as you, one may 
 generally learn the essence from the name, since it 
 appears hut too plainly, if your name be fly-god, 
 ilestroycr, liar. Now, in a word, who art thou then ? 
 
 Mejyhistopheles. A part of that power, which is 
 ever willing evil and ever producing good. 
 
 Faust. What is meant by this riddle ? 
 
 Mephistopheles. I am the spirit which constantly 
 denies, and tliat rightly ; for everything that has 
 originated, deserves to be annihilated. Therefore 
 better were it that nothing should originate. Thus, 
 all that you call sin, destruction, in a word, Evil, ii 
 my proper element. 
 
 Fallot. You call yourself a part, and yet stand 
 Avhole before me. 
 
 Mephistopheles. I tell you the modest truth. Al- 
 though man, that microcosm of folly, commonly esteems 
 himself a whole, I am a part of the part, which in the 
 beginning was all ; a part of the darkness which 
 brought forth light, — the proud light, which now con- 
 tests her ancient rank and space with mother night. 
 But he succeeds not ; since, strive as he will, he 
 cleaves, as if bound, to bodies. He streams from 
 bodies, he gives beauty to bodies, a body stops him in 
 his course, and so, I hope, he will perish with bodies 
 before long. 
 
 Faust. Now I know thy dignified calling. Thou 
 art not able to destroy on a great scale, and so art 
 just beginning on a small one. 
 
 3IephistopheIes. And, to say truth, little progress 
 has been made in it. That which is opposed to nothing 
 — the something, this clumsy world, much as I have 
 tried already, I have not yet learnt how to come at 
 it, — with waves, storms, earthquakes, fire. Sea and 
 land remain undisturbed after all ! And the damned
 
 fadst's study. 41 
 
 set, the brood of brutes and men, there is uo such 
 tiling as getting the better of them neither. How 
 many I have ah-eady buried ! And new fresh blood is 
 constantly circulating ! Things go on so — it is enough 
 to make one mad ! From air, water, earth — in wet, 
 dry, hot, cold — germs by thousands evolve themselves. 
 Had I not reserved fire, I should have nothing apart 
 for myself. 
 
 Faust. Sothouopposest thycold devil's fist, clenched 
 in impotent malice, to the ever stirring, the beneficent 
 creating power. Try thy hand at something else, 
 wondrous son of Chaos. 
 
 Mcphistopheles. We will think about it in good 
 earnest — more of that anon ! Might I be permitted 
 this time to depart ? 
 
 Faust. I see not why you ask. I have now mads 
 acquaintance with you ; call on me in future as you 
 feel incHned. Here is the window, here the door ; 
 there is also a chimney for you. 
 
 MephistopJieles. To confess the truth, a small 
 obstacle prevents me from walking out — the wizard- 
 foot upon your threshold. 
 
 Faust. The Pentagram embarrasses you ? Tell 
 me then, thou child of hell, if that repels thee, how 
 cam'st thou in ? How was such a spirit entrapped ? 
 
 Mcphistopheles. Mark it well ; it is not well drawn; 
 one angle, the outward one, is, as thou see'st, a little 
 open. 
 
 Faust. It is a lucky accident. Thou shouldst be 
 my prisoner then ? This is a cliance hit. 
 
 Mcphistopheles. The poodle observed nothing when 
 he jumped in. The thing looks differently now ; the 
 devil cannot get out. 
 
 Faust. But why do you not go through the 
 window ?
 
 42 faust's study. 
 
 Mephistophcles . It is a law binding on devils and 
 phantoms, that they must go out the same way they 
 stole in. The first is free to us ; we are slaves as 
 regards the second. 
 
 Faust. Hell itself has its laws ? I am o-lad of 
 it ; in that case a compact, a binding one, may be 
 made with j^ou gentlemen ? 
 
 MejjMstopheles. What is promised, that shalt thou 
 enjoy to the letter ; not the smallest deduction shall 
 be made from it. But this is not to be discussed so 
 summarily, and we will speak of it the next time. But 
 I most earnestly beg of you to let me go this once. 
 
 Faust. AY ait yet another moment, and tell me 
 something worth telling. 
 
 Mephistoplieles. Let me go now ! I wdl soon 
 come back ; you may then question me as \oulike. 
 
 Faust. I have laid no snare for thee ; thou hast 
 run into the net of thy own free will. Let whoever 
 has got hold of the devil, keep hold of him ; he will 
 not catch him a second time in a hurry. 
 
 Mephistoplieles . If you like, I am ready to stay 
 and keep you company here, but upon condition that 
 I may beguile the time properly for you by my arts. 
 
 Faust. I shall attend with pleasure ; j^ou may do 
 so, provided only that the art be an agreeable one. 
 
 Mephistoplieles. My friend, you will gain more for 
 your senses in this one hour, than in the whole years 
 monotony. What the delicate spirits sing to you, the 
 lovely images which they call up, are not an unsub- 
 stantial play of enchantment. Your smell will be 
 charmed, you will then delight your palate, and then 
 your feelings will be entranced. No preparation is 
 necessary ; we are all assembled— strike up !
 
 Faust's study. 43 
 
 SPIIIITS. 
 
 Vanish ye dark 
 Arched ceilings above * 
 More chamiingly look in 
 The friendly blue sky ! 
 Were the dark clouds 
 Melted away ! 
 Little stars sparkle, 
 Softer suns shine in. 
 Etherial beauty 
 Of the children of heaven. 
 Tremulous bending 
 
 Hovers across ; 
 Longing desire 
 
 Follows after. 
 And the fluttering 
 Ribbons of drapery 
 Cover the plains, 
 Cover the bower, 
 Where lovers, 
 Deep in thought. 
 Give themselves for life. 
 Bower on bower ! 
 Sprouting tendrils ! 
 Do^Ti-weighing grapes 
 Gush into the vat 
 Of the hard-squeezing press. 
 The foaming wines 
 Gush in brooks. 
 Rustle through 
 Pure, precious stones, 
 Leave the heights 
 Behind them lying, 
 Broaden to seas
 
 44 FAUST 'S STUDY. 
 
 Around the charm of 
 Green-growing hills. 
 And the winged throng 
 Sips happiness, 
 Flies to meet the su'j, 
 Flies to meet the bright 
 Isles, which dancingly 
 Float on the waves ; 
 Where we hear 
 Shouting in choruses, 
 Where we see 
 Dancers on meads ; 
 All in th' open air 
 Disporting alike. 
 Some are clambering 
 Over the heights. 
 Others are s\vimming 
 Over the seas. 
 Others are hovering — 
 All towards the life, 
 All towards the far away 
 Loving stars of 
 Bliss-giving grace. 
 
 MepMstopheles. He slumbers ! Well done, my 
 airy, delicate youngsters ! Ye have fairly sung him 
 to sleep. I am your debtor for this concert. Thou 
 art not yet the man to hold fast the devil ! Play round 
 him with sweet dreamy visions ; plunge him in a sea 
 of illusion. But to break the spell of this threshold I 
 need a rat's tooth. I have not to conjure long ; one 
 is already rustling hither, and will hear me in a 
 moment. 
 
 The lord of rats and mice, of flies, frogs, bugs and 
 lice, commands thee to venture forth and gnaw this
 
 Faust's stcdv. 45 
 
 threshold so soon as he has smeared it with oil. Thou 
 com'st hopping forth already I Instantly to the work ! 
 The point which repelled me is towards the front on 
 the ledge ; one bite more, and it is done. — Now 
 Faust, dream on, till we meet again. 
 
 Faust [Kxthing). Am I then once again deceived ? 
 Does the throng of spirits vanish thus ? Was it in a 
 lying dream that the devil appeared to me, and was \i- 
 a poodle that escaped ?
 
 46 
 
 FAUST'S STUDY. 
 
 Fadst. — Mephistopheles. 
 
 Fausf, Does any one knock ? Come in ! Who 
 wants to disturb me again ? 
 
 Mephistopheles. It is I. 
 
 Faust. Come in. 
 
 Mephistopheles. You must say so tliree times. 
 
 Faust. Come in, then ! 
 
 Mephistopheles. So far, so good. We shall go 
 on very well together, I hope ; for, to chase away 
 your fancies, I am here, like a youth of condition, in 
 a coat of scarlet laced with gold, a mantle of stiff silk, 
 a cock's feather in my hat, and a long pointed sword 
 at my side. And to make no more words about it, 
 my advice to you is to array yourself in the same 
 manner immediately, that unrestrained, emancipated, 
 you may try what life is. 
 
 Faust. In every dress, I dare say, I shall feel the 
 torture of the contracted life of this earth. I am too 
 old to do nothing but play, too young to be without a 
 wish. What can the world aftord me ! — " Thou 
 shalt renounce!" "Thou shalt renounce!" That 
 is the eternal song which rings in every one's ears ; 
 which, our whole life long, every hour is hoarsely 
 singing to us. In the morning I wake only to horror. 
 I would fain weep bitter tears to see the day, which, 
 in its course, will not accomplish a wish for me, no, 
 not one ; which, with wayward captiousness, weakens 
 even the presentiment of every joy, and disturbs the
 
 Faust's study. 47 
 
 creation of my busy breast by a thousand ugly reali- 
 ties. Then again, when night comes round, I must 
 stretch myself in anguish on my bed ; here, too, no 
 rest is vouchsafed to me ; wild dreams are sure to 
 harrow me up. The God, .that dwells in my bosom, 
 that can stir my inmost soul, that sways all my ener- 
 gies — he is powerless as regards things without ; and 
 thus existence is a load to me, death an object of 
 earnest prayer, and life detestable. 
 
 Mephistopheles. And yet death is never an en- 
 tirely welcome guest. 
 
 Faust. Oh ! happy the man around whose brows 
 he wreathes the bloody laurel in the ghtter of victory 
 — whom, after the maddening dance, he finds in a 
 maiden's arms. Oh that I had sunk away, enrapt, 
 exanimate, before the great spirit's power ! 
 
 Mephistopheles. And yet a certain person did not 
 drink a certain brown juice on a certain night. 
 
 Faust. Playing the spy, it seems, is thy amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 Mephistopheles. I am not omniscient ; but I know 
 much. 
 
 Faust. Since a sweet familiar tone drew me from 
 those thronging horrors, and played on what of child- 
 like feeling remained in me with the concordiug note 
 of happier times, — my curse on every thing tliat en- 
 twines the soul with its jugglery, and spell-binds it in 
 this den of wretchedness with blinding and flattering 
 influences. Accursed, first, be the lofty opinion in 
 which the mind wraps itself ! Accursed, the blinding 
 of appearances, by which our senses are subdued ! 
 Accursed, what plays the pretender to us in dreams, 
 — the clieat of glory, of the lasting of a name ! Ac- 
 cursed, what flatters us as pi'operty, as wife and child, 
 as slave and plough ! Accursed be Mammon when
 
 4-S Faust's study. 
 
 he stirs us to bold deeds with treasures, when he 
 smooths our couch for indolent dclig-ht ! My curse 
 on the balsam-juice of the grape ! My curse on that 
 highest grace of love I My curse on Hope, my curse 
 on Faith, and my curse, above all, on Patience ! 
 
 CHORUS OF SPIRITS {invisible). 
 
 Woe, woe, 
 
 Tliou hast destroyed it, 
 
 The beautiful world, 
 
 With violent hand ; 
 
 It tumbles, it falls al^road. 
 
 A demigod has shattered it to pieces ! 
 
 We bear away 
 
 The wrecks into nothingness. 
 
 And wail over 
 
 The beauty that is lost. 
 
 Mighty 
 
 Among the sons of earth, 
 
 Proudlier 
 
 Build it again, 
 
 Build it up in thy bosom ! 
 
 A new career of hfe, 
 
 With unstained sense 
 
 Begin, 
 
 And new lays 
 
 Shall peal out thereupon. 
 
 Mephistopheles. These are the little ones of my 
 
 train. Listen, how, with wisdom beyond their years, 
 
 they counsel you to pleasure and action. Out into 
 
 'the world, away from solitariness, where senses and 
 
 juices stagnate — would they fain lure you. 
 
 Cease to trifle with your grief — which, like a vul- 
 ture, feeds upon your vitals. The worst company
 
 F-vust's stl'dy. 49 
 
 will make you feel that you are a man among men. 
 Yet I do not mean to thrust you amongst tlie paek. 
 I am none of your great men ; but if, united with 
 me. you will wend your way through life, I will rea- 
 dily accommodate myself to be yours upon the spot. 
 I am your companion ; and, if it suits you, your ser- 
 vant, j'our slave ! 
 
 Faust. And what am I to do for you in return ? 
 
 MephistopTieles. For that you have still a long day 
 of grace. 
 
 Faust. No, no ; the devil is an egoist, and is not 
 likelv to do, for God's sake, what is useful to another. 
 Speak the condition plainly out ; such a servant is a 
 dangerous inmate. 
 
 Mephistopheles. I will bind m3'self to your service 
 here, and never sleep nor slumber at your call. When 
 we meet on the other side, you shall do as much for me. 
 
 Faust. I care little about the other side : if you 
 first knock this world to pieces, the other may arise 
 afterwards if it will. My joys flow from this earth, 
 and this sun shines upon my sufferings : if I can only 
 separate myself from them, what will and can, may 
 come to pass. I will hear no more about it — whe- 
 ther there be hating and loving in the world to come, 
 and whether there be an Above or Below in those 
 spheres too. 
 
 Mephistopheles. In this mood, you may venture. 
 Bind yourself ; and during these days, you shall be 
 deliirhted bv my arts : I will oivc thee what no human 
 being ever saw yet. 
 
 Faust. What, poor dc\nl, wilt thou give ? Was a 
 man's mind, in its high aspiring, ever comprehended 
 by the like of thee ? But if thou hast food which 
 satisfies not ; ruddy gold which, volatile, like quick- 
 silver, melts away in the hand ; a game, at which 
 
 E
 
 50 faust's study. 
 
 one never wins ; a maiden, who, on my breast, is 
 already ogling my neighbour ; the bright godlike joy 
 of honour, which vanishes like a meteor ! — Show me 
 the fruit which rots before it is plucked, and trees 
 which every day grow green anew. 
 
 Mepliistopheles. Such a task affrights me not. I 
 have such treasures at my disposal. But, my good 
 friend, the time will come round when we may feast 
 on what is really good in peace. 
 
 Faust. If ever I stretch myself, calm and com- 
 posed, upon a couch, be there at once an end of me. 
 If thou canst ever flatteringly delude me into being 
 pleased with myself — if thou canst cheat me with 
 enjoyment, be that day my last. I offer the wager. 
 
 Mepliistopheles. Done ! 
 
 Faust, And my hand upon it ! If I ever say to 
 the passing moment — " Stay, thou art so fair ! " then 
 mayst thou cast me into chains ; then will I readily 
 perish ; then may the death-bell toll ; then art thou 
 free from thy service. The clock may stand, the 
 index-hand may fall : be time a thing no more for 
 me ! 
 
 Mephistoplieles. Think well of it ; we shall bear 
 it in mind. 
 
 Faust. You have a perfect right so to do. I have 
 formed no rash estimate of myself. As I drag on, I 
 am a slave ; what care I, whether thine or another's. 
 
 3fephistop>hcles. This very day, at the doctor's feast, 
 I shall enter upon my duty as servant. Only one 
 thing — to guard against accidents, I must trouble you 
 for a line or two. 
 
 Faust. Pedant, dost thou, too, requii-e writing ? 
 Hast thou never known man nor man's word ? Is it 
 not enough that my word of mouth disposes of my 
 days for all eternity ? Does not the world rave on in
 
 Faust's study. 51 
 
 all its currents, and am I to be bound by a promise ? 
 Yet this prejudice is implanted in our hearts : who 
 would willingly free himself from it ? Happy the 
 man who bears truth pure in his breast ; he will 
 never have cause to repent any sacrifice ! But a 
 parchment, written and stamped, is a spectre which 
 all shrink from. The word dies away in the very 
 pen ; in wax and leather is the mastery. What, evil 
 spirit, wouldst thou of me ? Brass, marble, parch- 
 ment, paper ? Shall I write with style, graver, pen ? 
 I leave the choice to thee. 
 
 Mephisiopheles. How can you put yourself in a 
 passion and overwork your rhetoric in this manner ? 
 Any scrap will do : you will subscribe your name 
 with a drop of blood. 
 
 Faust. If this will fully satisfy you, the whim shall 
 be complied with. 
 
 Mepliistopheles. Blood is quite a peculiar sort of 
 juice. 
 
 Faust. But fear not that I shall break this com- 
 pact. What I promise, is precisely what all my 
 energies are striving for. I have aspired too high : I 
 belong only to thy class. The Great Spirit has spurned 
 me ; Nature shuts herself against me. The thread of 
 thought is snapped ; I have long loathed every sort of 
 knowledge. Let us cpiench our glowing passions in 
 the depths of sensuality ; let every wonder be forth- 
 with prepared beneath the hitherto impervious veil 
 of sorcery. Let us cast ourselves into the rushing 
 of time, into the rolling of accident. There pain and 
 pleasure, success and disappointment, may succeed 
 each other as they will — man's proper element is rest- 
 less activity. 
 
 Mepliistopheles. Nor end nor limit is prescribed to 
 vou. If it is your pleasure to sip the sweets of every 
 
 E 2
 
 52 faust's study. 
 
 thing, to snatch at all as you fly by, much good may 
 it do you — only fall to and don't he coy. 
 
 Faust. I toll tliee again, pleasure is not the ques- 
 tion : 1 devote myself to the intoxicating whirl ; — to 
 the most agonizing enjoyment — to enamoured hate — 
 to animating vexation. My breast, cured of the thirst 
 of knowledge, shall henceforth bare itself to every 
 pang. I will enjoy in my own heart's core all that is 
 parcelled out among mankind ; grapple in spirit with 
 the highest and deepest ; heap the weal and woe of 
 the whole race upon my breast, and thus dilate my 
 own individuality to theirs, and perish also, in the 
 end, like them. 
 
 Mephistophdcs. Oh, believe me, who many thou- 
 sand years have chewed the cud on this hard food, 
 that, from the cradle to the bier, no human being 
 digests the old leaven. Believe a being like me, this 
 Whole is only made for a god. He exists in aii 
 -sternal halo ; us he has brought forth into darkness , 
 and only day and night are proper for you. 
 
 Faust. But I will. 
 
 Mephistopheles. That is well enough to say ! But 
 I am only troubled about one thing ; time is short, 
 art is long. I should suppose you would suffer your- 
 self to be instructed. Take a poet to counsel ; make 
 the gentleman set his imagination at work, and heap 
 all noble qualities on your honoured head, — the lion's 
 courage, the stag's swiftness, the fiery blood of the 
 Italian, the endnring firmness of the North. Make 
 him find out the secret of combining magnanimity 
 with cunning, and of being in love, after a set plan, 
 with the burning desires of youth. I myself should 
 like to know such a gentleman — I would call him 
 Mr. Microcosm. 
 
 Faust. What, then, am I, if it be not possible to
 
 Faust's study. 53 
 
 attain tlie crown of liumanitj, which every sense is 
 striving for ? 
 
 MejAistopheles. Thou art* in the end — what thou 
 art. Put on wigs with million of curls — set thy 
 foot upon ell-high socks, — thou abidest ever what 
 thou art. 
 
 Faust. I feel it ; in vain have I scraped together 
 and accumulated all the treasures of the human mind 
 upon myself; and when I sit down at the end, still no 
 new power wells up within : I am not a hair's breadth 
 hisrher, nor a whit nearer the Infinite. 
 
 Mcplmtoplieles. My good Sir, you see things pre- 
 cisely as they are ordinarily seen ; we must manage 
 matters better, before the joys of life pass away from 
 us. What the deuce ! you have surely hands and 
 
 feet, and head and . And what I enjoy with spirit, 
 
 is that then the less my own ? If I can pay for six 
 horses, are not their powers mine ? I dash along and 
 am a proper man, as if I had four-and-twenty legs. 
 Qiuck, then, have done with poring, and straight 
 away into the world with me. I tell you, a fellow 
 that speculates is like a brute driven in a circle on a 
 barren heath by an evil spirit, whilst fair green mea- 
 dow lies everywhere around. 
 
 Faust. How shall we set about it ? 
 
 Mephistopheles. We will just start and take our 
 chance. What a place of martyrdom! what a precious 
 life to lead ! — wearying one's self and a set of young- 
 sters to death. Leave that to your neighbour, Mr. 
 Paunch ! Why will you plague yourself to thrash 
 straw ? The best that you can know, you dare not 
 tell the lads. Even now I hear one in the passage. 
 
 Faust. I cannot possibly see him. 
 
 Mepliistopheles. The poor boy has waited long ; he 
 must not be sent away disconsolate. Come, give mo
 
 54 SCENE WITH THE STUDENT. 
 
 your cap and gown : the mask will become me to 
 
 admiration. [He changes his dress. 
 
 Now t!-ust to my wit. I require but a quarter of an 
 
 liour. In the mean time prejiare for our pleasant trip. 
 
 [Exit Faust. 
 
 Mephistopiieles in Faust's gown. 
 
 Only despise reason and knowledge, the highest 
 sti'eng'th of humanity ; only permit thyself to be con- 
 firmed in delusion and sorcery-work by the spirit of 
 lies, — and I have thee unconditionally. Fate has given 
 him a spirit which is ever pressing onwards uncurbed, 
 — whose overstrained striving o'erleaps the joys of 
 earth. Him will I drag through the wild passages of 
 life, thougli vapid unmeaningness. He shall sprawl, 
 stand amazed, stick fast, — and meat and drink shall 
 hang, for his insatiableness, before his craving lips : 
 he shall pray for refreshment in vain ; and had he not 
 already given himself up to the devil, he would, not- 
 withstanding, inevitably be lost. [A Student enters. 
 
 Student. I am but just arrived, and come, full 
 of devotion, to pay my respects to, and make ac- 
 quaintance with, a man whom all name to me with 
 reverence. 
 
 Mephistopiieles. I am flattered by your politeness. 
 You see a man, like many others. Have you yet made 
 any inquiry elsewhere? 
 
 Student. Interest yourself for me, I pra}' you. I 
 come with every good disposition, a little money, and 
 youthful sjiirits ; my mother could hardly be brought to 
 part with me, but I would fain learn something worth 
 learning in the world. 
 
 Mephistopiieles. You are here at the very place 
 for it.
 
 SCENE WITH THE STUDENT. 
 
 Student. Honestly speaking, I already wish myself 
 away. These walls, these halls, are by no means to 
 my taste. The space is exceedingly confined ; there 
 is not a tree, nothing green, to be seen ; and in the 
 lecture-rooms, on the benches, — hearing, sight, and 
 thinking fail me. 
 
 Mcphistophelcs. It all depends on habit. Thus, at 
 first, the child does not take kindly to the mother's 
 breast, but soon finds a pleasure in nourishing itself. 
 Just so will you daily experience a greater pleasure at 
 the breasts of wisdom. 
 
 Student. I shall hang delightedly upon her neck : 
 do but tell me how I am to attain it. 
 
 Mephistapheles. Tell me before you go further, 
 what faculty you fix upon ? 
 
 Student. I should wish to be profoundly learned, 
 and should like to comprehend what is upon earth or 
 in heaven, science and nature. 
 
 Mephistoplieles. You are here upon the right scent ; 
 but you must not sufi"er j'our attention to be distracted. 
 
 Student. I am heart and soul in the cause. A 
 little relaxation and pastime, to be sure, would not 
 come amiss on bright summer holidays. 
 
 Mephistoplieles. Make the most of time, it glides 
 away so fast. But method teaches you to gain time. 
 For this reason, my good friend, I advise you to begin 
 with a course of logic. In this study, the mind is well 
 broken in, — laced up in Spanish boots, so that it creeps 
 circumspectly along the path of thought, and runs no 
 risk of flickering, ignis-fatuus-like, in all directions. 
 Then many a day will be spent in teaching you that 
 one, two, three — is necessary for that which formerly 
 you hit off" at a blow, as easily as eating and drinking. 
 It is with the fabric of thouo;ht as with a weaver's 
 master-piece ; where one treadle moves a thousand
 
 5G SCENE WITH THE STUDENT. 
 
 threads : tlie shuttles shoot hackwards and forwards : 
 the threads fluw unseen : ties, by thousands, are struck 
 ofF at a blow. Your philosopher, — he steps in and 
 proves to you, it must have been so : the first would 
 be so, the second so, and therefore the third and 
 fourth so; and if tlio first and second were not, the 
 third and fourth would never be. The students of all 
 countries put a high value on this, but none have be- 
 come weavers. Pie who wishes to know and describe 
 anything- living, seeks first to drive the spirit out of 
 it; he has then the parts in his hand; only, unluckily, 
 the spiritual bond is wanting. Chemistry terms it en- 
 cheiresis naturce, and mocks herself without knowing it. 
 
 Student. I cannot quite comprehend you. 
 
 Mephistopheles. You will soon improve in that 
 respect, if you learn to reduce and classify all things 
 properly. 
 
 Student. I am so confounded by all this, I feel as 
 if a mill-wheel was turning round in my head. 
 
 Mepldstopheles. In the next place, before every- 
 thing else, you must set to at metaphysics. There see 
 that you conceive profoundly what is not made for 
 human brains. A fine word will stand you in stead 
 for wliat enters and what does not enter there. And 
 be sure, for this half-year, to adopt the strictest regu- 
 larit3^ You will have five lectures every day. Be in 
 as the clock strikes. Be well prepared beforehand with 
 the paragraphs carefully conned, that you may see the 
 better that he says nothing but what is in the book ; 
 yet write away as zealously as if the Holy Ghost were 
 dictating to you. 
 
 Student. You need not tell me that a second time. 
 I can imagine how useful it is. For what one has in 
 black and white, one can carry home in comfort. 
 
 Mephistopheles. But choose a faculty.
 
 SOKNE WITH THE STCUENT. 5/ 
 
 Student. I cannot reconcile myself to jurisprudence. 
 
 Mcphistophclcs. I cannot much blame you. I know 
 the nature of this science. Laws descend, like an 
 inveterate hereditary disease ; they trail from genera- 
 tion to generation, and glide imperceptibly from place 
 to place. Reason becomes nonsense ; beneficence, 
 calamity. Woe to thee that thou art a grandson ! Of 
 the law that is born with us — of that, unfortunately, 
 there is never a question. 
 
 Student. You increase my repugnance. Oh, happy 
 ho, whom you instruct. I should almost like to study 
 theoloo'v. 
 
 3Ieplustoplieles. I do not wish to mislead you. As 
 for this science, it is so difficult to avoid the wrong- 
 way ; there is so much hidden poison in it, which is 
 hardly to be distinguished from the medicine. Here, 
 again, it is best to attend but one master, and swear 
 by his words. Generally speaking, stick to words ; you 
 will then pass through the safe gate into the temple 
 of certainty. 
 
 Student. But there must be some meanino" com 
 nected with the word. 
 
 Mephistop>lieIes. Right ! only we must not be too 
 anxious about that ; for it is precisely where meaning 
 fails that a word comes in most opportunely. Disputes 
 may be adniiraldy carried on with words ; a system 
 may be built with words ; words form a capital subject 
 for belief ; a word admits not of an iota being taken 
 from it. 
 
 Student. Your pardon, I detain you by my many 
 questions, but I must still trouble you. Would you be 
 so kind as to add a pregnant word or two on medicine. 
 Three years is a short time, and the field, God knows, 
 is far too wide. If one has but a hint, one can feel 
 one's way along further.
 
 58 SCENE WITH THE STUDENT. 
 
 MepMstopheles [aside). I begin to be tired of the 
 prosing style. I must play the devil true to character 
 again. [_Aloud' 
 
 The spirit of medicine is easy to be caught ; you 
 study through the great and little world, and let things 
 go on in the end — as it pleases God. It is vain that 
 you wander scientifically about ; no man will learn 
 more than he can ; he who avails himself of the pass- 
 ing moment — that is the proper man. You are tole- 
 rably well built, nor will j-ou be wanting in boldness, 
 and if you do but confide in yourself, other souls will 
 confide in j'ou. lu particular, learn how to treat the 
 women : their eternal obs ! and ahs ! so thousand- 
 fold, are to be curwl from a single point, and if you 
 only assume a moderately demure air, you Avill have 
 them all under your thumb. You must have a title, 
 to convince them that your art is superior to most 
 others, and then you are admitted from the first to all 
 those little privileges which another spends years in 
 coaxing for. Learn how to feel the pulse adroitly, 
 and boldly clasp them, with hot wanton looks, around 
 the tapering hip, to see how tightly it is laced. 
 
 Student. There is some sense in that ; one sees at 
 any rate the where and the how. 
 
 Mephistoplieles. Grey, my dear friend, is all theory, 
 ando-reenthe c:olden tree of life. 
 
 Student. I vow to you, all is as a dream to me. 
 Might I trouble you another time to hear your wisdom 
 speak upon the grounds. 
 
 Mephistoplieles. I am at your service, to the extent 
 of my poor abilities. 
 
 Student. I cannot possibly go away without plac- 
 ing my album in your hands. Do not grudge me this 
 token of your favour.
 
 SCENE WITH THE STUDENT. 5V> 
 
 Mcpldstoplieles. With all ni}- heart. 
 
 [He writes and gives it haclc. 
 Student {reads). Eritis sicut Deus, scientes honum 
 
 ct malum. 
 
 [He closes the booh reverentially, and taJces his leave. 
 
 Mepliistopheles. Only follow the old saying and my 
 cousin the snake, and some time or other you, with 
 your likeness to God, will be sorry enough. 
 
 Faust [enters). Whither now? 
 
 Mephistopheles. Where you please ; to see the 
 little, then the great world. With what joy, what 
 profit, will you revel through the course ! 
 
 Faust. But with my long beard, I want the easy 
 manners of society. 1 shall fail in the attempt. I 
 never knew how to present myself in the world ; I 
 feel so little in the presence of others. I shall be in 
 a constant state of embarrassment. 
 
 MepliistopheJes. My dear friend, all that will come 
 of its own accord ; so soon as you feel confidence in 
 yourself, you know the art of life. 
 
 Faust. How, then, are we to start ? Where are 
 your carriages, horses, and servants. 
 
 Mephistopheles. We have but to spread out this 
 mantle ; that shall bear us through the air. Only 
 you will take no heavy baggage on this bold trip. A 
 little inflammable air, which 1 will get ready, will lift 
 us quickly from this earth ; and if vve are light, we 
 shall mount rapidly. I wish you joy of your new course 
 of life.
 
 60 
 
 AUERBACH'S CELLAR IN LEIPZIG. 
 
 {Drinking bout of merry Fellows.) 
 
 FroscJi. Will no one drink ? no one lauo-h ? I will 
 teach you to grin. Whj, you are like wet straw to- 
 day> yet at other times you blaze brightly enough. 
 
 Brander. That is your fault; you contribute" 
 nothing towards it : no nonsense, no beastliness — 
 
 Frosch {throws a glass of wine over Brander s 
 head). There are both for you ! 
 
 Brander. You double hog ! 
 
 Frosch. Why, you wanted tne to be so. 
 
 Siehel. Out with him who quarrels ! With open 
 heart strike up the song ! hwill and shout ! holla, 
 holla, ho ! 
 
 Altmayer. Woe is me ! I am a lost man. Cotton, 
 here ! the knave splits my ears. 
 
 Siehel. It is only when the vault echoes again, that 
 one feels the true power of the bass. 
 
 Frosch, Right : out with him who takes anything 
 amiss. A ! taralara, da ! 
 
 Altmayer. A ! taralara ! 
 
 Frosch. Our throats are tuned. \_Ee sings. 
 
 " The dear, holy Romish empire, how holds it still 
 together ? " 
 
 Brander. A nasty song ! psha, a political song ! 
 an offensive song ! Thank God every morning of 
 your life, that you have not the Romish empire to 
 care for. I, at least, esteem it no slieht cain that I
 
 CELLAR IS LEIPZIG. 61 
 
 am not emperor nor chancellor. But we cannot do 
 without a head. We will choose a poi)e. You know 
 what sort of qualification turns the scale, and elevates 
 the man. 
 
 Frosch {sings). Soar up, Madam Nightingale, give 
 my sweetheart ten thousand greetings for me. 
 
 Siebcl. No greeting to the sweetheart; I will not 
 hear of it. 
 
 Frosch. Greeting to the sweetheart, and a kiss too ! 
 Thou shalt not hinder me. \_IIe s'mfjs. 
 
 Open bolts ! in stilly night. 
 Open bolts ! the lover wakes. 
 Shut bolts ! at morning's dawn. 
 
 Siebel. Aye, sing, sing on, and praise and cele- 
 brate her ; my turn for laughing will come. She has 
 taken me in ; she will do the same for you. May she 
 have a hobgoblin for a lover I He may toy with her 
 on a cross way. An old he-goat, on his return from 
 the Block sberg, may wicker good night to her on the 
 gallop. A hearty fellow of genuine flesh and blood 
 is far too good for the wench. I will hear of no greet- 
 ing, unless it be to smash her windows. 
 
 Drander {striking on the table.) Attend, attend; 
 listen to me ! You gentlemen must allow me to know 
 something of life. Love-sick folks sit here, and I 
 must give them something suitable to their condition 
 bv way of good night. Attend ! a song of the newest 
 cut ! and strike boldly in with the chorus. 
 
 [Ife sings. 
 
 " There was a rat in the cellar who lived on nothing 
 but fat and butter, and had raised himself up a paunch 
 fit for Doctor Luther himself. The cook had laid 
 pdison for him ; then the world became too hot for 
 liini, as if he had love in his body. 
 
 Chorus. "As if he had love in his body."
 
 62 CELLAR IX LEIPZIG. 
 
 •' He ran round, he ran out he drank of every pud- 
 dle ; he gnawed and scratched the whole house, but 
 his fury availed nothing ; lie gave many a bound of 
 agony ; the poor beast was soon done for, as if he had 
 love in his body. 
 
 Chorus. "As if," &c. 
 
 " He came running into the kitchen, for sheer pain, 
 in open dayhght, fell on the earth and lay convulsed, 
 and panted pitiably. Then the poisoner exclaimed, 
 Avith a laugh — Ha ! he is at his last gasp, as if he 
 had love in his body." 
 
 Chorus. " As if," &c. 
 
 Siehel. How the flats chuckle ! It is a fine thinp-, 
 to be sure, to lay poison for the poor rats. 
 
 Brander. They stand high in your favour, I dare 
 say. 
 
 Altmayer. The bald-pated paunch! The misad- 
 venture makes him humble and mild. He sees in the 
 swollen rat his own image drawn to the life. 
 
 Faust and MEPHiSTorHELES. 
 
 Mephistopheles. Before all things else, I must bring 
 you into merry company, that you may see how lightly 
 life may be passed. These people make every day a 
 feast. With little wit and much self-complacency, 
 each turns round in the narrow circle-dance, like 
 kittens playing with their tails. So long as they 
 have no headache to complain of, and so long as they 
 can get credit from their host, they are merry and 
 free from care. 
 
 Brander. They are just off a journey ; one may 
 see as much from their strange manner. They have 
 not been here an hour. 
 
 Frosch. Thou art right ; Leipsic is the place for 
 me : it is a little Paris, and gives its folks a finish.
 
 CELLAR IN LEIPZIG. 63 
 
 Siehel. What do you take the strangers to be ? 
 
 Frosch. Let me alone ; in the drniking of a 
 bumper I will worm it out of them as easily as draw 
 a child's tooth. They appear to me to be noble ; 
 they have a proud and discontented look. 
 
 Brander. Mountebanks to a certainty, I wager. 
 
 Allmayer. Likely enough. 
 
 Frosch. Xow mark : I will smoke them. 
 
 Mej'histopheles to Faust. These people wouLi never 
 scent the devil, if he had them by the throat 
 
 Faust. Good morrow, gentlemen. 
 
 Siehel. Thanks, and good morrow to you. 
 
 [Aside, loohiu(/ at Mephistopheles askance. 
 
 Why does the fellow halt on one foot ? 
 
 Mephistopheles. Will you permit us to sit down 
 with you. We shall have company to cheer us instead 
 of o-ood liquor, which is not to be had. 
 
 Altmayer. You seem a very dainty gentleman. 
 
 Frosch. I dare say you are lately from Rippach ? 
 Did you sup M'ith Mr. Hans before you left ? 
 
 Mephistopheles. We passed him without stopping 
 to-day. The last time we spoke to him, he had much 
 to say of his cousins ; he charged us with compliments 
 to each. [With an inclination towards Frosch. 
 
 Altmayer [aside). Thou hast it there ! he knows a 
 tliina: or two. 
 
 Siehel. A knowing fellow I 
 
 Frosch. Only wait, I shall have liim presently. 
 
 Mephistopheles. If I am not mistaken, we heard 
 some practised voices singing in chorus ? No doubt 
 siuffino- must echo admirably from this vaulted roof. 
 
 Frosch. I dare say you arc a dilettante. 
 
 Mephistopheles. Oh, no ! The power is weak, but 
 the desire is strong.
 
 64 CELLAR IN LEIPZIG. 
 
 Altmayer. Give us a soiig. 
 
 Mephisiop/zeles. As many as you like. 
 
 Sicbel. Only let it be bran new. 
 
 Me^^MstoplicIes. We are just returned from Spain, 
 the fair land of wine and song. {He sings. 
 
 " There was once upon a time a king who had a 
 great flea " — 
 
 FroscJi. Hark ! A flea ! Did you catch that ? A 
 flea is a fine sort of chap. 
 
 Mephistophcles {sings). " There was once upon a 
 time a king ; he had a great flea, and was as fond of 
 it as if it had been his own son. Then he called his 
 tailor ; the tailor came. ' There, measure the young- 
 ster for clothes, and measure him for breeches.' " 
 
 Brander. Only don't forget to impress it on the 
 tailor to measure with the greatest nicety, and, as he 
 loves his head, to make the breeches sit smoothly. 
 
 Mephistopheles (sings). " He was now attired in 
 velvet and silk, had ribbons on his coat, had a cross 
 besides, and was forthwith made minister, and had a 
 great star. Then his brothers and sisters also became 
 great folks. And the ladies and gentlemen at court 
 were dreadfully tormented ; from the queen to the wait- 
 ing-woman they were pricked and liitten, yet dared 
 not crack nor scratch them away. But vve crack and 
 stifle fast enough when one pricks. 
 
 Chorus. "But we crack," &c. 
 
 Frosch. Bravo ! bravo ! That was capital. 
 
 Siebel. So perish every flea. 
 
 Brander. Point yoiu- fingers, and nick them cle- 
 verly. 
 
 Ahmayer. Liberty for ever ! Wine for ever! 
 
 Mephistopheles. I would willingly drink a glass in 
 honour of liberty, were your wine a thought better. 
 
 Siehel. You had better not let us hear that again !
 
 CELLAR IX LEIPZIG. 65 
 
 Mephistoplieles. I am afraid the landlord would feel 
 hurt, or I woidd treat these worthy gentlemen out of 
 oiu- own stock. 
 
 Siehel. 0, bring it in ; I take the blame upon 
 myself. 
 
 Frosch. Give us a good glass, and we shall not be 
 sparing of our praise ; only don't let your samples be- 
 too small ; for if I am to give an opinion, I require a 
 regular mouthful. 
 
 Ahmayer {aside). They are from the Rhine, I guess. 
 
 Mephistopheles. Bring a gimlet. 
 
 Brander. What for ? You surely have not the 
 casks at the door ? 
 
 Ahmayer. Behind there, is a tool-chest of the 
 landlord's. 
 
 Mephistopheles [taking the gimlet, to Froscii). Now 
 say, what wine would you wish to taste ? 
 
 Frosch. What do you mean ? Have you so many 
 sorts ? 
 
 Mephistopheles. I give every man his choice. 
 
 Altmayer {to Froscii). Ah ! you begin to lick your 
 lips akeady. 
 
 Frosch. Well! if I am to choose, I will take 
 Rhine wine. Our father-land aifords the very best of 
 gifts. 
 
 Mephistopheles {boring a hole in the edge of the 
 table where Frosch is sitting). Get a little wax to 
 make stoppers immediately. 
 
 Altmayer. Ah ! these are jugglers' tricks. 
 
 Mephistopheles {to Brander). And you ? 
 
 Brander. I choose champagne, and let it be right 
 sparkling. 
 
 [Mkphistopheles lores; one of the others has in the 
 ihcan time prepared the wax-stoppers and stopped 
 the Itolfs. 
 
 One cannot always avoid what is foreign ; what is
 
 66 CELLAR IX LEirZIG. 
 
 good often lies so far off. A true German cannot 
 abide Frenclimen, but willingly drinks their wines. 
 
 Siehel {as Mepiiistopiieles approaches him). I must 
 own I do not like acid wine ; give me a glass of 
 genuine sweet. 
 
 Mephistopheles {bores). You sliiill have Tokay in 
 a twinkling. 
 
 Altmayer. No, gentlemen ; look me in the face 
 I see plainly you are only making fun of us. 
 
 Mephistopheles. Ila ! ha ! that would be taking 
 too great a liberty with such distinguished guests. 
 Quick ! only speak out at once. What wine can I 
 have the pleasure of serving you with ? 
 
 Altmayer, With any ! only don't lose time in 
 askinof. [After all the holes are hared and stopped, 
 
 Mephistopheles {with strange gesithres). 
 The vine bears grapes. 
 The he-goat bears horns. 
 Wine is juicy, vines are wood ; 
 The wooden table can also give wine. 
 A deep glance into nature ! 
 Behold a miracle, only have faith ; 
 Now draw the stoppers and be merr}'. 
 
 All {as they draw the stoj^pers, and the v:ine he 
 chose runs into each mans glass). Oh ! beautiful 
 spring, that flows for us ! 
 
 Mephistopheles. Only take care not to spill any 
 of it. [They drinh rcpteatedly. 
 
 All {sing). 
 
 We are as happy as cannibals, 
 
 As five hundred swine. 
 Mephistopheles. Tliese people are now in their 
 glory ; mark how merry they are. 
 Faust. I should like to be off now.
 
 CELLAR IN LEIPZIG. 07 
 
 Mcphistopheles. But first attend ; their bnitisli- 
 ncss will display itself rig-lit gloriously. 
 
 Siebel {drinks carelessly ; the lolne is spilt tcpon 
 the ground, and turns to jlame). Help ! fire ! help ! 
 Hell is burning. 
 
 Mcphistopheles [conjuring the Jlame). Be quiet, 
 friendly element. (To Siebel.) This time it was only 
 a di-op of the fire of purgatory. 
 
 Siebel. What may that be ? Hold ! you shall pay 
 dearly for it. It seems that you do not know us. 
 
 Frosch. He had better not try that a second time. 
 
 Altmayer. I think we had better send him pack- 
 ing quietly. 
 
 Siebel. What, Sir, dare you play off your hocus- 
 pocus here ? 
 
 Mcphistopheles. Silence, old wine-butt. 
 
 Siebel. Broomstick ! will you be rude to us too ? 
 
 Brander. But hold ! or blows shall rain. 
 
 Altmayer [draws a stopper from the table ; fire 
 files out against him). I burn ! I burn ! 
 
 Siebel. Sorcery ; thrust home ! the knave is fair 
 came. l.TI'-'^y draw their knives and fall upon Mephistopheles. 
 
 Mephistopheles [with solemn gestures). 
 False form and word, 
 Change sense and place. 
 Be here, he there ! 
 
 [Tlwy stand amazed and gaze on eacli other. 
 
 Altmayer. Where am I? What a beautiful country! 
 Frosch. Vineyards ! Can I behe.e my eyes ? 
 Siebel. And grapes close at hand ! 
 Brander. Here, under these green leaves, see, 
 what a stem ! see what a bunch ! 
 
 [He seizes Siebel by the nose. The others do the same 
 one with the ot/ier, and hrandUli their knives. 
 
 Mephistopjheles [as before). Error, loose the band- 
 
 f2
 
 6S CELLAR IN LEIPZIG. 
 
 age from their eyes ! And do ye remember the 
 
 devil's mode of jesting ! 
 
 [i7e disappears with Faust. TIte fellows start back 
 from one another. 
 
 Siebel. What's the matter ? 
 
 Altmayer. How ? 
 
 Frosch. Was that thy nose ? 
 
 Brandcr {to Siebel). And I have thine in my hand ! 
 
 Altmayer. It was a shock which thrilled through 
 every limb ! Give me a chair, I am sinking. 
 
 Frosch. No, do but tell me ; what has happened ? 
 
 Siebel. Where is the fellow ? If 1 meet with him, 
 it shall be as much as his life is worth. 
 
 Altmayer. I myself saw him at the cellar door, 
 riding out upon a cask. My feet feel as heavy as lead. 
 
 [Turrdng toivards the tabic. 
 
 My ! I wonder whether the wine is running still ? 
 
 Siebel. It was all a cheat, a lie, and a make- 
 believe. 
 
 Frosch. Yet it seemed to me as if I was drinking 
 wine. 
 
 Brander. But how was it with the grapes ? 
 
 Altmayer. Let any one tell me after that, that 
 one is not to believe in wonders !
 
 69 
 
 WITCH'S KITCHEN. 
 
 A larr/e cauldron is hanging over tlie fire on a loio hearth. 
 Different figures are seen in the fumes ivhich rise from it. 
 A Female Monkey is sitting by the cauldron and skimming if , 
 and taking care that it doex not run ovtr. TJie Male Monkey 
 is seated: near with the young ones, and ivarming himself. 
 The u-alls and ceiling arc hung tvith the strangest articles of 
 Witch furniture. 
 
 Faust. I loathe this mad concern of witchcraft. 
 Do you promise me that I shall recover in this chaos 
 of insanity. Do I need an old hag's advice? And 
 will this mess of cookery really take thirty yeara from 
 my body ? "Woe is me, if you know of nothing better ! 
 Hope is already gone. Has nature and has a noble 
 spirit discovered no sort of balsam? 
 
 Mephistopheles. My friend, now again you speak 
 wisely ! There is alsoa natural mode of renewingyouth. 
 But it is in another book, and is a strange chapter. 
 
 Faust. Let mo know it. 
 
 Mephistopheles. Well ! to have a mean without 
 money, physician, or sorcery: betake thyself straight- 
 way to the field, begin to hack and dig, confine thyself 
 and thy sense within a thoroughly contracted circle ; 
 j^upport thyself on simple food; live with beasts as a 
 beast, and think it no robbery to manure the land you 
 crop. That is the best way, believe me, to keep you 
 young to eighty. 
 
 Faust. I am not used to it. I cannot bring my- 
 self to take the spade in hand. The confined life does 
 not suit me at all. 
 
 Afephistojyheles. Then you must have recourse to 
 the witch after all.
 
 70 witch's kitciiex. 
 
 Faust. But why tlic old woman in particular? 
 Cannot you brew the drink yourself? 
 
 Mephhtojylieles . Tliat were apretty pastime ! I would 
 rather build a thousand bridges in the time. Not art 
 and science only, but patience is required for the job. 
 A quiet spirit is busy at it for years ; time only makes 
 this fine fermented liquor strong. And the ingredients 
 are exceedingly curious. The devil, it is true, has 
 taught it her, but tlie devil cannot make it. [Perceiving 
 the MoxKEYs). See what a pretty breed! That is the 
 lass — that the lad. ( To the Monkeys). It seems 
 your mistress is not at home? 
 
 The Monkeys. 
 At the feast, 
 Out of the house, 
 Out and away hj the chimney-stone. 
 
 Mephistopheles. How long does she usually rake ? 
 
 The 3Ionkeys. Whilst we are warming our paws. 
 
 Mephistopheles {to Faust). Wliat think you of the 
 pretty creatures? 
 
 Faust. The most disgusting I ever saw. 
 
 3Iephistopheles. Nay, a discourse like the present 
 is precisely what I am fondest of engaging in. ( Tc 
 the Monkeys). Tell me, accursed whelps, what are ye 
 stirring up with the porridge ? 
 
 Monkeys. We are cooking coarse beggars' broth. 
 
 Mephistopheles. You will have plenty of customers. 
 
 The He Monkey {approaches and fawns on Mefius- 
 
 TOPHELES). 
 
 quick throw the dice, 
 And make me rich — 
 And let me win ! 
 
 Mv fate is a sorrv one, 
 And had I money 
 
 1 should not want for consideration.
 
 witch's kitchex. 71 
 
 MepJdstophcIes. How liappy the monkey would 
 tliink himself, if he could ouly put into the lottery. 
 
 [The Young JIonkevs have, in the mean time, been 
 playing loith a large globe, and roll it forwards. 
 
 The He 3Ionhey. 
 
 That is the world ; 
 It rises and falls, 
 And rolls unceasingly. 
 It rinn-s like o-lass : 
 How soon breaks that? 
 It is hollow within ; 
 It glitters much here. 
 And still more here — 
 I am alive ! 
 My dear son, 
 Keep thee aloof; 
 Thou must die ! 
 It is of clay, 
 This makes potsherds. 
 
 Mcphistopheles. WYxaX is the sieve for ? 
 The He Monkey {takes it down). Wert thou a thief, 
 I should know thee at once. 
 
 [He runs to the female and malces her look through. 
 Look throus;li the sieve ! 
 Dost thou recognise the thief ? 
 And darest not name him ? 
 Mcphistopheles {apj)roaching the fire). And this pot ? 
 Tlie Monkeys. 
 
 The half-witted sot! 
 He knows not the pot! 
 He knows not the kettle! 
 Mephistopheles. Uncivil brute ! 
 The He Monkey. Take the brush here, and sit 
 down on the settle. \.ii^ makes IMephistopheles sit down. 
 Faust {u-ho all this time has been standing before a
 
 72 witch's kitchen. 
 
 looking-glass, now approacJiing and now standing off 
 from ii). What do I see ? What a heavenly image 
 shows itself in this magic mirror ! Love ! lend me 
 the swiftest of thy wings, and hear me to her region ! 
 Ah ! when I do not remain upon this spot, when I ven- 
 ture to o'o near, I can only see her as in a mist. The 
 loveliest image of a woman ! Is it possible, is woman so 
 lovely ? Must I see in these recumbent limbs the 
 innermost essence of all Heavens ? Is there any- 
 thing like it upon earth ? 
 
 3Iepliistopheles. When a God first works hard for 
 six days, and himself says bravo at the end, it is but 
 natural that somethino- clever should come of it. For 
 this time look your fill. I know where to find out such 
 a love for you, and happy he whose fortune it is to 
 bear her home as a bridegroom. 
 
 [Faust continues looMng into the mirror. IVIephisto- 
 PHELEs, stretch big himself on the settle and jilaying 
 with the brush, continues speaking. 
 
 Here I sit, like the king upon his throne; here is 
 my sceptre — I only want the crown. 
 
 The Monkeys {icho have hitherto been playing all 
 sorts of strange antics, bring Mephistopheles a crown, 
 v:ith loud acclamations). Oh, be so good as to glue 
 the crown with sweat and blood. 
 
 \_They handle the crown awTcwardly, and IjreaTc it into 
 tvjo piecen, with which they jump about. 
 
 Now it is done. 
 We speak and see ; 
 We hear and rhyme — 
 Faust {Jbefore the mirror). Woe is me ! I am be- 
 comino- almost mad ! 
 
 Mephistopheles {pointing to the Monkeys). My own 
 head begins to totter now.
 
 witch's kitchen. 73 
 
 TJie Monkeys. 
 
 — And if we are lucky — 
 And if things fit. 
 Then there are thoughts. 
 Fatist [as before). My breast is beginning to burn. 
 Do but let us begone immediately. 
 
 Mephistojiheles {in the same position). Well, no one 
 can deny, at any rate, that they are sincere poets. 
 
 [The cauldron, which the She Monkey has najlectcd, hcghis 
 to boil over ; a great jlame arises, which sti-cum.s up the 
 chimneij. The Witch comes shooting doion through 
 the flame with horrible cries. 
 
 The Witch. 
 
 Ough, ough, ough, ough ! 
 
 Damned beast ! Accursed sow ! 
 
 Neglecting the cauldron, scorching your dame — 
 
 Cursed beast ! 
 
 [Espying Fadst and Mephistopheles. 
 
 Wliat now ? 
 Who are je ? 
 What would ye here ? 
 Who hath come slinking in ? 
 The plague of fire 
 Into your bones ! 
 [She dips the shimming ladle ivto the caiddron, and 
 sprinlcles flames at Faust, Mephistopheles, and 
 the Monkeys. Tlie Monkeys whimper. 
 
 Mephistopheles {who inverts the brush irhich he holds 
 in his hand, and strikes amongst the glasses and jyots). 
 To pieces ! 
 To pieces ! 
 
 There lies the porridge ! 
 There lies the glass ! 
 It is only carrying on the jest — beating time, thou 
 carrion, to thy melody. 
 
 [As the Witch steps back in rage and amazement.
 
 74 witch's kitchen. 
 
 Dost thou know me, thou atomy, thou scarecrow ? 
 Dost thou know thy lord and master ? What is 
 there to hinder me from striking in good earnest, 
 from dashing thee and thy monkey-spirits to pieces ? 
 Hast thou no more any respect for the red doublet ? 
 Canst thou not distinguish the cock's feather ? Have 
 1 concealed this face ? Must I then name myself ? 
 
 The Witch. master, pardon this rough recep- 
 tion. But I see no cloven foot. Where then are 
 your two ravens ? 
 
 Mcphistophchs. This once, the apology may serve. 
 For, to be sure, it is some while since we saw each 
 other. The march of intellect too, which licks all the 
 world into shape, has even reached the devil. The 
 northern phantom is now no more to be seen. Where do 
 you see horns, tail, and claws ? And as for the foot, 
 which I cannot do without, it would prejudice me in 
 society ; therefore, hke many a gallant, I have worn 
 false calves these many years. 
 
 The Witch {dancing). I am almost beside myself, 
 to see the gallant Satan here again. 
 
 Mephistopheles. The name, woman, I beg to be 
 spared. 
 
 The Witch. Wherefore ? What has it done to you ? 
 
 Mephistopheles. It has been long written in story 
 books ; but men are not the better for that ; they are 
 rid of the wicked one, the wicked have remained. You 
 may call me Baron, that will do very well. I am a 
 cavalier, like other cavaliers. You doubt not of my 
 gentle blood ; see here, this is the coat of arms I bear ! 
 
 [i/e makes an unseemly gesticre. 
 
 The Witch (laughs immoderately) . Ha, ha ! That 
 is in your way. You are the same mad wag as ever. 
 
 Mephistophdcs [to Faust). My friend, attend to 
 this. This is the way to deal with witches.
 
 WITCH S KITCHEN. 75 
 
 The Witch. Xow, sirs, say what you are for. 
 
 Mepliutopheles. A good glass of the juice you wot 
 of. I must beg you to let it be of the oldest. Years 
 double its power. 
 
 The Witch. Most willingly. Here is a bottle out of 
 which I sometimes sip a little myself; which, besides, 
 no longer stinks the least. I will give you a glass 
 with pleasure. {Aside). But if this man drinks it 
 unprepared, you well know he cannot live an hour. 
 
 Jlephistophdes. He is a worthy friend of mine, on 
 whom it will have a good eftcct. I grudge him not 
 the best of thy kitchen. Draw thy circle, spell thy 
 spells, and give him a cup full. 
 
 [Tlie Witch, wt'i/i. strange gestures, draws a circle and places 
 rare tilings in it ; in the mean time, the glasses begin 
 to ring, and the cauldron to sound, and make music. 
 Lastly, she brings a great hook, and 'places the Mon- 
 keys in the circle, tvho are made to serve her for a 
 reading desk and hold the torches. She signs to Faust 
 to approach. 
 
 Faust {to MEPHiSTOrHELEs). But tell me what is to 
 come of all this ? This absurd apparatus, these frantic 
 gestures, this most disgusting jugglery — I know them 
 of old and thoroughly abominate them. 
 
 Mcphistopheles. Pooh ! that is only fit to laugh at. 
 Don't be so fastidious. As mcdiciuer she is obliged 
 to play off some hocus-pocus, that the dose may ope- 
 rate well on you. [He makes Faust enter the circle. 
 
 Tlie Witch {v:ith a strong emphasis, begins to declaim 
 from the hook). 
 
 You must understand, 
 Of one make ten, 
 And lot two go. 
 And three make even ; 
 Then art thou ricli. 
 Lose the four.
 
 7fi witch's kitchen. 
 
 Out of five and six, 
 
 So says the Witch, 
 
 Make seven and eiglit, 
 
 Then it is done. 
 
 And nine is one. 
 
 And ten is none. 
 
 That is the witches ene-times-one. 
 Faust. It seems to me that the hajr is ravino-. 
 Mepkistoplicles. There is a good deal more of it yet 
 — I know it well ; the whole book is to the same tune. 
 I have wasted many an hour upon it, for a downright 
 contradiction remains equally mysterious to wise folks 
 and fools. My friend, the art is old and new. It has 
 ever been the fashion to spread error instead of truth 
 by three and one, and one and three. It is taught 
 and prattled uninterruptedly. Who will concern them- 
 selves about dolts ? Men are wont to believe, when 
 they hear only words, that there must be something in it. 
 The Witch continues. 
 
 Tlie high power 
 
 Of knowledge, 
 
 Hidden from the whole world ! 
 
 And he who thinks not, 
 
 On him is it bestowed : 
 
 He has it without trouble. 
 Faust. What sort of nonsense is she reciting to 
 us ? My head is splitting I I seem to hear a hundred 
 thousand idiots declaimino- in full chorus. 
 
 Mephistophcles. Enough, enough, excellent Sibyl ! 
 Hand us thy drink, and fill the cup to the brim 
 without more ado ; for this draught will do my 
 friend no harm. He is a man of many grades, who 
 has taken many a good gulp already. 
 
 IThe Witch ivith many ceremonies pours the liquor into a 
 
 cup ; as Faust liftsit to hismou/h a light Jiame arises. 
 
 Down with it at once. Do not stand hesitatintr. It
 
 witch's KITCHEN'. 77 
 
 will soon warm your heart. Are you hail-fellow well- 
 met with the devil, and afraid of fire ? 
 
 [The Witch dissolves the circle — Faust steps out 
 
 Xow forth at once ! You must not rest. 
 
 The Witch. Much good may the draught do you. 
 
 Mephistophcles (to the Witch). And if I can do any 
 thing to pleasure you, you need only mention it to me 
 on Walpurgis' night. 
 
 The Witch. Here is a song ! if you sing it occa- 
 sionally, it will have a particular effect on you. 
 
 Mephistophcles (to Faust). Come quick, and be 
 guided ; it is absolutely necessary for you to perspire, 
 to make the spirit work through blood and bone. I will 
 afterwards teach you to value the nobility of idleness, 
 and you will feel ere long, with heartfelt delight, how 
 Cupid bestii-s himself and bounds hither and thither. 
 
 Faust Let me only look another moment in the 
 glass. That female form was too, too lovely. 
 
 Mephistop/ieles. Nay, nay ; you shall soon see the 
 model of all womankind in flesh and blood. (Aside.) 
 With this draught in your body, you will soon see an 
 Helen in everv woman.
 
 7S 
 
 THE STREET. 
 
 Faust (Margaret passing hy). My pretty lady, may 
 I take the liberty of otiering you my arm and escort ? 
 
 Margaret. I am neither lady, uor pretty, and can 
 go home by myself. 
 
 [SJie disengages herself, and exit. 
 
 Faust. By heaven, this girl is lovely ! I have 
 never seea the like of her. She is so well-behaved 
 and virtuous, and something snappish withal. The 
 redness of her lip, the light of her cheek — I shall never 
 forget them all the days of my life. The manner in 
 which she cast down her eyes is deeply stamped upon 
 my heart ; and how tart she was— it was absolutely 
 ravishinc' ! [Mephistopheles e?ito\'i. 
 
 Faust. Hark, you must get me the girl. 
 
 MepJiistopheles. Which ? 
 
 Faust. She passed but now. 
 
 Mephistopheles. What, she ? She came from her 
 confessor, who absolved her from all her sins. I stole 
 up close to the chair. It is an innocent little thing, 
 that went for next to nothino- to the confessional. Over 
 her I have no power. 
 
 Faust. Yet she is past fourteen ! 
 
 Mepliistopheles. You positively speak like -Jack 
 Rake, who covets every sweet flower for himself, and 
 fancies that there is neither honour nor favour which 
 is not to be had for the plucking. But this will not 
 always do. 
 
 Faust. My good Mr. Sermoniser, don't plague me 
 with your morality. And, in a word, I tell you this .
 
 THE SIREET, 79 
 
 if tlie sweet young creature does not lie this very night 
 in my arms, at midnight our compact is at an end. 
 
 McpJiistopheles. Consider what is jJossible. I need 
 a fortnight, at least, only to find an opportunity. 
 
 Faust. Had I hut seven hours clear, I should not 
 want the devil's assistance to seduce such a child. 
 
 Mephistopheles. You talk now almost like a French- 
 man : but don't fret about it, I beg. What boots it 
 to go straight to enjoyment ? The delight is not so 
 great by far, as when you have kneaded and moulded 
 the doll on all sides with all sorts of nonsense, as many 
 a French -story teaches. 
 
 Faust. But I have appetite without all that. 
 
 3IcpMstopheles. Now, seriously and without offence, 
 I tell you once for all, that the lovely girl is not to be 
 had in such a hurry ; nothing here is to be taken by 
 storm ; we must have recourse to stratagem. 
 
 Faust. Get me somethins: belonginof to the angel. 
 Carry me to her place of repose ; get me a kerchief 
 from her bosom, a garter of my love. 
 
 Mephistopheles. That you may see my anxiety to 
 minister to your passion, — we will not lose a moment ; 
 this very day I will conduct you to her chamber. 
 
 Faust. And shall I see her ? have Ixer ? — 
 
 Mephistopheles. No. She will be at a neighbour's. 
 In the meantime, you, all alone, and in her atmosphere, 
 may feast to satiety on future joys. 
 
 Faust. Can we go now ? 
 
 Mephistopheles. It is too early, 
 
 Faust. Get me a present for her. [Exit. 
 
 Mephistopheles. Making presents directly I That's 
 capital ! That 's the way to succeed ! I know many a 
 Tine phice and many a long-buried treasure. I must 
 look them over a bit. [Exit
 
 so 
 
 EVENING. 
 
 A neat little Room. 
 
 Margaret (braiding and binding up her hair). I 
 woukl give something to know who that gentleman was 
 to-day ! He had a gallant hearing, and is of a uoble 
 family I am sure. I could read that on his brow ; 
 besides, he would not else have been so impudent. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Mephistopheles — Faust. 
 
 3IephistopheJes. Come in — as softly as possible — 
 only come in ! 
 
 Faust (after a pause). Leave me alone, I beg of 
 you. 
 
 Mephistopheles [looking round). It is not every 
 maiden that is so neat. [Exit. 
 
 Faust {looking round). AVelcome, sweet twilight, 
 that pervades this sanctuary ! Possess my heart, 
 delicious pangs of love, you who live languishing on 
 the dew of hope ! What a feeling of peace, order, 
 and contentment breathes round ! \Yhat abundance 
 in this poverty ! What bliss in this cell ! 
 
 [He throivs Jtimsclf upon the leathern easy chair hythe 
 side of tlia bed. 
 
 Oh ! receive me, thou, who hast welcomed, with open 
 arms, in joy and sorrow, the generations that are past. 
 Ah, how often has a swarm of children clustered about 
 this patriarchal throne. Here, perhaps, in gratitude 
 for her Christmas-box, with the warm round cheek of 
 childhood — has my beloved piously kissed the withered
 
 o 
 
 Margaret's room. SI 
 
 haiul of lier grandsire. Maiden, I feel thy spirit of 
 abundance and order breathe round me — that spirit 
 which daily instructs thee like a mother — which bids 
 thee spread the cloth neatly upon the table and curl the 
 sand at thy feet. Dear hand ! so godlike ! you make 
 the hut a heaven ; and here — {He lifts up a hed-ciirtain) 
 — what blissful tremor seizes me ! Here could I linofer 
 for whole hours ! Nature ! here, in light dreams, you 
 matured tiie born angel. Here lay the child ! its 
 gentle bosom tilled with warm life ; and here, with 
 weavings of hallowed purity, the divine image deve- 
 loped itself. 
 
 And thou, what has brought thee hither ? How 
 deeply moved I feel ! What would'st thou here ? 
 Why grows thy heart so heavy ? Poor Faust, I no 
 loniierknow thee. 
 
 Am I in an enchanted atmosphere ? I panted so 
 for instant enjoyment, and feel myself dissolving into 
 a dream of love. Are we the sport of every pressure 
 of the air ? 
 
 And if she entered this very moment, how would'st 
 thou atone for thy guilt ! The big boaster, alas, how 
 small ! would lie, dissolved away, at her feet. 
 
 Mephistopheles . Quick ! I see her coming below. 
 
 Faust. Away, away ! I return no more. 
 
 Mephistopheles. Here is a casket tolerably heavy. 
 I took it from somewhere else. Only place it instantly 
 iu the press here. I swear to you, she will be fairly 
 beside herself. I put baubles in it to gain another ; 
 but child is child, and play is play. 
 
 Faust. I know not — shall I? 
 
 Mejfhistoplieles. Is that a thing to ask about ? Per- 
 chance you mean to keep the treasure for yourself ? 
 In that case I advise you to spare the precious hours 
 for your lusts, and further trouble to me. I hope you 
 
 G
 
 82 MARGARET S ROOM. 
 
 are not avaricious. I scratcli my head, rub my hands — 
 
 [He places the casket in the 2)yess and closes the lock. 
 But away, quick ! — to bend the sweet young- crea- 
 ture to your heart's desire ; aiid now you look as if 
 you were going to the lecture-room — as if Physio and 
 Metaphysic were standing grey and bodily before you 
 there. But away ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Margaret (with a lamp). It feels so close, so sultry 
 here. [She opens the toindow^. And yet it is not so 
 very warm witliout. I begin to feel I know not how. 
 I wish my mother would come home. I tremble all 
 over ; but I am a silly, timid woman. 
 
 [She begins to sing as she undresses herself. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 There was a king in Thule, 
 Faithful even to the grave, 
 To whom his dying mistress 
 Gave a golden goblet. 
 
 He prized nothing above it ; 
 He emptied it at every feast ; 
 His eyes overflowed as often 
 As he drank out of it. 
 
 And when he came to die. 
 He reckoned up the cities in his kingdom ; 
 He grudged none of them to his heir. 
 But not so with the goblet. 
 
 He sat at the royal banquet, 
 With his knights around him, 
 In his proud ancestral hall, there 
 In his castle on the sea.
 
 Margaret's room. 83 
 
 There stood tlie old toper, 
 Took a parting draught of life's glow, 
 And threw the hallowed gohlet 
 Down into the waves. 
 
 He saw it splash, fill, and sink 
 Deep into the sea ; 
 His eyes fell, he never 
 
 Drank a drop more. 
 [She opens the press to put away her clothes, ana j'C- 
 ceives the cashet. 
 How came this beautiful casket here ? I am sure 
 I locked the press. It is very strange I ^Miat is in 
 it, I wonder? Perhaps some one brought it as a 
 pledge, and my mother lent upon it. A little ke} 
 hano-s by the ribbon ; I have a good mind to open 
 it. What is this ? Good heavens ! look ! I have 
 never seen anything like it in all my born days ! A 
 set of trinkets ! a countess might wear such on the 
 highest festival. How would the chain become me ? 
 To whom can such finery belong ? 
 
 \_Slie puts them, on, and walks hefore tlie looking-glass. 
 
 If the earrings were but mine ! one cuts (piite a dif- 
 ferent figure in them. What avails your beauty, young 
 maiden ? That may be all pretty and good, but they 
 let it all be. You are praised, half in pity ; but after 
 gold presses — on gold hangs — everything. — Alas, 
 for lis poor ones ! 
 
 ft 2
 
 84 
 
 PUBLIC WALK. 
 
 Faust walhing uj) and down thougJttfidly. To him 
 
 Mephistopheles. By all despised love ! By the ele- 
 ments of hell ! Would that I knew somethhig worse 
 to curse by ! 
 
 Faust. What is the matter ? What is it that 
 pinches you so sharply ? I never saw such a face in 
 my life ! 
 
 Mephistopheles. I could give myself to the devil 
 directly, were I no devil myself. 
 
 Faust. Is your brain disordered ? It becomes you 
 truly, to rave like a madman. 
 
 Mephistopheles. Only think ! A priest has carried 
 off the jewels provided for Margaret. The mother 
 s:ets sight of the thing, and begins at once to have a 
 secret horror of it. Truly the woman hath a fine 
 nose, is ever snuffling in her prayer-book, and smells 
 in every piece of furniture whether the thing be holy 
 or profane ; and she plainly smells out in the jewels, 
 that there was not much blessing in them. " My 
 child," said she, " unrighteous wealth ensnares the 
 soul, consumes the blood. We will consecrate it to 
 the Mother of God ; she will gladden us with heavenly 
 manna." Margaret made a wry face ; it is after all, 
 thought she, a gift horse ; and truly, he cannot be 
 godless, who brought it here so handsomely. The 
 mother sent for a priest. Scarcely had he heard the 
 jest, but he seemed well pleased with tlie sight. He 
 spoke: " This shows a good disposition ; who conquers 
 himself, — he is the gainer. The church has a good
 
 rUBLIC WALK. 85 
 
 stomach ; slie has eaten up whole countries, and has 
 never yet over-eaten herself. The church alone, my 
 good women, can digest unrighteous wealth." 
 
 Faiist. That is a general custom ; a Jew and a 
 King can do it too. 
 
 Mephistophdes. So saying he swept off clasp, chain 
 and ring, as if they were so many mushrooms ; thanked 
 them neither more nor less than if it had been a basket 
 of nuts ; promised them all heavenly reward — and 
 very much edified they were. 
 
 Faust. And Margaret — 
 
 Mepliistopheles. Is now sitting full of restlessness ; 
 not knomng what to do with herself ; thinks day and 
 night on the trinkets, and still more on him who 
 brought them to her. 
 
 Faust. My love's grief distresses me. Get her 
 another set immediately. The first were no great 
 things after all. 
 
 Mephistophdes. Oh ! to be sure, all is child's play to 
 the gentleman ! 
 
 Faust. Do it, and order it as I wish. Stick close 
 to her neighbour. Don't be a milk-and-water devil ; 
 and fetch a fresh set of jewels. 
 
 Mephistophdes. With all my heart, honoured Sir. 
 
 [Faust exit. 
 
 A love-sick fool like this puflfs away into the air, 
 sun, moon and stai-s, by way of pastime for his 
 mistress
 
 86 
 
 THE NEIGHBOUR'S HOUSE. 
 
 Martha [alone). God forgive my clear husband ; he 
 has not acted well towards me. He goes straight 
 away into the world, and leaves me widowed and 
 lonely. Yet truly I never did anything to vex him ; 
 God knows I loved him to my heart. [She weeps). 
 Perhaps he is actually dead. Oh, torture ! Had I 
 but a certificate of his death ! 
 
 Margaret enters. 
 
 Margaret.. Martha ! 
 
 Martha. What is the matter, Margaret ? 
 
 Blargaret. My knees almost sink under me ! I 
 have found just such another casket in my press, 
 of ebony, and things quite grand, far costlier than 
 the first. 
 
 Martha. You must say nothing about it to your 
 mother. She would carry it to the confessional again. 
 
 Margaret. Now, only see ! do but look at them ! 
 
 Martha {dresses her up in them). Oh! you happy 
 creature. 
 
 Margaret. Unfortunately, I must not be seen in 
 them in the street, nor in the church. 
 
 Blartha. Do but come over frequently to me, and 
 put on the trinkets here in private. Walk a little 
 hour up and down before the looking-glass : we shall 
 have our enjoyment in that. And then an occasion 
 offers, a holiday happens, where, little by little, one .; 
 lets folk? see them ; — first a chain, then the pearl ear-
 
 THE neighbour's HOCSfi. S'/ 
 
 rincrs. Your mother, perhaps, -will not observe it, or 
 cue may make some pretence to her. 
 
 Margaret. But who couhl have brought the two 
 caskets ? There is something not right about it. 
 
 \^Some one knocks. 
 
 Margaret. Good God ! can that be my mother ? 
 
 Martha {looking through the blinds). It is a stranger 
 — come in ! 
 
 Mephistopheles (enters). I have made free to come 
 in at once ; I have to beg pardon of the ladies. 
 
 [He ste^s back respectfully on seeing Margaret. 
 
 I came to inquire after Mrs. Martha Schwerdtlein. 
 
 Marilia. I am she : what is your pleasure. Sir ? 
 
 Mephistopheles {aside to her). I know you now — 
 that is enough. You have a visitor of distinction 
 ♦,here. Excuse the liberty I have taken. I will call 
 again in the afternoon. 
 
 3[artha {aloud). Only think, child — of all things 
 in the world ! this gentleman takes you for a lady. 
 
 Margaret. I am a poor young creature. Oh ! 
 Heavens, the gentleman is too obliging. The jewels 
 and ornaments are none of mine. 
 
 Mephistopheles. Ah ! it is not the jewels alone. 
 She has a mien, a look, so striking. How glad I am 
 that I may stay. 
 
 Martha. What do you bring then ? I am very 
 curious — 
 
 Mephistopheles. I wish I had better news. I hope 
 you will not make me suffer for it. Y'our husband rt. 
 dead, and sends you his compliments. 
 
 Martha. Is dead ! the good soul ! Oh, woe is 
 me I My husband is dead ! Ah, I shall die ! 
 Margaret. Dear, good Martha, don't despair. 
 Mepihistopheles. Listen to the melancholy tale. 
 Margaret. For this reason I should wish never to
 
 88 THE neighbour's house. 
 
 be in love for all the days of my life. The loss would 
 grieve me to death. 
 
 Mephistoplieles. Joy must havp sorrow — sorrow, joy. 
 
 3Iartha. Relate to me the close of his life. 
 
 3Iephistopheles. lie lies buried in Padua at St. 
 Antony's, in a well-conseerated spot for an eternally 
 cool bed of rest. 
 
 Martha. Have you nothing else for me ? 
 
 3Ie2)histopheles. Yes, a request, big and heavy ! be 
 sure to have three hundred masses sunsr for him. For 
 ihe rest, my pockets are empty. 
 
 Martha. What ! not a coin by way of token ? Not 
 a trinket? what every journeyman mechanic husbands 
 at the bottom of his punch, saved as a keepsake, and 
 rather starves, rather begs — 
 
 3Iephistopheles. Madam, I am very sorry. But he 
 really has not squandered away his money. He also 
 bitterly repented of his sins ; aye, and bewailed his 
 11-luck still more. 
 
 Margaret. Ah ! that mortals should be so unlucky ! 
 Assuredly I will sing many a requiem for him. 
 
 Mephistopheles. You deserve to be married directly. 
 You are a sweet girl. 
 
 3Iargaret. Oh, no, there is time enough for that, 
 
 Mephistojyheles. H" not a husband, then a gallant in 
 the meantime. It were one of the best gifts of heaven 
 to have so sweet a thing in one's arms. 
 
 3Iargaret. That is not the custom in this country. 
 
 Mephistopheles. Custom or not, such things do come 
 to pass though. 
 
 Martha. But relate to me — ■ 
 
 Mephistopheles. I stood by his death-bed. It was 
 son>ewhat better than dung, — of half-rotten straw ; 
 but he died like a Christian, and found that he had 
 still much more upon his score. " How thoroughly,"
 
 THE XEIRHBOUr's HOUSE. S'J 
 
 he cried, " must I detest myself — to run away froin 
 my business and my wife in such a manner. Oh ! 
 the recollection is death to me. If she could but 
 forjxive me in this life ! " — 
 
 jMartlia {weeping'). The good man ! I have long 
 since foro-iven him. 
 
 Mt'phistopheles. " But, God knows, she was more in 
 fault than I." 
 
 Martha. He lied then ! What, tell lie? on the 
 Drink of the grave ! 
 
 Meplustopheles. He certainly fabled with his last 
 wreath, if I am but half a connoisseur. " I," said he, 
 ' had no occasion to gape for pastime — first to get 
 }hildren, and then bread for them — and bread in the 
 tridest sense, — and could not even eat my share in 
 peace." 
 
 Martha. Did he thus forget all my truth, all my 
 love — my drudgery by day and night ? 
 
 Mephistopheles. Not so ; he affectionately reflected 
 on it. He said : " ^\^3en I left Malta, I prayed fer- 
 vently for my wife and children ; and heaven was so 
 far favourable, that our ship took a Turkish vessel, 
 which carried a treasure of the great sultan. Bravery 
 had its reward, and, as was no more than right, I got 
 my lair share of it." 
 
 Martha. How ! Where ! Can he have buried it ? 
 
 Mephistopheles. Who knows where it is now scat- 
 tered to the four winds of heaven ? A fair damsel 
 took an interest in him as he was strolling about, a 
 stranger, in Naples. She showed great fondness 
 and fidelity towards him ; so much so, that he felt it 
 even unto his blessed end. 
 
 Martha. The villain! the robber of his childien I 
 And all the wretclicdncss, all the poverty, could not 
 check his scandalous life.
 
 90 THE neighbour's HOUSE. 
 
 Mep]risfo]:)heles. But consider, lie has ^^aid for it 
 wiili his hfe. Now, were I in your place, I would 
 mourn him for one chaste year, and have an eye 
 towards a new sweetheart in the meantime. 
 
 Martha. Oh God ! but I shall not easily in this 
 world find another like my first. There could hardly 
 be a kinder-hearted fool : he onlj"^ loved being away 
 from home too much, and stranger women, and 
 stranger wine, and the cursed dicing. 
 
 31ep}iistopheles. Well, well, things might have gone 
 on very well, if he, on his part, only had the same 
 indulgence for you. I protest, upon this condition, I 
 would change rings with you myself ! 
 
 31artha. Oh, the gentleman is pleased to jest. 
 
 Mephistop]ieles (aside). Now it is full time to be off. 
 I dare say she would take the devil himself at his 
 v/ord. — [To Margaret). How goes it with your 
 heart ? 
 
 Margaret. What do you mean, Sir ? 
 
 MephisiopJii'les (aside). Good, innocent child. — 
 (Aloud).- — Farewell, ladies ! 
 
 Margaret. Farewell ! 
 
 Martha. Oh, but tell me quickly I I should like 
 to have a certificate where, how, and when my love 
 died and was buried. I was always a friend to regu- 
 larity, and should like to read his death in the paper. 
 
 Mephistopheles. Aye, my good madam, the truth is 
 manifested by the testimony of two witnesses all the 
 world over ; and I have a gallant companion, whom I 
 will bring before the judge for you. I will fetch him 
 here. 
 
 Martha. Oh, pray do ! 
 
 3Iephistoplieles. And the young lady will be here 
 too ? — a fine lad ! has travelled much, and shows all 
 possible politeness to the ladies.
 
 THE XEIGHBOFr's HOUSE. 91 
 
 Margaret. I should be covered with confusion in the 
 presence of the gentleman. 
 
 Mephistopheles. In the presence of no king on 
 earth. 
 
 Martha. Behind the house there, in my garden, 
 we shall expect .you both this evening.
 
 92 
 
 THE STREET. 
 
 Faust — Mephistopheles. 
 
 Faust. IIow goes it ? Is it in train ? Will it 
 soon do ? 
 
 Mepldstopltcles. Bravo ! Do 1 find you all on fii-e ? 
 Margaret will very shortly be your's. This evening 
 you will see her at her neighbour Martha's. This is 
 a woman especially chosen, as it were, for the pro- 
 curess and gypsey calling. 
 
 Faust. So far so good. 
 
 Mephistopheles. Something, however, is required 
 of us. 
 
 Faust. One good turn deserves another. 
 
 Mcphisiipheles. We have only to make a formal 
 deposition that the stretched limbs of her lord repose 
 in holy gi'ound in Padua. 
 
 Faust. Wisely done ! We shall first be obliged to 
 take the journey thither, I suppose. 
 
 3Icphistopheles. Sancta simplicitas ! There is no 
 necessity for that. Only bear witness without knowing 
 much about the matter. 
 
 Faust. If you have nothing better to propose, the 
 scheme is at an end. 
 
 3Iephistopheles. Oh, holy man ! There 's for you 
 now ! Is it the first time in your life that you have 
 borne false testimony ? Have you not confidently 
 given definitions of God, of the world, and of wdiat- 
 ever moves in it — of man, and of the workings of his 
 head and heart — with unabashed front, dauntless 
 breast V And, looking fairly at the real nature of
 
 THE STREET. 93 
 
 things, dill you — you must confess you did not — did 
 you know as much of these matters as of Mr. Schwerdt- 
 lein's death ? 
 
 Faust. Thou art and ever wilt be a liar, a sophist. 
 
 Mepliistopheks. Aye, if one did not look a little 
 deeper. To-morrow, too, will you not, in all honour, 
 make a fool of poor Margaret, and swear to love her 
 with all your soul ? 
 
 Faust. And trulv from my heart. 
 
 Mephistoplieles. Fine talking ! Then will you speak 
 of eternal truth and love — of one exclusive, aU-subdu- 
 ing passion ; — will that also come from the heart ? 
 
 Faust. Peace — it will ! — when 1 feel, and seek a 
 aame for the passion, the phrenzy, but find none ; 
 then range with all my senses through the world, grasp 
 at all the most sublime expressions, and call this flame, 
 which is consuming me, endless, eternal, eternal ! — 
 is that a devilish play of lies ? 
 
 Mephistopheles. 1 am right for all that. 
 
 Faust. Hear ! mark this, I beg of you, and spare 
 my lungs. He who is determined to be right and has 
 l)ut a tongue, will be right undoubtedly. But come, 
 1 am tired of gossiping. For you are right, particu- 
 larly because I cannot help myself.
 
 94 
 
 GARDEN. 
 
 Margaret on Faust's arm, Martha with Mephistopheie9, 
 walking up and down. 
 
 Margaret. I am sure, Sir, that you are only trifling 
 with me — letting yourself down to shame me. Tra- 
 vellers are wont to put up with things out of good 
 nature. I know too well that my poor prattle caimot 
 entertain a man of your experience. 
 
 Faust. A glance, a word from thee, gives greater 
 pleasure than all the wisdom of this world. 
 
 [i?e hisses her hand. 
 
 Margaret. Don't inconvenience yourself! How 
 can you kiss it ? It is so coarse, so hard. I have 
 heon obliged to do — heaven knows what not ; my 
 mother is indeed too close. {They pass on. 
 
 Martha. And you, Sir, are always travelling in this 
 manner ? 
 
 Mephistopheles. Alas, that business and duty should 
 force us to it ! How many a place one quits with 
 regret, and yet may not tarry in it ! 
 
 3Iartha. It does very well in the wild years of 
 youth, to rove about freely through the world. But 
 the evil day comes at last, and to sneak a solitary old 
 bachelor to the grave — that was never well for any 
 one yet. 
 
 Mephistopheles. I shudder at the distant view of it. 
 
 Martha. Then, worthy Sir, think better of it in 
 tim e . L They pass on . 
 
 Margaret Aye ! out of sight out of mind ! Polite-
 
 GARDEN. 95 
 
 ness sits easily oa you. But you have plenty of 
 friends : they are more sensible than I am. 
 
 Faust. 0, thou excellent creature ! believe me, 
 what is called sensible, often better deserves the name 
 of vanity and narrow-mindedness. 
 
 Jfargarei. IIow ? 
 
 Faust. Alas, that simplicity, that innocence, never 
 appreciates itself and its own hallowed worth ! That 
 humility, lowliness — the highest gifts of love-fraught, 
 bounteous nature — 
 
 3Iargarct. Only think of me one little minute ; I 
 shall have time enough to think of you. 
 
 Faust. You are much alone, I dare say ? 
 
 Margaret. Yes, our household is but small, and yet 
 it must be looked after. We keep no maid ; I am 
 obliged to cook, sweep, knit and sew, and run early 
 and late. And my mother is so precise in everything ! 
 Not that she has such pressing occasion to stint 
 herself. We might do more than many others. My 
 father left a nice little property — a small house and 
 garden in the suburbs. HoAvever, my days at present 
 are tolerably quiet. My brother is a soldier ; my 
 little sister is dead. I had my full shai-e of trouble 
 with her, but I would gladly take all the anxiety upon 
 mvself again, so dear was the child to me. 
 
 Faust. An angel, H it was like thee ! 
 
 3Iargaret. I brought it up, and it loved me dearly. 
 It was born after my father's death. We gave up my 
 mother for lost, so sad was the condition she then 
 lay in ; and she recovered very slowly, by degrees^ 
 Thus she could not think of suckling the poor little 
 worm, and so I brought it up, all by myself, with 
 milk and water. It thus became my own. On my 
 arm, in my bosom, it smiled, and sprawled, and grew. 
 Faust. You felt, no doubt, the purest joy.
 
 96 GARDEN. 
 
 3Iargaret. And many anxious hours too. The 
 Httle one's cradle stood at night by my bed-side : it 
 could scarcely move but I was awake ; now obliged 
 to give it drink ; now to take it to bed to me ; now, 
 when it would not be quiet, to rise from bed, and walk 
 up and down in the room dandling it ; and early in 
 the morning, stand already at the wash-tub : then go 
 to market and see to the house ; and so on, day after 
 (lay. Under such circumstances, Sir, one is not 
 always in spirits ; but food and rest relish the better 
 for it. [They 2MSS on. 
 
 3Iartha. The poor women have the worst of it. It 
 is no easy matter to convert an old bachelor. 
 
 Mephistopheles. It only depends on one like you to 
 teach me better. 
 
 Martha. Tell me plainly. Sir, have you never met 
 with any one ? Has your heart never attached itself 
 any where ? 
 
 Mephistopheles. The proverb says — a hearth of 
 one's own, a good wife, are worth pearls and gold. 
 
 Martha, I mean, have you never had an inclination ? 
 
 Mephistopheles. I have been in general very politely 
 received. 
 
 Martha. I wished to say — was your heart never se- 
 riously affected ? 
 
 ^Mephistopheles. One should never venture to joke 
 with women. 
 
 Mo.rtha. Ah, you do not understand me. 
 
 Mephistopheles. I am heartily sorry for it. But I 
 understand— that you are very kind. [They pass on. 
 
 Faust- You knew me again, you little angel, the 
 moment I entered the garden. 
 
 Margaret. Did you not see it ? I cast down my eyes. 
 
 Faust. And you forgive the liberty I took — my 
 impudencp as j(ou were lately leavinrj the cathedral.
 
 GARDEX. 97 
 
 Margaret. I was frightened ; such a thing had 
 never happened to me before ; no one could say any 
 thing bad of me. Alas, thought I, has he seen any 
 thing bold, uninaidenl}^ in thy behaviour ? It seemed 
 as if the thought suddenly struck him, " I need stand 
 on no ceremony with this girl." I must own, I knew 
 not what began to stir in your favour here ; but cer- 
 tainly I was right angry with myself for not being 
 able to be more angry with you. 
 
 Faust. Sweet love ! 
 
 Margaret. Wait a moment ! 
 
 \_Ske plucks a star-jlowcr, and picks off the leaves one 
 after the other. 
 
 Faust. What is that for — a nosegay ? 
 
 Margaret. No, only a game. 
 
 Faust. How ! 
 
 Margaret. Go ! You will laugh at me. 
 
 [She plucks off the leaves and murmurs to herself. 
 
 Faust. What are you murmuring ? 
 
 Margaret {half aloud. )'B.Q\Q\es me — he loves me not I 
 
 Faust. Thou ano-elic beino- ! 
 
 Margaret continues. Loves me — not — loves me — 
 noX.— {Plucking off the last leaf icith fond delight). — 
 He loves me ! 
 
 Faust. Yes, my child. Let this flower-prophecy 
 be to thee as a judgment from heaven. He loves 
 thee ! dost thou understand what that means ? He 
 loves thee ! [He takes both her hands. 
 
 Margaret. I tremble all over ! 
 
 Faust. Oh, tremble not. Let this look, let this 
 pressure of the hand, say to thee what is unutter- 
 able ! — to give ourselves up wholly, and feel a bliss 
 which must be eternal I Eternal I-^its end would be 
 despair ! No, no end ! no end ! 
 
 [Margaret presses his hands, breaks from him, and runs 
 away. He stands a moment in thou'jhi,and then follows her. 
 H
 
 9S GARDEN. 
 
 Martha [approaching). The niglit is coming on. 
 
 Mephistopheles. Aye, and we will away. 
 
 Martha. I would ask you to stay here longer, but 
 it is much too wicked a place. One would suppose no 
 one had any other object or occupation than to gai)e 
 after his neichbour's iucomino;s and outa;oino-s. And 
 one comes to be talked about, behave as one will. And 
 our pair of lovers ? 
 
 meplnistojiheles. Have flown up the walk yonder. 
 Wanton butterflies ! 
 
 Martha. He seems fond of her. 
 
 Mephistopheles. And she of him. Such is the way 
 of the world.
 
 99 
 
 A SUMMER HOUSE. 
 
 Margaret rum in, gets behind the door, holds the tip of her 
 finger to her lips, and peeps through the crevice. 
 
 Margaret. He comes ! 
 
 Faust {enters). Ah, rogue, is it thus you trifle with 
 me ? I have caught you at last. \^He Jcisses her. 
 
 Margaret {embracing him and returning the kiss). 
 Dearest ! from my heart I love thee ! 
 
 [Mephistopheles Icnoclcs. 
 
 Faust (stamjnng). Who is there ? 
 
 Mephistnpheles. A friend. 
 
 Faust. A hrute. 
 
 Mephistopheles, It is time to part, I believe. 
 
 Martlia {comes up). Yes, it is late, Sir. 
 
 Faust. May I not accompany you ? 
 
 Margaret. My mother would — farewell ! 
 
 Faust. Must I then go ? Farewell ! 
 
 Martha. Adieu ! 
 
 Margaret. Till our next speedy meeting ; 
 
 [Faust and JIephistopheles exeunt. 
 
 Margaret. Gracious God ! How many things such 
 a man can think about ! How abashed I stand in his 
 pre:-ence, and say yea to everj'thing ! I am but a 
 poor silly girl ; I cannot understand what he sees in me. 
 
 h2
 
 100 
 
 FOREST AND CAVERN. 
 
 Faust {alone). Sublime spirit ! tliou gavest me, 
 gavest me everything I prayed for. Not in vain didst 
 thou turn thy face in fire to me. Thou gavest me 
 glorious nature for a kingdom, with power to feel, to 
 enjoy her. It is not merely a cold wondering visit 
 that thou permittest me ; thou grudgest me not to 
 look into her deep bosom, as into the bosom of a 
 friend. Thou passest in review before me the whole 
 series of animated things, and teachest me to know 
 my brothers in the still wood, in the air , and in the 
 water. And when the storm roars and creaks in the 
 forest, and the giant-pine, precipitating its neighbour- 
 boughs and neia'hbour-stems, sweens, crushino- down, 
 — and the mountain thunders with a dead hollow 
 muttering to the fall, — then thou bearest me off to the 
 sheltered cave ; then thou showest me to myself, and 
 deep mysterious wonders of my own breast reveal 
 themselves. And when the clear moon, with its sooth- 
 ing influences, rises full in my view, — from the wall- 
 like rocks, out of the damp underwood, the silvery 
 forms of past ages hover up to me, and soften the 
 austere pleasure of contemplation. 
 
 Oh, now I feel that nothing perfect falls to the lot 
 of man ! "With this beatitude, which brings me nearer 
 and nearer to the gods, thou gavest me the companion, 
 whom already I cannot do without ; although, cold 
 and insolent, he degrades me in my own eyes, and 
 turns thy gifts to nothing with a breath. He is evci
 
 FOREST AXD CAVERN. 101 
 
 kindling a wiklfire in my heart for that lovely image, 
 Thus do I reel from desire to enjoyment, and in enjoy- 
 ment languish for desire. 
 
 Mephistojj/ieks (enters). Have you not had enough 
 of this kind of life ? How can you delight in it for 
 any length of time ? It is all avcU enough to try once, 
 but then on again to something new. 
 
 Faust. I would you had something else to do than 
 to plague me in my happier hour. 
 
 Mepk/'sfopheli's. Well, well ! I will let you alone 
 if you wish. You need not say so in earnest. Truly, 
 it is little to lose an ungracious, peevish and crazy 
 companion in you. The livelong day one has one's 
 hands full. One cannot read in your worship's face 
 what pleases you, and what to let alone. 
 
 Faust. That is just the right tone ! He would fain 
 be thanked for wcarving me to death. 
 
 Mej}/n'stopheles. Poor son of earth ! what sort of 
 life would you have led without me ? I have cured 
 vou, for some time to come, of the crotchets of imagi- 
 nation, and, but for me, you would already have taken 
 your departure from this globe. Why mope in caverns 
 and fissures of rocks, like an owl ? Why sip in 
 nourishment from sodden moss and dripping stone, 
 like a toad ? A fair, sweet pastime ! The doctor 
 still sticks to you. 
 
 Faust. Dost thou understand what new life-power 
 this wandering in the desert procures for me ? Aye, 
 coidd'st thou have but a dim presentiment of it, thou 
 would'st be devil enough to grudge me my enjoyment. 
 
 Meplnstopheles. A super-earthly pleasure ! To lie on 
 the mountains in darkness and dew — clasp earth and 
 heaven ecstatically — swell yourself up to a godhead — 
 rake through the eartli's marrow with your thronging 
 presentiments — feel the whole six days' work in your
 
 102 FOREST AND CAVERN. 
 
 bosom — ill haughty might enjoy I tnow not what — 
 now overflow, in love's raptures, into all, with your 
 earthly nature east aside — and then the lofty intuition 
 {witii a gesture) — I must not say how — to end ! 
 
 Faust. Fye upon you ! 
 
 Mepltistojjh'les. That is not to your mind. You are 
 entitled to cry fye I so morally ! We must not name 
 to chaste ears what chaste hearts cannot renounce. 
 And, in a word, I do not grudge you the pleasure of 
 lying to yourself occasionally. But you will not keep 
 it up long. You are already driven back into your 
 old course, and, if this holds much longer, will be 
 fretted into madness or torture and horror. Enough 
 of this ! your little love sits yonder at home, and all 
 to her is confined and melancholy. You are never 
 absent from her thoughts. She loves you all sub- 
 duingly. At first, your passion came overflowing, like 
 a snow-flushed rivulet ; you have poured it into her 
 heart, and lo ! your rivulet is dry again. Methinks, 
 instead of reigning in the woods, your worship would 
 do well to reward the poor young monkey for her 
 love. The time seems lamentably long to her ; she 
 stands at the window and watches the clouds roll away 
 over the old town-walls. " Were I a bird ! " so runs 
 her song, during all the day and half the night. One 
 while she is cheerful, mostly cast down, — one while 
 fairly outwept : — then, again, composed, to all appear- 
 ance — and ever lovesick ! 
 
 Faust. Serpent I serpent ! 
 
 3fepMstophelei [aside). Good! if I can but catch you! 
 
 Faust. Reprobate I take thyself away, and name 
 not the lovely woman. Bring not the desire for her 
 sweet body before my half-distracted senses again ! 
 
 3Iephistojyheles. What is to be done, then? She 
 thinks that you are oft', and in some manner you are.
 
 FOREST AXD CAVERN, 103 
 
 Faust. I am near her, and were I ever so far off, I 
 can never forget, never lose her. Nay, I ah-eady envy 
 the body of the Lord when her lips are touching it. 
 
 Mepliistophelcs. Very well, my friend. I have 
 often envied you the twin- pair, which feed among roses. 
 
 Faust. Pander ! begone. 
 
 3Iephistopheles. Good again ! You rail, and I can- 
 not help laughing. The God, who made lad and lass, 
 well understood the noble calling of making opportu- 
 nity too. But away, it is a mighty matter to be sad 
 about ! You should betake yourself to your mistress's 
 chamber — not, I think, to death. 
 
 Faust, What are the joys of heaven in her arms ? 
 Let me kindle on her breast ! Do I not feel her 
 wretchedness unceasingly ? Am I not the outcast — 
 the houseless one ? — the monster without aim or rest 
 — who, like a cataract, dashed from rock to rock, in 
 devouring fury towards the precipice ? And she, 
 upon the side, with childlike simplicity, in her little 
 cot upon the little mountain field, and all her homely 
 cares embraced within that little world ! And I, the 
 hated of God — it was not enough for me to grasp the 
 rocks and smite them to shatters ! Her, her peace, 
 must I undermine ! — Hell, thou could' st not rest 
 without this sacrifice ! Denl, help me to shorten the 
 pang ! Let what must be, be quickly ! Let her fate 
 fall crushing upon me, and both of us perish together ! 
 
 Mephistoplieles. How it seethes and glows again ! 
 Get in, and comfort her, you fool ! — When such a 
 noddle sees no outlet, it immediately represents to 
 itself the end. He who bears himself bravelv, for 
 ever ! And yet, on other occasions, you have a fair 
 spice of the devil in you. I know nothing in the 
 world more insipid than a devil that despairs.
 
 104 
 
 MARGARET'S ROOM. 
 
 JIargaret (alone, at the spinning-wheel). 
 My peace is gone ; 
 My heart is heavy ; 
 I shall find it never, 
 And never more. 
 
 "Where I have him not 
 Is the grave to me. 
 The whole world 
 Is embittered to mo. 
 
 My poor head 
 Is wandering, 
 My poor sense 
 Distracted 
 
 My peace is gone ; 
 My heart is heavy ; 
 I shall find it never, 
 And never more. 
 
 For him alone look I 
 Out at the window I 
 For him alone go I 
 Out of the house !
 
 Margaret's room. 105 
 
 Ills stately step, 
 His noble form ; 
 The smile of his mouth. 
 The power of his eyes, 
 
 And of his speech 
 The witching flow ; 
 The pressure of his hand, 
 And, ah I his kiss ! 
 
 My peace is gone ; 
 My heart is heavy ; 
 I shall find it never. 
 And never more. 
 
 My bosom struggles 
 
 After him. 
 
 Ah ! could I enfold him 
 
 And hold him ! 
 
 And kiss him 
 
 As I would! 
 
 On his kisses 
 
 I should die awayl
 
 106 
 
 MARTHA'S GARDEN. 
 
 Margaret. — Faust. 
 
 Margaret. Promise me, Henry ! 
 
 Faust. What I can ! 
 
 Margaret. No^\% tell me, how do you feel as tc 
 religion ? You are a dear, good man, but I believe 
 you don't think much of it. 
 
 Faust. No more of that, ray child ! you feel I 
 love you : I would lay down my life for those I love, 
 nor would I deprive any of their feeling and their 
 church. 
 
 Margaret. That is not right ; we must believe 
 in it. 
 
 Faust. Must we ? 
 
 Margaret. Ah ! if I had any influence over you ! 
 Besides, you do not honour the holy sacraments. 
 
 Faust. I honour them. 
 
 3Iargaret. But without desiring them. It is long 
 since you went to mass or confession. Do you believe 
 in God ? 
 
 Faust. My love, who dares say, I believe in God ? 
 You may ask priests and philosophers, and their an- 
 swer will appear but a mockery of the questioner. 
 
 Margaret. You don't believe, then ? 
 
 Faust. Mistake me not, thou lovely one ! Who 
 dare name him ? and who avow : "I believe in him ? " 
 Who feel — and dare to say : "I believe in him not ?" 
 The AU-embracer, the All-sustainer, does he not
 
 mautha's garden. 107 
 
 embraco and sustain thee, me, himself ? Does not 
 the heaven arch itself there above ? — Lies not the 
 earth firm here below ? — And do not eternal stars 
 rise, kindly twinkling-, on high ? — Are we not look- 
 ing into each other's eyes, and is not all thronging to 
 thy head and heart, and weaving in eternal mystery, 
 invisibly — visibly, about thee ? With it fill thy heart, 
 big as it is, and when thou art wholly blest in the 
 feeling, then call it what thou wilt ! Call it Bliss ! — 
 Heart ! — Love ! — God ! I have no name for it ! 
 Feeling is all in all. Name is sound and smoke, 
 cloudin2: heaven's o-low. 
 
 Margaret. That is all very fine and good. The 
 priest says nearly the same, only with somewhat dif- 
 ferent words. 
 
 Faust. All hearts in all places under the blessed 
 light of day say it, each in its own language — why 
 not in mine ? 
 
 Margaret. Thus taken, it may pass ; but, for all 
 that, there is something wrong about it, for thou hast 
 no Christianity. 
 
 Faust. Dear child ! 
 
 3Iargaret. I have long been grieved at the com- 
 pany I see you in. 
 
 Faust. How so ? 
 
 Margaret. The man you have with you is hateful 
 to me in my inmost soul. Nothing in the whole course 
 of my life has given my heart such a pang, as the 
 repulsive visage of that man. 
 
 Faust. Fear him not, dear child. 
 
 Margaret. His presence makes my blood creep. 
 I have kind feelings towards everybody else. But, 
 much as I long to see you, I have an unaccountable 
 honor of that man, and hold him for a rogue besides. 
 God forgive me, if I do him wrong.
 
 lOS Martha's garden. 
 
 Faust. There must be such oddities, notwithstanding. 
 
 Margaret. I would not live with the like of him. 
 Whenever he comes to the door, he looks in so mock- 
 ingly, and with fury but half-suppressed ; one sees 
 that he sympathises with nothing. It is written on 
 his forehead, that he can love no living soul. I feel 
 so happy in thy arms — so unrestrained — in such glow- 
 ing abandonment ; and his presence closes up my 
 heart's core. 
 
 Faust. You misgiving angel, you ! 
 
 Margaret. It overcomes me to such a degree, that 
 when he but chances to join us, I even think I do not 
 love you any longer. And in his presence, I should 
 never be able to pray ; and this eats into my heart. 
 You, too, Henry, must feel the same. 
 
 Faust. You have an antipathy, that is all. 
 
 Margaret. I must go now. 
 
 Faust. Ah, can I never recline one little hour un- 
 disturbed upon thy bosom, and press heart to heart 
 and soul to soul ! 
 
 Ma}-ga?-ct. Ah, did I but sleep alone ! I would 
 gladly leave the door unbolted for you this very night. 
 But my mother does not sleep sound, and were she to 
 catch us, I should die upon the spot. 
 
 Faust. Thou angel, there is no fear of that. You 
 see this phial ! Only three drops in her drink will 
 gently envelope nature in deep sleep. 
 
 3Iargaret. What would I not do for thy sake ? It 
 will do her no harm, I hope. 
 
 Faust. Would I recommend it to you, my love, if 
 it could ? 
 
 Margaret. If, best of men, I do but look on you, 
 I know not what drives me to comply with your will. 
 I have already done so much for you, that next to 
 nothing now remains for me to do. [Exit.
 
 Martha's garden. 109 
 
 Jleph'stopheles {who enters). The silly monkey ! is 
 she gone. 
 
 Faust. Hast thou been playing the spy again ? 
 
 Blephistopheles. I heard what passed plainly enough. 
 You were catechised, Doctor. Much good may it do 
 vou. The girls are certainly deeply interested in 
 knowing whether a man be pious and plain after the 
 old fashion. They say to themselves : " If he is 
 phable in that matter, he will also be pliable to us." 
 
 Faust. Thou, monster as thou art, canst not con- 
 ceive how this fond, faithful soul, full of her faith, 
 which, according to her notions, is alone capable of 
 conferring eternal happiness, feels a holy horror to 
 think that she must hold her best-beloved for lost. 
 
 Mephistopheles. Thou super-sensual, sensual lover, 
 a chit of a girl leads thee by the nose. 
 
 Faust. Thou abortion of dirt and fire ! 
 
 Mephistopheles. And she is knowing in physiognomy 
 too. In my presence she feels she knows not how. 
 This little mask betokens some hidden sense. She 
 feels that I am most assuredly a genius— perhaps the 
 devil himself. To night, then — ? 
 
 Faust. What is that to you ? 
 
 3Iephistopheles. I have my pleasure in it, though.
 
 lie 
 
 AT THE WELL. 
 
 Margaret and Bessy with pitchers. 
 
 Bessy. Have you heard nothing of Barbara ? 
 
 Margaret. Not a word. I go very little abroad. 
 
 Bessy. Certainly, Sybella told it me to-day. She 
 has even made a fool of herself at last. That comes 
 of playing the fine lady. 
 
 Margaret. How so ? 
 
 Bessy. It is a bad business. She feeds two when 
 she eats and drinks now. 
 
 Margaret. Ah ! 
 
 Bessy. She is rightly served at last. What a time 
 she has hung upon the fellow ! There was a prome- 
 nading and a gallanting to village junkettings and 
 dancing booths — she forsooth must be the first in 
 everything — lie was ever treating her to tarts and 
 wine. She thought great things of her beauty, and 
 was so lost to honour as not to be ashamed to receive 
 presents from him. There was a hugging and kissing 
 — and lo, the flower is gone ! 
 
 Margaret. Poor thing ! 
 
 Bessy. You really pity her ! When the like of us 
 were at the spinning, our mothers never let us go 
 down at night. She stood sweet with her lover ; on 
 the bench before the door, and in the dark walk, the 
 time was never too long for them. But now she may 
 humble herself, and do penance, in a white sheet, in 
 the church. 
 
 Margaret. He will surely make her his wife. 
 
 Besii/. He would be a fool if he did. A brisk
 
 AT THE WELL. Ill 
 
 young fellow has tbe world before him. Besides, 
 he's off. 
 
 Margaret. That's not handsome ! 
 
 Bessy. If she gets him, it will go ill with her. 
 The boys will tear her garland for her, and we will 
 strew cut straw before her door. [Exit. 
 
 3Iargaret [going home). How stoutly I could formerly 
 revile, if I saw a poor maiden make a slip ! how I 
 could never find words enough to speak of another's 
 shame ! How black it seemed to me ! and, blacken it 
 as I would, it was never black enough for me — and 
 blessed myself and felt so grand, and am nv->w myself 
 a prey to sin ! Yet — all that drove me to it, was, 
 God knows, so sweet, so dear !
 
 112 
 
 ZWINGER. 
 
 In the niche of the ivall a devotional image of the Mater 
 Dolorosa, with pots ofjloivcrs before it. 
 
 Mar g wet {places fresh flowers in the pots). 
 Ah, incliae, 
 Thou full of pain, 
 Thy countenance graciously to ray distress. 
 
 The sword in thy heart, 
 
 With thousand pangs 
 
 Up-lookest thou to thy Son's death. 
 
 To the Father look"st thou, 
 
 And sendest sighs 
 
 Aloft for his and thy distress 
 
 Who feels 
 
 How rages 
 
 My torment to the quick? 
 
 How the poor heart in me throbbeth, 
 
 How it trembleth, how it yearneth, 
 
 Knowest thou, and thou alone ! 
 
 Whithersoe'er I go, 
 AVhat woe, what woe, what woe, 
 Grows Avithin my bosom hei'e I 
 Hardlv, alas, am I alone.
 
 ZWIJfGEa. 
 
 113 
 
 I weep, I weep, I weep, 
 
 My heart is bursting within me ! 
 
 The llower-pot.s on my window-sill 
 Bedewed I with tears, alas ! 
 When I at morning's dawn 
 Plucked these flowers for thee. 
 
 When brightly in my chamber 
 The rising sun's rays shone, 
 Already, in all wretchedness. 
 Was I sitting up in my bed. 
 
 Help ! rescue me from shame and death ! 
 
 Ah, incline. 
 
 Thou full of pain. 
 
 Thy countenance graciously to my distress !
 
 114 
 
 NIGHT.— STREET BEFORE MARGARET'S 
 
 DOOR. 
 
 Valentine (a Soldier, Margaret's hrolhcr.) 
 
 When I made one of a company, where many Hke 
 to show off, and the fellows were loud in their praises 
 of the flower of maidens, and drowned tlieir commend- 
 ation in bumpers, — with my elbows leaning on the 
 board, I sat in quiet confidence, and listened to all 
 their swaggering ; then I stroke my heard with a 
 smile, and take the bumper in my hand, and say : 
 " All very well in its way ! but is there one in the 
 whole country to compare with my dear Margaret, — 
 who is fit to hold a caudle to my sister ?" Hob and 
 nob, kling ! klang ! so it went round ! Some 
 shouted, "he is right ; she is the pearl of the whole 
 sex ;" and all those p raisers were dumb. And now 
 — it is enough to make one tear out one's hair by the 
 roots, and run up the walls — I shall be twitted by the 
 sneers and taunts of every knave, shall sit like a 
 bankrupt debtor, and sweat at every chance word. 
 And though I might crush them at a blow, yet I 
 could not call them liars. Who comes there ? Who 
 is slinking this way ? If I mistake not, there are 
 two of them. If it is he, I will have at him at once; 
 he shall not leave this spot alive. 
 
 Faust. How from the window of the Sacristy there, 
 the light of the eternal lamp flickers upwards, and 
 glimmers weaker and weaker at the sides, and dark- 
 ness thickens round ! Just so is all night-like in my 
 breast.
 
 STttEET. 115 
 
 Mephistopheles. And I feel languishing like the 
 tom-cat, that sneaks along the fire-ladders and then 
 creeps stealthily round the walls. I feel quite vir- 
 tuously, — with a spice of thievish pleasure, a spice of 
 M-antonness. In such a manner does the glorious 
 Walpurgis night already thrill me through every limb. 
 The dav after to-morrow it comes round to us again ; 
 tliere one knows what one wakes for. 
 
 Faust. In the mean time, can that be the treasure 
 rising, — that which I see ghmmering yonder? 
 
 Mcphistopheles. You will soon enjoy the lifting up 
 of the casket. I lately took a squint at it. There 
 are capital lion-dollars within. 
 
 Faust. Not a trinket — not a ring— to adorn my 
 lovely mistress with ? 
 
 MepTiistopheles. I think I saw some such thing 
 tliere as a sort of pearl necklace. 
 
 Faust. That is well. I feel sorry when I go to her 
 without a present. 
 
 Jlephistopheks. You ought not to regret having 
 some enjoyment gratis. Now that the heavens are 
 studded thick with stars, you shall hear a true piece of 
 art. I will sing her a moral song, to make a fool of 
 her the more certainly. [-?-^e sinc/s to the guitar. 
 
 " AVhat are you doing here, Catherine, before your 
 lover's door at morning dawn ? Stay, and beware ! 
 he lets thee in a maid, not to come out a maid. 
 
 " Beware ! If it be done, then good night to you, 
 you poor, poor things. If you love yourselves, do 
 nothing to pleasure any spoiler, except with the ring 
 on the finger. 
 
 Valentine [comes forward). "Whom art thou luring 
 here ? by God ! thou cursed ratcatcher ! First, to 
 the devil with the instrument, then to the devil with 
 tlie singer. 
 
 I 2
 
 116 STREET. 
 
 Mej'Mstopheles. The guitar is broken to pieces ! 
 Tt is all up with it. 
 
 Valentine. Now then for a skull-cracking. 
 
 Mepldstoplwles (^o Faust). Don't give way, Doctor! 
 Courage ! Stick close, and do as 1 tell you. Out 
 with your toasting-iron ! Thrust away, and I will 
 parry. 
 
 Valentine. Parry that! 
 
 Mephistopheles. Why not ? 
 
 Valentine. And that ! 
 
 Mephistopheles. To be sure. 
 
 Valentine. I believe the devil is fio-htino-. What is 
 that ? My hand is already disabled. 
 
 Mephistopheles {to Faust). Thrust home ! 
 Vanletine falls. Oh, torture ! 
 
 Mephistopheles. The clown is tamed now. But 
 away ! We must vanish in a twinkling, for a horrible 
 outcry is already raised. I am perfectly at home with 
 the police, but should find it hard to clear scores with 
 the criminal courts. 
 
 Martha [at the window). Out I out ! 
 
 Margaret {at the window). Bring a light I 
 
 3Iartha {as before). They are raihug and scuffling, 
 screamino- and fio-htino-. 
 
 People. Here lies one dead already. 
 
 3Iartha {coming out). Have the murderers escaped ? 
 
 Margaret {coming out). AVho lies here? 
 
 People. Thy mother's son. 
 
 JIargaret. Almighty God! what misery ! 
 
 Valentine. I am dying! that is soon said, and 
 sooner still done. Why do you women stand howling 
 and wailing? Come here and listen to me 
 
 [All come, round him. 
 
 liOok ye, my little Tdargaret! you are still young! 
 vou are not yet adroit enough, and manage your mat-
 
 STREET. 117 
 
 ters ill. I tell it you in confidence , since you are, once 
 for all, a whore, be one in good earnest. 
 
 Margaret. Brother ! God I What do you mean ? 
 
 Valentine. Leave our Lord God out of the game. 
 "What is done, alas! cannot he undone, and things 
 Avill take their course. You begin privately with one ; 
 more of them will soon follow ; and when a dozen 
 have had you, the whole town will have you too. 
 
 AMien first Shame is born, she is brought into the 
 world clandestinely, and the veil of night is drawn 
 over her head and ears. Aye, people would fain stifle 
 her. But when she grows and waxes big, she walks 
 flauntingly in open day, and yet is not a whit the 
 fairer. The uglier her face becomes, the more she 
 courts the light of day. 
 
 By my truth, I already see the time when all honest 
 towns-people will turn aside from you, you whore, as 
 from an infected corpse. Your heart will sink within 
 you when they look you in the face. You will wear 
 no golden chain again ! No more will you stand at 
 the altar in the church, or take pride in a fair lace col- 
 lar at the dance. You will hide yourself in some dark 
 miserable corner, amongst beggars and cripples, and, 
 even should God forgive you, be cursed upon earth! 
 
 Martha. Commend your soul to God's mercy. Will 
 you yet heap the sin of slander upon your soul. 
 
 Valentine. Could I but get at thy withered body, 
 thou shameless bawd, I should hope to find a full 
 measure of pardon for all ni}' sins ! 
 
 Margaret. My brother! Oh, this agonizing pang! 
 
 Valentine. Have done with tears, I tell you. When 
 you renounced honour, you gave me the deepest heait- 
 stab of all. I go through death's sleep unto God, a 
 soldier and a brave one. \_He dies.
 
 lib 
 
 CATHEDRAL. 
 SERVICE, ORGAN, AND ANTHEM. 
 
 Margaret amongst a number of People. Evil Spirit behind 
 
 Margaret. 
 Evil Spirit. 
 
 How different was it with thee, Margaret, 
 
 When still full of innocence 
 
 Thou earnest to the altar there — 
 
 Out of the well-worn little hook 
 
 Lispedst prayers, 
 
 Half child-sport, 
 
 Half God in the heart! 
 
 Margaret ! 
 
 Where is thy head ? 
 
 In thy heart 
 
 What crime ? 
 
 Prayest thou for thy mother's soul — who 
 
 Slept over into long, long pain through thee? 
 
 Whose blood on thy threshold ? 
 
 And under thy heart 
 
 Stirs it not quickening even now, 
 
 Torturing itself and thee 
 
 With its foreboding presence ? 
 Margaret. 
 
 Woe ! woe ! 
 
 Wovdd that I were free from the thouohts, 
 
 That come over me and across me 
 
 Despite of me !
 
 CATHEDRAL. 119 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Dies ir£e, dies ilia 
 
 Solvet sseelum in favilla. {Organ plays. 
 
 Evil Spirit. 
 
 Horror seizes tliee ! 
 
 The Trump sounds ! 
 
 The graves tremble ! 
 
 And thy heart 
 
 From the repose of its ashes 
 
 For fier}' torment 
 
 Brouo-ht to life aa-ain. 
 
 Trembles up ! 
 Margaret. 
 
 "Would that I were hence ! 
 
 I feel as if the organ 
 
 Stifled my breath, 
 
 As if the anthem 
 
 Dissolved my heart's core ! 
 Chorus. 
 
 Judex ergo cum scdebit, 
 
 Quidquid latet adparcbit, 
 
 Nil inultum remanebit. 
 Margaret. 
 
 I feel so thronged ! 
 
 The wall-pillars 
 
 Close on me ! 
 
 The vaulted roof 
 
 Presses on me ! — Air ! 
 Evil Spirit. 
 
 Hide thyself I Sin and shame 
 
 Remain, unhidden. 
 
 Air ? Light ? 
 
 AVoe to thee ! 
 Chorus. 
 
 Quid sum miser tunc dicturus?
 
 120 CATHEDRAL. 
 
 Quem patronum rogaturus ? 
 
 Cum vix Justus sit securus. 
 Evil Spirit. 
 
 The glorified from thee 
 
 Avert their faces. 
 
 The pure shudder 
 
 To reach thee their hands. 
 
 Woe ! 
 Chorus . 
 
 Quid sum miser tunc dicturus ? 
 Margaret. 
 
 Neighbour! your smelhng-bottle ! 
 
 [(S7<e swoons away.
 
 121 
 
 MAY-DAY NIGHT. 
 
 THE HARTZ MOUNTAINS. 
 
 District of Schirke and Elend. — Faust — iSIfpihstopheles. 
 
 Mephistopheles. Do you not long for a broomstick ? 
 For m}' part, I should be glad of the roughest he-goat. 
 Bv this road Ave are still far fi-om our destination. 
 
 t/ 
 
 Faust. So long as I feel fresh upon my legs, this 
 knotted stick suffices me. What is the use of shorten- 
 ing the way ? To creep along the labyrinth of 
 the vales, and then ascend these rocks, from which 
 the ever-bubbling spring dashes — this is the plea- 
 sure which gives zest to such a path. The spring 
 is already weaving in the birch trees, and even the 
 pine is beginning to feel it, — ought it not to have some 
 effect upon our limbs ? 
 
 3/ejAistopheles. Verily, I feel nothing of it. All is 
 wintry in my body, and I should prefer frost and snow 
 upon my path. IIow mournfully the imperfect disk of 
 the red moon rises with belated glare I and gives so 
 bad a light, that, at every step, one runs against a tree 
 or a rock. With your leave, I will call a will-o'the- 
 wisp. I see one yonder, burning right merrily. Holloa, 
 there, my friend ! may I entreat yijur company ? Why 
 wilt thou blaze away so uselessly ? Be so good as to 
 light us up along here. 
 
 Will-o the- Wisp. Out of reverence, I hope, I shall 
 succeed in subduing my unsteady nature. Our course 
 is ordinarily lir.t a zigzag one. 
 
 jMephistopheles. Ha! ha! you think to imitate men.
 
 122 MAY-DAY NIGHT. 
 
 But go straight, in the devil's name, or I will blow 
 your flickering life out. 
 
 Will-othe- Wisp. I see well that you are master 
 here, and will willingly accommodate myself to you. 
 But consider ! the mountain is magic-mad to-night, 
 and if a will-o'the-wisp is to show you the way, you 
 must not be too particular. 
 Faust, Mephistopheles, Will-o'the-Wisp, in alternating song. 
 
 Into the sphere of dreams and enchantments, it 
 seems, have we entered. Lead us right, and do yourself 
 credit! — that we may advance betimes in the wide, 
 desolate regions. 
 
 See trees after trees, how rapidly they move by ; 
 and the cliifs, that bow, and the long-snouted rocks, 
 how they snort, how they blow I 
 
 Through the stones, through the turf, brook and 
 brookliug .hurry down. Do 1 hear rustling ? do I 
 hear songs ? do I hear the sweet plaint of love ? — 
 voices of those blest days ? — what we hope, what we 
 love ! And Echo, like the tale of old times, sends 
 back the sound. 
 
 Tu-whit-tu-whoo — it sounds nearer ; the owl, the 
 pewet, and the jay, — have they all remained awake ? 
 Are those salamanders through the brake, with their 
 long legs, thick paunches ? And the roots, like snakes, 
 Avind from out of rock and sand, and stretch forth 
 strange filaments to terrify, to seize us : from coarse 
 speckles, instinct with life, they set polypus-fibres for 
 the traveller. And the mice, thousand-coloured, in 
 whole tribes, through the moss and through the heath! 
 And the glow-worms fly, in crowded swarms, a con- 
 founding escort. 
 
 But tell me whether we stand still, or whether we 
 are moving on. Everything seems to turn round, 
 — rocks and trees, which make grimaces, and the
 
 MAY-DAY NlCni 123 
 
 will-o'tlie-wisps, wliic-li multiply, wliicli swell them- 
 selves out. 
 
 dIejjhistoj>JieIcs. Keep a stout hold of my skirt ! 
 Here is a central peak, from which one sees with 
 wonder how Alauunon is o-lowinn- in the mountain. 
 
 Faust. How strangely a melancholy light, of morn- 
 ing red, glimmers through the mountain gorges, and 
 quivers even to the deepest recesses of the precipice. 
 Here rises a mine-damp, there float exhalations. 
 Hei'e glow sparkles out of vapour and gauze, then 
 steals along like a fine thread, and then again hursts 
 forth like a fountain. Here it winds, a whole track, 
 with a hundred veins, through the valley ; and here, 
 in the compressed corner, it scatters itself at once. 
 There sparks are sputtering near, like golden sand 
 upsprinkled. But, see ! the wall of rocks is on fire in 
 all its height. 
 
 jMejjliistopheles. Does not Sir Mammon illuminate 
 his palace magnificently for this festival ? It is lucky 
 that you have seen it. I already see traces of the 
 boisterous guests. 
 
 Faust. How the storm-blast is raging through the 
 air ! With Avhat thumps it strikes against my neck I 
 
 Mephisto])licles. You must lay hold of the old ribs 
 of the rock, or it will hurl you down into this abyss. 
 A mist thickens the nio-ht. Hark I what a crashin<T 
 through the forest ! The owls fly scared away. Hark, 
 to the splintering of the pillars of the ever-green 
 palaces ! the crackling and snapping of the boughs, 
 the mighty groaning of the trunks, the creaking and 
 yawning of the roots I — All come crashing down, one 
 over the other, in fearfully-confused fall ; and the 
 winds hiss and howl through the wreck-covered cliffs ! 
 Dost thou hear voices aloft ? — in the distance? — close 
 at hand ? — Aye, a raving witch-song streams along 
 the whole mountain.
 
 12 J- MAT-DAY NIGHT. 
 
 The Witches, hi chorus. To the Brocken the Avitehes 
 repair ! The stubble is jrellovv, the sown-fields are 
 green. There tlie huge multitude is assembled. Sir 
 Urian sits at the top. Ou tliey go, over stone and 
 stock ; the witch s, the he-goat s. 
 
 Voices. Old Baubo comes alone ; she rides upon a 
 farrow-sow. 
 
 Chonis. Then honour to whom honour is due I 
 Mother Baubo to the front, and lead the way ! A 
 proper sow and mother upon her, — then follows the 
 Avhole swarm of witches. 
 
 Voice. Which way did you come ? 
 
 Voice. B}' Ilsenstein. I there peeped into the owl's 
 nest. She gave me such a look ! 
 
 Voice. Oh, drive to hell ! What a rate you are 
 riding at I 
 
 Voice. She has grazed me in passing : only look 
 at the wound ! 
 
 Chorus of Witches. The way is broad — the way is 
 long. What mad throng is this ? The fork sticks — 
 the besom scratches : the child is suffocated — the 
 mother bursts. 
 
 Wizards {half-chorus). We steal along like snails 
 in their house ; the women are all before ; for, in 
 going to the house of the wicked one, woman is a 
 thousand steps in advance. 
 
 T/ie other Half. We do not take that so precisely. 
 The woman does it with a thousand steps ; but, let 
 her make as much haste as she can, the man does it 
 at a single bound. 
 
 Voices {above). Come with us, come with us, from 
 Felsensee ! 
 
 Voices {from below). We should like to mount 
 with yt)U. We Mash, and are thoroughly clean, but 
 we are ever barren.
 
 MAY-DAY KIGHT. 125 
 
 Both Choruses. Tlie wind is still, the stars fly, 
 \]\e melancholy moon is glad to hide herself. The 
 magic-choir sputters forth sparks by thousands in its 
 whizziuo-. 
 
 Voice {from hcloio). Hold! hold ! 
 
 Voice [from above). Who calls there, from the cleft 
 in the rock ? 
 
 Voice {from below). Take me with you ! take me 
 with you ! I have been mounting for three hundred 
 years already, and cannot reach the top. 1 would fain 
 be with my fellows. 
 
 Both Choruses. The besom carries, the stick car- 
 ries, the fork carries, the he-goat carries. Who can- 
 not raise himself to-night, is lost for ever. 
 
 Demi- Witch {below). I have been tottering after 
 such a length of time ; — how far the others are a-head 
 already ! I have no rest at home, — and don't get it 
 here neither. 
 
 Chorus of Witches. The salve gives courage to the 
 witches ; a rag is good for a sail : every trough makes 
 a good ship ; he will ricver Hy, Avho flew not to-night. 
 
 Both Choruses. And when we round the peak, 
 sweep along the ground, and cover the heath far and 
 wide with your swarm of witch-hood. 
 
 [27iey let themselves down. 
 
 Mephistopheles. There 's crowding and pushing, 
 rustling and clattering ! There 's whizzing and 
 twirling, bustling and babbling! There 's glittering, 
 sparkling, stinking, burning! A true witch-element! 
 But stick close to me, or we shall be separated in a 
 moment. Where art thou ? 
 
 Faust {in the distance). Here ! 
 
 Mephistopheles. What ! already torn away so far ? 
 I must exert my authorit}' as master. Room ! Squire 
 Voland comes I Make room, sweet people, make
 
 126 MAY-DAY XI6HT. 
 
 room I Here, Doctor, take hold of nie ! and now, at 
 one bound, let us get clear of the crowd. It is too 
 mad, even for the like of me. Hard by there, shines 
 something- with a peculiar light. Sometbing attracts 
 me towards those bushes. Come along, we will slip 
 in there. 
 
 Faust. Thou spirit of contradiction ! But go on ! 
 thou may'st lead me. But it was wisely done, to be 
 sure ! We repair to the Brocken on AYalpurgis' night 
 — to try and isolate ourselves when we o-et here. 
 
 3Iej>histoj)hifles. Only see what variegated flames! 
 A merry club is met together. One is not alone in a 
 small company. 
 
 Faust. I should prefer being above, though ! I 
 already see flame and eddying smoke. Yonder the 
 multitude is streaming to the Evil One. Many a 
 riddle must there be untied. 
 
 3Iephistopheles. And many a riddle is also tied 
 anew. Let the great world bluster as it will, we will 
 here house ourselves in peace. It is an old saying-, 
 that in the great world one makes little worlds. 
 Yonder I see young witches, naked and bare, and old 
 ones, who prudently cover themselves. Be compliant, 
 if only for my sake ; the trouble is small, the sport is 
 great. I hear the tuning of instruments. Confounded 
 jangle ! One must accustom oneself to it. Come 
 along, come along ! it cannot be otherwise. I will go 
 forward and introduce you, and I shall lay you under 
 a fresh obligation. What sayest thou, friend ? This 
 is no trifling space. Only look ! you can hardly see 
 the end. A hundred fires are burning in a row. 
 People are dancing, talking, cooking, drinking, love- 
 making ! Now tell me where anything better is to be 
 found. 
 
 Faust. To introduce us here, do you intend to pre- 
 sent vourself as wizard or de-i! ?
 
 MAT-DAY NIPHT. J 27 
 
 Meiylihtophcles. In truth, I am much iiscd to go 
 incognito. But one shows one's orders on gala dijs. 
 I have no garter to distinguish me, but the cloven foot 
 is held in high honour here. Do you see the snail 
 there ? she comes creeping up, and with her feelers 
 has already found out something in me. Even if I 
 would, 1 could not deny myself here. But come ! we 
 will go from fire to fire ; I will he the pander, and 
 you shall be the gallant. 
 
 [To some who are sitting round expiring embers. 
 Old gentlemen, what are you doing here at the 
 extremity ? 1 should commend you, did I find you 
 nicely in the middle, in the thick of the riot and 
 youthful revelry. Every one is surely enough alone 
 at hijme. 
 
 General. Who can put his trust in nations, though 
 he has done ever so much for them ? For with the 
 people, as with the women, youth has always the 
 upper hand. 
 
 Minister. At present people are wide astray from 
 the right path — the good old ones for me ! For, 
 verilv, when we were all in all, that was the true 
 golden age. 
 
 Parvenu. We, too, Avere certainly no fools, and 
 often did what we ought not. But now every thing is 
 turned topsy-turvy, and just when we wished to keep 
 it firm. 
 
 Author. Wlio now-a-days, speaking generally, likes 
 to read a work of even moderate sense ? And as 
 for the rising generation, they were never so mala- 
 pei-t. 
 
 Mephistopheles {who all at once appears very old). 
 I feel the people ripe for doomsday, now that I ascend 
 tlie w 'ch-mountain for the last time; and because 
 iry own cask runs thick, the world also is come tc 
 the dregs.
 
 138 MAY-DAY NIGHT. 
 
 A Witch [who sells old clothes and frippery). Do 
 not pass by in this manner, gentlemen ! Now is your 
 time. Look at my wares attentively ; I have them 
 of all sorts. And yet there is nothing in my shop — 
 which has not its fellow upon earth — that has not, 
 some time or other, wrought proper mischief to man- 
 kind and to the world. There is no dagger here, 
 from which blood has not flowed ; no chalice, from 
 which hot consuming poison has not been poured into 
 a healthy body ; no trinket, which has not seduced 
 some amiable woman ; no sword, which has not cut 
 some tie asunder, which has not perchance stabbed an 
 adversary from behind. 
 
 Mephistopheles. Cousin ! you understand but ill the 
 temper of the times. Done, happened ! Happened, 
 done ! Take to dealing in novelties ; novelties only 
 have any attraction for us. 
 
 Faust. If I can but keep my senses ! This is a fair 
 with a vengeance ! 
 
 Mephistopheles. The whole throng struggles up- 
 wards. You think to shove, and you yourself are 
 shoved. 
 
 Faust. Who, then, is that ? 
 
 Mephistopheles. Mark her well ! That is Lilith. 
 
 Faust. Who? 
 
 Mephistopheles. Adam's first wife. Beware of her 
 fair hair, of that ornament in which she shines pre- 
 eminent. When she ensnares a young man with it, 
 she does not let him off again so easily. 
 
 Faust. There sit two, the old one with the young 
 one. They have already capered a good bit ! 
 
 Mephistopheles. That has neither stop nor stay to- 
 night. A new dance is beginning ; come, we will 
 set to. 
 
 Faust [dancing with the young one). I had once
 
 MAY-DAY .NTUHT. 129 
 
 upon a time a fair dream. In it, I saw an apple-tree ; 
 two lovely apples glittered on it : tlicj enticed me, I 
 climbed up. 
 
 The Fair One. You are very fond of apples, and 
 have been so from Paradise downwards. I feel moved 
 with joy, that my garden also bears such. 
 
 JIephistoj:>heles {with the old one). I had once upon 
 a time a wild dream. In it, I saw a cleft tree. It 
 
 had a • ■ ; ■ ■ as it was, it pleased me 
 
 notwithstanding. 
 
 The Old One. I present my best respects to the 
 
 knight of the cloven foot. Let him have a 
 
 ready, if he does not fear . 
 
 Prochtophantasmist. Confounded mob ! how dare 
 you ? AVas it not long since demonstrated to you ? 
 A spirit never stands upon ordinary feet ; and you are 
 actually dancing away, like us mortals ! 
 
 Tlie Fair One. What does he come to our ball for 
 then ? 
 
 Faust [dancing) . Ha! He is absolutely- everywhere. 
 He must appraise what others dance ! If he cannot 
 talk about every step, the step is as good as never 
 made at all. He is most vexed, when we go forwards. 
 If you would but turn round in a circle, as he does in 
 his old mill, he would term that good, I daresay; par- 
 ticularly were you to consult him about it. 
 
 Procktophantasmist. You ai-e still there, then I 
 No, that is unheard of! But vanish ! We have 
 enlightened the world, you know ! That devil's crew, 
 they pay no attention to rules. We are so wise, — 
 and Tcgel is haunted, notwithstanding ! How long 
 have I not been sweeping away at the delusion ; and 
 it never becomes clean I It is unheard of ! 
 
 The Fair One. Have done boring us here, at any 
 rate, then ! 
 
 K
 
 130 MAY-DAY NIGHT. 
 
 ProcJctopJiantasmist. I tell you, Spirits, to youi 
 faces, I endure not the despotism of the spirit. My 
 spirit cannot exercise it. [The dancing goes on.) 
 To-night, I see, I shall succeed in nothing ; but I 
 am always ready for a journey ; and still hope, before 
 my last step, to get the better of devils and poets. 
 
 Mephistopheles. He will, forthwith, seat himself in 
 a puddle ; that is his mode of soothing himself; and 
 when leeches have amused themselves on his rump, 
 he is cured of spirits and spirit. ( To Faust, who has 
 left the dance.) Why do you leave the pretty girl, 
 who sung so sweetly to you in the dance ? 
 
 Faust. Ah ! in the middle of the song, a red mouse 
 jumped out of her mouth. 
 
 3Icphistopheles. There is nothing out of the way in 
 that. One must not be too nice about such matters. 
 Enough that the mouse was not grey. Who cares 
 for such things in a moment of enjoyment. 
 
 Faust. Then I saw — 
 
 Mephistopheles. What ? 
 — —Faust. Mephisto, do you see yonder a pale, fair 
 ffirl, standino; alone and afar off ! She drags herself 
 but slowly from the place : she seems to move with 
 fettered feet. I must own, she seems to me to resem- 
 ble poor Margaret. 
 
 Mephisto])hcles. Have nothing to do with that ! no 
 good can come of it to any one. It is a creation of 
 enchantment, is lifeless, — an idol. It is not well to 
 meet it ; the blood of man thickens at its cliill look, 
 and he is well nigh turned to stone. You have heard, 
 no doubt, of Medusa. 
 
 Faust. In truth, they are the eyes of a corpse, which 
 there was no fond hand to close. That is the bosom, 
 which Margaret yielded to me ; that is the sweet 
 body, which I enjoyed.
 
 MAT-DAY XIGHT. 131 
 
 3Iephistopheles. That is sorcery, thou easily deluded 
 fool ; for she wears to every one the semblance of his 
 beloved. 
 
 Fauft. What bliss ! what suffering ! I cannot tear 
 myself from that look. IIow strangely does a single 
 red line, no thicker than the back of a knife, adorn 
 that lovely neck. 
 
 Mepliistopheles. Right ! I see it too. She can 
 also carry her head under her arm, for Perseus has 
 cut it off for her. But ever this fondness for delusion!^ 
 Come up the hill, however ; here all is as merry as in 
 the Prater ; and if I am uot bewitched, I actually see 
 a theatre. What is going on here, then ? 
 
 Servibilis. They will recommence immediately. A 
 new piece, the last of seven ; — it is the custom here 
 to give so many. A dilettante has written it, and 
 dilettanti play it. Excuse me, Gentlemen, but I 
 must be otf. It is my dilettante office to draw up the 
 curtain. 
 
 Mephistophdcs. "When I find you upon the Blocks- 
 berg, — that is just wnat 1 approve ; for this is the 
 proper place for you. 
 
 k2
 
 MAY-DAY NIGHT'S DREAM ; 
 
 OR, 
 
 OBERON AND TITANIA'S 
 
 GOLDEN WEDDING-FEAST. 
 
 IKTERJIEZZO.
 
 135 
 
 INTERMEZZO 
 
 Theatre- Manager. To-day we rest for once ; we, 
 the brave sons of Mieding. Old mountain and damp 
 dale, — that is the whole scenery ! 
 
 Herald. That the wedding-feast may he golden. 
 fifty years are to be past ; but if the quarrel is over, 
 I shall like the golden the better. 
 
 Oheron. If ye spirits are with me, this is the time 
 to show it : the king and the queen, they are united 
 anew. 
 
 Pitch. AVhen Puck comes and whirls himself about, 
 and his foot goes whisking in the dance, — hundreds 
 come after to rejoice along with him. 
 
 Ariel. Ariel awakes the song, in tones of heavenly 
 purity ; his music lures many trifles, but it also lures 
 the fair. 
 
 Oheron. Wedded ones, who would agree, — let them 
 take a lesson from us two. To make a couple love 
 each other, it is only necessary to separate them. 
 
 Titania. If the husband looks gruft", and the wife 
 be whimsical, take hold of both of them immediately. 
 Conduct me her to the South, and him to the ex- 
 tremity of the North. 
 
 Orchestra- Tiitti {Fortissimo). Flics' snouts, and 
 gnats' noses, with their kindred ! Frog in the leaves, 
 and cricket in the grass : they are the musicians. 
 
 Solo. See, here comes the bagpipe ! It is the
 
 136 INTERMEZZO. 
 
 soap-bubble. Hark to the Sclinecke-sehnicke-schnack 
 through its snub-nose. 
 
 Spirit that is fashioning itself. Spider's foot and 
 toad's belly, and little wings for the little wight ! It 
 does not make an animalcule, it is true, but it makes 
 a little poem. 
 
 A Pair of Lovers. Little step and high bound, 
 through honey-dew and exhalations. Truly, you trip 
 it me enough, but you do not mount into the air. 
 
 Inquisitive Traveller. Is not this masquerading- 
 raockery ? Can I believe my eyes ? To see the 
 beauteous god, Oberon, here to-night, too ! 
 
 Orthodox. No claws, no tail ! Yet it stands be- 
 yond a doubt that, even as "The Gods of Greece," 
 so is he too a devil. 
 
 Northern Artist. What I catch, is at present only 
 sketch-ways as it were ; but I prepare myself be- 
 times for the Italian journey. 
 
 Purist. Ah I my ill-fortune brings me hither ; what 
 a constant scene of rioting ! and of the whole host of 
 witches, only two are powdered. 
 
 Young Witch. Powder as well as petticoats are 
 for little old and grey women. Therefore I sit naked 
 upon my he-goat, and show a stout body. 
 
 Matron. We have too much good-breeding to 
 squabble with you here. But I hope you will rot, 
 young and delicate as you are. 
 
 Leader of the Band. Flies' snouts and gnats' noses, 
 don't swarm so about the naked. Frog in leaves, 
 and cricket in the grass ! Continue, however, to 
 keep time, I beg of you. 
 
 Weathercock {towards one side) Company to 
 one's heart's content ! Truly, nothing but brides ! 
 and young bachelors, man for man ! the hopefuUest 
 people I
 
 INTERMEZZO. 13? 
 
 Weathercock {toicards tJie other side, And if the 
 ground does not open, to swallow up all of them — 
 witli a quick run, I will immediately jump into hell. 
 
 Xmien. "We are here as insects, with little sliarp 
 nebs, to honour Satan, om* worshipful papa, according" 
 to his dignity. 
 
 Hennhrgs. See! how naively they joke together in 
 a crowded troop. They will e'en say in the end, that 
 they had good hearts. 
 
 Musaget. I like full well to lose myself in this host 
 of witches ; for, truly, I should know how to manage 
 these better than Muses. 
 
 Ci-devant Genius of the Age. With proper people, 
 one becomes somebody. Come, take hold of my 
 skirt ! The Blocksberg, like the German Parnassus, 
 lias a very broad top. 
 
 Inquisitive Traveller. Tell me what is the name of 
 that stiff man. He walks with stiff steps. He snuf- 
 fles everything he can snuffle. " He is scenting out 
 Jesuits." 
 
 The Crane. I like to fish in clear and even in tron- 
 bled waters. On the same principle you see the pious 
 gentlemen associate even with devils. 
 
 Worldling. Aye, for the pious, believe me, every 
 thing is a vehicle. They actually form many a con- 
 venticle, here upon the Blocksberg. 
 
 Dancer. Here is surely a new choir coming ! I 
 hear distant drums. But don't disturb yourselves ! 
 there are single-toned bitterns amono- the reeds. 
 
 Dancing Master* IIow each throws up his legs ! 
 gets on as best he may ! The crooked jumps, the 
 clumsy hops, and asks not how it looks. 
 
 Fiddler. How deeply this pack of ragamuffins hate 
 
 * This and the following stanza were added in the last complete 
 Edition of Goethe's Works.
 
 138 INTERMEZZO. 
 
 each other, and how gladly they would give each other 
 the finishing hlow ! The bagpipe unites them here, 
 as Orpheus' lyre the beasts. 
 
 Dogmatist. I will not be put out of my opinion, 
 not by either critics or doubts. The devil, though, 
 must be something ; for how else could there be 
 devils ? 
 
 Idealist. Phantasy, this once, is really too mas- 
 terful in my mind. Truly, if I be that All, I must 
 be beside myself to-day. 
 
 Realist. Entity is a regular plague to me, and 
 cannot but vex me much. I stand here, for the first 
 time, not firm upon my feet. 
 
 Supernaturalist. I am greatly pleased at being 
 here, and am delighted with these ; for, from devils. 
 I can certainly draw conclusions as to good spirits. 
 
 Sceptic. They follow the track of the flame, and 
 believe themselves near the treasure. Only doubt 
 (zweifel) rhymes to devil (teufel). Here I am quite at 
 home. 
 
 Leader of the Band. Frog in the leaves, and 
 cricket iu the grass ! Confounded dilettanti ! Flies' 
 snouts and gnats' noses ; you are fine musicians! 
 
 The Knowing Ones. Sansouci, that is the name 
 of the host of merry creatures. There is no longer 
 any walking upon feet, wherefore we walk upon our 
 heads. 
 
 The Maladroit Ones. In times past we have 
 sponged many a tit-bit ; but now, good bye to all 
 that! Our shoes are danced through ; we run on 
 bare soles. 
 
 Will-o'the- Wisps. We come from the bog, from 
 which we are just sprung ; but we are the glittering 
 gallants here iu the dance directly. 
 
 Star- Shoot. From on high, iu star-and-fire-light, I
 
 INTERMEZZO. 139 
 
 shot hither. I am now lying crooked-ways in the 
 grass ; who will help me upon my legs ? 
 
 Tlie Massive Ones. Room ! room ! and round 
 about ! so down go the grass-stallcs. Spirits arc 
 coming, hut spirits as they are, they have plump 
 limbs. 
 
 Puck. Don't ti-ead so heavily, like elephants' 
 calves ; and the plumpest on this day be the stout 
 Puck liimself. 
 
 Ariel. If kind nature gave — if the spirit gave 
 you wings, follow my light track up to the hill of 
 roses ! 
 
 Orchestra, {pianissimo). Drifting clouds, and 
 wreathed mists, brighten from on high ! Breeze 
 in the leaves, and wind in the rushes, and all is 
 dissipated I
 
 140 
 
 A GLOOMY DAY.— OPEN COUiNTRY. 
 
 Faust. — Mephistophf.les. 
 
 Faust. In misery ! Despairing ! Long a wretched 
 wanderer upon the earth, and now a prisoner ! The 
 dear, unhappy being, cooped up in the dungeon, as a 
 malefactor, for horrid tortures ! Even to tliat ! to 
 that ! Treacherous, worthless spirit, and this hast 
 thou concealed from me ! Stand, only stand ! roll thy 
 devilish eyes infuriated in thy head ! Stand and brave 
 me with thy unbearable presence ! A prisoner ! In 
 irremediable misery ! Given over to evil spirits, and 
 to sentence-passing, unfeeling man ! And me, in the 
 mean time, hast thou been lulling with tasteless dissi- 
 pations, concealing her ijrowing wretchedness from 
 me, and leaving her to perisli without help. 
 
 Meplmtopheles. She is not the first. 
 
 Faust. Dog ! horrible monster ! — Turn him, thou 
 Infinite Spirit ! turn the reptile back again into his 
 dog's shape, in which he was often pleased to trot 
 before me by night, to roll before the feet of the 
 harmless wanderer, and fasten on his shoulders when 
 he fell. Turn him again into his favourite shape, that 
 he may crouch on his belly before me in the sand, 
 whilst I spurn him with my foot, the reprobate ! Not 
 the first ! Wo ! wo ! It is inconceivable by any 
 human soul, that more than one creature should have 
 sunk into such a depth of misery, — that the first, in 
 its writhing-death-agony, was not sufficient to atone 
 for the guilt of all the rest in the sight of the Ever-
 
 OPEN COUNTRY. 141 
 
 pardoning. It liarro\vs up my marrow and my very 
 life, — the misery of this one : thou art grinning away 
 calmly at the fate of thousands. 
 
 Mephistopheles. Now are we already at our wits' end 
 again! just where the sense of your mortals snaps 
 with overstraining. Why dost thou enter into fellow- 
 ship with us, if thou canst not go through with it ? 
 Will'st fly, and art not safe from dizziness ? Did we 
 force ourselves on thee, or thou thyself on us ? 
 
 Faust. Gnash not thy greedy teeth thus defyingly 
 at me ! I loathe thee ! Great, glorious Spirit, thou 
 who deignedst to appear to me, thou who knowest my 
 heart and my soul, why yoke me to this shame-fellow 
 who feeds on mischief, and hattens on destruction ! 
 
 Mephistopheles. Hast done ? 
 
 Faust. Save her ! or woe to thee ! The most 
 horrihle curse on thee for thousands of years ! 
 
 Mephistopheles. I cannot loosen the shackles of the 
 avensrer, nor undo his bolts. — Save her ! — Who was 
 it that plunged her into ruin ? I or thou ? 
 
 [Faust looks toUdly around. 
 Art thou grasping after the thunder ? Well, that it is 
 not given to you wretched mortals I To dash to pieces 
 one who replies to you in all innocence — that is just 
 the tyrant's way of venting himself in perplexities. 
 
 Faust. Brino- me thither ! She shall be free ! 
 
 Mephistopheles. And the danger to which you 
 expose yourself ? Know, the guilt of blood, from 
 your hand, still lies upon the town. Avenging spirits 
 hover over the place of the slain, and lie in wait for 
 the returning murderer. 
 
 Faust. That, too, from thee ? Murder and death 
 of a world upon thee, monster ! Conduct me thither, 
 I say, and free her ! 
 
 Mephistopheles. I will conduct thee, and what I can,
 
 142 OPEN COUNTRY. 
 
 hear ! Have I all power in heaven and upon earth ? 
 I will cloud the gaoler's senses ; do you possess your- 
 self of the keys, and bear her off with human hand. 
 I will watch ! The magic horses will be ready, I will 
 bear you off. This much I can do. 
 Faust. Up and away !
 
 143 
 
 NIGHT.— A COMMON. 
 
 Faust and Mephistophrles rmhing along upon black horses. 
 
 Fflust. What are they working — those about the 
 Ravenstone yonder ? 
 
 Mephistopheles. Can't tell what they're cooking 
 and making. 
 
 Faust. Are waving upwards — waving downwards 
 — bending— stooping. 
 
 Mephistopheles. A witch company. 
 
 Faust. Tlicy are sprinkling and charming. 
 
 Mephistopheles. On ! on !
 
 144 
 
 DUNGEON. 
 
 Faust [with a hunch of keys and a lamp, before 
 an iron ivicket). A tremor, long unfelt, seizes me ; 
 the concentrated misery of mankind fastens on me. 
 Here, behind these damp walls, is her dwelling- 
 place, and her crime was a good delusion ! Thou 
 hesitatest to go to her ! Thou fearest to see her again ! 
 On ! thy irresolution lingers death hitherwards. 
 
 [He takes hold of the lock. — Slngiruj within. 
 
 My motlier, the whore, 
 
 That killed me ! 
 
 My father, the rogue. 
 
 That ate me up ! 
 
 My little sister 
 
 Picked up the bones 
 
 At a cool place ! 
 
 There I became a beautiful little wood-bird. 
 
 Fly away ! i\y away ! 
 
 Faust [opening the loch). She has no presentiment 
 that her lover is listening, hears the chains clank, the 
 straw rustle. [ffe enters. 
 
 Margaret [hiding her face in the bed of straw). 
 Woe ! woe ! They come. Bitter death ! 
 
 Faust [softly). Hush ! hush ! I come to free thee. 
 
 Margaret [throicing herself before him). If thou 
 art human, feel for my wretchedness. 
 
 Faust. Ton will wake the guard by your cries ! 
 
 [He takes hold of the chains to imilock them. 
 
 Margaret [on her knees). Who has given you.
 
 UUXGEOX. 145 
 
 Headsman, this power over rae ? You come for me 
 whilst it is yet miduiirht. Be mei'ciful and let me 
 live. Is not to-morrow mornino; soon enono-h ? 
 
 [She slcmds up. 
 I am yet so young, so young! and am to die already! 
 I was fair, too, and that was my undoing ! My true- 
 love was near — he is now far away. Torn lies my 
 garland, scattered the flowers. Don't take hold of 
 me so roughly ! Spare me ! What have I done to 
 you ? Let me not implore in vain ! I nevej* saw you 
 before in all my life, you know ! 
 
 Faust. Ga-L I endure this misery ! 
 
 Margaret. I am now entirely in thy power. Only 
 let me first give suck to the child. I pressed it this 
 whole night to my heart. They took it away to vex 
 me, and now saj' I killed it. And I shall never be 
 happy again. They sing songs upon me ! It is 
 wicked of the people. An old tale ends so, — who bids 
 them apply it ? 
 
 Faust [throics himself .m the ground). A lover lies 
 at thy feet, to unloose the bonds of wretchedness. 
 
 JIargaret {throws herself by his side). Ay, let us 
 kneel to invoke the saints. See, under these steps, 
 under the threshold, hell is seething ! The Evil One, 
 with fearful fury, is making a din. 
 
 Faust [passionately). Margaret! Margaret! 
 
 JJargaret {listening). That was my true-love's voice. 
 {She springs up. The chains fall off ). Where is he? 
 I heard him call. I am free ! Nobody shall hinder 
 me. I will fly to his neck ! lie on his bosom ! He 
 called Margaret ! He stood upon the threshold. In 
 the midst, through the howling and clattering of hell, 
 through the grim, devilish scofiing, I knew the sweet, 
 the loving tone again. 
 
 Faust. 'Tis 1.
 
 lie DUNGEOX. 
 
 3Iargaret. 'Tis thou ! Ah, say so once again ! 
 {Clasping him). 'Tis he ! 'Tis he ! Whither is all 
 my wretchedness ? Whither the agony of the dun- 
 geon ? — the chains ? 'Tis thou ! Thou com'st to 
 save me. I am saved ! — There again already is the 
 street, where I saw thee for the first time ; and the 
 cheerful garden, where I and Martha waited for thee. 
 
 Faust {striving to take her away). Come ! come 
 with me ! 
 
 Margaret. Oh stay ! I like to stay where thou 
 stayest. [Caressing- him. 
 
 Faust. Haste ! If you do not make haste, we shall 
 pay dearly for it. 
 
 Margaret. What ! you can no longer kiss ? So 
 short time away from me, my love, and already for- 
 gotten how to kiss ! Why do I feel so sad upon your 
 neck ? when, in other times, a whole heaven came 
 over me from your words, your looks ; and you kissed 
 me as if you were going to smother me ! Kiss me ! 
 or I will kiss you! {She emhraces him.) woe! 
 your lips are cold, — are dumb. Where have you left 
 your love ? who has robbed me of it ? 
 
 [She turns from him 
 
 Faust. Come ! follow me ! take courage, my love. 
 I will press thee to my heart with thousandfold warmth 
 — only follow me ! I ask thee but this. 
 
 Margaret {turning to him). And is it thou, then ? 
 And is it thou, indeed ? 
 
 Faust. 'Tis I. Come along ! 
 
 Margaret. You undo my fetters, you take me to 
 your bosom again ! How comes it that j'ou are not 
 afraid of me ? And do you then know, my love, 
 whom you are freeing ? 
 
 Faust. Come, come ! the depth of night is already 
 passing away.
 
 nrrxGEO-N. 14 7 
 
 3Iargaret. I have killed my mother, I have drowned 
 mj child. Was it not bestowed on thee and me ? — 
 on thee, too ? 'Tis thou ! I scarcely believe it. Give 
 me thy hand. It is no dream — thy dear hand ! — but 
 oh, 'tis damp ! Wipe it off. It seems to me as if 
 there was blood on it. Oh, God ! what hast thou 
 done ? Put up thy sword ! I pray thee, do ! 
 
 Faust. Let what is past, be past. Thou wilt kill me. 
 
 Margaret. No, you must remain behind. I will 
 describe the graves to you ! you must see to them the 
 first thing to-morrow. Give my mother the best place ; 
 — my brother close by ;— me, a little on one side, only 
 not too far off ! And the little one on my right breast ; 
 no one else will lie by me. To nestle to thi/ side, — 
 that was a sweet, a dear dehght I But it will never 
 be mine again. I feel as if I were irresistibly drawn 
 to you, and you were thrusting me off. And yet, 'tis 
 you ; and you look, so kind. 
 
 Faust. If you feel that 'tis I, come along. 
 
 Margaret. Out there ? 
 
 Faust. Into the free air ! 
 
 Margaret. If the grave is without, if death lies in 
 wait, — then come ! Hence into the eternal restino'- 
 place, and not a step further. — Thou art now going 
 away ? Henry, could I but go too ! 
 
 Faust. Thou canst ! Only consent ! The door 
 stands open. 
 
 Margaret. I dare not go out ; there is no hope ^C7 
 me ! ^Miat avails it flying ? They are lying in wait for 
 me. It is so miserable to be obliged to beg, — and 
 with an evil conscience, too. It is so miserable to 
 wander in a strange land, — and they will catch me, do 
 as I will. 
 
 Faust. I shall be with thee. 
 
 Margaret. Quick, quick ! Save thy poor child. 
 
 L 2
 
 148 DUNGEON. 
 
 Away! Keep Ine path up by the brook — over the 
 bridge — into the wood — to the left wliere the plank 
 is — ill the pond. Only quick and catch hold of it ! it 
 tries to rise I it is still struggling ! Help ! help ! 
 
 Faust. Be calm, I pray ! Only one step, and thou 
 art free. 
 
 Margaret. Were we but past the hill ! There sits 
 my mother on a stone — my brain grows chill! — there 
 sits my mother on a stone, and waves her head to and 
 fro. She beckons not, she nods not, her head is 
 heavy ; she slept so long, she'll wake no more. She 
 slept that we might enjoy ourselves. Those were 
 pleasant times ! 
 
 Faust. As no prayer, no persuasion, is here of any 
 avail, I will risk the bearing thee away. 
 
 Margaret. Let me go ! No, I endure no violence ! 
 Lay not hold of me so murderously ! Time was, you 
 know, when I did all to pleasure you. 
 
 Faust. The day is dawning ! My love ! my love ! 
 
 Margaret. Day ! Yes, is growing day ! The last 
 day is breaking in ! My wedding-day it was to be ! 
 Tell no one that thou hadst been with Margaret 
 already. Woe to my garland ! It is all over now I 
 We shall meet again, but not at the dance The 
 crowd thickens ; it is not heard. The square, the 
 streets, cannot hold them. The bell tolls ! — the staff 
 breaks ! How they bind and seize me ! Already am 
 I hurried off to the blood-seat ! Already quivering for 
 every neck is the sharp steel which quivers for mine. 
 Dumb lies the world as the grave ! 
 
 Faust. Oh that I had never been born ! 
 
 Mephistopheles {appears without). Up ! or you are 
 lost. Vain hesitation ! Lingering and prattling ! My 
 horses shudder ; the morning is gloaming up. 
 
 Margaret, What rises up from the floor ? He !
 
 DDKGEON. 149 
 
 He I Sead him away I What would he at the holy 
 place ? He would me ! 
 
 Faust. Thou shall live I 
 
 Margaret. Judgment of God ! I have given myself 
 up to thee. 
 
 Jle/'histojyheles (to Faust). Come ! come ! I will 
 leave you in the scrape with her. 
 
 Margaret. Thine am I, Father ! Save me, ye 
 Angels ! Ye Holy Hosts, range yourselves round 
 about, to guard me ! Henry I I tremble to look 
 upon thee- 
 
 MepMstopheles. She is judged ! 
 
 Voice from above. Is saved. 
 
 Mephistopheles [to Faust). Hither to me ! 
 
 l^Dtsappears with Faust. 
 
 Voice from within, dying away. Henry! Henry !
 
 NOTES,
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Page 1. They hear not the following lays — the souls to whom 
 I sang my first. — To understand the Dedication, it is necessary to 
 refer to the history of the book. The plan of " Fanst " appears to 
 have been in Goethe's mind very early in life. In the list appended 
 fo the Stuttgart and Tubingen octavo edition of 1819, he puts it 
 down among the works written between 1769 and 1775. In the 
 second part of the Dkhtung imd Wuhrheit (Book 18), he states 
 that he shewed the newest scenes of "Faust" to Klopstock, who ex- 
 pressed himself much pleased, and (contrary to his custom) spoke 
 of the poem with decided commendation to others. This must have 
 taken place early in the year 1775. Maler Muller also, in the 
 prefatory epistle to his " Faust," published about 1778, mentions 
 a report that Goethe and Lessing were engaged upon the same sub- 
 ject. The poem was first published in 1790, and forms the com- 
 mencement of the seventh volume of Goetlie's Schriften : Wien 
 und Leipzig, hey J. Stahel und G. J. Goschm, 1790. This edition 
 is now before me. The poem is entitled, Faust : Ein Fragment 
 ( not Doktor Faust, Ein TraiKrspiel, as Doring says), and contains 
 no prologue or dedication of any sort. It commences with the 
 scene in Faust's study, ante, p. 13, and is continued as now down 
 to the passage ending ante, p. 19, 1. 26. In the original, the line — 
 
 " Und froh ist, wenn er Regenwurmer findet" — 
 
 ends the scene. The next scene is one between Faust and Mephis- 
 topheles, and begins thus : — 
 
 Faust. 
 ******* 
 
 " Und was der ganzen Menschheit zugetheilt ist" — 
 
 t.e., with the passage {ante, p. 52), beginning : — " I will enjoy in 
 my own heart's core all that is parcelled out amongst mankind," 
 &c. All that intervenes in later editions is wanting. It is thence- 
 forth continued as now to the end of the Cathedral scene {ante, 
 p. 120) ; except that the whole scene in which Valentine is killed, is
 
 154 NOTES. 
 
 wanting. Thus Margaret's prayer to the Virgin, and the Cathedra^ 
 scene, come together and form the conclusion of tlie work. Accord- 
 ing to Boring's Verzeichniss, there was no new edition of " Faust" 
 until 1807. According to Dr. Stieglitz, the First Part of " Faust " 
 first appeared in its present shape in the collected edition of 
 Goethe's works which was published in 1808. I applied to Cotta, 
 but could get no definite information as to the point, nor have 
 I been yet fortunate enough to meet with the edition in question. 
 
 Since this was written, I have been favoured by a communication 
 from M. Varuhagen von Ense, in the course of which he states that 
 the First Part first appeared in the edition of Goethe's works pub- 
 lished in duodecimo in 1807 and in octavo in 1808. From the 
 correspondence between Zelter and Goethe, however, it would seem 
 that this edition did not appear until 1808 ; for in a letter, dated 
 July 13th, 1808, we find Zelter acknowledging the receipt of the 
 completed " Faust," and requesting an explanation of the Intermezzo, 
 which unluckily is not afforded to him. — (Vol. i. p. 322.) 
 
 P. 3. Prologue for the Tfieatre. — It must be borne in mind 
 that the theatre is one of those temporary theatres or booths which 
 are common at fairs, and that the company is supposed to be an 
 itinerant one. 
 
 P. 3. Pleasing and instructive at once. — 
 
 " Omne tulit punctum qui miseuit utile dulci." — 
 
 Horace. 
 P. 4. People come to hole. — 
 
 " Segnius irritant animos demissa per aurcs, 
 Quam quae sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus, et quae 
 Ipse sibi tradit spectator." — Horace. 
 
 P. 4. Wlio brings much, will bring something to many a 
 one — "La Comedie des Visionnaires nous re'jouit bcaucoup : 
 nous trouvames que c'est la representation de tout le monde ; chacun 
 a ses visions plus ou moins marquees." — Madame de Scvigni. 
 
 P. 5. Begone, <tc. — Compare Wilhehn Meister (Book ii. ch. 
 ii.), in which somewhat similar notions of the poet's vocation are 
 put into the moutli of the hero. 
 
 P. 6. Much falsehood and a spark of truth. — " I cannot 
 tell why, this same truth is a naked and open daylight, that doth
 
 NOTES. 155 
 
 not sliow tliu masques, and niumuieries, and triumphs of the present 
 world, half so stately and daintily as candle-liglits. Truth may 
 perhaps come to the price of a pearl, that showeth best by day ; but 
 it will not rise to the price of a diamond or carbuncle, which show- 
 eth best in varied lights. A mixture of lies doth ever add pleasure. 
 Doth any man doubt, that, if there were taken from men's minds 
 vaiu opinions, flattering hopes, false valuations, imaginations, as one 
 would, and the like vinum Daemonum (as a Father called poetry), 
 but it would leave the minds of a number of men poor shrunken 
 things, full of melancholy and indisposition, and unplcasing to them- 
 selves.'*" — Lord Bacon, quoted in The Friend, vol. i. p. 9. 
 
 P. 7. That, old gentlemen, is your duty. — It was a favourite 
 theory of Goethe, that the power of calling up the most vivid emo- 
 tions was in no respect impaired by age, whilst the power of pour- 
 traying them was greatly improved by experience. 
 
 "To carry on the feelings of childhood into the powers of man- 
 hood, to combine the child's sense of wonder and novelty with the 
 appearances, wh>^h every day for perhaps forty years had rendered 
 familiar, — 
 
 Both sun and moon, and stars, throughout the year, 
 And man and women, — 
 
 tlii? is the character and privilege of genius, and one of the marks 
 which distinguish genius from talent." — Coleridge's Blag. Bit. 
 
 P. 8. Use the greater and the lesser light of heaven. — " And 
 God made two great lights ; the greater light to rule the day, and the 
 lesser light to rule the night ; he made the stars also." — Gen. i. 17. 
 
 " Und Gott machte zwey grosse Lichter : ein grosses Licht, das 
 den Tag regiere, und ein kleines Licht, das die Nacht rcgiere ; dazu 
 auch Sterne." — Luther's Translation. 
 
 P. 9. Prologue in Heaven. — The idea of this prologue is 
 taken from the Book of Job, chapters 1st and 2nd. "It is worthy 
 of remark," says Dr. Schubart, " that in the guise in which the 
 poet introduces his Mephistopheles, a great difference is to be seen 
 between his mode of treating the principle of e\'i],and that followtd 
 by Klopstock, Milton, and Lord Byron in Cain. It has also been 
 a matter of course, to liold to one side only of the biblical tradition, 
 which represents Satan as an angel of light fallen through pride and 
 haughtiness, endeavouring to disturb the glorious creation of the 
 Supreme Being. Goethe, on the contrary, has adhered rather to
 
 156 NOTES. 
 
 the other side of the tradition, of which the Book of Job is the 
 groundwork, according to which Satan or the Devil forms one of 
 the Lord's Host, not as a rebel against his will, but as a powerful 
 tempter, authorised and appointed as such," &c. — ( Vorlesungen). 
 We are also called upon to admire the propriety of the parts 
 assigned to the Archangels in the introductory song. Dr. Hinrichs 
 shows some anxiety to establish that The Lord depicted by Goethe, 
 is the Lord of Christianitv. On this subject he has the following 
 note : — " That The Lord in this poem is the Christian God, and 
 therefore the Divine Spirit, Cornelius also signifies in the title-page 
 of his Illustrations of Faust, where the Lord, in the middle of an 
 unequal square, begirt by a half-circle of angels, bears the triple 
 crown upon his head, and the terrestrial globe in his left hand ; 
 whilst in Retzsch's lUustratioiis of Faust, the Lord without the 
 triple crown and the cross, does not express the Christian God, and 
 for that reason the conception is not embraced by it." — Vorle- 
 sungen, p. 36. 
 
 Mr. Heraud, the writer of the able article in Eraser's Magazine, 
 quoted post, p. 158, says that Der Herr means the Second Person 
 of the Trinity. It would be difficult to reconcile this notion with 
 the supposed analogy to the Book of Job. 
 
 P. 9. Tlie Sun chimes in, as ever, with the emulous music of 
 his brother spheres. — 
 
 " Such music (as 'tis said) 
 Before was never made. 
 But when of old the sons of morning sung, 
 Wliile the Creator great 
 His constellations set. 
 
 And the well-balanced world on hinges hung. 
 And cast the dark foundations deep. 
 And bid the welt'ring waves their oozy channel keep. 
 Ring out, ye crystal spheres, 
 Once bless our human ears, 
 (If ye have power to touch our senses so\ 
 And let your silver cliime 
 Move in melodious time. 
 
 And let the base of Heav'n's deep organ blow ^ 
 And with your nine-fold harmony 
 Make up full concert to th' angelic symphony." — 
 
 Milton. 
 
 Herder, in his comparison of Klopstock ani Milton, has said : —
 
 ^•OTES. 157 
 
 " A sinsle oJe of Klopstock outweighs the whole lyiic literature of 
 Britain. " I know nothing of Klopstock's that would outweigh 
 this single hymn on the Nativity. 
 
 P. 9. But thy mcssenr/ers. Lord, respect the mild going of 
 thy day. — " Canst thou send lightnings, that they may go, and say 
 unto them, Here we are ? " — J oh, xxxviii. 35. " And of the 
 angels he saith, Who maketh his angels spirits, and his ministers a 
 flame of fire." — St. Paul, Heb. i. 7. 
 
 " The sightless couriers of the earth." — 
 
 JMucbelh, Act 1, Scene 7. 
 
 " The day is placid in its going. 
 To a lingering sweetness bound, 
 Like a river in its flowing." — Wordnworth. 
 
 P. 11. A good man in his darJc strivings, Ac. — Drang in 
 this passage is untranslatable, tliough the meaning is clear. In ren- 
 dering it as above, I had tlie striving of jarring impulses (Cole- 
 ridsre's Aids) in my mind. The same exalted confidence in human 
 nature is expressed in another passage of Goethe's works : — 
 
 " Wenn eincii ^[enschen die Natur erhoben, 
 1st es kein AVunder, wcnn ihm viel gelingt ; 
 Mann muss in ihm die Macht des Schopfers loben 
 Der schwachcn Thon zu soldier Ehre bringt : 
 Doch wenn ein Mann von alien Lebensprobeii 
 Die sauerste bcsteht, sich selbst beswingt ; 
 Dann kann man ihn mit Freude Andern zcigen, 
 Und sagen : Das ist es, das ist sein eigen." — 
 
 Gehcimnisse. 
 
 P. ] 1. Tlie scoffer is the least offensive to me. — This does not 
 convey the character of Mephistopheles, nor is there any English 
 word that would. The meaning must be : I prefer a malicious, 
 roguish devil who laughs or scoft's at my works, to one who openly 
 defies. 
 
 P. 12. The creative essence, dbc. — It is quite impossible to 
 translate this passage, and I have never seen a satisfactory explana- 
 tion of it. JJas Wcrdende is literally The Becoming, but werdtn 
 is rather the Greek yiyo/xaL than the English to become. The 
 Greek word eyevtro (says Mr. Coleridge) unites in itself the two
 
 158 NOTES. 
 
 senses of began to exist and was made to const : it exemplifies the 
 force of the middle voice, in distinction from the verb reflex. — 
 Aids to Reflection, 2nd edit. p. 18. 
 
 One friend, whom I consulted about this passage, sent me the 
 following version : — " Creation's energy — ever active and alive — 
 encircle you with the joyous bounds of love — and that which flits 
 before you, a fluent and changeful phantom, do ye fix by the power 
 of enduring thought ! " 
 
 Mr. Carlyle interpreted it thus : — " There is clearly no trans- 
 lating of these lines, especially on the spur of the moment ; yet, it 
 seems to me the meaning of them is pretty distinct. The Lord 
 has just remarked, that man (poor fellow) needs a devil, as tra- 
 velling companion, to spur him on by means of Denial ; whereupon, 
 turning round (to the angels and other perfect characters) he adds, 
 •But ye, the genuine sons of Heaven, joy ye in the living fulness 
 of the beautiful' (not of the logical, practical, contradictory, wherein 
 man toils imprisoned) ; ' let Being (or Existence) which is every- 
 where a glorious birth into higher Being, as it for ever works and 
 lives, encircle you with the soft ties of Love ; and whatsoever 
 wavers in the doubtful empu-e of appearance' (as all earthly things 
 do), ' that do ye by enduring thought make firm.' Thus would 
 Das Werdende, the thing that is a being (is o-being), mean no less 
 than the universe (the visible universe) itself; and I paraphrase it 
 bv ' Existence which is everywhere a birth into higher Existence' 
 (or in some such way), and make a comfortable enough kind of 
 sense out of that quatrain." * 
 
 " A trifle more acquaintance with theology and German philo- 
 sophy (says Mr. Hcraud) would have saved a deal of the trouble 
 thus taken ; nor would some attention to the character of the speaker 
 and the nature of the occasion have been quite useless. The speaker 
 is the second person in the Trinity, and the occasion is the breaking 
 up of the sacred assembly, and the words which he is made to utter 
 are intended for the Di\ane benediction at parting, in which he 
 formally leaves them, to comfort them for his absence, according to 
 the Scripture rule of proceeding, the loving influences of the Holy 
 Spirit. The desire to be familiar in this dialogue — to make it 
 dramatic rather than sacred — led Goethe to avoid religious terms 
 of expression ; and therefore he preferred the phrase, ' the becom- 
 ing, that ever operates and lives,' to the ' fellowship or blessing of 
 the Holy Ghost,' and similar modes of address which are consecrated 
 to the service of public worship. ' The becoming ' {das Werdende) 
 is of course that which becomes- i.e., that which continually passes 
 
 • The passage in the original consists of four lines.
 
 NOTES. 159 
 
 fvozn oce state to another, whose essence it is to do so. This is 
 undoubtedly the office of the third person in the Trinity. The Lord, 
 therefore, leaves and dismisses the angelic assembly with a bene- 
 diction recommending them to that divine iniiuence which proceeds 
 <Tom the Father to the Son, and from both in au eternal procession, 
 •sn operative and living principle, to whatsoever works and lives. 
 This spirit he desires to remain with them, and to encompass them 
 within the gentle enclosures of love." — Fraser''s Magazine for 
 May, 1832. 
 
 Should any one think I am bestowing too much space upon a 
 single passage, I would beg leave to remind him that the passage is 
 a very singular one, and that books have been written to fix the 
 meaning of a phrase. The most eminent men in Italy joined in 
 the controversy as to the freddo e caldo polo of Monti. 
 
 P. 12. I nice to sec (lie Ancient One occasionally/.— SheWoy 
 translates den Alien, the Old Fellow. But the term may allude 
 merely to " The Ancient of Days," and is not necessarily a disre- 
 spectful one. A correspondent proposes The Old Gentleman. I 
 am also told that der Altc is a slang expression for the father. 
 
 In allusion to Mephistopheles' liking to see The Lord occasion- 
 ally. Dr. Hinrichs observes : — " A fallen angel, as Shakspearo 
 himself says, is still an angel, who likes to see the Lord occasion- 
 ally, and avoids breaking with him, wherefore we find Mephisto- 
 pheles in heaven amongst the host." — p. 37. 
 
 The following passage occurs in Falk : — " Yet even the clever 
 Madame de Stael was gi-eatly scandalised that I (Goethe) kept the 
 devil in such good-humour. In the presence of God the Father, 
 she insisted upon it, he ought to be more grim and spiteful. What 
 will she say, if she sees him promoted a step higher — nay, perli'D*, 
 meets him in heaven ? " 
 
 P. 1 3. First Scene. — The opening scene is the only part in which 
 the Fanstusof Marlow bears any similarity to the Faust of Goethe. 
 I quote it, with the Chorus, in which an outline of the traditiona. 
 story is sketched : — 
 
 Enter Cnonus. 
 Not marching in the fields of Tharsimcn, 
 "Where Mars did mate the warlike Carthagen ^ 
 Nor sporting in the dalliance of love. 
 In courts of kings, where state is overturn''d , 
 Nor in tiie pomp of proud audacioiis deeds, 
 Intends our muse to vaunt his heavenly verse;
 
 160 NOTES. 
 
 Only this, gentles, we must now perform, 
 
 The form of Faustus' fortunes, good or bad : 
 
 And now to patient judgments we appeal, 
 
 And speak for Faustus in his infancy : 
 
 Now is he born of parents base of stock, 
 
 In Germany, within a town call'd Rhodes ; 
 
 At riper years to Wittenburg he went ; 
 
 So much he profits in divinity, 
 
 That shortly he was graced w'ith Doctor's name, 
 
 Excelling all, and sweetly can dispute 
 
 In til' heavenly matters of theology ; 
 
 Till, swoln with cunning and a self-conceit, 
 
 His waxen wings did mount above his reach ; 
 
 And melting heavens conspired his overthrow ; 
 
 For falling to a devilish exercise. 
 
 And glutted now with learning's golden giftj. 
 
 He surfeits on the cursed necromancy. 
 
 Nothing so sweet as magic is to him, 
 
 Which he prefers before his chiefest bliss. 
 
 Whereas his kinsman chiefly brought him up. 
 
 And this the man that in his studv sits. 
 
 ACT THE FIRST.— SCENE I. 
 
 Faustus in his Study. 
 
 Faust. Settle thy studies, Faustus, and liegi!£, 
 To sound the depth of that thou wilt profess; 
 Having commenced, be a divine in show, 
 Yet level at the end of every art. 
 And live and die in Aristotle's works. 
 Sweet analytics, 'tis thou hast ravish'd me. 
 Bene disserere est tines logicis. 
 Is, to dispute well, logic's chiefest end ? 
 Affords this art no greater miracle ? 
 Then read no more ; thou hast attajn'd that end, 
 A greater subject fitteth Faustus' wit : 
 Bid economy farewell : and Galen come. 
 Be a physician, Faustus ; heap up gold, 
 And be eternized for some wondrous ( utd ; 
 Summon bonum medicinse sanitas ; 
 The end of physic is our bodies' hcalti. 
 Why, Faustus, hast thou not attain'd that etd?
 
 NOTES. 161 
 
 Are not thy bills hung up as monuments, 
 
 Whereby whole cities have escaped the plague, 
 
 And thousand desperate maladies been cured ? 
 
 Yet thou art still but Faustus and a man. 
 
 Could'st thou make men to live eternally, 
 
 Or, being dead, raise them to life again. 
 
 Then this profession were to be esteem'd. 
 
 Physic, farewell ! Where is Justinian ? 
 
 Si una eademque res legatnr duobus. 
 
 Alter rem, alter valorem rei, &c. 
 
 A petty case of paltry legacies. 
 
 Exhereditari filium non potest pater nisi, &c. 
 
 Such is the subject of the institute. 
 
 And universal body of the law. 
 
 This study fits a mercenary drudge. 
 
 Who aims at nothing but external trash, 
 
 Too ser\ale and illiberal for me. 
 
 When all is done, divinity is best. 
 
 Jerome's Bible, Faustus : view it well. 
 
 Stipendium peccati mors est : ha ! stipendium, &c. 
 
 The reward of sin is death : that's hard. 
 
 Si peccasse negamus, fallimur, et nulla est in nobis Veritas : 
 
 If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves and there 
 is no truth in us. 
 
 Why then belike we must sin, 
 And so consequently die. 
 Ay, we must die an everlasting death. 
 What doctrine call you this ? Che sera, sera : 
 What will be, shall be ; divinity, adieu ! 
 These metaphysics of magicians, 
 And necromantic books are heavenly! 
 Lines, circles, letters, characters : 
 Ay, these are those that Faustus most desires. 
 Oh ! what a world of profit and delight, 
 Of power, of honour, and omnipotence, 
 Is promised to the studious artisan ! 
 All things that move between the quiet pole. 
 Shall be at my command. Emperors and kings 
 Are but obey'd in their several provinces; 
 But his dominion that exceeds in tliis. 
 Stretches as far as doth the mind of man : 
 A sound magician is a demigod. 
 
 Here tire my brains to get a deity. [Enter Wagner. 
 
 — Marloiv^s WorJcs, vol. ii. 
 M
 
 162 NOTES. 
 
 The commencement of Lord Byron's Manfred is clearly trace- 
 able to Faust, either Marlow's or Goethe's. His own and Goethe's 
 opinions on this matter may be collected from the following extracts, 
 which form part of a note to the last edition of Byron's Works, 
 vol. ii. p. 71. 
 
 In June, 1(120, Lord Byron thus writes to Mr. Murray: — 
 " Enclosed is something will interest you ; to wit, the opinion of 
 the greatest man in Germany, perhaps in Europe, upon one of the 
 great men of your advertisements (all famous hands, as Jacob 
 Tonson used to say of his ragamutfins), in short, a critique of 
 Goethe's upon Manfred. There is the original, an English transla- 
 tion, and an Italian one ; — keep them all in your archives, for the 
 opinions of such a man as Goethe, whether favourable or not, are 
 always interesting, and this more so, as favourable. His Faust I 
 never read, for I don't know German ; but Matthew Monk Lewis, 
 in 1816, at Coligny, translated most of it to me vivd voce, and I 
 was naturally much struck with it; but it was the Steinbach, and 
 the Jungfrau, and something else much more than Faustus, that 
 made me write Manfred. The first scene, however, and that of 
 Faustus are very similar." 
 
 The following is part of the extract from Goethe's Kunst unci 
 Altertimm, which the above letter inclosed : — 
 
 " Byron's tragedy, Manfred, was to me a wonderful phenomenon, 
 and one that closely touched me.* This singularly intellectual poet 
 has taken my Faustus to himself, and extracted from it the strongest 
 nourishment for his hypochondriac humour. He has made use of 
 the impelling principles in his own way, for his own purposes, so 
 that no one of them remains the same ; and it is particularly on this 
 account that I cannot enough admire his genius. The whole is in 
 this way so completely formed anew, that it would be an interesting 
 task for the critic to point out, not only the alterations he has made, 
 but their degree of resemblance with, or dissimilarity to, the orignal ; 
 in the course of which I cannot deny that the gloomy heat of an 
 unbounded and exuberant despair, becomes at last oppressive to us. 
 Yet is the dissatisfaction we tecl always connected with esteem and 
 admiration." 
 
 Lord JefFi-ey, in the Edinburgh Review, thus distinguishes 
 Marlow's hero from Manfred :• — • 
 
 " Faustus is a vulgar sorcerer, tempted to sell his soul to the 
 devil for the ordinary price of sensual pleasure, and earthly power 
 and glory ; and who shrinks and shudders in agony when the forfeit 
 
 • There is a translation of one of JIanfred's soliloquies by Goethe in 
 the last complete edition of his Works, vol, iii. p. 207.
 
 NOTES. 163 
 
 comes to be exacted. The style, too, of Marlow, thougli elegant 
 and scholar-like, is weak and childish compared with the depth and 
 force of much of Lord Byron, and the disgusting buffoonery of low 
 farce, of which the piece is principally made up, place it more in 
 contrast, than in any terms of comparison, with that of his noble 
 successor. In the tone and pitch of the composition, as well as in 
 the character of the diction in the more solemn parts, Maufred 
 reminds us more of the Prometheus of jEschylus than of any 
 more modem performance." 
 
 The following extracts from Captain Medwin's Conversations may 
 also be placed here with propriety : — 
 
 " The Germans," said Byron, " and I believe Goethe himself, 
 consider that I have taken great liberties with ' Faust.' All I know 
 of that drama is from a sorry French translation, from an occasional 
 reading or two into English of parts of it by Monk Lewis, when at 
 Diodata, and from the Hartz-mountain scene that Shelley versified 
 from the other day. Nothing I envy him so much as to be able to 
 read that astonishing production in the original. As to originality, 
 Goethe has too much sense to pretend that lie is not under obliga- 
 tions to authors ancient and modern ; who is not ? You tell me 
 the plot is almost entirely Calderon's. The Fete, the Scholar, the 
 argument about the Logos, the selling himself to the fiend, and 
 afterwards denying his power; his disguise of the plumed cavalier, 
 the enchanted mirror, are all from Cyprian. That magico prodi- 
 giosa must be worth reading, and nobody seems to know anything 
 about it but you and Shelley.* Then the vision is not unlike that 
 of Marlow's in his ' Faustus.' The bed-scene is from ' Cymbeline;' 
 the song or serenade, a translation of Ophelia's in ' Hamlet ; ' and 
 more than all, the prologue is from Job, which is the first drama in 
 the world, and perhaps the oldest poem. I had an idea of writing 
 a ' Job,' but I found it too sublime. There is no poetry to be 
 compared with it." 
 
 " I told him that Japhet's soliloquy in ' Heaven and Earth,' and 
 address to the Mountains of Caucasus, strongly resembled Faust's. 
 ' I shall have commentators enough by and by,' said he, ' to dis- 
 sect mv thoughts, and find owners for them.' " — Medwin's Comxr- 
 sations of Lord Byron, pp. 141, 142. 
 
 • The trifling analogy that really does exist between the works, is men- 
 tioned in almost all the Commentaries. It is hardly possible for Shelley 
 to have said that Goethe's plot is almost entirely Calderon's, and Captain 
 Medwin had probably been enlarging; to Lord Byron on what SheUej had 
 Incidentally mentioned as coincidences. 
 
 M 2
 
 164 NOTES. 
 
 Again : " I have a great curiosity about everything relating to 
 Goethe, and please myself with thinking there is some analogy 
 between our characters and writings. So much interest do I take 
 in him, that I offered to give 100^. to any person who would trans- 
 late his ' Memoirs' for my own reading. Shelley has sometimes 
 explained part of them to me. He seems to be very superstitious, 
 and is a believer in astrology, — or rather was, for he was very 
 young when he wrote the first part of his jife. I would give the 
 world to read ' Faust' in the original. I have been urging Shelley 
 to translate it, but he said that the translator of ' Wallenstein' 
 was the only person living who could venture to attempt it; that 
 he had written to Coleridge, but in vain. For a man to translate 
 it he must think as he does." 
 
 " How do you explain," said I, " the first line, 
 
 ' The sun thunders through the sky ? ' 
 
 « 
 
 " He speaks of the music of the spheres in Heaven," said he, 
 " where, as in Job, the first scene is laid." — Medwin's Conversa- 
 tions, p. 267. 
 
 Tieck, towards the end of his masterly Introduction to Lcnz's 
 Works, discountenances the notion that either Byron or Scott was 
 under any literary obligation to Goethe. This notion, as regards 
 Scott, is in part supported by reference to individual characters or 
 passages in his works, (as Finella copied from Mignon, or the inter- 
 view between Leicester and Amy, at Cumnor, imitated from Eg- 
 mont,) but principally by supposing that the translation of Gotz 
 von Berlichingen first inspired him with a taste for that style of 
 writing in which he afterwards so pre-eminently distinguished him- 
 self.* Unluckily for this theory, it is now well known th.nt he had 
 this taste already ;■}* and even without any direct evidence upon the 
 point, it seems more probable that the taste originated the trans- 
 lation, than the translation the taste. Scott says that the rhythm 
 and irregular versification of The Lay of the Last Minstrel were 
 imitated from Christabel ; but were not these peculiarities of 
 Christabel imitated from Faust ? 
 
 " I was once pressed — many years ago — to translate the Faust ; 
 and I so far entertained the proposal as to read the work through 
 
 * Mr. Carlyle (Specimens of German Komance, vol. iv. p. 6,) starts 
 this supposition. 
 
 t Seethe Annotated Edition of the Waverley Novels, vol. i. General 
 Preface.
 
 NOTES. I65 
 
 with great attention, and to revive in my mind my own former plan 
 of ilichael Scott. But then I considered with myself whether the 
 time taken up in executing the translation might not more worthily 
 be devoted to tlie composition of a work which, even if parallel in 
 some points to the Faust, should be truly original in motive and 
 execution, and therefore more interesting and valuable than any 
 version which I could make; — and, secondly, I debated with myself 
 whether it became my moral character to render into English — and 
 so far, certainly, lend my countenance to language — much of which 
 I thousrht vulgar, licentious, and blasphemous. I need not tell 
 vou that I never put pen to paper as a translator of Faust." — 
 Coleridge's Table Talk, vol. ii. pp. 117, 118. 
 
 P. 13. This it is that almost hums up the heart within riie. — 
 " Abel, my brother, I would lament for thee, but that the spiait 
 within me is withered and burnt up with extreme agony." — The 
 Wanderings of Cam, a Fragment, hy S. T. Coleridge. 
 
 P. 13. For this very reason is all joy torn from me. — " I com- 
 muned with my own heart, saying, Lo, I am come to great estate, 
 and have gotten more wisdom than ail they that have been before 
 me in Jerusalem , yea, my heart hath great experience of wisdom 
 and knowledge. 
 
 " And I gave my heart to know wisdom, and to know madness 
 and folly : I perceived that this also is vexation of spirit. For in 
 much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge, 
 increaseth sorrow." — Eccl. c. i. 
 
 P. 1 3. / have therefore devoted myself to magic. — Goethe tells 
 us, in his Memoirs, that whilst he was confined by ill-he.alth, he 
 and ^Nliss von Klettenberg read through several books on alchemy ; 
 e.g., Wellincr's Opus Mago-Caballisticum, Theophrastus Paracelsus, 
 Bas'ilius Valentinus, Hclmont, Starkey, and the Anrea Catena 
 Homeri.* The study of these writers subsequently induced Goethe 
 to put up a small chemical apparatus, of which he says :— " Now 
 were certain ingredients of the Macrocosmus and Microcosmus 
 dealt with after a strange fashion." In his Farbenlehre, also, he 
 enters upon an animated defence of natural magic. It is clear 
 from many passages in his Memoirs, that the reflections on the 
 insufEciencv of knowledge which he has here put into the mouth 
 
 • Doring {Life 0/ Goethe, p. 72) mentions the circumstance and connects 
 it with Faust.
 
 166 NOTES. 
 
 of Faust, were his own at one period. For instance : — " The remark- 
 able puppet-show faille of Faust found many an answering echo in 
 mv breast. I too had ranged through the whole round of know- 
 ledge, and was eaily enough led to see its vanity." 
 
 P. 14. Nostradamus. — "Nostradamus, properly Michel Notre 
 Dame, born in 1503, at St. Remy in Provence, of a family of 
 Jewish origin, studied medicine, applied himself somewhat to 
 quackery, and fell at last into the favourite malady of his age, 
 astrology. The prophecies which, from his seclusion at Salon, he 
 made known in rhymed quatrains under the title of 'Centuries of 
 the World,' excited great notice by their style and their obscurity. 
 Henry the Second, King of France, sent for the author and re- 
 warded him royally. When, subsequently, this monarch was 
 wounded in a tournament, and lost his life, men believed that the 
 prophecy of this event was to be found in the 35th quatrain of the 
 First Century : — 
 
 " ' Le lion jcune le vieux surmontera, 
 En camps bellique par singulier duel, 
 Dans cage d'or les yeux lui crevera. 
 Deux plaies une, puis mourir mort cruelle.' 
 
 " The most distinguished persons of his time visited him at Salon. 
 Charles the Ninth appointed him his physician. There were not 
 wanting people, however, who made light of his prophecies. So 
 late as 1781, they were prohibited by the Papal Court, because the 
 downfal of Papacy was announced in them. He died at Salon in 
 1565." — Conversations-Lexicon, tit. Nostradamus. 
 
 P. 15. Macrocosm, and Spirit of the Earth or Microcosm. 
 — Dr. Hinrichs says : " The Macrocosm signifies Nature, as such, 
 and is opposed to Microcosm, as man." — ^p. 59. But I in- 
 cline to think Macrocosm means the Universe, and the Spirit of 
 Earth, the Earth generally. Thus Falk, in accounting for Faust's 
 weakness in the presence of the latter, says, " The mighty and 
 multiform universality of the earth itself — that focus of all pheno- 
 mena, which at the same time contains within itself sea, mountain, 
 storm, earthquake, tiger, lion, lamb. Homer, Phidias, Raphael, 
 Newton, Mozart, and Apelles — whom, appear when and where it 
 might, would it not strike with trembling, fear, and awe?" — p. 247. 
 The Ganzen (1 am here adopting the gloss of a friend) is the
 
 NOTES. 167 
 
 Omneity of the metaphysicians, and Eins in dem Andern viirkt 
 und hbt, is The Immanence of All in each of Phito. 
 
 " But the best commentary on the whole of the passage in which 
 these words occur, is to be found in the first chapter of Herder's 
 Ideen, who (according to Falk) received many of his notions from 
 Goethe. The analogy of the following passage is sufficiently 
 marked : — " When, therefore, I open the great book of Heaven, 
 and see before me this measureless palace, which alone, and every- 
 where, the Godhead only has power to fill, 1 conclude, as undis- 
 tractedly as I can, from the whole to the particular, from the par- 
 ticular to the whole." — Ideen, b. i. c. 1. 
 
 The Spirits' chaunt probably suggested Shelley's — 
 
 " Nature's vast frame — the web of human things. 
 Birth and the grave!" 
 
 In Dodsley'B Collection of Old Flays (vol. v.) is " A Moral 
 Mask," entitled " Microcosm," by Thomas Nabbs, in which Nature, 
 Earth, Fire, Water, &c., &c., figure as dramatis personse. 
 
 " According to Paracelsus," says Mr. Heraud, " the macrocosm 
 is the great world, and man is the microcosm, or a little world — a 
 kind of epitome of the great. Oswald Crollius, ' physician to the 
 most illustrious Prince Christian Anhaltin,' in his admonitory pre- 
 fiice to Paracelsus's Tliree Books of Philosophy, delivers himself 
 right learnedly on both worlds, inacros and micros." 
 
 P. 1 5. Up, acolyte ! — I have been called on for an authority for 
 using this word in the above sense : — 
 
 " You are doubtless an acolyte in the noble and joyous science 
 of minstrelsy and music." — Anne of Gcierstcin, vol. ii. p. 238. 
 
 P. 15. Ilotu heavenly poivers, &c. — " And he dreamed, and 
 behold, a ladder set up on the earth and the top of it reached the 
 heaven ; and behold the angels of God ascending and descending 
 on it." — Genesis, c. xxviii. v. 12. 
 
 P. 15. All ringing harmoniously through the All. — 
 
 " And what if all of animated nature 
 Be but oiganic harps diversely framed. 
 That tremble into thought, as o'er them sweeps, 
 Plastic and vast, one intellectual breeze, 
 At once the Soul of each, and God of all." — Coleridge.
 
 168 NOTES. 
 
 P. 16. A cold shuddering, dx. — 
 
 " Fear came upon me, and trembling, which made all m}- bones 
 to shake. 
 
 " Then a spirit passed before my face : the hair of my flesh stood 
 up." — TJie Book of Job, cli. iv. 
 
 P. 16. Art thou he? — 
 
 " Reluctant mortal, 
 Is this the Magian who would so pervade 
 The world invisible, and make himself 
 Almost our equal ? " — Manfred, Act 3, Sc. 4. 
 
 P. 17. Enter Wagner'. — The traditional Faust had a disciple or 
 pupil named Wagner or Wagenar, who figures in all the dramas or 
 histories founded on the fable. He is thus described in Cayet's 
 Translation of Widman : — " Le Docteur Fauste avoit un jeune 
 serviteur qu'il avoit eleve quand il etudioit a Wittenberg, que vit 
 toutes Ics illusions de son maitre Fauste, toutes ses magies et tout 
 son art diabolique. II etoit un mauvais gar^on, coureur et 
 debauch^ du commencement qu'il vint demeurer a Wittenberg : 
 il mendoit, et personne ne le voulcdt prendre a cause de sa mau- 
 vaise nature ; le gar9on se nommcit Christofle Wagner, et fut 
 des-lors serviteur du Dr. Fauste ; il se tint tres bien avec lui, en 
 sorte que le Dr. Fauste l'.appeloit son fils : il alloit oil il vouloit, 
 quoiqu'il allat tout boitant et de travers." A book entitled 
 " Christoph. Wagner's Magic Arts and Life of Dr. Faust," was 
 published at Berlin, in 1714, assumed to be by the veritable 
 attendant of the philosopher. 
 
 Dr. Hinrichs has a strange theory about this character. In his 
 opinion, Faust represents Philosophy, and Wagner, Empiricism ; 
 Philosophy being Gennany, and Empiricism all the rest of the 
 world. 
 
 It is also worthy of remark tliat one of Goethe's early friends 
 was called Wagner. He signalized himself by stealing from Faust 
 (which was communicated to him in confidence previously to publi- 
 cation) the tragic portion relating to Margaret, and making it the 
 subject of a tragedy, called the Infanticide. Goethe expresses great 
 indignation at the treachery. — Memoirs, B. 14. 
 
 P. 18. But it is elocution, ii'C. — Wagner, a man of learning, 
 was probably alluding to the well-known aphorism of Demosthenes. 
 Vortrag comes near the Greek TTrSKpicns, which includes not ac- 
 tion merely, but all that relates to the delivery of a speech.
 
 KOTES. 169 
 
 p. 18. In 7vhH-h ye crisp the shrech of humanity. — The 
 phrase knitzd krausdn is one about which great variety of opinion 
 exists, but the two highest autliorities substantially agree : — 
 
 " Vos discours qui brillent d'un si faux e'clat, dans Icquel vous 
 etalez les ornemeus les plus factices de Tesprit humain, &c. 
 Kriiuseln, rendre crepu, friser. Schnitzel, ce sont des dccou- 
 pures de papier.* En les tordant en diffcrcns sens on pcut en faire 
 des ornemens, meme des fleurs, mais ces fleurs n'ont aucune frai- 
 cheur. Le poete les compare done avec les ornemens d'une 
 rhethorique affecte'e. Une des beautes de ce passage c'est la singu- 
 larite' de la rime h-'dusdn et s'ditsebi, laquelle a son tour aura 
 amene les expressions un peu bizarres du second vers." — M. de 
 Schlegel — private letter. 
 
 " Your fine speeches, in which you ruffle up man's poorest shreds 
 (in which you repeat the most miserable trifles in candyed lan- 
 guage), are comfortless," &c. — (i>r. Jacob Grimm — private 
 letter). The analogy between this passage and the si vis me 
 flere, cfcc. of Horace, will readily suggest itself. 
 
 P. 18. My friend, the past ages are to its a hook with seven 
 seals, dec. — This speech also is one of considerable difficulty. 
 Good critics are not wanting who contend that der Herren signer 
 Geist means the spirit of certain great persons or lords of the earth 
 exercising a wide-spread influence on their times, and that erne 
 Haupt- unci Staats-Action means a grand political intrigue. But 
 I have it on indisputable authority, that Haupt- mid Staats-Action 
 was the name given to a description of drama formerly well-known 
 in Germany. Dr. Grimm's note upon this passage is: — "i,'i« 
 Kehricht-Fass, &c. a dust- vat (dirt-basket) and a lumber-room, 
 and at best a historico-pragmatical play, with excellent moral 
 maxims, as they are fit for a puppet-show." M. de Schlegel says : — 
 '■'■ Haupt- und Staats-Action : C'est le titre qu'on affichait pour 
 les drames destine's aux marionnettes, lorsqu'ils traitaient des sujets 
 he'roiques et historiques." 
 
 P. 19. Wlio dares call the child by its true name? — " II faut 
 avoir une pcns^e de derriere et juger de tout par la, en parlant 
 Dependant comme le peuple." — Pascal. 
 
 " Remark the use which Shakspeare always makes of his bold 
 villains, as vehicles for expressing opinions and conjectures of a 
 
 * The word Papier-Schn'dzel is used in this sense in Wilhelm Meister. 
 See Goethe's W<yrks, Stuttgart and Tubingen edition, vol. xviii. p. 86.
 
 170 NOTES. 
 
 nature too hazardous for a wnse man to put forth discreetly as his 
 own, or from any sustained character." — Coleridge's Table Talk. 
 
 P. 20. Something foreign, cmd more foreign, is ever clinging 
 to tfie noblest conception, d:c. — 
 
 " But must needs confess 
 
 That 'tis a thing impossible to frame 
 C^onceptions equal to the soul's desires ; 
 And the most difficult of tasks to keep 
 Heights which the soul is competen* .o gain. 
 — Man is of dust ; ethereal hopes are his, 
 Which, when they should sustain themselves aloft, 
 Want due consistence, like a pillar of smoke, 
 That with majestic energy from earth 
 Rises, hut, having reached the thinner air. 
 Melts, and dissolves, and is no longer seen." 
 
 WordswovtKs Excursion. 
 
 P. 20. The glorious feelings which gave us life, d:c. — The 
 same sentiment, very beautifully expressed, will be found in 
 Schiller's Poem, Die Ideale, elegantly translated by Lord F. Eger- 
 ton (now Earl of EUesmere). Goethe, also observes in his Me- 
 moirs : — " Ordinarily, when our soul-concert is more spiritually 
 attuned, the harsh grating tones of the world strike in, in the most 
 overpowering and boisterous manner, and the contrast which is ever 
 secretly going on, suddenly coming forth, only influences the more 
 sensibly on that account." He highly commends Wieland for his 
 skill in representing this contrast. 
 
 P. 21. 2%0M, hollow scull, what meanest thou by that grinJ^- 
 •' Death grins ! Go, ponder o'er the skeleton !" — Byron. 
 
 P. 21. To possess what thou hast inherited from thy sires, 
 enjoy it. — The inscription on an old tomb-stone may serve to 
 illustrate the meaning of this passage : — 
 
 " What I gave, I have ; what I spent, I had ; what I left, I lost." 
 
 P. 22. As when the moonlight breathes. — 
 
 " How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon that bank." — 
 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 
 P. 22. Tlie gorgeousness of the many artfully-wrought images.
 
 NOTES. 171 
 
 d-c. — " I remember seeing a beautiful silver goblet of the kind — 
 i.e., one contrived for the trial of a guest's powers of breath in 
 drinking — at Berne in Switzerland, for sale, alas ! second-hand, in 
 an old shop. It was so contrived, that the wine flowed down a 
 channel into the main reservoir, and in its course turned a mill, on 
 the sweeps of which the drinker's eyes would be directed, if in their 
 natural position, during the pull (zug)." — Note by a friend. I 
 need do no more than name the Blessed Bear of Bradwardine. 
 
 P. 24. TJie full-toned hell sounded so fraught with mystic 
 meaning. — " Tlie question (as to the concordat ) was argued one 
 evening, at great length, on the terrace of the garden at Buona- 
 parte's favourite villa of Malmaison. The Chief Consul avowed 
 himself to be no believer in Christianity. ' But religion,' said he, 
 *is a principle which cannot he eradicated from the heart of man.' 
 ' Wlio made all that.'' said Napoleon, looking up to the Heaven, 
 which was clear and starry. ' But last Sunday evening,' he con- 
 tinued, ' / was walhinfj here alone, when the church-hells of the 
 village of Ruel rung at sunset. I was strangely moved, so 
 vividly did the image of early days come haclc %mth that sound. 
 If it be thus with me, what must it be with others?' 'In re- 
 establishing the church,' he added, ' I consult the wishes of the 
 great majority of my people.'" — Life of Napoleon — Family 
 I/ibrai-y, vol. i., p. 248. Sec also the last Act of Die Ahnfrau- 
 
 P. 24. A longing, inconceivably sweet, d;c. — 
 
 " While yet a boy I sought for ghosts, and sped 
 Through many a listening chamber, cave and ruin, 
 And star-lit wood, with fearful steps pursuing 
 Hopes of high talk with the departed dead." — 
 
 Shelley — Hymn to Intellectual Beauty. 
 
 Compare the splendid passage in Wordsworth's Tintern Abbey, 
 beginning — 
 
 " Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first 
 I came amongst these hills." — 
 
 P. 24. Recollection now holds me bach. — " There is one ex- 
 quisite passage in ancient poetry which presents us with a similai 
 touch of nature. If Goethe had read it, he has rather produced an 
 admirable counterpart than an imitation of it. It is in Apollonius 
 Rhodius, whose Medea, being in like manner bent on self-destruc- 
 tion, is overpowered and recalled from her purpose b^ a sudden
 
 172 NOTES. 
 
 rush of kindly remembrances, even while the chest of magic drug? 
 is resting on her knees." — Edinburgh Review, No. 125, p. 41. 
 
 P. 24. He is in reviving hliss. — It is impossible to translate 
 Werdelusi. The meaning probably is, that our Saviour enjoys, in 
 coming to life again, a happiness nearly equal to that of the 
 Creator in creating. 
 
 P. 24. For you is he herel — With you has been suggested in 
 allusiou to St. Chrysostom's prayer, " There am I among you." 
 
 P. 27. Behind, far atvay, in Turkey. — The common people 
 in Germany are wont to consider tliemselves as placed forward in 
 the world, and speak of certain distant or outlandish countries aa 
 behind. 
 
 P. 27. Tlie painted vessels. — 
 
 " The painted vessels glide." — Pope. 
 
 P. 28. Saint Andrew's ere, d-c. — "There is a belief that on 
 St. Andrew's eve, St. Thomas's eve, Christmas eve, and New 
 Year's eve, a maiden might invite and see her future lover. A 
 table must be covered for two, but without forks. Whatever the 
 lover leaves behind him, on going away, must be carefully picked 
 up ; he then attaches himself to her who possesses it, and loves her 
 ardently. But he should never be allowed to come to the sight of 
 it again, or he will think of the paiu he endured on that night by 
 supernatural means, and becomes aware of the chai-m, whereby 
 great unhappiness is occasioned. A beautiful maideu in Austria 
 once sought to see her lover according to the necessary forms, 
 whereupon a shoemaker entered with a dagger, threw it to her, 
 and immediately disappeared again. She took up the dagger and 
 locked it away in a chest. Soon afterwards came the shoemaker 
 and sought her in mannage. Some years after their marriage, she 
 went one Sunday after vespers to the chest to look out something 
 which she wanted for her next day's work. As she opened the 
 chest, her husband came to her and insisted on looking in ; she 
 held him back, but he pushed her aside, looked into the chest, and 
 saw his lost dagger. He instantly seizes it, and requires to know, 
 in a word, how she got it, as he had lost it at a peculiar time. In 
 her confusion she was unable to think of an excuse, and freely 
 owns that it is the same dagger which he had left behind on that 
 night when she required to see him. Upon this he giew furious, 
 and exclaimed, with a fearful oath : ' Whore ! then thou art the
 
 NOTES. 173 
 
 girl, who tortured me so inlinmanly that night!' And with that 
 he struck the dagger right through her heart. 
 
 " The like is related in various places of others. Orally, of a 
 huntsman who left his hanger. During her first confinement the 
 wife sent him to her chest to fetch clean linen, forgetting that the 
 charmed instrument was there, wliich he fii'ds and kills her 
 with it." — (Deutsche Sagen. Hcrausgegeben ton den Brudern 
 Grimm. Berlin, 181 6,' No. 114). The saKc work (No. 118) 
 contains a story founded on the superstition of" the magic miixor 
 (alluded to in the next line hut one), in whicK absent friends or 
 lovers may be seen. This superstition, however, is not peculiar to 
 Germany. 
 
 P. 29. River and rivulet, <i-c. — To understand Faust's position 
 in this speech, the reader must fancy a town on a river, like most 
 of those upon the Rhine, with a suburban village on the opposite 
 bank. Falk makes this scene the groundwork of a commentary 
 on the advantages of the Sabbath ; a fair specimen of the mode in 
 which most of the commentaries on Faust are eked out. 
 
 P. 32. There was a red. lion, d-c. — Mr. T. GriiBths, of Kensing- 
 ton, who delivered an extremely interesting lecture on Alchymical 
 Signs at the Royal Institution, enables me to furnish an explanation 
 of this passage, which has generally been passed over as (what M. 
 Saint- Aulaire is pleased to term it) galimatias. 
 
 There was a red lion. — This expression implies the red stone, 
 red mercury, or cinnabar. 
 
 A bold lover. — This expression alludes to the property the above 
 compound possessed (according to the adepts) of devouring, swallow- 
 ing, or ravishing every pure metallic nature or body. 
 
 — jnarried. — This simply implies the conjoining or union of two 
 bodies of opposite natures ; red and white were supposed to be male 
 and female. 
 
 — to the lily. — This term denotes a preparation of antimony, called 
 lilium minerale, or lilium Paracelsi ; the white stone, or perhaps 
 albified mercury, sometimes called the " white fume," or the " most 
 milk-white swanne." 
 
 — in the tepid bath. — This denotes a vessel filled with heated 
 water, or a " balneum Maria;," used as a very convenient means of 
 elevating the body of an aludel or alembic slowly to a gentle heat. 
 
 — and then ivith open Jlatiie. — This means the direct and fierce 
 application of fire to the aludel upon its removal from the water 
 liath, aficr the marriage had taken place betwixt the " red and the 
 white."
 
 174 NOTES. 
 
 — tortured — The adepts deemed their compounds sensible of 
 pleasure and pain ; the heat of the open fire tortured the newly 
 united bodies ; these therefore endeavoured to escape, or sublime, 
 which is the sense in which the word tortured is to be taken. 
 
 — fr07n one bridal chamber. — This means the body of the 
 aludel, in which they were first placed, and which had been heated 
 to such a degree as to cause their sublimation. 
 
 — to another. — This signifies the glass head or capital placed on 
 the body of the aludel, which received the sublimed vapours. 
 Many heads were put on in succession, into which the vapours suc- 
 cessively passed. 
 
 If the young queen. — This implies the supposed royal offspring 
 of the red lion and the lily, or its alliance to the noble metals — 
 the sublimcr products. 
 
 — with varied hues then appeared. — During the process, various 
 hues appeared on the sublimed compound ; according to the order 
 of their appearance, the perfection or completion of the great work 
 was judged of. Purple and ruby were most esteemed, for being 
 royal colours they were good omens. 
 
 — in the glass. — This means the glass head or capital of the aludel, 
 as before noticed. 
 
 — this loas the medicine. — The term medicine was used to express 
 both the elixir to heal human bodies, and that to transmute the 
 bodies of metals into the purest gold and silver. 
 
 The passage divested of alchymical obscurity would read thus : — 
 " There was red mercury, a powerfully acting body, united with 
 the tincture of antimony, at a gentle heat of the water-bath. Then 
 being exposed to the heat of the open fire in an aludel, a sublimate 
 filled its beads in succession, which, if it appeared with various 
 hues, was the desired medicine." 
 
 In his note to me, Mr. GrifBths adds : — " All the terms it con- 
 tains may be found in alchymical works ; it is a very good specimen 
 of mystical writing." 
 
 P. 33. Every height on fire. — 
 
 " Cover a hundred leagues and seem 
 To set the hills on fire."- — Wordsworth. 
 
 " The western wave was all a-flame, 
 The day was well nigh done ; 
 Almost upon the western wave 
 
 Rested the broad bright sun." — Coleridge. 
 
 Many readers may be pleased with the opportunity of compaiing
 
 NOTES. 175 
 
 the emotions produced by sunrise in Wordsworth with those pro- 
 duced by sunset in Goethe : — 
 
 '' What soul was his, when, from the naked top 
 Of some bohl headland, he beheld the sun 
 Rise up, and bathe the world in light ! He looked — 
 Ocean and earth, the solid frame of earth 
 And ocean's liquid mass, beneath him lay 
 In gladness and deep joy. The clouds were touched, 
 And in their silent faces did he read 
 Unutterable love. Sound needed none, 
 Nor any voice of joy ; his spirit drank 
 The spectacle : sensation, soul, and form 
 All melted into him ; they swallowed up 
 His animal being; in them did he live, 
 And by them did he live ; they were his life. 
 In such access of mind, in such high hour 
 Of visitation from the living God, 
 Thought was not ; in enjoyment it expired. 
 No thanks he breathed, he preferred no request ; 
 Rapt into still communion that transcends 
 The imperfect offices of prayer and praise. 
 His mind was a thanksgiving to the Power 
 That made him ; it was blessedness and love ! " — 
 
 Excursion, B. i. 
 
 P. 33. Tlie silver IrooJc flowing into golden streams. — This 
 may allude to the gradual gliding of the waters, as the sunbeams 
 come to pl.av upon them, or to another natural phenomenon, which 
 I will explain by an anecdote. In the summer of 1831, it was my 
 eood fortune to pass through the beautiful valley of Ahrenberg, a 
 vallev which wants but a Moore to make an Ovoca of it. Whilst 
 we were changing horses, I walked with a German student to a 
 rising ground to get a better view of the scenery. The setting sun 
 was shining in such a manner, that the beams massed themselves 
 on a broad part of the stream, and fell transversely over a tributary 
 brook, thus giving a rich golden glow to the river and tlie appearance 
 of a white silvery line to the rivulet. We had hardly gained the 
 height, when my fellow-traveller exclaimed : — 
 
 " Den Silberbach in goldne Stromc fliessen." 
 
 P. 33. The day before me and the niglii behind. — This fine 
 expression occurs iu a very old and popular tale of witchcraft men-
 
 17(5 NOTES. 
 
 tioned at some length by Voss. Mr. Coleridge has somctliiug like 
 it in Tlie Homeric Hexameter described and exemplified. 
 
 "Strangely it bears us along in swelling and limitless billows, 
 
 Nothing before and nothing behind but the sky and tl>e ocean." 
 
 The Ovidian Elegiac Metre described and exemplified is a 
 literal translation from Schiller. 
 
 P. 33. Alas! no bodily wing, dsc. — 
 
 " Oft when my spirit doth spread her bolder Mrings, 
 In mind to mount up to the purer sky, 
 It down is weighed with thought of earthly things, 
 And clogged vpith burden of mortality." — 
 
 Spencer^s Sonnets. 
 
 P. 34. The realms of an exalted ancestry. — This alludes to a 
 supposed divine origin of the soul or spirit of man, or to — " For I 
 am in a str.ait betwixt two, having a desire to dep.art and to be with 
 Christ, which is better." — Phil. i. An anonymous commentator 
 quotes the following lines apropos of the main sentiment in this 
 speech : — 
 
 " Und -was die Menschen meinen, 
 Das ist mir einerlei, 
 Mijchte mich mir selhst vereineu 
 AUein wir sind zu zwei ; 
 
 " Und im lehend'gen Treiben 
 Sind vAt ein Hier und Dort, 
 Das eine liebt zu bleiben 
 Das andre mochte fort." 
 
 P. 42. Invoice not the well-known troop, which diffuses itself, 
 streaming, through the atmosphere, d-c. — "The spirits of the 
 aire will mix themselves with thunder and lightning, and so infest 
 the clyme where they raise any tempest, that soudainely great mor- 
 tality shall ensue to the inhabitants." — (Pierce Pennilesse his 
 Supplication, 1592 ; cited in Steeven's Shakspeare.) " The air is 
 not so full of flies in summer, as it is at all times of invisible 
 devils ; this Paracelsus stiffly maintains." — Burton, Anat. part i. 
 
 P. 35. A line of fire follows upon his track. — In his work on 
 Colours, Goethe gives the following expLanation of this phenome- 
 non : — " A dark object, the moment it withdraws itself, imposes 
 on the eye the necessity of seeing the same form bright. Between 
 jcft and earnest, I shall quote a passage from Faust which is appli-
 
 NOTES. 177 
 
 cable here. (Then follows the passage.) This had been written 
 some time, — from poetical intuition and in half consciousness, — 
 when, as k was growing twilight, a black poodle ran by my window 
 in tlie street, and drew a clear, shining appearance after him, — the 
 undefined image of his passing form remaining in the eye. Such 
 phenomena occasion the more pleasing surprise, as they present 
 themselves most vi\-idly and beautifully, precisely when we suffer 
 our eyes to wander unconsciously. There is no one to whom such 
 counterfeit images have not often appeared, hut they are allowed 
 to pass unnoticed ; yet I have knowni persons who teased them- 
 selves on this account, and believed it to be a symptom of the 
 diseased state of their eyes, whereupon the explanation which I 
 had it in my power to give inspired them with the highest satisfac- 
 tion. He who is instructed as to the real nature of it, remarks the 
 phenomenon more frequently, because the reflexion immediately 
 suggests itself. Schiller wished many a time that this theory had 
 never been communicated to him, because he was everywhere 
 catching glimpses of tliat the necessity for which was known to 
 him." The phenonjenon is now a recognised and familiar one. 
 See Sii- David Brewster's Letters mi Natural Magic, p. 20. 
 
 In a note to the following lines in the Lay of the Last Minstrel, 
 there is a strange story of a fiend appearing in the shape of a 
 black dog : — 
 
 " For he was speechless, ghastly, wan, 
 Like him of whom the story ran, 
 He spoke the spectre-hound in Man." — Canto 6. 
 
 According to the tradition, Faust was constantly attended by an 
 evil spirit in the shape of a black dog. This four-footed follower 
 has a place in most of the old pictures, those in Auerbach's cellar 
 not excepted. 
 
 P. 35. Even a wise man may become attached to a dog when 
 he is well brought up. — " ' A bonnie terrier that, sir ; and a fell 
 chield at the vermin, I wan-ant him — that is, if he's been weel 
 entered, for it a' lies in that.' 'Really, sir,' said Brown, 'his 
 education has been somewhat neglected, and his diicf property is 
 being a pleasant companion.' 
 
 " ' Aye, sir? that's a pity, begging your pardon, it's a great pity 
 that — beast or body, education should aye be minded.'" — Guy 
 Mannering. 
 
 P. o6. Wc are accustomed to sec men deride what they do not 
 U7i'krsland. — " It has often and with truth been said, that unbe- 
 
 N
 
 178 NOTES 
 
 lief is an inverted superstition, and our age suffers greatly by it. A 
 noble deed is attributed to selfishness, an heroic action to vanity, an 
 undeniable poetic production to a state of delirium ; nay, what is 
 still strange. , everything of the highest excellence that comes fortli, 
 everything most worthy of remark that occurs, is, so long as it is 
 barely possible, denied." — Goethe, FarhenUhre. 
 
 " Pindar's fine remark respecting the different effects of music on 
 different characters, holds equally true of genius ; as many as are 
 not delighted by it, are disturbed, perplexed, irritated. The 
 beholder either recognises it as a projected form of his own being, 
 that moves before him with a glory round its head, or recoils from 
 it as a spectre." — Coleridge s Aids to Reflexion, p. 220. 
 
 P. 37. We long for revelation, which noivhere hums, <i:c. — It 
 is clear from Goethe's Memoirs, and many other parts of his works, 
 that he is here describing the workings of his ovra mind in 
 youth ; that, when his spirit was tormented by doubts, he con- 
 stantly refeiTed to the Bible for consolation, and found it there. It 
 also appears that he occasionally struggled to pcneti-ate below the 
 surface in somewhat the same manner as Faust. " So far as the 
 main sense was concerned, I held by Luther's edition ; in particu- 
 lars, I referred occasionally to Schmidt's verbal translations, and 
 sought to make my little Hebrew as useful as I could." It is a 
 singular fact that, next to the Bible, the book which Goethe was 
 fondest of, and which confessedly exercised the greatest influence 
 on his mind, was Spinosa. So constantly, indeed, was he studying 
 this writer, that Herder on one occasion is said to have exclaimed 
 to him, " Why you literally never read any Latin book but 
 Spinosa ! " 
 
 In one of Lessing's plans for a drama to be founded on Faust, 
 Faust was to be studying Aristotle {Ueher Gotthe^ s Faust &c. 82.) 
 In Calderon's El Magico Prodigioso, Cyprian is studying Pliny. 
 
 P. 3o. Salamander, Undine, Sylph, Kohold. — I shall illustrate 
 Faust's conjuration by an extract from a very singular work, Entre- 
 tiens sur Ics Sciences secretes du Comte de G'alalis, by M. de 
 Villars, in which Salamanders, Undines, Sylphs, and KobolJs (alias 
 Gnomes) are described : — 
 
 "' When you shall be enrolled among the cliildrcn of the philo- 
 sophers, and vour eyes fortified b}" the use of the holy elixir, you 
 will discover that the elements are inhabited by very perfect crea- 
 tures, of the knowledge of whom the sin of Adam deprived hia 
 unfortunate posterity. Tlie immense space between earth and sky
 
 NOTES. 179 
 
 '-las other inhabitants than birds and flies ; the ocean other guests 
 tlian whales and sprats ; the earth was not made tor moles alone, 
 nor is the desolating flume itself a desert. 
 
 '" The air is full of beings of human form, proud in appearance, 
 but docile in reality, great lovers of science, otlicious towards sages, 
 intolerant towards fools. Their wives and daughters are masculine 
 Amazonian beauties ' 
 
 " ' How I you do not mean to say that spirits marry ? ' 
 
 " ' Be not alarmed, my son, about such trifles ; believe what I 
 say to be solid and true, and the faithful epitome of cabalistic 
 science, which it will only depend on yourself one day to verify by 
 your own eyes. Know then that seas and rivers are inhabited as 
 well as the ait ; and that ascended sages have given the name of 
 Uudanes or Nymphs to this floating population. They engender 
 few males ; women overflow : their beauty is extreme ; the 
 daughters of men are incompai'ably inferior. 
 
 " ' The earth is filled down to its very centre with Gnomes, a 
 people of small stature, the wardens of treasures, mines, and pre- 
 cious stones. The}' are ingenious, friendl)' to man, and easy to 
 command. Thev furnish the children of sages with all the money 
 they want, and ask as the reward of their service only the honour 
 of being commanded. Their women are small, very agreeable, and 
 magnificent in their attire. 
 
 " ' As for the Salamanders, who inhabit the fiery region, they 
 wait on the sages, but without any eagerness for the task ; their 
 females are rarely to be seen.'" 
 
 This book probably furnished Pope with machinery for his Rape 
 of the Lock, suggested the plot of Id7-is and Zenide to Wieland, and 
 gave De la Motte Fouque a basis for his delightful story of Undine. 
 
 P. 39. Mephistopheles comes forward in the dress of a travel- 
 ling scholar. — " That Mephistopheles comes forth as a travelling 
 scholar (scholasticus), and therefore as a philosopher, is not with- 
 out significance. For on seeing him Faust knows that he is 
 approached as a friend, he himself being devoted to philosophy; and 
 even the expression fahreader scholust expresses the unquiet with 
 which Faust is filled. The wandering about through the world — 
 for example, of Jordanus Bruno, &c. — is to be viewed with refer- 
 ence to internal restlessness, impelled by which these philosophers 
 wandered imccasingly from place to place." — Dr. Hinrichs' 
 ^'E-ith. Vorl. p. 91 Dr. Stieglitz (Saffc, p. 64,) furnishes some 
 curious particulars as to these scholastici var/antes as they were 
 called, from wliich it would seem that they did not fill a very 
 respectable station in society; and it is no compliment to Giordauo 
 
 N 2
 
 180 NOTES. 
 
 Bruno (a man of distinguished merit) to he put forth as an example 
 of the character. 
 
 P. 40. Fly-god, — i. e. Beelzebub, whose name is partly com- 
 pounded of a Hebrew word signifying^;/. 
 
 P. 40. / a7n a part of the part which in the beginning was 
 all.—" And the earth was without form and void ; and darkness 
 was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon 
 the face of the waters. 
 
 " And God said, Let there be light : and there \vas light. 
 
 " And God saw the light, that it was good : and God divided the 
 light from the darkness." — Gen. c. i. 
 
 " Granted, that day, proceeding from the original source of light, 
 deserves all honour, because it invigorates, quickens, gladdens — 
 still it does not follow that darkness must be addressed and shunned 
 as the evil principle, because it makes us uneasy, and lulls us to 
 sleep ; we rather see in such an effect the characteristics of sensu- 
 ous beings controlled by phenomena." — Goethe. 
 
 P. 40. That which is opposed to nothing. — Dr. Schuhart cau- 
 tions us against supposing that under the term nichts a complete 
 void is intended, as it means merely the original state of things 
 under the reign of Chaos. 
 
 P. 41. From air, water, earth, &c. — " In the air, in the water, 
 in the marshes, in the sand, — genera and species multiplied, and I 
 believe that they will continue to multiply in the same proportion 
 with the course of discovery." — Herder, Idecn zur Philosophie, 
 tfcc. b. 2, c. 4. 
 
 P. 41. The Pentagram. — The Pentagi-am, Pentalpha, or Dru- 
 denfuss, was a pentagonal figure like the following : — 
 
 —supposed to possess the same sort of power which used popularly 
 10 be attributed to the horseshoe amongst us. 
 
 Those who wish for more information on this subject may refer 
 to Schol. in Aristopih. Nub. 599, and Luciau's Dialogue — JJe
 
 NOTES. ISl 
 
 lapsii inter sa'utandum — in the Amsterdam quarto edition of 
 1743, vol. 1. pp. 7"29, 730, in notis. The Pentalpha is also men- 
 tioned in Hobhouse's Historical Illustrations of the Fourth Canto 
 of Childe Harold, p. 334. 
 
 lu one of a scries of engravings by a Dutch artist of the be^ 
 ginning of the seventeenth century ( Van Sichem by name), Faust 
 is represented standing within two intersecting circles, upon two 
 intersecting squares, conjuring Mephistopheles, who is just appear 
 ing in his true shape. 
 
 P. 42. TM me something worth tilling. — It is a matter of 
 doubt whether gute M'dhr zu sagcn does not mean to tell one's 
 fortune. 
 
 P. 42. A compact, a hindinr/ one, may be made with you 
 gentlemen.- — " ' These are fine promises," replied the student ; " but 
 you gentlemen devils are accused of not being religions observers 
 of what you promise to men.' ' It is a groundless charge,' replied 
 Asmodeus ; ' some of my brethren indeed make no scruple of 
 breaking their word, but I am a slave to mine.' " — The Devil ujmn 
 Two Slichs, chap. 1 . 
 
 P. 46. / am too old to do nothing but play, too young to be 
 without a wish. — 
 
 " Too old for youth, — too young at thirty-five. 
 
 To herd with boys or hoard with good threescore. 
 I wonder people should be left alive. 
 
 But since they arc, that epoch is a bore." — 
 
 Don Juan, Canto 12. 
 
 P. 46. What can the wwld afford me 1 — " Thou shalt 
 renounce ! " — " Thou shcdt renounce I " — " Our physical as well 
 as social life, manners, customs, worldly wisdom, philosophy, 
 religion, all e.xclaim to ws, " That we shall renounce." — Dich- 
 tung und Wahrheit, part ii. book 17. 
 
 P. 47. SiTice a sweet familiar tone, d;c. — 
 " My eye^ are dim with childish tears, 
 My neart is idly stirred ; 
 For the same sound is in my ears 
 
 Which in those days I heard." — Wordsworth. 
 
 P. 4'". Tltat highest grace of love. — Meaning probably le don 
 d'anoureux merci, or tfi£ last favour.
 
 183 NOTES. 
 
 P. 49. And ivJiat am I to do for you in return ? — The actual 
 or traditional compact was to the following effect : — 
 
 " Puis Ic D. Fauste rcfoit son sang sur une tuile, et y met des 
 charbons tout chauds, ct ecrit comme s'ensuit ci apres : 
 
 " ' Joan Fauste, Docteur, reeonnois de ma propre main mani- 
 ffstenient pour ime chose ratifiee, et ce en vertu de cet ecrit : 
 qu' apres que je me suis mis k speculer Ics elemens, et apres les 
 dons qui m'ont ete' distribuez et departis dela-haut : lesquels n'ont 
 point trouve d'habitude dans mon entendement. Et de ce que 
 je n'ai peu etre enseigne autrement des hommes, lors je me suis 
 presentement adonne a un Esprit, qui s'appelle MepMstophiles, 
 qui est valet du prince infernal en Orient, par paction entre lui et 
 moi, qu'il m'adresscroit et m'apprcudroit, comme il m'e'toit predes- 
 tine, qui aussi reciproqucment m'a promis de m'etre sujet en 
 tontes choses. Partant et a I'opposite, je lui ai promis et lui cer- 
 tifie, que d'ici a vingt-quatre ans de la date de ces pre'scntes, 
 vivant jusques-la comple'tement, comme il m'enseignera en son art 
 et science, et en ses inventions me maintiendra, gouvernera, con- 
 duira, et me fera tout bien, avec toutes choses necessaii'cs a mon 
 coi-ps, a mon ame, a ma chair, a mon sang, ct a ma sante' : que je 
 suis et serai sien a jamais. Partant, je renonce a tout ce qui est 
 pour la vie du maitre celeste et de tous les hommes, et que jc sois 
 en tout sien. Pour plus grande certitude, et plus grande confirma- 
 tion, j'ai ecrit la pre'sente promesse de ma propre main, et Fai sous- 
 e'crit de mon propre sang que je me suis tire cxpressement pour ce 
 faire, de mon sens et de mon jugement, de ma pensee et volonte, et 
 I'ai arrete, scelle' et testifie', &c." — Cayefs Widman,-^a.xX i. 
 
 In Marlow's Faustus the instrument is formally set out. 
 
 P. 49. But if thou hast food, d-c. — This passage has caused a 
 good deal of puzzling, though neither Falk nor Srhubart seems to 
 be aware of any difficulty : — 
 
 " I know thy rotten gifts," says Faust. " Which of thy fine 
 goods of the earth wilFst thou offer me ? How could the like of 
 thee ever be capable of measuring the unquiet of man's breast. 
 Hast thou food to serve up which never satisfies? Or canst thou 
 only show trees which daily bloom anew and bud again ? I loathe 
 this foliage of yesterday, this tale, which, ever the same, is told in 
 the morning, and in the evening dies away again — 
 
 " Zeig mir die Frucht die fault eh' man sie bricht 
 Und Baume die sich taglich neu hegriineu." — 
 
 Falk, p. 283. 
 
 " This (Mephistopheles' promise) uppears to Faust but mockery.
 
 NOTES. 1S3 
 
 What can a devil efive a man to satisfy him, when he is not capable 
 of gi\-ing it to himself? The gifts of a devil," he says, " are but 
 delusion, and melt away in the same manner as his quicksilver- 
 like gold : thus he can only bestow fruits which would not rot 
 before the plucking, but no ever-budding tree sprouts forth beneath 
 his skill and fostering." — Schuhart, 108. 
 
 None of the editions that I have seen make the hast du an 
 interrogatory, as Falk seems to understand it. There are autho- 
 rities, however, for construing it — Though thou hast, &c. It is 
 also contended that — 
 
 " Doch hast du Speise die nicht sattigt, hast 
 Du rothes Geld, &c." 
 is to be construed afRrmatively : " However, thou hast food wliich 
 never satisfies," &c. ; — and that the zeig mir, &c., is ironical and 
 tantamount to saying : " This is all thou canst show me." But 
 on this construction I do not see how the inversion of the second 
 hast du is to be justified, whilst the answer of Mephistopheles 
 clearly implies that the zeig mir, &c., was a demand on the part of 
 Faust. The most probable supposition is, that Faust's meaning 
 was pretty nearly the same as in the subsequent speech, in which 
 he expresses a wish to enjoy all that is parcelled out among man- 
 kind. Taking this wish into consideration, we may well suppose 
 him saying : — " You can give nothing of any real value in the 
 eyes of a raan like me ; but if you have the common perishable 
 enjoyments of humanity to bestow, let me have tliem." 
 
 P. 50. At the doctor's feast. — Alluding to the inauguration- 
 feast given on the taking of a degree. 
 
 P. 52. TaJce a poet to counsel, dr. — See, for example, the 
 wishes put into the mouth of Sir Epicure Mammon in The 
 Alchymist. 
 
 P. 53. / am not a hair's breadth higher, <i:c. — " Which of you 
 by taking thought can add one cubit to his statui'e ? " — Matt. vi. 27. 
 
 P. 53. And am a proper man. — 
 
 " As proper a man as any in Venice." — ShaJcspeare. 
 
 P. 54. Whose overstrained striving overleaps, &c. — 
 " I have no spur 
 To prick the sides of my intent, but only 
 Vaulting Ambition, which o'crleaps itself 
 And falls on the other." — Macbeth.
 
 184 NOTES. 
 
 P. 54. A Student enters. — This scene is a satire on the modes 
 of instruction pursued in German Universities, and has been 
 much admired. But the effect is in a great measure produced hv 
 the happy application of pedantic phrases and college slang, whicli 
 are no more capable of being relished in Endand than such terms 
 as wooden- spoon, little-go, crnniming, plucking, in Germany. A 
 distinguished scholar thus mentions this scene and the three other 
 scenes which have been thought to resemble it in tone : — " To 
 the great and overwhelming tragic powers of Goethe, Aristophanes, 
 of course, can make no pretension ; but in tlieir preference of the 
 arbitrary comic to the comic of manners, the two writers come very 
 close together; and both writers should have lived, as Madame de 
 Stael expresses it, when there was an intellectual chaos, similar to 
 the material chaos. Had Aristophanes wiittcn in modern times, 
 it is, perhaps, not impertinent to stiggcst, that the Auerbach's 
 Keller in Leipzig, the Hexenkiiche, the Walpurgisnacht, and per- 
 haps the quizzing scene with the young student just fresh from his 
 university, are precisely the sort of scenes which would have fallen 
 from his pen." — Mitchell's Translation bf Aristophanes, Pre- 
 face, p. xxvii. 
 
 It is e\'ident from many passages in his Memoirs, that Goethe's 
 earlv impressions of university pursuits were pretty nearly what he 
 has put into the mouth of Mephistopheles ; nor, if we are to believe 
 Falk, did his opinions change materially in after-life : — 
 
 " Our scientific men are rather too fond of details. They count 
 out to us the whole consistency of the earth in separate lots, and 
 are so happy as to hare a different name for every lot. That is 
 argil (Thonerde) ; that is quartz (Keiselerrle) : that is this, and 
 this is that. But what am I the better if I am ever so perfect in 
 all these names .-' When I hear them I always think of the old 
 lines in Faust — 
 
 ' Encheiresin rudurts nennt's die Chemie 
 Bohrt sich selber Esel und weiss nicht wie ! ' 
 
 " What am I tlie better for these lots .' what for their names ? 
 I want to know what it is that impels every several portion of the 
 universe to seek out some other portion, — either to rule or to obey it, 
 — and qualifies some for the one part and some for the other, accord- 
 ing to a law innate in them all, and operating like a voluntary choice. 
 But this is precisely the point upon which the most perfect and 
 universal silence prevails." 
 
 "Everything in science," said he at another time, with the same 
 turn of thought, " is become too much divided into compartments. 
 In our professors' chairs the several provinces (Fiicher) are violently
 
 NOTES. 1S5 
 
 and arbitrarily severed, and allotted into half-yearly courses of lec- 
 tures, according to fixed plans. The number of real discoveries is 
 small, especially when one \"iews them consecutively through a few 
 centuries. Jlost of what these people are sc busy about, is mere 
 repetition of what has been said by this or that celebrated predecessor. 
 Such a thing as independent original knowledge is hardly thought of. 
 Young men are driven in tlocks into lecture-rooms, and are crammed, 
 for want of any real nutriment, with quotations and words. The 
 insight wliich is wanting to the teacher, the learner is to get for 
 himself as he may. No great wisdom or acuteness is necessarv to 
 perceive that this is an entirely mistaken path." — Mrs. Austin's 
 Characteristics of Groethe. 
 
 It is worthy of note that Burton (^Anat. part i. sect. 2, sub-sec. 
 7), remarks on the several sciences in somewhat the same spirit as 
 Goethe. 
 
 P. 55. Spanish hoots. — The Spanish boot was an instrument of 
 torture, like the Scottish boot mentioned in Old Mortality (vol. ii. 
 p. 406). 
 
 P. 55. TJien many a day mil be spent in teaching you, <i:c. — 
 " In logic it struck me as strange that I was so to pull to pieces, dis- 
 member, and, as it were, destroy those very operations of the mind 
 which I had gone through with the greatest ease from my youth, in 
 order to perceive the proper use of them." — Goethe's Memoirs. 
 " And all a rhetorician's rules. 
 Teach nothing but to name his tools." — Hudibras. 
 Sec also Le Bnurgeois Oentilhomme, act ii. scene 6, where the 
 Master of Philosophy explains the object of logic. 
 
 P. 56. He who wishes to Tcnow and describe anything living, <i:c. 
 " Like following life in creatures we dissect, 
 We lose it in the moment we detect." — Pope. 
 
 " It was, generally speaking, the prevailing tendency of the time 
 which preceded our own, — a tendency displayed also in physical 
 science, to consider what is possessed of life as a mere accumulation 
 of dead parts, to separate what exists only in connection and cannot 
 be otherwise conceived, instead of penetrating to the central point 
 and viewing all the parts as so many irradiations from it." — Schle- 
 gel's Lectures on Dramatic Art and Literature, vol. ii. p. 127. 
 
 P. 56. Five lectures every day. — Five is the number of Courses 
 of Lectures a young and eager student ordinarily attends.
 
 186 NOTES. 
 
 P. 56. As if the Holy Ghost were dictating to you. — It is or 
 ■was the custom in Germany for the professors to read slowly enough 
 for their pupils to follow them with tlie pen. This was called 
 dictating. 
 
 P. 57. I cannot reconcile myself to jurisprudence. — Here again 
 Goetlie is repeating his own sentiments. He was originally destined 
 by his father for the law, but it was only with the greatest reluct- 
 ance that he could be brought to qualify himself for the necessary 
 examination at Strasburg, where such examinations were compara- 
 tively light. He says, that he had no turn for anything positive. — 
 (^Memoirs, book ix.) The exclamation, " Woe to thee that thou 
 art a grandson," alludes to the artificial and complicated systems 
 which people coming late into the world are pretty sure to find 
 entailed upon them. The law that is born with us, means, I 
 suppose, what in common parlance is called the law of nature. It 
 may assist future translators, not versed in German jurisprudeuce, 
 to be told, that Gesttz, in strictness, means enactment, and Recht, 
 law or a rule of law, generally. Gesetz, und Rechte, therefore, are 
 both included under the term latvs, 
 
 P. 58. The spirit of medicine. — Goethe associated a good deal 
 ■with medical students at Strasburg, and took considerable interest 
 in the studies usually followed in connection with medicine. 
 
 " Un cours professe' a la meme faculte' (Medicine, at Wiirtzburg), 
 par M. Hensler porte un titre trop piquant pour que nous ne 
 croyions pas devoir le repioduire. II se propose de traiter de la 
 science et de la vie Uuiversitaire en gene'ral, et plus particuliere- 
 ment de la me'decine et de la methode la plus favorable a suivre 
 pour Tetudier, d'apr^s le Faust de Goethe." — (From an article 
 in the Hevue Encyclopediquc, by M. Lagarmitte). There is a 
 profound Latin work on Theology by a gentleman named Valzer, 
 in which the immediately preceding passage in theology is raised 
 into as much importance as ever M. Hensler can raise the remarks 
 on Medicine. 
 
 P. 59. We have hut to spi'cad out this mantle. — This ■was the 
 mode of travelling afforded by Asmodeus to Don Cleofas. 
 
 P. 60. AueriacK's cellar in Leipzig. — Auerbach's cellar is a 
 place of public entertainmeui of the same class and character as the 
 Cider Cellar in Maiden Lane, Covent Garden. I supped there 
 during my last visit to Germany, and took some pains to ascertain 
 the traditions connected with it, which the waiter seemed to have a 
 particular pleasure in communicating. He assured me that there
 
 NOTES. 187 
 
 was not the shallow of a doubt as to my being seated in the very 
 vault in which both Faust and Goethe had caroused ; and producing 
 an old copv of Widnian, he avowed himself ready to make oath that 
 it had been in the cellar, as a sort of heir-loom, for 300 years at 
 the least. It was really a very curious copy, but bore the date of 
 MDCXCV. The principal curiosities of the vault arc two very 
 old paintings, shaped like the segment of a circle, painted, it is 
 supposed, to comniemoi-ate Faust's presence and achievements there. 
 The one represents him at the table drinking to the sound of 
 music, with a party of students ; the other represents him in the 
 act of passing out of the door upon a cask, whilst the spectatore are 
 holdin<r up their hands in astonishment. The first-mentioned bears 
 a Latin inscription, wliich has proved a puzzler to the philologists : * 
 
 " Vive, Bibe, Obgrcgare, Memor 
 Fauste hujus et hujus 
 Paenae. Aderat claudo ha?c 
 Asterat aniplo Gradu. — 1525." 
 
 A distinguished scholar, Dr. Maginn, proposes to read it thus : — 
 
 " Vive, Bibe, Obgregare, Memor 
 Fausti hujus et hujus 
 Paenae. Aderat clauda hoec, 
 Ast erat ampla Gradu. — 1525." 
 
 Over the other are inscribed the lines following : — 
 
 " Doctor Faust zu dieser Frist 
 Aus Auerbach's Keller gerittcn ist, 
 Auf einem Fass niit Wein geschwiud, 
 Welches gesehen viel Muttcrkind. 
 Solches durch seine subtile Kraft hat gethan, 
 Und des Teufel's Lohn empfangen davon. — 1525." 
 
 It has been made a doubt whether this d.ate (1525) refers to the 
 time at which the pictures were painted, or to that at which the 
 adventures took place. The following are the best traditional 
 accounts of the magical exploits in the text : — 
 
 " At the tity of Prague is a publican's house, known by the sign 
 of the Anchor, wlicre the Doctor one day called as he was upon a 
 tour. Seatincr himself among the travellers, in a short time he 
 thus accosted them — ' Gentlemen, would you like to partake of all 
 kinds of foreign wines in the world ':''' The whole party, with one 
 
 * See the Leipziser TagcUatl for lifiS, Nos. 22, 23, 25 ; and Steiglitza 
 Sage vom Doctor Fuust.
 
 188 NOTES. 
 
 accord, cried out, 'Yes, yes!' ' Then will you first like to taste 
 the French, Spanish, Rhenish, Malaga, or any other kind?' con- 
 tinued he, ' whichever you most approve.' 
 
 " Upon this one of the guests exclaimed : — ' Doctor Faustus ! 
 whatever wine you please to furnish, Doctor, we shall find some 
 means of disposing of it.' Whereupon he begged them to provide 
 him with plenty of bottles and glasses, and he would supply the 
 rest. This being done, he bored several holes in the table, and 
 placing a funnel in each, he held the bottles under it, and decanted 
 as much wine as they would contain. As he laid them down one 
 after another, the delighted guests began to laugh heartily, and 
 heartily did they regale themselves." — Roscoe's German Novelists, 
 vol. i. p. 377. The other adventure, in which the guests of Faust 
 seize each other's noses mistaking them for grapes, is also told by 
 Mr. Roscoe. Tlie old French version of Widman runs thus : — 
 
 " Le Docteur Fauste avoit, en un certain lieu, invite' des hommes 
 principaux pour les traiter, sans qu'il eut apprete aucune chose. 
 Quand done ils furent venus, ils virent bien la table couverte, 
 mais la cuisine etoit encore froide. II se faisoit aussi des noces, le 
 roeme soir, d'un riche et honnete bourgeois, et avoient e'te tons les 
 domestiques de la maison empecliez, pour bien et honorablcraent 
 traiter les gens qui y etoient invitez. Ce que le Docteur Fauste 
 aiant .appris, commanda a son Esprit que de ces noces il lui apportat 
 un service de vivres tout appretez, soit poissons ou autres, qu'in- 
 continent il les enlevat de la pour traiter ses botes. Soudain il y 
 eut en la maison, ou I'on faisoit les noces, un grand vent par les 
 cheminees, fenetres et portes, qui eteignit toutes les chandelles. 
 Apres que le vent fut cesse, et les chandelles derechef allumez, et 
 qu'ils eurent vii d'ou le tuniulte avoit ete, ils trouverent, qu'il 
 nianquoit a un mets una piece de roti, a un autre une poule, h 
 un autre une oye, et que dans la chaudiere il manquoit aussi de 
 grands poissons. Lors furent Fauste et ses invitez pourvus de 
 vivres, mais le vin manquoit : toutefois non pas long-temps, car 
 Mtphost02}Jiiles fus fort bien an voiage de Florence dans ks caves 
 de Fougres, dont il en apporta quantite' ; mais apres qu'ils eurent 
 mar.ge, ils desiroient (qui est ce pour quoi ils e'toicnt principalement 
 venus,) qu'il leur fit pour plaisir quelque tour d'enchantemens. 
 Lors il leur fit venir sur la table une vigne avec ses grappes de 
 saison, dont un chacun en prit sa part. 11 commanda puis apres 
 de prendre un couteau, et le mettre a la racine, comme s'ils 
 I'eusscnt vouler couper. Neanmoins, ils n'en piirent pas venir a 
 bout : puis apres, il s'en alia hors des etuves, et ne tarda gueres 
 sans revenir; lors ils s'arreterent tons et se tinrent I'nn I'autre par 
 le neZj et un couteau dessus. Quand done puis apres ils voulurent,
 
 NOTES. 189 
 
 iU puient couper les grappes. Cela leur fut ainsi mis aucunement, 
 mais ils eurent bien voulu qu'il les eut fait vcuir toutcs mcures." 
 — Part iii., ch. 33. 
 
 The adventure on the cask is also recorded in this history. 
 
 P. 61. Soar up. Madam Nightingale, give imj sweetheart ten 
 thousand greetings for me. — The following is the song which 
 Goethe probably had in his mind : — 
 
 " FRAU NACHTIGALL. 
 
 " Nachtigal, ich hor dich singen 
 Das Herz niocht mir im Leib zerspringen, 
 Komme doch und sag mir bald, 
 W'ie ich mich verhalten soil. 
 
 " Nachtigal, ich seh dich laufen, 
 An dem Bachlein thust du saufcn, 
 Du tunkst deiii klein Schnablein tin 
 Meiust es war der beste We in. 
 
 " Nachtigal, wo ist gut wohnen, 
 Auf den Linden, in den Kronen, 
 Bei der schon Frau Nachtigal, 
 Gjuss mein Schatzchcn tausendmal." 
 
 This song is in the collection of Alte Deutsche Lieder, entitled 
 Dcs Knahen Wunderhorn, compiled by MM. von Arnim and 
 Brentano. The plan was probably suggested by Dr. Percy's 
 Relics ; a book which (translated and imitated by Biirger, Herder, 
 and others,) has exercised at least as great an influence on German 
 literature as on our own. — See some interesting remarks on this 
 subject in the last edition of Wordsworth's Works, vol. i. p. 329. 
 
 P. 62. Leipsic is the place, d:c. — It appears from his Memoirs, 
 that when Goethe commenced his college studies at Leipzig, a gi'eat 
 affectation of politeness prevailed amongst the students. 
 
 P. 63. I dare say you are lately from Rippach 1 Did you sup 
 with Mr. Haris before you left ? — Rippach is a village near Leip- 
 zig, and to ask for Hans von Rippach, a fictitious personage, was an 
 old joke amongst the students. The ready reply of Mepbistophe- 
 les indicating no surprise, shows Siebel and Altmayer that he is 
 up to it. Hans is the German Jack, as Hans der Riesentodter, 
 Jack the Giant-killer. 
 
 P. 64. Mephistophelcs sings. — A favourite at the court of 
 Weimar is said to be alluded to. " Bcituch, the father," says 
 Falk, " who was treasurer to the Duke, used in after times to speak
 
 1'jO notes. 
 
 with great glee of a singular head in the accounts which he had 
 to suhmit in those days. It consisted almost entirely of breeches, 
 waistcoats, shoes and stockings for German literati, who were wan- 
 dering within the gates of Weimar, slenderly provided with those 
 articles." This song was set to music by Beethoven. 
 
 P. 69. Witches' Kitchen. — The best commentary on this scene 
 is to be found in Retzsch's Outlines. The monkeys are there 
 represented as something between the monkey and the baboon ; 
 but he himself told me that Meerhatze is the common little long- 
 tiiiled monkey. The term is thus used in a Genuan translation of 
 Lear. " Eine unvergleichliche Ausflucht fUr einen Hurenjager, 
 seinen Meerkatzen-Trieb den Sternen zur Last zu legen." — Act i. 
 sc. 2, in Edmund's Speech on Planetary Influences. Madame de 
 Stael considers it to mean something between a monkey and a cat. 
 
 The following passage (in which Goethe is the speaker) may 
 save the reader a good deal of profitless puzzling : — " For thirty 
 years they (the Germans) have been sorely ve.xed and tormented 
 in spirit by the broomstick on the Blocksberg and the cat's dia- 
 logue in the Witches' kitchen, which occur in Faust, and all the 
 interpreting and allegorising of this dramatic-humoristic extrava- 
 ganza have never thoroughly prospered. Really peo])le should 
 learn when they are young to make and take a joke, and to throw 
 away scraps as scraps." — Folk. 
 
 P. 70. At the feast, &e. — Falk observes, in allusion to the text 
 of these three lines, that Faust and Mephistopheles are greeted in 
 a tone which, tliroiigh the diphthong aw, hears a strong affinity to 
 the language of monkeys. 
 
 P. 70. Coarse heggars" hroth. — "The hreiten Beftel-Sicppen 
 have an ironical reference to the coarse superstitions which extend 
 with a thick palpable shade amongst all nations thoughout the 
 whole history of the world." — Falk. 
 
 P. 71. Take the brush here, &c. — Retzsch represents Mp.phis- 
 topheles as holding a light skreen or fan in his hand. 
 
 P. 72. Oh ! he so good as to glue the crown, <i:c. — " A wish 
 which, profoundly considered, sounds so politically, that one would 
 swear the monkey-spirits had read the history of both the old 
 Romish and the now empire, chapter by chapter, with all its de- 
 thronings .aiid assassinations, from the beginning of the first to the 
 end of tlie last war." — Falk.
 
 NOTES. 191 
 
 P. Thou atomy — 
 " Thou atomy, thou !" — Shakespeare. 
 
 P. 74. Tlie northern phantom is now no more to he seen. Whei-e 
 do you now see horns, tail, and daics? — The old German cate- 
 cliisms, from Luther's time downNvards, were genei-ally adorned 
 with a frontispiece, representing the devil with all the ahove- 
 mentioned appendages. 
 
 P. 76. TTiat is tJte witches' one-times-one. — i. c. multiplication- 
 table. 
 
 P. 76. For a downright contradiction, dr. — Dr. Hinrichs' 
 note on this passage is : — " A system of philosophy which, like 
 that of Hegel, begins with such a contradiction, — for instance, 
 Das Seyn ist N'ichts, has the advantage that it frightens away 
 those who have no call for it, both wise men and fools." 
 
 P. 78. Margaret. — Goethe's first love was called Margaret, 
 She was a girl of inferior rank in life, apprenticed, during the love- 
 affair, to a milliner. He was about fifteen at the commencement 
 of the acquaintance, and she two or three years older. Pre- 
 viously to the introduction he was in the habit of following her to 
 church, but never ventured on accosting her. — See the Dichtung 
 und Wahrheit, h. 5. 
 
 P. 79. All sorts of nonsense. — " Ces pendardcs-la, avec leur 
 pommade, out, je pense, envie de me ruiner. Je ne vois partout 
 que blancs d'ceufs, lait virginal, et mille autres hrimhorio^is que je 
 ne connois point." — Les Precieuses Ridicules, Act i., sc. 4. 
 
 P. 80. Besides, he would not else have been so impudent. — 
 The lower classes have an awkward habit of associating a more 
 than ordinary degree of shanielcssness or profligacy with gentility. 
 The gamekeeper of a lady of rank in Hampshire once came to tell 
 her that a gentleman was sporting over her best preserves, and 
 refused to listen to remonstrances. " A gentleman," said her 
 ladyship, -'how do you know him to be a gentleman?" '-Because," 
 was the reply, " he keeps fourteen horses and another man's wife." 
 
 P. 81. Am I in an enchanted atmosphere? — 
 
 " 'Tis her breathing that 
 Perfumes the chamber thus." — 
 
 Cymlelir^, Act ii., sc. 2.
 
 iy2 NOTES. 
 
 There is son.e analogy between this scene and La NouvelU 
 Heloise, vol. i., lett. 54, though Faust's feelings in his mistress's 
 chamber are very different from St, Preux's. 
 
 P. 82. It feels so close, so sultry here. — 
 
 " Now, by my life, this day grows wondrous hot ; 
 Some airy devil hovers in the sky. 
 And pours down mischief." — 
 
 King John, Act iii., sc. 2. 
 
 P. 82. There was a Icing in Tliule. — Many of the songs in 
 Faust, this among others, were not originally written for it. 
 Goethe mentions in his Memoirs that he sung this song with con- 
 siderable applause in a social meeting. 
 
 P. 90. / ivould change rings with you myself. — In some 
 countries of Germany the bridegroom, instead of plating the ring 
 on the finger of the bride, gives one to her and receives one in 
 return. 
 
 P. 90. Two witnesses. — Alluding to the rule of the civil law, 
 which forms the basis of all the German systems. — Unius responsio 
 testis omnino non audiatur, — Cod. 4, 20, 9. 
 
 P. 100. From the wall-like rocks, out of the damp underwood, 
 
 " How divine, 
 The liberty for frail, for mortal man. 
 To roam at large among unpeopled glens 
 And mountainous retirements, only trod 
 By devious footsteps ; regions consecrate 
 To oldest time ! and, reckless of the storm 
 'J'hat keeps the raven quiet in her nest. 
 Be as a presence or a motion — one 
 Among the many there ; and, tvhile the mists 
 Flying, and rainy vapours, call out shapies 
 AikI phantoms from the craigs and solid earth, 
 As fast as a musician scatters sounds 
 Out of an instiument; and while the streams — " 
 
 The Excursion. 
 " And he, with many feelings, many thoughts. 
 Made up a meditative joy, and found 
 Religious meanings in the forms of nature." — 
 
 Coleridge, Sibylline Leaves, p. 65.
 
 XOTEd. 1\)'3 
 
 P. 10"2. LiJ:e a snow-Jlushed rivulet. — " Like a rook iu the 
 mid-channel of a river swoln hy a sudden raiii-jlush from the 
 mountains,*' &c. — Coleridge's Aids to Be/icction, p. 79. 
 
 P. 102. Were I a bird, ttc — 
 
 " Wenn ich ein Voglein war, 
 Und auch zwei Fliigeln hatt, 
 Flog Il^i zu dir; 
 Weils aber nicht kann seyn, 
 Bleib ich all hier. 
 
 " Bin ich glcich weit von dir, 
 Bin ich doch ini Schlaf bei dir, 
 Und red mit dir; 
 Wenn ich erwachen thu, 
 Bin ich allein. 
 " Es vergeht keine Stund in der Nacht, 
 Da mein Herze nicht erwaeht, 
 Und an dich gedenkt, 
 Dass du niir viel taiiscndmal 
 Dein Herze geschenkt." 
 
 Herder's Vollslicder, b. i., p. 67. 
 Wunderliorn, part i., p. 231. 
 
 P. 102. One while fairly outwept. — 
 
 " As with no staia 
 She faded like a cloud that has outwept its rain." 
 
 Shetlcij, Adonais. 
 
 " Lo pianto stesso li pianger non lascia.'' 
 
 Dante, Inf. Canto 33. 
 
 P. 103. The tidn-pair, which feed among roses. — " Thy two 
 breasts are like two young roes that are twins, which feed among 
 the lilies." — Song of Solomon, eh. iv., v. 5. " Je ne vous conseille 
 pas de traduire cela litt^ralement. On jeterait les hauts cris. 
 Cast a la responsibilite du poete. L'esprit malin scnible vouloir 
 insinuer que les saints meme, et les sages, tels que Solomon, 
 n'^taient pas inscnsibles aux attraits de la volupte." — M. de 
 Schlegel. 
 
 P. 103. And all her homely cares embraced within that little 
 world. — 
 
 " Flies from her home, the humble sphere 
 Of all her joys and sorrows here ; 

 
 194 NOTES. 
 
 Her father's house of mountain-stone, 
 And by a mountain vine o'ergrown. 
 At such an hour, in such a night, 
 So calm, so clear, so heavenly bright, 
 Who would have seen, and not confess'd 
 It looked as all within were blest." 
 
 Rogers, Jacqueline, 
 
 P. 107. Are we not looTcing into each other's eyes. — 
 
 " when full of blissful sighs, 
 
 They sat and looked into each other's eyes." — 
 
 Lalla Roohh. 
 
 " They looked up to the sky, whose floating glow 
 Spread like a rosy ocean, vast and bright : 
 They gazed upon the glittering sea below, 
 Whence the broad moon rose circling into sight ; 
 They heard the wave's splash, and the wind so low, 
 Aud saw each other's dark eyes darting light 
 Into each other." — Don Juan. 
 
 Clarchcn : " Lass mich schweigen ! lass mich dich halten. Lass 
 mich dir in die Aiigcn schen ; alles darin finden, Trost und 
 Hoffnung, und Freude und K\im\ntT."—E(jmont, Act iii. 
 
 " I have asked that dreadful question of the hills 
 That look eternal ; of the flowing streams 
 That lucid flow for ever ; of the stars. 
 Amid whose fields of azure my raised spirit 
 Hath trod in glory : all were dumb ; but now, 
 While I thus gaze upon thy living face, 
 I feel the love that kindles through its beauty 
 Can never wholly perish ; we shall meet 
 Again, Clemanthe ! " — Ion, Act v., sc. 2. 
 
 P. 107. I have no name for it. — "The Persian poet Saadi of 
 Schiraz says, according to Herder : — 'Who knows God, is silent.'" 
 
 P. 107. Name is sound and smoke. — In most of the editions 
 preceding the collected edition of Goethe's Works commenced in 
 1828, it stands : — Nature is sound and smoke. 
 
 P. 107. T/ie man you have with you is hateful to me, d-c. — 
 Margaret's intuitive apprehension of Mephistopheles is copied from 
 an incident mentioned in Goetlie's Memoirs : — " I could scarcely 
 rest till I had introduced my friend Jlerk at Lotta's (the original
 
 XOTES. 195 
 
 of Werther's Charlotte), liut his presence in this circle did me no 
 good ; for, like Mejihistopheles, go where he will, he will hardlv 
 bring a blessing with him." Goethe always called this friend 
 " Mephistopheles Merk," and gives a strange account of the 
 mingled goodness and devilishness of his disposition. The same 
 feeling is beautifully described in the following lines by Coleridge : — 
 
 " And yet Sarolta, simple, inexperienced, 
 Could see him as he was, and often warned me! 
 "N^Tience leam'd she this? O she was innocent! 
 And to be innocent is nature's wisdom ! 
 The hedge-dove knows the prowlers of the air, 
 Feared soon as seen, and flutters hack to shelter. 
 And the young steed recoils upon his haunches, 
 The never-yet-seen adder's hiss first heard. 
 O surer than suspicion's hundi'ed eyes 
 Is that fine sense, which to the pure in heart. 
 By mere oppugnancy of their own goodness. 
 Reveals th' approach of evil." — Zapolya. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott had probably one or both of these passages in 
 his mind when he wrote the following : — " The innocent Alice, 
 without being able to discover what was wrong either in the scenes 
 of unusual luxury with which she was surrounded, or in the man- 
 ners of her hostess, which, both from nature and policy, were kind 
 and caressing, felt nevertheless an instinctive apprehension that all 
 was not riglit, a feeling in the human mind, allied, perhaps, to 
 that sense of danger which animals exhibit when placed in the 
 vicinity of the natural enemies of their race, and which makes birds 
 cower when the hawk is in the air, and beasts tremble when the 
 tiger is abroad in the desert. There was a heaviness at her heart 
 which she could not dispel, and the few hours which she had alreadv 
 spent at Chiffinch's, were like those passed in a prison by one un- 
 conscious of the cause or event of his captivity." — Peveril of the 
 Peak. 
 
 P. 109. FuUof her faith, (t-c.—Tho words:— 
 
 " Dcr ganz allein 
 Ihr selig machend ist, 
 
 have here the same meaning as in Dr. Carove''8 celebrated work 
 Ueler AlleinseligmacJicnde Kirche; i. e., the Catholic Church. 
 
 P. 1 1 1. We vnll strew cut straw before her door. — This alludes 
 to a German custom something analogous to Skinmierton-riding in 
 
 o2
 
 196 NOTES. 
 
 this country. It consists in strewing cut or chopped straw befoie 
 the door of a bride whose ^^^tue is suspected, the day before the 
 wedding. The garland (like the snood) is a token of virginity, 
 and a ruined maiden is said to have lost her garland. 
 
 Bessy's want of charity recalls the well-known lines in The 
 Giaour: — 
 
 " No : gayer insects fluttering by 
 Ne'er droop the wing o'er those that die, 
 And lovelier things have mercy shown 
 To every failing but their own, 
 And every woe a tear can claim. 
 Except an erring sister's shame." 
 
 P. 112. Zioinger. — Zwinger is untranslatable, and a good deal 
 of doubt exists as to the meaning of the term. " Zwinger (says a 
 learned correspondent) from Zioingen, to subdue, is a name given 
 to castles found in some of the free towns, and formerly held by an 
 imperial governor. They are often in the middle of the town, and 
 have a passage wherein a devotional image with a lamp has occa- 
 sionally been placed, not expressly for the sake of devotion, but to 
 lighten up a dark passage ; Slargaret wishes to be unobserved, 
 and prefers this lonely spot to the chapel." This account was con- 
 firmed to me in conversation by Retzsch. In his Outline of the 
 scene, Margaret is represented kneeling before an image of the 
 Virgin placed in a niche close to a church. Mr. Downes, in his 
 Letters from Continental Countries, says : " On our way (from 
 Goslar to the Rammelsberg) we visited the Zwinger, an old tower 
 of three stories, containina; a saloon for masquerades. The walls are 
 so thick as to admit of a small side apartment adjoining one of the 
 windows. A scene in Goethe's Faust is entitled Zwinger; it is 
 perhaps identical with this." 
 
 P. 112. Mater Dolorosa. — The following lines of Manzoni (a 
 great favourite of Goethe) in his hymn to the Virgin, might be sup- 
 posed to have been suggested by this scene : — 
 
 " La femminetta nel tuo sen regale 
 La sua spregiata lagrima depone, 
 E a te, beata, della sua immortale 
 Alma gli affanni espone : 
 A te, che i prieghi ascolti e le qucrele 
 Non come suole il mondo, ne degl' imi 
 E de' grandi il dolor col suo crudele 
 Discernimento estimi."
 
 NOTES. 197 
 
 P. 115. Can that he the treasure rising, d-c. — This alludes to a 
 superstitious belief that the presence of a treasure is indicated by a 
 blue light or flame to the initiated. The same allusion occurs in 
 the Intermezzo, and also in a little poem by Goethe, called Der 
 Schatzgrdber : — 
 
 "Und ich sab ein Licht von weitem, 
 Und es kani gleich einem Sterne." 
 
 In the Antiquary, too, in the scene between Sir Arthur AVar- 
 dour and Dousterswivel in the ruins of St. Ruth, it is said, " No 
 supernatural light burst forth from below to indicate the subterra- 
 nean treasury." 
 
 P. 115. LiondoUars. — The Loivenilialer is a coin first struck by 
 the Bohemian Count Schlick, from the mines of Joachims-Thai in 
 Bohemia; the finest in the years 1518-1529, under Ludovick, the 
 first king of Hungary and Bohemia. The one side represents the 
 fork-tailed lion, with the inscription — " Ludwig I. D. G. Rex 
 Bohm." The reverse, the fall-length image of St. John, with the 
 ai-ms of Schlick. — Kohlcr's Muntz-Bclustigungcn. 
 
 P. 115. Wliat are you doing here, Catherine 1 — This song is 
 obviously imitated from Ophelia's. — Hamlet, Act iv. Scene 5. 
 
 P. 115. Rat-catcher. — 
 
 " Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk ?" 
 
 Romeo and Juliet, Act iii. Scene L 
 
 The common people in Germany believe (or believed) that rat- 
 catchers, by whistling or piping a peculiar note, could compel the 
 rats to follow them wherever they chose. — Deutche Sagen, No. 
 245. This accounts for the application of the term to a serenading 
 seducer. 
 
 P. 116. Out with your toasting-iron. — 
 
 " Put np thy sword betime. 
 Or I'll so maul you and your toasting-iron. 
 That you shall think the devil is come from hell." 
 
 King John, Act iv. Scene 3. 
 
 Flederwisch, literally goosewing, is a cant term for a sword. 
 
 P. 1 16. I am perfectly at home with tlie police, hut shou'dfind 
 it hard to clear scores with the criminal courts. — JJlutbann is an
 
 19S NOTES. 
 
 old name for criminal jurisdiction in the general sense. The dis- 
 tinction between Polizei-Uebertretungen and Verhrechen, to whicli 
 the above passage might otherwise be supposed to refer, was intro- 
 duced into the German systems in imitation of the French code ; 
 consequently not till long after the period at which this scene was 
 written. — See Mittcrmaier's Strafverfahren, pp. 1 and 1 6. To 
 make matters sure, I referred both Bluthann and Blutschuld to M. 
 Jlittermaier himself. 
 
 P. 117. When first Shame, d-c. — 
 
 " The while some one did chant this lovely lay : 
 Ah see, whose fair thing dost fain to see 
 The springing flower the image of thy day, 
 Ah see the virgin rose, how sweetly she 
 Dost first peep forth with bashful modesty, 
 
 The fairer seems, the less ye see her may ; 
 Lo, see soon after, how more bold and free 
 Her bared bosom slie doth broad display ; 
 Lo, sae soon after, how she fades and falls away." 
 
 Spenser. 
 
 P. 118. Evil spirit behind Mar r/aret. — 
 
 " I looked to heaven and tried to pray, 
 But or ever a prayer had gusht, 
 A wicked whisper came, and made 
 My heart as dry as dust.'' 
 
 Eivie of the Ancient Mariner. 
 
 P. 118. And under thy heart stirs it not quicTcening even 
 now ? — 
 
 « She held ^\-ithin 
 A second principle of life, which might 
 Have dawned a fair and sinless child of sin." 
 
 Don Juan, Canto iv. 
 
 It is common in Germany to say, Sie trcir/t das Pfand der Liebe 
 unter ihrem Herzen — " She bears the pledge of love under her 
 heart." Thus Schiller in Die Kindesmorderin, — " Nicht das 
 Knablcin unter meinem Herzen ? " Shelley also has the same 
 .allusion : — 
 
 " Methought I w.as about to be a mother; 
 Month after month went by, and still I dream'd 
 That we should soon be all to one anotlier, 
 I and my child : and still new piuhes seeni'd
 
 NOTES. 199 
 
 To beat beside my heart, and still I deem'd 
 There was a babe within ; and when the rain 
 Of winter through the rifted cavern stream'd, 
 Methous;ht, after a lapse of lingering pain, 
 I saw that lovely shape, ivkich near my heart had lain.'''' 
 The Revolt of Islam, Canto vii. 
 
 P. 119. I feel as if the organ, Ac. — There is a passage in 
 Goethe's works (I forgot to note down the place) in which he 
 describes the Dies irce as having a similar effect upon himself. Mr. 
 W. Tavlor says that Sir Walter Scott borrowed a hint or two from 
 this scene for the Lay of the Last Jlinstrcl. I suppose he alludes 
 to the thirtieth Stanza of the last Canto : — 
 
 " And ever in the office close 
 The hymn of intercession rose : 
 And far the echoing aisles prolong 
 The awful burthen of the song — 
 Dies irae. Dies ilia, 
 Solvet saeclum in favilla — 
 While the pealing organ rung." 
 
 P. 121. May Day Night. The Hartz Mountains. District 
 of Schirke and Elend. — Walpurgis is the name of the female saint 
 who converted the Saxons to Christianity. May-day Night is dedi- 
 cated to her. The Hartz is the most northerly range of mountains 
 in Germany, and comprises (according to the Conversations-Le.xicon) 
 about 1350 square miles, mostly within the district of Hanover. 
 The Brocken or Blocksberg is the summit of the chain, on the top 
 of which all the witches of Germany hold an annual meeting. 
 Schirke and Elend are two villages on or near the Brocken. As 
 these mountains are now a favourite resort of tourists, it is useless 
 to add a minute description of them.* Mr. Downes, in his Letters 
 from Continental Countries, has given a con amore description of the 
 localities ; and Heine has supplied some curious particulars in 
 the first volume of his Reisehilder. Dr. Schubart says, that, as 
 the Greeks had their Olympus, the Jews their Sinai, the Spaniards 
 t)ieir Montserrat, the Indians the Himelaya mountains, so have the 
 Germans their Blocksberg. In the case of the Blocksberg, however, 
 there are assignable causes for the superstitions associated with it, in 
 addition to that which the wildness of the mountain affords. On 
 
 • 8ee Gotschalk's Tasctenbuch, fUr Keisende in den Hartz, or Mr. 
 Mun-aj'B Handbook.
 
 200 NOTES. 
 
 the first establisliment of Christianity, the Druids are said to have 
 taken refuge on it; and the liuhts and noises attendant on the 
 celebration of their rites were mistaken by the surrounding peasantry 
 for sorcer)'. In one of Goethe's minor poems, Die erste Walpnr- 
 gisnacht, spiritedly translated by Dr. Anster, the effects of this belief 
 are vividly pourtrayed. Another cause is to be found in a pheno- 
 menon thus described by the author of Waverley. " The solitudes 
 of the Hartz forest in Germany, but especially the mountains called 
 Blocksberg, or rather Brockcnburg, are the chosen scenes for the 
 tales of witches, demons, and apparitions. The occupation of the 
 inhabitants, who are either miners or foresters, is of a kind that ren- 
 ders them peculiarly prone to superstition, and the natural pheno- 
 mena which they witness in pursuit of their solitary or subterraneous 
 profession, are often set down by them to the interference of goblins 
 or tlie power of magic. Among the various legends current in that 
 wild country, there is a favourite one, which supposes the Hartz to 
 be haunted with a kind of tutelar demon, in the shape of a wild 
 man, of huge stature, his head wreathed with oak-leaves, and his 
 middle cinctured with the same, bearing in his hand a pine torn up 
 by the roots. It is certain that many profess to have seen such a 
 form traversing, with huge strides, in a line parallel to their own 
 course, the opposite ridge of a mountain, when divided from it by a 
 na.TOW glen ; and indeed the fact of the apparition is so generally 
 admitted, that modern scepticism has only found refuge by ascribing 
 it to optical deception." — Tlie Antiquary, vol. i. p. 249. 
 
 This optical deception admits of a simple explanation : — " When 
 the rising sun throws his rays over the Brocken upon the body of 
 a man standing opposite to fine light clouds floating around or 
 hovering past him, he needs only fi.K his eye steadily upon them, 
 and in all probability he will see the singular spectacle of his own 
 shadow extending to the length of five or six hundred feet, at the 
 distance of about two miles before him." — Hibhert on Apparitions, 
 p. 440, note. Breiostcr's Letters on Natural Magic, Lett. 6. 
 In Mr. Gillies's collection of Germ.an stories, there is a very inte- 
 resting one called The First of May ; or, Walburga's Night. 
 Goethe's little poem called Die Harz Reise has no perceptible con- 
 nection with the Hartz. 
 
 P. 122. TliroiLgh the stones, through the turf, hrooJcand hrooh- 
 ling hurry doxvn. — " Here and there on rushes the water, silver- 
 clear, trickles among the stones, and bathes the naked roots and 
 fibres. Again, in many places, the water spouts more fr'cely from 
 oui of rocks and roots, and forms little cascades. There is such a
 
 NOTES. 201 
 
 gtrange murmuring and rustling — the birds sing broken snatches of 
 languishing songs — the trees whisper as with thousands of maidens' 
 tongues; as with thousands of maidens' eyes the i-ara mountain 
 flowers gaze upon us, and stretch out towards us their singularly 
 broad, conically forked leaves," &c., &.C.— Heine, Rciscbilder, vol. i. 
 p. 173. See also his account of the rise of the llse, p. 223. 
 
 P. 122. T-Ur-whit /—tVrwJioo. — 
 
 " 'Tis the middle of night by the castle clock, 
 And the owls have awakened the crowing cock. 
 
 Tu-whit !— tu-whoo ! " Christabel. 
 
 P. 122. And the roots, like snakes, <i-c. — " In consequence of 
 the rocky nature of the ground, the roots are in many places unable 
 to penetrate it, and wind, snake-like, over the huge blocks of 
 granite, which lie scattered everywhere about, like huge play-balls, 
 for the unearthly revellers to throw at each other on May-day 
 night." — Reisehilder. 
 
 P. 123. It scatters itself at once. — Shelley has translated 
 vcrciuzelt sick — masses ttoe//— probably under' the notion of 
 
 making the contrast more complete. But the next line There 
 
 sparks are rjlittering near, die. — shows clearly that the literal ver- 
 sion is the proper one. 
 
 P. 123. How the storm-Mast, <tc. — 
 
 " And now the Storm-Blast came, and he 
 Was tyrannous and strong ; 
 He struck with his o'ertaking wings. 
 And chased us south along." 
 
 The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. 
 
 " Windshrauf, ein in Hochdeutschen veraltctes Wort, einen 
 Sturm 7.U bezeichnen, welches nach Apost. 27. 14. vorkommt; auch 
 
 in der Schweiz und andem Oberdeutschen Gegenden iiblich ist." 
 
 .1 delung. 
 
 " Nicht lang aber darnacli erhob sich wider ihr Vomehmen eine 
 W'indsbraut, die man ncnncte Nordost." — German Bible. 
 
 " But not long alter there arose ag.ainst it a tempestuous wind, 
 called Euroclydon." — English Bible. 
 
 F. 124. Sir Urian. — This is a common name for the devil in
 
 202 NOTES, 
 
 Germany. Voland (^post) is, I believe, one of the names of 
 Beelzebub. 
 
 P. 124. TJie witch s, the he-goat s. — In Aristo- 
 
 phanic language — the witch ntpStTai, the he-goat Kiva^pd. 
 
 P. 124. By Tlsenstein. — Ilsenstein is a high granite rock on the 
 Brocken, so called from the brook Use, which, according to tradi- 
 tion, was originally a princess. Felsensee (rock-lake) is another of 
 the localities. 
 
 P. 124. For, in going to the house of the wicked one, woman is 
 a thousand steps in advance. — " This princess was so far from being 
 influenced by scruples that she was as wicked as woman could be, 
 which is not saying a little, for the sex pique themselves on their 
 superiority in every competition." — Vathek. 
 
 P. 125. Make room, sweet people. — Probably an allusion to 
 your most sweet voices, in Coriolanus. 
 
 P. 127. Now that I ascend the witch-mountain for the last time, 
 — " And because the contradictions of life and thought have 
 reached their highest pitch, but at the same time have found their 
 end and solution, does Mephistopheles convince himself that he 
 has ascended the Blocksberg for the last time.!*" — Leber Goethe's 
 Faust, Leipzig. 
 
 P. 128. Tliere is no dagger here, &c. — Goethe had probably 
 read Tarn o'Shanter before writing this: — 
 
 " Coffins stood round like open presses. 
 That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses ; 
 And by some devilish cantrip slight. 
 Each in his cauld hand held a light, — 
 By which heroic Tarn was able 
 To note upon the haly table, 
 A murderer's banes in gibbet aims ; 
 Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns ; 
 A thief, new cutted frae a rape, 
 Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape ; 
 Five tomahawks wi' bluid red-rusted; 
 Five scymitars, wi' murder crusted ; 
 A garter, ■\\hich a babe had strangled ; 
 A knife, a father's throat had mangled, 
 Whom his ain son o' life bereft. 
 The gray hairs yet stack to the heft."
 
 K0TE3. 203 
 
 Goethe's poem of Der Todlentam, however, clearly preceded 
 Tarn o' Shanter. 
 
 P. 128. Lilith. — I have received several suggestions as to Lilith. 
 The following passage, (for wldch I have to thank Dr. Rosen), 
 extracted from Geseuius's Commentarv on Isaiah, (Leipz. 1821, 
 8vo, vol. i. p. 916), is the fullest and most satisfactory : — 
 
 " Lilith, I)""?'"? (noctunia), is, in the popular belief of the 
 
 Hebrews, a female spectre in the shape of a finely-dressed woman, 
 which, in particular, lies in wait for and kills children, like the 
 Lamise and Striges amongst the Romans. — See Horace, Art. Poet. 
 340 ; 0\-id, Fast. vi. 123. This is the Rabbinical account, and 
 the superstition appeal's old, as it is to be found in the same form, and 
 with little variation, amongst all other people. More recently they 
 themselves have brought it into a kind of system, and turned Lilith 
 nto a wife of Adam's on whom he begot demons, and who still has 
 power to lie with men and kill children who are not protected by 
 amulets, with which the Jews of a still Later period supply them- 
 selves as a protection against her. — S. Buxtorf, Lexicon. Talmudic, 
 p. 1140; Eiscnmcnger's Entdecktes Judenthum, vol. ii. p. 413, et 
 seq. " See also Brown's Jewish Antiquities, vol. ii. p. 273. 
 
 Burton tells us : " The Talmudists say that Adam had a wife 
 called Lilis before he married Eve, and of her he begat nothing but 
 devils." — Anat of Melawholy, Part 1, Sect. 2, Subsec. 2. 
 
 At the end of a learned etymological commentary on the word 
 Lullaby in the Encyclopaedia Metropolitana, is the following 
 mention of Lilith, quoted as a MS. note on Skinner : " Christiani 
 quondam a Judwis edocti, Da:monem esse quandam malcficam, 
 nomine Lilith, qu£e infantes recenter natos necare aut saltern sup- 
 ponere consuevit, atque adeo nutrices infantibus doruiitantibus 
 cantilare solitas LiUa,ahi, ahil unde nostrum Lullaby." 
 
 Herder, in his Dichtungen aus der Fo?'M/'e/<, represents Adam as 
 not maiTying Eve until after Lilis had rejected him on account of 
 his earthly extraction. 
 
 Miss Letitia Hawkins calls Eve an ovcrcn'own b.ihy, with nothing 
 to recommend her, but her submission and her fine hair. 
 
 P. 1 29. Procktophantasmist. — The person intended is now gene- 
 rally understood to be Nicolai of Berlin, a writer wlio once enjoyed 
 a considerable reputation of Germany, and through the mediimi of 
 the All'jemeine Deutsche Bihliotheh, a periodical work established 
 by him about 17')5 in co-operation with Lessing and Mendelsohn, 
 exercised for nearly twenty years a widely-spread influence upon
 
 204 NOTES. 
 
 German literature. The severity of his criticisms, •written in a cold 
 prosaic spirit, involved him in many disputes ; among others, with 
 Wieland, Ficlite, Herder, Lavater, and Goethe. He had also given 
 offence to Goetlie, by publishing a parody on The Sufferings of 
 Werther, entitled " The Joys of Wcrtlicr," in which Werther is 
 made to slioot himself with a pistol loaded with chicken's blood, 
 and recovers and lives hap|)!ly. Goethe judiciously carried on the 
 joke by writing a continuation, in which Werther, though alive, is 
 represented as blinded by the blood, and bewailing his ill fortune in 
 not being able to see the beauties of Charlotte. Goethe says that 
 his reply, though only circulated in manuscript, deprived Nicolai of 
 all literary consideration. He speaks of him as a man of talent, 
 but incapable of allowing merit in anything which went the least 
 beyond his own contracted notions of excellence : — 
 
 " Was schiert mich der Berliner Bann 
 Geschmacklcr-Ptaffenwesen ! 
 Und wer micli nicht verstehen kann 
 Der leine besser lesen." — Goethe. 
 
 " To the very last," says Mr. Carlyle, " Nicolai never could 
 persuade himself, that there was anything in heaven or earth that was 
 not dreamt of in his philosophy. He was animated with a fierce 
 zeal against Jesuits ; in this, most people thought him partly right; 
 but when he wrote against Kant's philosophy, without comprehend- 
 ing it, and judged of poetry as he judged of Brunswick mum, by 
 its utility, many people thought him wrong. A man of such 
 spiritual habitudes is now by the Germans called a Philister, Phi- 
 listine. Nicolai earned for himself the painful pre-eminence of 
 being Erz- Philistine, Arch-Philistine." — German Romance, vol. 
 iv. p. 15. 
 
 In 1791 mental agitation produced such an effect on his nerves, 
 that for several weeks he appeared to himself continually sur- 
 rounded with phantoms, whom he distinctly knew, however, to be 
 mere creations of his imagination. An account of his malady, 
 drawTi up by the sufferer himself, is quoted by Dr. Hibbert 
 (Theory of Apparitions) and may be seen in Nicholson's Philoso- 
 phical Journal, vol. vi. p. 161. Bleeding by leeches was one of 
 the remedies resorted to ; this explains the subsequent allusion to 
 them. He died in 1811. 
 
 The phrase, es spuJct in Tegel, has sadly puzzled both translators and 
 commentators. Tegel is a small place about eigth or ten miles from 
 Berlin. In the year 1799, the inhabitants of Berlin, wlio pride them- 
 selves very highly on their enlightenment, were fairly taken in by the
 
 NOTES. 205 
 
 story of a ghost, said to haunt the dwelling of a Mr. Schulz at 
 Tegel. No less than two commissions of distinguished persons 
 set forth to investigate tlie character of the apparition. The first 
 betook themselves to the house on the 1 3th of September, 1 797, 
 waited from eleven at night till one in the morning, hoard a noise, 
 aud saw nothing. The second party were more fortunate, for one 
 of them rushed with such precipitation towards the place from 
 v.hence the noise proceeded, tliat tlie ghost was under the necessity of 
 decamping in a hurry, leaving the instruments with which he made 
 the noise (very clumsy contrivances) as spotiaopimci to the conque- 
 rors. Thus began and ended the Tegel ghost's career, who how- 
 ever fully rivalled our Cock-lane ghost in celebrity, and gave rise 
 to a good deal of controversy. This statement is taken from an 
 account published in 1798, in 8vo, with the motto : — " Parturiunt 
 montes, nascctur ridiculus mus." Dr. Hitzig (to whom I am in- 
 debted for it) proposes the following interpretation : — 
 
 " We Berlin folks (enlightened by me Nicolai) are so wise (so 
 free from prsjudice) and Tegel is haunted notwithstanding (we not- 
 withstanding suffer our heads to be turned by a ghost story, so 
 stupid as this of Tegel.") 
 
 Shelley and M. Stapfer say Brocktophantasmist. This alteration 
 destroys the etymology, which the allusion to the leeches shows to 
 be npaiKTOS. 
 
 P. 130. A red mouse jumped out of Iter mouth. — " The follow- 
 ing incident occurred at a nobleman's seat at Thiiringcn, about the 
 'oeginning of the seventeenth century. The servants were paring 
 fruit in the room, when a girl becoming sleepy, left the others and 
 laid herself down, apart but not far off, on a bank, to repose. After 
 she had lain still a short time, a little red mouse crept out of her 
 mouth, which was open. Most of the people saw it, and showed it 
 to one another. The mouse ran hastily to the open window, crept 
 through, and remained a short space without. A forward waiting- 
 maid, whose curiosity was excited by what she saw, spite of the re- 
 monstrances of the rest, went up to the inanimate maiden, shook 
 her, and removed her to another place a little further off, and then 
 left her. Shortly afterwards the mouse returned, ran to the former 
 familiar spot, where it had crept out of the maiden's mouth, ran up 
 and down as if it could not find its way and was at a loss what to 
 do, and then disappeared. Tlie maiden, however, was dead, and 
 remained dead. The forward waiting-maid repented of wliat she 
 had done in vain. In tlie same establishment, a lad had before then 
 been often tormented by the sorceress and could have no peace ; 
 this ceased on the maiden's death." — Deutsche Sagen, No. 247.
 
 206 NOTES. 
 
 The same ■work contains a story of two maidens who were acciiB- 
 tomed to dispatch their souls on evil errands in the shape of smoke, 
 and a stoiy of a maiden whose soul used to leave her in the shape 
 of a cat (Nos. 248, 249) ; but T find nothing about a gi'ay mouse. 
 
 P. 1 30. The hlood of man thickens at its chill looJc. — 
 
 " Her lips were red, her looks were free, 
 Her locks were yellow as gold, 
 Her skin was as white as leprosy, 
 The Night-Mair Life-in-Death was she 
 Who thicks man's blood with cold." — 
 
 Coleridge, Mime of the Ancient Mariner. 
 
 The term Idol must be understood in the sense of Eidolon. 
 
 P. 17'3-.- As meiryas in the Prater. — Alluding to the Prater 
 of Vienna. 
 
 P. 131. WJtcn I find you upon the Blochshcrg . — To wish a 
 man upon the Blocksberg — Ich wunsche den Kerl avf dem 
 Bloclcsberg — is like wishing him at the devil, in English. This 
 speech has in German the effect of a pun. 
 
 P. 133. Tlie Intermezzo. — It is quite impossible to convey to 
 the English reader more than a very faint notion of this scene. 
 The effect is produced almost exclusively by satirical allusions, 
 quaintly rhymed, to things and persons not generally known even 
 in Germany ; though no one who has ever witnessed the dehght 
 with which Gennans belonging to the inner circle of educated 
 society dwell upon it, can doubt that it possesses merit of a high 
 order in its way. It is impossible to explain all the allusions 
 without rambling far beyond the limits of a note. I must, there- 
 fore, confine myself to such particulars as admit of compression. 
 
 The Midsummer Night's Dream and Wieland's Oberon have 
 furnished the basis of the first seven or eight stanzas and some of 
 the last. 
 
 Mieding, mentioned in the first couplet, was scene-painter to the 
 Weimar Theatre. Goethe has immortalised him by a little poem 
 on his death : — 
 
 " Wie ! Mieding todt ? erschallt bis untcr's Dacli 
 Das hohle Haus, von Echokehrt ein Ach! 
 Die Arbeit stockt, die Hand wird jedem schwcr, 
 Der Lelm wird halt, die Farhe fi,iesst nicht mehr."
 
 NOTES. 207 
 
 There are other lines in the poem, however, which would rather 
 lead me to suppose him stage-manager. He is mentioned by 
 Dohring (p. 198). 
 
 The Inquisitive Traveller is Nicolai ; and the allusion to the 
 stiff man smelling after Jesuits is to him. He had written Tra- 
 vels full of denunciations of popery. 
 
 I have been told that the words put into the mouth of the 
 northern artist are intended as a quiz on the style of expression 
 affected by the German artists of the day, but I rather think they 
 allude to Goethe's own Italian Journey, which might be almost 
 said to have revolutionised his mind. A distinguished Gorman 
 critic thinks that Femow is the person alluded to. 
 
 The Gods of Greece — Die Giitter Griccheiilands — is the title 
 of a well-known poem of Schiller's, which somewhat scandalised 
 the strict people of his day. Some useful notes upon it are con- 
 tained in Klattowsky's Manual. 
 
 The Purist is said to typify a school of critics who affected great 
 zeal for purity of expression, and strict attention to costume, upon 
 the stage. 
 
 The Xenien, as is well known, is the name given by Goethe and 
 Schiller to verses, mostly satirical or epigrammatical, which they 
 published fiom time to time in co-partnership. These formed an 
 important era in German literature. " A war of .all the few good 
 heads in the nation, with all the many bad ones, (says Mr. C.arlyle,) 
 began in SchiWers 3Iuscnalmanach for 1793. The Xenien (in 
 another place he names the Horcn along with them), a scries of 
 philosophic epigrams, jointly by Schiller and Goethe, descended 
 there unexpectedly, like a flood of ethereal fire, on the German 
 literary world ; quickening all that was noble into new life, but 
 visiting the ancient empire of dullness with astonishment and 
 unknown pangs." The war might have been commenced in this 
 manner, but the burden of maintaining it (as Mr. Carlyle himself 
 half admits in another place*) certainly fell upon the Schlcgels 
 and Ticck, to whose admirable critical productions the Xenien 
 bears about the same relation that the sharp-shooters bear to the 
 regular army. 
 
 The Genius of the Age and The Musaget were the names of 
 literary journals edited by Hennings ; who was at different times 
 in controversy with the Schlegcls, Schiller, and Goethe. Hennings 
 is also attacked in the Xenien. One of Goethe's minor poems is 
 entitled Die Musarjetcn. 
 
 The extent of tiie German Parnassus is an old joke. A few 
 
 ♦ German Romance, vol. ii,, p. 8.
 
 208 NOTES. 
 
 years since it was com])uted that there were no less than fourteen 
 thousand living authors in Germany. Goethe wrote a little poem 
 entitled Dcutscher Parnass, in which he spiritedly apostrophises 
 the invading crowd : — 
 
 " Ach, die Biische sind geknickt ! 
 Ach, die Blumen sind erstickt ! 
 Von der Sohlen dieser Brut — 
 Wer hegegnet ihrer Wuth ?" 
 
 The Crane is said to mean Herder. To the best of my informa- 
 tion, Irrlkhtcr means •parvenus : and Sternschnuppe a sort of 
 poetical Icarus, who mounts like a rocket and comes down like the 
 stick. Most of the other allusions refer to well-known classes ir 
 society, or to sects or schools in metaphyaical philosophy. 
 
 M. de Schlegel told me that the allusions in the Intermezzo 
 were not present to his memory, and finding that it would cost him 
 some trouble to recover the train, I did not press my request for an 
 exjilanation of them, though his very interesting letter on Goethe's 
 Triumph der EmpJiiidsamJccit, addressed to M. de Re'musat and 
 published in the third volume of the Theatre Allemand, was a 
 powerful temptation. The first paragraph of this letter may help 
 to explain why it is so diificult to write notes upon Goethe : 
 — " J'ai vecu quelques anne'es pres de Goethe (says M. de Schlegel) 
 lorsqu'il e'tait dans la force de I'age et dans la maturite de son 
 genie; j'ai souvent passe' des joume'es entieres avec lui, et nous 
 avons beaucoup cause' sur scs ouvrages ; mais il n'aimait guere a 
 doTiner des explications, comme aussi il n'a jamais voulu faire des 
 prefaces " 
 
 M. Vai'nhagen von Ensc tells me that many more verses were 
 originally composed for the Intermezzo. 
 
 Goldene Ilochzeit means the fiftieth anniversary of a marriage ; 
 Silberne Hoclizeit, the twenty-fifth. 
 
 P. 140. Sentence-passing, unfeeling man. — 
 
 " plead 
 With famine, or wind-walking pestilence. 
 Blind lightning, or the deaf sea, not with man ! 
 Cruel, cold, formal, man." — 
 
 Shelley — The Cenci. 
 
 P. 140. To roll before the feet, <fcc. — This alludes to a prevalent 
 superstition, that evil spirits will sometimes place tlicmselves in the 
 path of a foot passenger, iu the shape of a dog or other animal, with
 
 NOTES. L'09 
 
 the view of tripping liim up and springing upon liim when down. 
 Thus Caliban, in allusion to the spirits set upon him by Prospeio : — 
 
 " Some time like apes, that moe and chatter at nie, 
 And after, bite me ; then like hedge-hogs, which 
 Lie tumbling iu mv bare-foot way." 
 
 Temj)est, Act ii. sc. 2. 
 
 P. 143. What aretlicy iforhinfj — about the Ravenstone yonder 1 
 — The Rahensteiii is so called because ravens are often seen hover- 
 ing round it. Retzsch's outline is the best commentary. 
 
 P. 144. And her crime was a good delusion. — 
 
 " Wehe ! — menschlich hat diess Her/, cmpfunden ! 
 Und Empfindung soil mein Richtschwert seyn ! 
 Well' ! vom Arm des falschen Mann's umwunden 
 Sidilief Luisen's Tugend ein." — Schiller. 
 
 P. 144. My mother, the whore, <i:c. — This song is founded on 
 a popular German story, to be found in the Kinder-und Haiis- 
 Marchtn of the distinguished brothers Grimm, under the title of 
 Van den Muchandel-Boom, and in the English selection from 
 that work (entitled German Popular Storits) under the title of 
 The Juniper Tree. — The wife of a rich m.an, whilst standing under 
 a juniper tree, wishes for a little child as white as snow and as red 
 as blood ; and on another occasion expresses a wish to be buried 
 under the junijjer when dead. Soon after, a little boy as white as 
 snow and as red as blood is born : the mother dies of joy at behold- 
 ing it, and is buried according to her wish. Tlie husband marries 
 again, and has a daughter. The second wife, becoming jealous of 
 the boy, murders him and serves him up at table for the unconscious 
 father to eat. Tlie father finishes the whole dish, and throws the 
 bones under the table. The little girl, who is made the innocent 
 assistant in her mother's villany, picks them up, ties them in a 
 silk handkerchief, and buries them under the juniper tree. The 
 tree begins to move its branches mysteriously, and then a kind of 
 cloud rises from it, a fire appears in the cloud, and out of the fire 
 comes a beautiful bird, which flies about singing the following 
 song : — 
 
 " Min Moder dc mi slacht't, 
 Min Vadcr de mi att, 
 Min Swcster de Marlecnken 
 Siicht alle mine Bcenikcn, 
 P
 
 210 NOTES. 
 
 Un bindt sie in cen s_vden Dook, 
 
 Lcgts unner den Machandelboom ; 
 
 Kywitt ! Kywitt ! ach watt en schon Vagcl bin ich ?" 
 
 The literal translation would be — 
 
 My motlier wlio slew me, 
 
 My ftither who ate me, 
 
 My sister Mary Anne 
 
 Gathers all my bones 
 
 And binds them up in a silk handkerchief, 
 
 Lays them under tlie juniper tree. 
 
 Kywitt ! Kywitt ! ah wliat a beautiful bird am I. 
 
 It will be doing an acceptable service to those who love to trace 
 poetical analogies, to remind thum of Wordsworth's exquisite little 
 poem of Ruth : — 
 
 " God help thee, Rutli ! Such pains she had 
 That she in half a year was mad, 
 And in a prison housed ; 
 And there she sang tumultuous songs. 
 By recollection of her wrongs. 
 To fearful passion roused." 
 
 P. 145. I was fair, too, and that was my undoing. — 
 " Trauet nicht den Rosen eurer Jugend, 
 Trauet, Schwcstcrn, Mannerschwiiren nie ! 
 Schonheit war die Falle niciner Tugend 
 Auf der Richstatt hier veriluch' ich sie !" 
 
 Schiller. 
 
 Most readers will recollect Filicaja's sonnet, and the beautiful 
 stanzas in Childe Harold founded on it : — 
 
 " Italia ! oh Italia ! thou who hast 
 The fatal gift of beauty." 
 
 Canto 4, Stanzas 42 <fc 43. 
 
 " Yet Vane could tell what ills from beauty spring, 
 And Sedley cursed the form that pleased a king." 
 
 .Tohnson, Vanity of Human Wishes. 
 
 P. 147. Let what is past, be past. — 
 
 « Oh Mutter! Mutter! Hin ist bin 
 Verloren ist verloren ! 
 Der Tod, der Tod ist mein Gewinn, 
 war' ich nie gcboren !" 
 
 Burger, Lciiore.
 
 NOTES. 211 
 
 P. 148. Keep the path up hy the brook — over the bridge — into 
 the wood — to the leftfWliere the planh'is. — 
 
 " Half-breathless from the steep hill's edge 
 They tracked the footmarks small ; 
 And through the broken hawthorn-hedge, 
 And by the long stone-wall. 
 
 And then an open field they crossed : 
 The marks were still the same ; 
 They tracked them on, nor ever lost ; 
 And to the bridge they came. 
 
 They followed from the snowy bank 
 Those footmarks, one by one, 
 Into the middle of the plank ; 
 And further there were none !" 
 
 Wordsworth, Lucy Gray. 
 
 P. 1 48. The utaff breaks, — The signal for the executioner to do 
 his duty, is given by the breaking of a wand or staff. 
 
 P. 148. 77ie blood-seat. — " This alludes to the German custom 
 of tying the unfortunate female that is to be beheaded on a wooden 
 chair. Males on such melancholy occasions are kneeling on a little 
 heap of sand." — Boileau's Remarks, p. 19. 
 
 P. 149. Ye Holy Hosts, rawje yourselves round about to 
 (juard me. — 
 
 " Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings, 
 Ye heavenly guards !" — Hamlet, Act 3, Sc. 4. 
 
 P. 149. Slie is judged. — Some difference of opinion prevails as 
 to the concluding sentences of this scene. The more poetical inter- 
 pretation is, that Margaret dies after pronouncing the last words 
 assigned to her ; that the judgment of Heaven is pronounced upon 
 her as her spirit parts ; tliat I\Ic])histopheles announces it in his 
 usual sardonic and deceitful style ; that the voice from above makes 
 known its real purport ; and that the voice from within, dying away, 
 is Margaret's spirit calling to her lover on its way to heaven, whilst 
 her body lies dead upon tlic stage. This is the only mode in which 
 thr- voice from, vntliin, dyinr/ away, can be accounted for. M. de 
 Schlegel, however, certainly the highest living authority on such 
 
 P 2
 
 212 NOTES, 
 
 matters, says : "(S'te ist gerichiet, se rappoite a la sentence de mort 
 prononcee par le juge ; les mots suivants, Sie ist gerettet, au salut 
 de son ame." It has been contended that Sie ist gerichtet refers 
 both to the judgment in heaven and to the judgment upon earth. 
 As to the translation of the passage, no doubt can well exist, for 
 richten is literally to judge, and is constantly used in the precise 
 sense the above interpretation attributes to it; for instance, Die 
 Lehendigen und die Todten zu richten, to judge tJie quick and 
 the dead.
 
 APPENDIX.
 
 APPENDIX, No. I. 
 
 CONTAINING AN ABSTRACT OF THE SECOND PART OF FAUST, AND 
 SOME ACCOUNT OF THE CIRCUMSTANCES UNDER WHICH IT 
 WAS COMPOSED. 
 
 The heading, or stage direction, of the first scene is — " A 
 pleasant country — Faust bedded upon flowery turf, tired, 
 restless, endeavouring to sleep — Twilight — a circle of spi- 
 rits hovering round, graceful little forms." Ariel opens it 
 with a song, accompanied by ^Eolian harps ; the other 
 spirits form" a chorus, and Faust gives voice to the emo- 
 tions which the rising sun (very beautifully described) 
 awakens in him. 
 
 The next scene is laid in the emperor's court — what em- 
 peror, does not appear. He is seated in full pomp upon 
 his throne, surrounded by all his officers of state, to whom 
 he condescendingly addresses himself ; — " I greet my true, 
 my loving subjects, congregated from far and near ; I see 
 the sage (meaning the astrologer) at my side, but where 
 tarries'the fool 1 " The fool, it seems, has just been carried 
 out drunk or in a fit, most probably by the contrivance of 
 Mephistopheles, who instantly steps forward in his place 
 and proposes a riddle to his majesty. He puts it aside 
 with the remark, that riddles are for his council, and only 
 (it is to be inferred) simple, unadulterated folly for himself. 
 The new fool, however, is regularly installed ; the emperor 
 opens tlie conference, and all the high officers give their 
 opinions upon the existing state of the realm, than which 
 nothing can well be worse. The chancellor complains of the
 
 216 APPENDIX. 
 
 neglect of the laws., the commander-in-chief of the insub- 
 ordination of the army, the marshal of the household of 
 the waste in the kitchen, and the tirst lord of the treasury 
 expatiates on the empty state of his coiFers,the grand source 
 of all the other evils. The emperor, sorely puzzled, reflects 
 a moment, and then turns to the fool, or rather to jNIephis- 
 topheles disguised as such : " Speak, fool, dost thou too 
 know of no matter of complaint ? " Mephistopheles replies 
 in the negative, and expresses his astonishment that any- 
 thing should be wanting where so much glittering splen- 
 dour was to be seen. This calls forth a murmur from the 
 courtiers, and Mephistopheles is made the subject of a fair 
 share of insinuation and abuse ; but he proceeds notwith- 
 standing and developes his plan, which is to begin digging 
 for subterraneous treasures immediately ; as all such, he 
 observes, belong of right to the emperor. This plan is 
 generally approved by all but the chancellor, who does not 
 think it in exact accordance with religion ; and the emperor 
 himself declares his intention of laying aside his sword and 
 sceptre, and setting to work in his own proper person im- 
 mediately. The astrologer, however, calls on them to 
 mitigate their zeal, and first finish the celebration of the 
 approaching carnival. The emperor assents, and gives the 
 word for a general rejoicing accordingly ; the trumpets 
 sound, and exeunt omnes but Mephistopheles, who con- 
 cludes the scene vnth a sneer : " How desert and good for- 
 tune are linked together, this never occurs to fools ; if they 
 had the stone of the philosopher, they would want the 
 philosopher for the stone." 
 
 The subject of the next scene is a mask got up by Faust 
 for the amusement of the emperor, irregular and extra- 
 vagant in the extreme. Gardeners, flower-girls, olive- 
 branches, rose-buds, fishermen, bird-catchers, wood-hewers, 
 parasites, satirists, the Graces, the Parcse, the Furies, Fear, 
 Hope, Prudence, Zoilo-Thersites, Pan, Plutus, Fauns, 
 Gnomes, Satyrs, Nymphs, are amongst the things and per- 
 sons which come forward in the course of the entertainment. 
 The verses placed in their mouths are often very beautiful, 
 but appear to have no reference to a plot. There is also 
 some clever general satire. The scene closes, like most of
 
 APPENPIX 217 
 
 our melodianies, with a general blaze, which is also de- 
 scribed with great spirit by the herald. 
 
 The next scene is in one of the palace pleasure gardens, 
 where the court is found assembled as before, and the em- 
 peror is represented thanking Faust for the mask and con- 
 gratulating himself on having discovered such a treasure of 
 a man. Their converse is suddenly interrupted by the en- 
 trance of the marshal of the household, the commander-in- 
 chief and the lord treasurer, to announce that all their dis- 
 tresses have been suddenly removed by the creation of an 
 odd sort of paper-money, bills promising payment in the 
 emperor's name when the subterranean treasure before 
 mentioned shall be dug up. The circulation of this paper 
 appears to have produced nearly the same effect in the em- 
 peror's dominions as the South Sea scheme in England or 
 Law's project in France, which, we presume, it must be in- 
 tended to ridicule. The people are represented as running 
 absolutely wild at their fancied accession of wealth, and the 
 emperor amuses himself by bestowing portions of it on the 
 followers of his court, on condition of their declaring what 
 use they intend to make of what they receive. The hu- 
 mour thus elicited does not rise beyond common-place, 
 One says that he will lead a merry life upon it, a second 
 that he will buy chains and rings for his sweetheart, a third 
 has a fancy for good wine, and a fourth for sausages ; a fifth 
 proposes to redeem his mortgages, and a sixth to add it to 
 his hoard. The fool comes last, and might well have been 
 expected to say something sharp, but he simply avows a 
 wish to become a landholder, and yet is complimented by 
 Mephistopheles on his wit. Faust and Mephistopheles are 
 then represented walking in a dark gallery, whither Faust 
 has withdrawn Mephistopheles to procure the means of 
 exhibiting Helen and Paris before the emperor, to whom 
 he has pledged his word to that effect. Mephistopheles 
 answers at first evasively : he has nothing (he says) to do 
 with the heathen world, they live in a hell of their own ; 
 there is one mode, however ; — Faust must repair to certain 
 goddesses called, par fitninence. The Mothers,* dwelling in 
 
 • I "have never yet met with any one who could tell mc what 
 Die Mutkr means.
 
 218 APPENDIX. 
 
 the deepest recesses of unearthly solitudes, through which 
 he is to be guided by a key bestowed for that purpose by 
 Mephistopheles. Faust shudders at the name, but under- 
 takes the adventure and sets out. 
 
 The following scene represents the assembling of the 
 court ; Mephistopheles cures a blonde beauty of freckles, 
 and a brunette of lameness, and bestows a love-potion on 
 a third ; after which exploits, we proceed to the grand hall, 
 where the emperor and his suite are awaiting the aixival of 
 Faust for the promised spectacle to begin. He appears at 
 last, emerging as it were from the stage ; he is dressed in 
 sacrificial robes, and a tripod accompanies him. By the aid 
 of the Mothers, and the application of a chai-med key which 
 he has with him, he brings first Paris and then Helen upon 
 the stage. For a time, all goes on well, and we are amused 
 by the remarks of the courtiers, male and female, on the 
 beauty and her lover, when on Paris behaving with some- 
 thing like rudeness to Helen, Faust gets jealous and inter- 
 feres. An explosion is heard, the spirits ascend in vapour, 
 and Faust, prostrated by the shock, is borne off senseless 
 by Mephistopheles. 
 
 So ends the first act. At the commencement of the se- 
 cond, we find Faust laid on an old-fashioned bed in his old 
 study, with Mephistopheles attending him. " He whom 
 Helen paralyses (says the latter) comes not easily to his 
 senses again." From a conversation between Mephisto- 
 pheles and an attendant, it appears that, ever since Faust's 
 disappearance, Wagner has lived on in his house, and has 
 now attained to almost as great a reputation as his master. 
 At the opening of the scene, he has been long busied in 
 his laboratory, endeavouring, like another Frankenstein, 
 to discover the principle of life. To make the train of old 
 associations complete, the Student, now a Bachelor, enters, 
 and thus affords us an opportunity of seeing how far he 
 has profited by Mephistopheles' advice. It seems that he 
 is become a convert to Idealism, and he makes a speech 
 in which Fichte's system is quizzed. 
 
 After this dialogue we are conducted into Wagner's 
 laboratory, who has just succeeded in manufacturing an 
 Homunculus, a clever little imp, incarcerated in a bottle,
 
 APPEXDIX. 219 
 
 bearing a strong resemblance to the Devil upon Two Sticks. 
 He is introduced apparently to act as a guide to the Clas- 
 sical Walpurgis Night ; Mephistopheles, as has been 
 already intimated, having no jurisdiction over the heathen 
 world. Of this Classical ^Valpurgis Night itself, which 
 occupies the next sixty or seventy pages, it is quite impos- 
 sible to give anything like a regular description or analysis ; 
 though the readers of the First Part of Faust may form 
 some notion of it on being told, that it is formed upon 
 pretty nearly the same plan as the wilder part of the 
 scenes upon the Blocksberg, with the difference, that all 
 the characters are classical. The number of these is pro- 
 digious. Besides monsters of various sorts, we find Erichtho, 
 the Sphynx, the Sirens, the Pigmies, the Nymphs, Chiron, 
 talking Dactyls, Lamiaj, Anaxagoras, Thales, Dryas, Phor- 
 kyas, Nereids, Tritons, Nereus, Proteus, and many other 
 less familiar names whichit would be wearisome to recapitu- 
 late, all scattering apophthegms or allusions at random, with 
 (we say it with all due humility) very little immediate 
 fitness or point. 
 
 The Helena, which in some sense may be considered a 
 part of the Classical Walpurgis Night, follows, and forms 
 the third act of the continuation.* 
 
 Helen enters upon the stage (before the palace of Mene- 
 laus at Sparta) accompanied by a chorus of captive Trojan 
 women. From her opening speech, it appears that she has 
 just landed with her lord, who has sent her on before, and 
 is expected to follow immediately. She has been directed 
 to prepare all things for a sacrifice, but on entering the 
 palace for this purpose, she encounters an apparition in 
 the shape of a gigantic old woman, who, before Helen has 
 well done relating what she had seen to the chorus, comes 
 forth in propria persona. This is Phorkyas, who begins 
 by upbraiding Helen, and gets into a not very edifying 
 squabble with her maids. But the main object is to 
 frighten them away ; with this view Phorkyas plays on 
 Helen's fears by suggesting, that, amidst all the required pre- 
 parations for the sacrifice, nothing had yet transpired as to 
 
 * See an Article in the Foreigrn Review, vol. i., p. 429, by Mr. 
 C.nrlyle, for a full account of the Helena.
 
 220 APPENDIX. 
 
 the intended victim, and that the victim was most probably 
 herself. It is further intimated that the chorus had nothing 
 very pleasing to look forward to, and Menelaus' treatment 
 of Deiphobus, whose nose and ears he cropped, is consi- 
 derately alluded to in illustration of the Spartan chief's 
 mode of dealing with his enemies. The plan succeeds, 
 and the Queen consents to fly to a neighbouring country 
 of barbarians, described in glowing colours by Phorkyas. 
 Instantly clouds veil the scene, which shifts to the inner 
 court of a town, surrounded by rich fantastic buildings of 
 the middle ages. She is here received by Faust, tlie lord 
 of the place, who appears dragging along one Lynceus, his 
 watchman, in chains, for not giving due notice of the 
 beauty's approach. Lynceus excuses himself in line flow- 
 ing verse, and receives his pardon as a matter of course. 
 Faust makes good use of his time, and is rapidly growing 
 into high favour with Helen, when Phorkyas rushes in 
 with the tidings that Menelaus, with all his army, is at 
 hand. Faust starts up to encounter the enemy, but, in- 
 stead of being turned into a battle field, the scene changes 
 into a beautiful Arcadian landscape, set round with leafy 
 bowers, amongst which Faust and Helen contrive to lose 
 themselves for a time. Whilst they are out of sight, 
 Phorkyas converses with the chorus, and amongst other 
 topics describes to them a beautiful Cupid-like sort of boy, 
 called Euphorion, who directly afterwards comes forward 
 with Helen and Faust. This youngster, after exhorting 
 by turns all the party to merriment, and behaving with 
 some rudeness to one of the young ladies of the chorus, 
 who out of sheer modesty vanishes into air, springs upon 
 a high rock, talks wildly about battles and warlike fame, 
 and finislies by bounding up into the air, through which 
 he darts like a rocket, with a stream of brightness in his 
 train, leaving his clothes and lyre upon the ground. The 
 act now hurries to a conclusion ; Helen bids Faust fare- 
 well, and throws herself into his arms to give him a fare- 
 well kiss, but the corporeal part of her vanishes, and only 
 her veil and vest remain in his embrace. These, however, 
 also dissolve into clouds, which encircle Faust, lift him up 
 on high, and finally fly away with him. Phorkyas picks
 
 APFEXDIX. 221 
 
 up Euphorion's clothes and l3a-e, and seats lierself by a 
 pillar iii the front of the stage. The leader of the chorus, 
 supposing her to be gone for good and all, exhorts the 
 chorus to avail themselves of the opportunity of returning 
 to Hades, which they decline, saying, that as they have 
 been given back to the light of the day, they prefer re- 
 maining there, though at the same time well aware that 
 they are no longer to be considered as persons. One part 
 profess an intention of remaining as Hamadryads, living 
 among and having their being in trees ; a second propose 
 to exist as echos ; a third, to be the animating spirits of 
 brooks ; and a fourth, to take up their abode in vineyards. 
 After this declaration of their respective intentions, the 
 curtain falls, and Phorkyas, laying aside the mask and veil, 
 comes forward in his or her real character of JVIephisto- 
 pheles, " to comment (this is the stage direction) so far as 
 might be necessary, in the way of epilogue, on the piece." 
 The fourth act is conversant with more familiar matters, 
 but its bearing on the main action is equally remote. The 
 scene is a high mountain. A cloud comes down and breaks 
 apart : Faust steps forth and soliloquises : a seven-mile 
 boot walks up ; then another : then Mephistopheles, upon 
 whose appearance the boots hurry off, and we see and hear 
 no more of them. A dialogue takes place between Faust 
 and ^lephistopheles, in the course of which it appears 
 that Faust has formed some new desire, which he tells 
 Mephistopheles to guess. He guesses empire, pleasure, 
 gloiy, but it is none of them : Faust has grown jealous of 
 the daily encroachments of the sea, and his wish is step by 
 step to shut it out. Just as this wish is uttered, the sound 
 of trumpets is heard ; the cause is explained by Mephisto- 
 pheles. Our old friend, the emperor, is advancing to en- 
 counter a rival, whom his ungrateful subjects have set up, 
 Mephistopheles proposes to Faust to aid him and gain from 
 his gi-atitude the grant of a boundless extent of strand for 
 their experiment, to which Faust apparently consents. 
 Three spirits are called up by Mephistopheles, in the 
 guise of armed men,* to assist. Faust joins the emperor's 
 
 * Sec Samuel, b. ii. ch. x\.iii. v. 8 — 13.
 
 222 APPENDIX. 
 
 army and proifers him the aid of his men. The fight 
 commences, and is won by the magical assistance of Faust. 
 Some of the changes of the battle are sketched with great 
 force and sjjirit, as seen from the rising ground, where 
 the emperor, Faust and Mephistopheles aie witnessing it.* 
 The last scene of the act is laid in the rebel emperor's 
 tent, where several plunderers are busily engaged until 
 disturbed by the entrance of the victorious emperor with 
 four of his chiefs, each of whom he rewards with some 
 post of honour. Then enters an archbishop, who i-e- 
 reproaches the emperor for leaguing himself with sorcerers, 
 and succeeds in extorting a handsome endowment for the 
 church. 
 
 The first scene of the fifth and last act represents an 
 aged couple (Baucis and Philemon by name), extending 
 their hospitality to a stranger. From a few words which 
 drop from them, it appears that their cottage stands in the 
 way of Faust's improvements and that, Ahab-like, he has 
 already manifested an undue eagerness to possess himself 
 of it. The next scene represents a palace, with an exten- 
 sive pleasure garden and a large canal. Faust appears in 
 extreme old age, and plunged in thought. The subject of 
 his meditations is the cottage of the old couple, which 
 " comes him cramping in," and spoils the symmetiy of his 
 estate. A richly laden vessel arrives, but the cargo fails 
 to soothe him ; the little property which he does not pos- 
 sess would embitter, he says, the possession of a world. 
 All is now deep night, and Lynceus the watchman is on 
 his tower, when a fire bi^eaks out in the cottage of the old 
 couple. Mephistopheles, with three sailors belonging to 
 the vessel, has set fire to the cottage, and the old couple 
 perish in the conflagration. Without any immediate con- 
 nection with the foregoing incidents, four grey old women 
 are brought upon the stage — Guilt, Want, Care, and Misery 
 — and hold an uninteresting conversationwith Faust. We 
 
 * There is hardly a description of any sort in the poem which 
 is not placed in the mouth of some one looking down from a com- 
 mandinir point of view upon the scene. This was Sir Walter Scott's 
 favourite mode of describing. Several instances are enumerated in 
 Mr. L. Adolpluis' Letters on the Author of Waverley p. 242
 
 APPENDIX. 223 
 
 have then jNIephistopheles acting as overseer to a set of 
 workmen (earthly as well as unearthly, it would seem) 
 employed in consummating Faust's wish of limiting the 
 dominion of the waves. I shall give Faust's dying words 
 literally : — 
 
 Faiist. " A marsh extends along the mountain's foot, in- 
 fecting all that is already won : to draw off the noisome pool 
 — the last would be the crowning success ; I lay open a space 
 for many millions to dwell upon, not safely it is true, but in 
 free activity ; the plain, green, and fruitful ; men and 
 flocks forthwith made happy on the newest soil, forthwith 
 settled on the mound's tirm base, which the eager industry 
 of the people has thrown up. Here within, a land like 
 Paradise ; there without, the flood may rage up to the brim, 
 and as it nibbles powerfully to shoot in, the community 
 throngs to close up the openings. Yes, heart and soul am 
 I devoted to this wish ; this is the last resolve of wisdom. 
 He only deserves freedom and life, who is daily compelled 
 to conquer them for himself ; and thus here, hemmed 
 round by danger, bring childhood, manhood, and old age, 
 their well-spent years to a close. I would fain see such 
 a busy multitude, — stand upon free soil with free people. 
 I might then say to the moment — ' Stay, thou art so fair !' 
 The trace of my earthly days cannot perish in centuries. 
 In the presentiment of such exalted bliss, I now enjoy the 
 most exalted moment. 
 
 [Faust sinks hack ; the Lemures take him up and place 
 him upon the (/round. 
 
 Mephistopheles. No pleasure satisfies him, no happiness 
 contents him ; so is he ever in pursuit of changing forms : 
 the last, the worst, the empty moment, the poor one 
 ^^■ishes to hold it fast. He who withstood me so vigorously ! 
 Time has obtained the mastery ; here lies the greybeard 
 in the dust ! The clock stands still ! 
 
 C/iorus-. Stands still ! It is as silent as midnight. The 
 index hand falls." 
 
 The angels descend, and a contest ensues between them 
 and Mephistopheles, backed by his devils, for the soul of 
 Faust. It is eventually won by the angels, who succeed 
 by exciting the passions and so distracting the attention
 
 224 APPENDIX. 
 
 of Mephistopheles. They fly off, and he is left solilo- 
 quising thus : — 
 
 Mephistopheles (looking round). " But how ? whither 
 are they gone ? Young as you are, you have over-reached 
 me. They have flown heavenwards with the booty ; for 
 this they have been nibbling at this grave ! a great, sin- 
 gularly precious treasure has been wrested from me ; the 
 exalted soul which had pledged itself to me, this have 
 they cunningly smuggled away from me. To whom must 
 I now complain ? Who will regain my fairly won right 
 for me ? Thou art cheated in thy old days ; thou hast 
 deserved it ; matters turn out fearfully ill for thee. I 
 have scandalously mismanaged matters ; a great outlay, 
 to my shame, is thrown away ; common desire, absurd 
 amorousness, take possession of the out-pitched devil. 
 And if the old one, with all the wisdom of experience, 
 has meddled in this childish, silly business, in truth, it is 
 no small folly which possesses him at the clo^e." 
 
 The last scene is headed — " Mountain defiles — Forest 
 — Rock — Desert." The characters introduced are An- 
 chorites, Fathers, Angels, and a band of female Penitents, 
 amongst whom we recognise Margaret rejoicing over the 
 salvation of Faust. The verses placed in their mouths 
 are often very beautiful, but have little connection with 
 each other and no reference to a plot. 
 
 I will now add what has transpired as to the circum- 
 stances under which the continuation was composed. The 
 first scene (down to p. 63 of the original) and the whole of 
 the third act (the flelena) were published during Goethe's 
 lifetime, in the last complete edition of his works. His 
 views in publishing the Helena were explained in the 
 Kiinst und AUerthum by himself. The following extract 
 applies to the general plan of the continuation : " 1 could 
 not but wonder that none of those who undertook a con- 
 tinuation and completion of my Fragments (the First Part) 
 liad lighted upon the thought seemingly so obvious, that 
 the composition of a Second Part must necessarily elevate 
 itself altogether away from the hamj^ered sphere of the 
 First, and conduct a man of such a nature into higher re- 
 gions, under worthier circumstances. How I, for my part
 
 APPENDIX. 225 
 
 had determined to essay this, lay silently before my own 
 mind from time to time, exciting me to some progress ; 
 while from all and each I carefully guarded my secret, 
 still in hope of bringing the work to the wished-for issue." 
 
 I am also enabled to state in his own words the manner 
 in which this wished-for issue was brought about : — 
 
 " I have now arranged the Second Part of Faust, which, 
 during the last four years, 1 have taken up again in earnest, 
 filled up chasms and connected together the matter I had 
 ready by me. from beginning to end. 
 
 '• I hope I have succeeded in obliterating all ditFerence 
 between Earlier and Later. 
 
 '■ I have known for a long time what I wanted, and even 
 how I wanted it, and have borne it about within nie for so 
 many years as an inward tale of wonder — but I only exe- 
 cuted portions which from time to time peculiarly attracted 
 me. The Second Part, then, must not and could not be so 
 fragmentary as the First. The reason has more claim upon 
 it, as has been seen in the part already printed. It has 
 indeed at last required a most vigorous determination to 
 ■vork up the whole together in such a manner that it could 
 stand before a cultivated mind. 1, therefore, made a firm 
 resolution that it should be finished before my birth-day. 
 And so it was ; the whole lies before me, and I have only 
 trifles to alter. And thus I seal it up ; and then it may 
 increase the specific gravity of my succeeding volumes, be 
 they what they may. 
 
 " If it contains problems enough, (inasmuch as, like the 
 history of man, the last solved problem ever produces a 
 new one to solve,) it will nevertheless please those who 
 understand by a gesture, a wink, a slight indication. They 
 will find in it more than I could give. 
 
 " And thus is a heavy stone now rolled over the summit 
 of the mountain, and down on the other side. Others, how- 
 ever, still lie behind me, which must be pushed onwards, 
 that it may be fulfilled which was written, 'Such labour 
 hath God appointed to man.' " — Letter to Meyer, dated 
 Weimar, July 20th, 1831. 
 
 1 copy this from Mrs. Austin's Charact/sristics, in which 
 two other interesting passages relating to the same subject
 
 226 APPKNDIX. 
 
 occur. The following is translated from the Bihlothequc 
 Universelle of Geneva : — 
 
 " Having once secured complete tranquillity on this head 
 (his will), Goethe resumed his usual habits, and hastened 
 to put the last hand to his unpublislied works ; either to 
 publish them himself, if Heaven should grant him two or 
 three years more of life, or to put them in a condition to 
 be intrusted to an editor without burdening him with the 
 responsibility of the corrections. He began with the most 
 pressing. The Second Part of Faust was not finished ; 
 Helena, which forms the third act, had been composed 
 more than thirty years before, with the exception of the 
 end, which is much more recent, and which certainly does 
 not go back further than 1825. The two preceding acts 
 had just been finished — there remained the two last. 
 Goethe composed the fifth act first : then, but a few weeks 
 before his death, he crowned his work by the fourth. This 
 broken manner of working was, perhaps, not alvvays his ; 
 but it is explained in this case by the care he took to con- 
 ceive his plan entire before he began to execute it ; to re- 
 flect upon it, sometimes for a long series of years, and to 
 work out sometimes one part, sometimes another, accord- 
 ing to the inspiration of the moment. He reserved to 
 himself the power of binding together these separate mem- 
 bers in a final redaction — of bringing them together by the 
 necessary transitions, and of throwing out all that might 
 injure the integrity of the poem. Thus it happens that in 
 the manuscripts relating to Faust, there are found a great 
 number of poems written at different periods, which could 
 not find place in the drama, but which we hope may be 
 published in the miscellaneous works." — Characteristics 
 of Goethe, vol. iii. pp. 87, 88. 
 
 * 
 
 * This account is confirmed by Fulk's story of the Walburgis 
 Sack ; and also by the following anecdote communicated to me in 
 a ]irivate letter by M. de Schlegcl : — " Ce poeme, des son origine 
 dtait condamne a ne rester qu'un fragment. Mais quoiqu'on juge 
 de rciisemble, les de'tails sunt admirablcs. Ceci me rappelle une 
 anecdote que je tiens du cele'bre me'de'cin Zimmerman, fort lie 
 avec Goeihe dans sa jeunesse : Fauste avait e'te annonce de bonne 
 heure, et Ton s'attendait alors a le voir paraitre prochainement.
 
 APPENDIX. 227 
 
 The Chancellor von Miiller, in his excellent little work 
 entitled Goethe in seiner Praktischen Wirksamkcit, thus 
 describes the conclusion of Faust, and (what is not less 
 interesting) the events immediately preceding it : — 
 
 " When Goethe had to bear the death of his only son, 
 he wrote to Zelter thus : — ' Here, then, can the mighty 
 conception of duty alone hold us erect. I have no other 
 care than to keep myself in equipoise. The body must, the 
 spirit will; — and he who sees a necessary path prescribed 
 to his will, has no need to ponder much.' 
 
 " Thus did he shut up the deepest grief within his 
 breast, and hastily seized upon a long-postponed labour, 
 ' in order entirely to lose himself in it.' In a fortnight he 
 had nearly completed the fourth volume of his life, when 
 nature avenged herself for the violence he had done her ; 
 the bursting of a blood-vessel brought him to the brink of 
 the grave. 
 
 " He recovered surprisingly, and immediately made use 
 of his restored health to put his house most carefully in 
 order ; made all his testamentary dispositions as to his 
 works and manuscripts with perfect cheerfulness, and ear- 
 nestly employed himself in fully making up his account 
 with the world. 
 
 " But in looking over his manuscripts it vexed him to 
 leave his Faust unfinished ; the greater part of the fourth 
 act of the Second Part was wanting ; he laid it down as a 
 law to himself to complete it worthily, and, on the day 
 before his last birthday, he was enabled to announce that 
 the highest task of his life was completed. He sealed it 
 under a tenfold seal, escaped from the congratulations of 
 friends, and hastened to revisit, after many many years, the 
 scene of his earliest cares and endeavours, as well as of the 
 happiest and richest hours of his life." 
 
 Referring to my Article on the Second Part of Faust in 
 the Foreign Quarterly Review (in which most of the fore- 
 going abstract, interspersed with translated specimens, 
 
 Zitumertnan, sc trouvant a Weimar, denianda a son ami des noti- 
 veUes de cette composition. Goethe apporta un sac rempli de 
 pctits chiffons de papier. II le vuida sur la tabic et dit : ' Voila. 
 mon Faustc.' " 
 
 q2
 
 228 APPENDIX. 
 
 appeared), some of my German fiiends blamed me for uot 
 putting in the plea of age for the author. I have done 
 this most effectually now ; and the pleas of sickness and 
 sorrow might also be supported if necessary. Indeed, 
 after reading the above extracts, the wonder is, not that 
 symptoms of decaying power are here and there discern- 
 ible, but that the poem, under such circumstances, should 
 have been completed at all ; and we may well say of 
 Faust and its author (as Longinus said of Homer and the 
 Odyssey), though the work of an old man, it is yet the 
 work of an old Goethe. 
 
 Another set have censured me for my sceptical and 
 superficial notions of the plot, which is said to hide a host 
 of meanings. My only answer is that I cannot see them 
 and have never yet met with any one who could, though I 
 studied the poem under circumstances peculiaily favour- 
 able to the discovery. None of the German critics, to the 
 best of my information, have yet dived deeper than myself ; 
 the boldest merely venture to suggest that Faust's salva- 
 tion or justification, without any apparent merit of his 
 own, is in strict accordance with the purest doctrines of 
 our faith ; and that, though he suffered himself to be 
 seduced into wickedness, his mind and heart remained 
 untainted by the Mephistophelian philosophy to the last. 
 This view of the poetical justice of the catastrophe was 
 eloquently expounded by Dr. Franz Horn in a long con- 
 versation which I had with him on this subject in August 
 last (183.3). 
 
 Tasso tells us in a letter to a fiiend on the Jerusalem 
 Delivered, that when he was beyond the middle of the 
 poem and began to consider the strictness of the times, he 
 began also to think of an allegory, as a thing which ought 
 to smooth every difficulty. The allegory which he thought 
 of, and subsequently gave out as the key to the more 
 recondite beauties of the poem, was this : — " The Christian 
 army, composed of various princes and soldiers, signified 
 the natural man, consisting of soul and body, and of a 
 soul not simple, but divided into many and various facul- 
 ties. Jerusalem, a strong city, placed on a rough anl 
 mountainous tract, and to which the chief aim of the army
 
 APPENDIX. 229 
 
 is directed, figures civil or public felicity, while Godfrey 
 himself represents the ruling intellect ; Rinaldo, Tancred, 
 and others being the inferior powers of the mind, and the 
 soldiers, or bulk of the army, the body. The conquest, 
 again, with which the poem concludes, is an emblem of 
 political felicity ; but as this ought not to be the final 
 object of a Christian man, the poem ends with the adora- 
 tion of Godfrey, it being thereby signified that the intellect, 
 fatigned in public exertions, should finally seek repose in 
 prayer, and in contemplating the blessings of a happy and 
 eternal life." 
 
 What Tasso did for the Jerusalem Delivered in this 
 matter, I can conceive it quite possible the commentators 
 may do for the Second Part of Faust ; but that they will 
 thereby greatly elevate its poetical character, connect it 
 with the First Part, or prove it an apt solution of the 
 problem, I doubt. As the Prologue in Heaven was not 
 added until 1807 or 1808, my own opinion is that Goethe's 
 plot had no more original existence than Tasso's allegoiy. 
 
 j\Ir. Coleridge is reported to have expressed himself as 
 follows : — 
 
 " The intended theme of the Faust is the consequences 
 of a misology, or hatred and depreciation of knowledge, 
 caused by an originally intense thirst for knowledge baffled. 
 But a love of knowledge for itself, and for pure ends, would 
 never produce such a misology, but only a love of it for 
 base and unworthy purposes. There is neither causation 
 nor progression in the Faust ; he is a ready-made conjuror 
 from the very beginning ; the incredulu^ ocJi is felt from 
 the first line. The sensuality and the thirst after know- 
 ledge are unconnected with each other. I^Iephistopheles 
 and Margaret are excellent ; but Faust himself is dull 
 and meaningless. The scene in Auerbach's cellars is one 
 of the best, perhaps the very best ; that on the Brocken 
 is also fine ; and all the songs are beautiful. But there 
 is no whole in the poem ; the scenes are mere magic- 
 lantern pictures, and a large part of the work is to me 
 very flat. The German is very pure and fine." — Table 
 Talk, vol. ii. p. 11 i.
 
 APPENDIX, No. II. 
 
 BEING AN HISTORICAL NOTICE OF THE STORY OF FAUST, AND THE 
 VARIOUS PRODUCTIONS IN ART ANU LITERATURE THAT HAVE 
 GROWN OUT O? IT. 
 
 During a late visit to Germany (1833y, it was one of my 
 amusements to inquire at all the libraries to whicii 1 could 
 procure access, for books relating to Faust or Faustus ; 
 and though the number was far from trifling, it cost me 
 no gi-eat labour to acquire a general notion of the contents 
 of most of them, and write down what bore upon my own 
 peculiar study or seemed any way striking or new. I had 
 made considerable progress in the arrangement of the 
 materials thus collected, when Brockhaus' J{istori<cJies 
 Taschenhuch (Historical Pocket-book) for 1834 arrived, 
 containing an article entitled Die Sage vom Doctor Fauat, 
 by Dr. Stieglitz (already known for an instructive article 
 on the same subject*), in which, after a brief histoiy of 
 the hero himself, all the compositions of ever}' sort, that 
 (to the writer's knowledge) have grown out of the fable, 
 are enumerated. The nan'ow limits of a Taschenhuch 
 restricted Dr. Stieglitz to giving little more than a bare 
 list of title-pages ; but this list has proved so extremely 
 useful in indicating where almost every sort of informa- 
 tion was to be had, that I think it right to avow before- 
 hand the extent of obligation he has laid me under. 
 Before beginning the life of Faust, some of his biogra- 
 
 * The article in F. Schlcgel's Deutsches Museum vefer-ed to 
 ia my Fiist Edition.
 
 232 APPENDIX. 
 
 phers have thought it necessary to determine whether he 
 ever lived at all ; and, were we to adopt the mode of rea- 
 soning so admirably illustrated in Dr. Whately's Historic 
 Doubts concerning the existence of Napoleon, we must 
 unavoidably believe that there never was such a person, 
 but that the fable was invented by the monks to revenge 
 themselves on the memory of Faust, the printer, who had 
 destroyed their trade in manusciipts.* But if we are con- 
 tent with that sort of evidence by which the vast majorit}^ 
 of historical incidents are established, we shall arrive at a 
 much more satisfactory conclusion concerning him. j\Ie- 
 lancthon knew him personally ; t and he is spoken of by 
 other immediate cotemporaries. 
 
 Johann (or John) Faust (or Faustus), then, according, 
 to the better opinion, was born at Kundlingen, within the 
 territory of Wurtemberg, J of parents low of stock (as 
 Marlow expresses it), some time towards the end of the 
 fifteenth century. He must not be confounded with Faust 
 (or Fust) the printer, who flourished more than half a 
 century before. § He was bred a physician, and graduated 
 in medicine, but soon betook himself to magic. In this 
 pursuit he is said to have spent a rich inheritance left him 
 by an uncle. The study of magic naturally led to an 
 acquaintance with the devil, with whom he entered into a 
 compact substantially the same as that cited {ante, p. 182) 
 in a note. In company with an imp or spirit, given him 
 by his friend Satan and attending on him in the guise of a 
 black dog, he ranged freely through the world, playing off 
 many singular pranks upon the way. No doubt, however, 
 he enjoys the credit of a great deal of mischief he had no 
 hand in, just as wits like Jekyl or Sheridan have all the 
 
 * It has been contended that the very name is an invented one; 
 the notion being that it was given to a magician— 06 fausttom in 
 rehus iieractu difficilUmis successum. 
 
 f So savs the Conversations-Lexicon ; but Dr. Sticglitz is 
 silent on the point. 
 
 J Anhalt and Brandenburg also claim the honour of his birth. 
 
 § A distinct title is assigned to each in the Conversations- 
 Lexicon. The printer is supposed to have died of the plague in 
 1 466.
 
 APPENDIX. 233 
 
 puns of their contemporaries to answer for. " Shortly 
 (says Gorres) Faustus appeared conspicuous in history as 
 the common representative of mischievous magicians, 
 guilty of all kind of diablerie. Their sin<, throughout 
 centuries, were all laid at his door ; and when the general 
 faith, falling as it were to pieces, divided into ferocious 
 schisms, is found a common point of approach in a man 
 who, during his frequent tours, and his intercourse with 
 all ranks of people, had boasted of his infernal connections 
 and influence in the nether lands."* 
 
 Faust appears to have travelled mostly in a magic 
 mantle, presenting himself in the cities he lighted on as a 
 travelling scholar {Fahrcnder Scholast), a very common 
 sort of vagabond in the middle ages. We trace him through 
 Ingilstadt (where he is said to have studied), Prague, 
 Erfurt, Leipsic, and Wittenberg, but cannot say with cer- 
 tainty what other places he visited in his tours. " About 
 ]560 (says Mr. Carl3-le in a short note about him in the 
 Foreign Quarterly Review, No XVI.) his term of thau- 
 maturgy being over, he disappeared ; whether under a 
 feigned name, by the rope of some hangman, or frightfully 
 torn in pieces by the de\-il near the village of Rimlich, 
 between twelve and one in the morning, let every reader 
 judge for himself." There is no authority for the above 
 very injurious insinuation, nor has Mr. Carlyle followed 
 the best as to the date of Faust's disappearance. Nothing 
 authentic was heard of him for nearly thirty years before. 
 (Jne anecdote, corroborative of the commonly received 
 notion of his death, is worth recording. Neuman t relates, 
 that when, during the Thirty Years' War, the enemy 
 broke into Saxony, a detachment was quartered at a village 
 called Breda, on the Elbe. The magistrate of the village 
 sought out the commander, and informed him that his 
 house had obtained a high celebrity through Fau.st's hor- 
 rible death in it, as the blood-besprinkled walls still tes- 
 tified. At this information the conquerors stood astounded, 
 and soon taking the alarm, endeavoured to save themselves 
 by flight. 
 
 • VCJcshucher, as translated by Mr. Roscoe. 
 t DUquisitio dc Fausto, &c.
 
 234 APPENDIX. 
 
 Faust had a disciple named Wagner, the son of a 
 clergyman at Wasserburg. The name of Wagner also 
 figures, as editor, on the title-pages of some works on magic 
 attributed to Faust. 
 
 The most remarkable thing about this fable is its almost 
 universal diffusion. It spread rapidly through France, 
 Italy, Spain, England, Holland, and Poland, giving birth 
 to numerous fictions, some of a high order of poetical merit. 
 Amongst others, Calderon's ElMagico Prodigioso has been 
 attributed to it. St. Cyprian of Antioch was the model 
 which Calderon really worked upon, but Goethe has been 
 so unequivocally accused of plagiarism from this play, that 
 I shall make a short digression for the purpose of convey- 
 ing a general notion of the plot. Three scenes have been 
 translated by Shelley. 
 
 The first scene is the neighbourhood of Antioch, where 
 a solemnity in honour of Jupiter is in the act of celebration. 
 Cyprian, who has begun to see the errors of polytheism, 
 appears attended by two of his disciples carrying books. 
 As he is meditating over a passage in Pliny relating to the 
 nature and existence of God, the Evil One presents himself 
 in the guise of a travelling gentleman who has lost his way. 
 They have a dispute of some length, the devil defending 
 the old superstition, and Cyprian attacking it. The devil 
 has the worst of the argument, and makes a pretence for 
 withdrawing himself, resolving to seduce Cyprian by means 
 of a woman. For this purpose he selects Justine, one of 
 the new converts to Christianity, who is living in Antioch 
 under the care of her adopted father, Lysando.* She is 
 beloved by Flora and Lselio, who are about to fight a duel, 
 when they are interrupted by the accidental presence of 
 Cyprian, who undertakes to see the lady, and ascertain 
 which of them is favoured by her preference. He visits 
 and falls in love with her himself, but is not more suc- 
 cessful than the two young rivals have been ; and his 
 desires are at length worked up to such a pitch, that he 
 resolves on making every sacrifice to attain the object of 
 them. Whilst in this mood he witnesses a shipwreck, and 
 
 * This may remind the reader of Rccha in Nathan the Wise.
 
 APPENDIX. 235 
 
 offers the solitary survivor an asylum in his house. It is 
 the demon, who professes himself able to procure Cyprian 
 the possession of Justine, and, in testimony of his power, 
 splits a rock {jte/tasco) asunder, and discovers her asleep 
 in the centre of it. Cyprian is thereby induced to sign with 
 his blood a contract for the eventual surrender of his soul, 
 upon condition that Justine be secured to him ; which the 
 devil contracts for in his turn. For the furtherance of his 
 views, he studies magic, under the devil's instruction, until 
 he has made himself a master of the art. Whilst Cyprian 
 is thus accomplishinghimself, Justine is beginning to relent, 
 and, tempted by the devil, suffers amatory emotions to 
 influence her to such a degree, that she is on the point of 
 falling, but resists, and saves herself by faith. I am tempted 
 to give an extract from Shelley's beautiful version of this 
 scene ; where the evil spirit is tempting the heroine : — 
 
 Justine. — 
 
 " 'Tis that enamour'd nightingale 
 AVho gives ine the reply ; 
 He ever tells the same soft tale 
 Of passion and of constancy 
 To his mate, who, rapt and fond, 
 Listening sits, a bough bevond. 
 Be silent, nightingale ! — no more 
 Make me think, in hearing thee 
 Thus tenderly thy love deplore, — 
 If a bird can feel his so, 
 AVhat a man would feel for me ? 
 And, voluptuous vine ! thou 
 AVlio scekest most when least pursuing. 
 To the tr\ink thou interlacest. 
 Art the verdure which embracest, 
 And the weight which is its ruin ; 
 No more, with green embraces, vine, 
 Make me think on what thou lovest, — 
 For whilst thou thus thy boughs entwine, 
 I fear lest thou shouldst teach me, sophist, 
 How anns might be entangled too. 
 Li'iht-enchanted sun-flower ! thou 
 Who gazcst, ever true and tender, 
 On the sun's revolving splendour!
 
 236 APPENDIX. 
 
 Follow not his faithless glance 
 With thy faded countenance. 
 Nor teach my heating heart to fear, 
 If leaves can mourn without a tear, 
 How eyes must weep ! 0, nightingale, 
 Cease from thy enaniour'd tale, — 
 Leafy vine, unwreathe thy bovver, 
 Restless sun-flower, cease to move, — 
 Or tell me all, what poisonous power 
 Ye use against me — 
 All. Love! love! love!" 
 
 The devil, thus foiled in his expectations, can only bring 
 Cyprian a phantom resembling her, and maintains that he 
 has thereby fulfilled his contract, but in the end is obliged 
 to own that he has not ; that God — one God — the God of 
 Christianity, prevents him from harming the maiden, her- 
 self a Christian. Cyprian draws his sword upon the devil, 
 vi'ho is compelled to depart, leaving his intended victim to 
 make his peace with God. This he does by becoming on 
 the instant a complete convert to Christianity, the imme- 
 diate result of which is that he is apprehended and con- 
 demned to die as a heretic in Antioch. Justine, in the 
 mean time, has been exposed to a series of trials through 
 the rivalry of Flora and Lalo, whose jealousy has been 
 exasperated by various deceits put upon them by the devil ; 
 and at the period of Cyprian's condemnation, she also is 
 condemned as a heretic. They suffer together after an 
 affecting interview, in which their constancy is put to a 
 severe trial, and the piece closes (if we except a few ex- 
 pressions of astonishment by the bystanders) with the ap- 
 pearance of the demon, mounted on a serpent, on high ; 
 whodeclareshimself commanded by God to declare Justine's 
 entire innocence. 
 
 There is a comic by-plot between the inferior character 
 of the piece, with several bustling scenes between Floro, 
 Lselio, Lysando, and Justine. The grand aim of the piece 
 is obviously to exalt Christianity. 
 
 We may also refer to the histories of Virgilius, a magician 
 who long preceded Faust,* in proof that we are not loosely 
 
 • See Roscoe's German Novelists, vol. i., p. 237. Paracelsus,
 
 APPENDIX. 237 
 
 to attribute all traditions and fictions whicn have a necro- 
 mantic doctor for their hero, to the latter. The works 
 directly founded on or relating to Faust's history are nume- 
 rous enough to satisfy the most ardent supporter of his 
 dignity. Dr. Stieglitz makes the books alone amount to 
 106, and his catalogue is incomplete. For instance, he 
 does not mention a modern French prose epopee of some 
 note (I forget the precise title) in three volumes, published 
 within the last six years ; nor the old English work of 
 1594 mentioned by Mr. Roscoe * as lent to him by ]\Ir. 
 Douce ; nor ]\Ir. Koscoe"s own volume ; nor four out of six 
 of the English dramatic adaptationrs. The Second Part of 
 Faust had not appeared when Dr. Stieglitz wrote, nor could 
 my own book have reached Germany early enough to be 
 counted in his list. I also miss Dr. Franz Horn, who has 
 given a detailed and very interesting account of the old 
 puppet-show play.t 
 
 1 proceed to mention the most remarkable of these pro- 
 ductions. 
 
 First amongst those of the dramatic order, stand the old 
 puppet-plays. Dr. Stieglitz mentions several of these as 
 popular in the last centuiy, but gives only a general account 
 of them. I therefore follow Dr. Franz Horn, who is speak- 
 
 Comelius Agrippa, Cardanus, Tliomas Campanclla, Albertus Mag- 
 nus, are enumerated by Dr. Stieglitz as early renowned for mys- 
 terious pui-suits which went by the name of magical ; and we might 
 match our own Roger Bacon against any of them. See " The 
 Famous Historic of Frjer Bacon, with the Lives and Deaths of 
 the Two Conjurors Bungye and Vandermast," repiinted in 181,5. 
 
 * " The Second Report of Doctor John Faustus, containing his 
 Appearances, and the Deedes of Wagner, written by an English 
 Gentleman, Student in Wittenberg, an University of Germany, 
 in Saxony. Ptiblished for the delight of all those which desire 
 Novelties, by a Friend of the same Gentleman. London, printed 
 by Abell Jeffes, for Cuthbert Burby, and are to be sold at the 
 middle shop, at Saint Milfrcd Church by the Stockes, 1594." 
 
 f In his Freuiallichc Schriftcn, (Th. 2), and also in his Poesie 
 und Bercdsamkcit d-c, vol. 2, p. 263. At ;>. 2.58, he gives a 
 short account of the old puppet-play of Don Juan, whou: be calls, 
 in another work, the antithesis of Faust.
 
 238 APPENDIX. 
 
 ing of a representation which he witnessed himself about 
 the year 1807. 
 
 The first scene represents Faust sitting in liis study with 
 a large book before him, in much the same attitude in 
 which he is represented by Marlow and Goethe. After 
 some reflections on the vanity of knowledge, he steps into 
 the magic circle and conjures up the devils, for the purpose, 
 it would seem, of selecting one of them for his slave. He 
 questions each in turn as to his comparative swiftness, and 
 after rejecting one by one those who merely profess to be 
 as swift as air, arrows, plagues, &c.,he chooses the one who 
 says he is as swift as the thoughts of men. " In later ver- 
 sions," says Dr. Horn, " Faust is made to choose the devil 
 who is as swift as the transition from good to evil." Faust 
 is interrupted by the entrance of Wagner, who is repre- 
 sented as a lively sort of person apeing his master. Then 
 enters Kasperl, the Mr. Meriyman of the piece, who soon 
 throws Wagner into the shade. Indeed, on the hiring of 
 Kasperl as Faust's servant by Wagner, which takes place 
 after a humorous dialogue between the two, Wagner drops 
 out of view and Kasperl figrires as the only attendant upon 
 Faust. So soon as Kasperl is left alone, he is driven by 
 curiosity to peep into Faust's Book of Magic, and succeeds 
 M"ith much difficulty in spelling out two words : Berlik, a 
 spell to call up devils, and Berlul\ spell to send them 
 away. He forthwith puts his new knowledge to the test, 
 and amuses himself by repeating the words so rapidly one 
 after the other, that it is only by the utmost exertion of 
 their activity that the devils can keep pace with him and 
 obey the word of command. In the end, however, he gets 
 a knock-down blow or rebuff which closes the scene. 
 
 Faust is next represented as anxious to enter into a com- 
 pact with the devil, with the view of adding to his own in- 
 fluence upon earth. The compact is ready, and Faust is 
 bringing ink to subscribe it, when the devil with a laugh 
 explains to him that his own blood will be required. He 
 complies, and opens a vein in his hand ; the blood forms 
 itself into the letters H. F. (Homo^fuge), and the warning 
 is followed up by the appearance of a guardian-angel, but 
 in vain. Mephistopheles, who had retreated before the
 
 APPENDIX. 139 
 
 angel, re-appears : and a ra^-en flies off with the paper, now 
 subscribed by Faust, in its beak. 
 
 The only use Faust makes of his newly-acquired power, 
 is to wander from place to place playing tricks. The palace 
 of an Italian duke is the scene of all those which are re- 
 presented in this show ; where he calls up Samson, Goliah, 
 Solomon, Judith, &c. &c. for theamusement of the duchess. 
 He is thus growing into high favour with her, when the 
 duke, whether from jealousy or from some other cause 
 which does not appear, makes an attempt to poison him, 
 and Faust prudently moves oiF. I must not forget to 
 mention that Kasperl is as facetious as usual during their 
 sojourn in Italy, but on his master's sudden flight, he ap- 
 pears reduced to the most melancholy condition by solitude. 
 For company's sake, he invokes a devil, and embraces it 
 with the utmost warmth of affection when it appears. This 
 devil is touched by his situation, promises to convey him 
 back to Germany, and advises him to apply for the place 
 of watchman when there. Kaspar * thanks him heartily 
 for his flattering advice, but modestly declares that he 
 cannot sing ; to which the devil replies that the watch- 
 men in Germany are not required to sing better than 
 they can. 
 
 Faust is now again in his Fatherland, but his term is 
 nearly expired, and he whiningly asks the devil, who by 
 the contract is always to speak the truth, whether it be 
 yet possible for him to come to God. The devil stammers 
 out a soft, " I know not," and flies trembling away. Faust 
 kneels down to pray, but his devotions are interrupted by 
 the vision of Helen, sent by the Evil One to prevent him 
 from relapsing into faith. He yields to the temptation, and 
 all hope is at an end. 
 
 It is now the night of the catastrophe. As the clock 
 strikes nine, a voice from above calls to Faust : Bereite 
 dich,— Prepare thi/self ; and shortly a/terwards the same 
 voice exclaims : Da Imt anpeklagt,— Thou art arraigned. 
 It strikes ten, and as Kasperl (in his capacity of watch- 
 
 • Dr. Horn spells the name sometimes Kasperl, and soractimefl 
 Kaspa/r,
 
 240 APPENDIX. 
 
 man) calls the hour, the voice exclaims : Du hist periclitet, 
 — Thou art judged. " Thus then," says Franz Horn, 
 " no retreat is any longer possible, for the judgment {Ur- 
 theil not Verurtheil) is passed, and though not yet pro- 
 nounced, still quite clear to the forebodying spirit." On 
 the stroke of midnight, the voice calls for the last time : 
 Du liist aiif ewig verdammt, — Thou art damned to all 
 tternit)/ ; and after a short monologue. Faust tails into the 
 power of the Evil One. The piece concludes with another 
 exhibition of butfoonery by Kaspar, who comes upon the 
 stage just as his master is borne otf. 
 
 None of the other puppet-show plays of which we have 
 any accurate account, differ materially from the above. 
 
 The pantomimes founded on Faust are rmmerous, but I 
 have found it impossible to acquire more than a vague 
 and hearsay knowledge of them, nor perhaps is a more 
 particular knowledge desirable. Only two produced at 
 Leipzig in 1770 and 1809, and one produced at Vienna in 
 1770, are recorded by Dr. Stieglitz ; but Mr Winston, the 
 Secretary to the Garrick Club, a gentleman remarkably 
 well versed in dramatic history, has obligingly supplied 
 me with a copy of the following three entries in his own 
 private catalogue of performances : — 
 
 " Harlequin Dr. Faustus, with the Masques of the Dei- 
 ties, produced at Drury Lane in 1724. Published in Oct. 
 1724. I?y Thurmond, a dancing-master. Pantomime. 
 
 " Harlequin Dr. Faustus, 17G6 ; a revival of the last, 
 with alterations by Woodward. 
 
 " Harlequin Dr. Faustus, or the Devil will have his 
 Own. Pantomime. 1793." 
 
 Marlow's play* seems to be the earliest regular drama 
 
 * It was acted in 1594 by the Lord Admiral's servants. From 
 Mr. Collier's Annals of the Stage (vol. iii. p. 12G), it ajipears that 
 a considerable portion of Marlow's play, as it has come down to us, 
 is the work of other hands. The earliest known edition is that of 
 1604; but it must have been written some time before, as it is 
 supposed to have suggested " The Honourable History of Friar 
 Bacon and Friar Bungay," jiublished in 1594, by Greene. Sec 
 Collier, vol. :ii. p. 159, and Dyce's Edition of Greene's Works. 
 Marlow's Faustus has been translated into German by W. Miiller 
 with a Preface by Ton Arnira, one of the editors of the VV^underhorn
 
 APPENDIX. 241 
 
 founded on the fable ; one by Mountfort,also an Englishman, 
 the next.* A play extemporised by a company of actors 
 at IMainz in 1746, is the first of which anything certain is 
 recorded in Germany. t Since Marlow's time, between 
 thirty and forty dramatic fictions have been founded on it. 
 The great majority of these have been elicited by Goethe's. 
 Maler Miiller, and two or three others, undoubtedly pre- 
 ceded him, so far at least as publication is concerned; J 
 but the designs differ widely, and no one, after reading 
 Miiller's, will suspect Goethe of borrowing much from it. 
 There is considerable power in the soliloquies, and the 
 scene in which the emblems of Wealth, Power, Pleasure, 
 and Glory, are in turns exhibited to Faust, is very finely 
 conceived ; but the greater part is occupied by tedious 
 colloquies between subordinate characters, and the plot 
 has not time to develope itself before the Fragment con- 
 cludes. There are two or three points of imperfect ana- 
 logy, which I will name. 
 
 The first scene, instead of representing the Lord wager- 
 ing with jMephistopheles that he cannot seduce Faust, re- 
 presents Lucifer wagering with Mephistopheles that no 
 truly great (that is firm, and stedfast) man is to be found 
 upon earth. Mephistopheles undertakes to prove that 
 Faust is such a man ; so that in Goethe's drama we have 
 Mephistopheles depreciating, and in Miiller's exalting, the 
 character of Faust. Again — Wagner makes his first en- 
 trance during one of Faust's soliloquies, which he breaks 
 off ; and Margaret is represented as conversing with her 
 lover from her window in this manner : — 
 
 Kolbcl. " Margaret, my charmer, my angel ! Oh, that 
 I were above there, in thy arms ! 
 
 Margaret. " Hush ! I hear my sister ; my uncle coughs. 
 
 * Life ami Death of Dr. Faustus, by W. Mountfort, brought 
 out at Queen's Theatre, Dorset Gardens ; published in 4to. 1697. 
 
 ■f- Neuuian, Uisquis. de Fausto, says generally that it was 
 dramatised in the seventeenth eentuiy. 
 
 Ij: Johann Faust, an allegorical Drama in five Acts, was pub- 
 lished at Munich in 1775. As to the chronological history of 
 Goethe's Faust, see ante, p. 153, note. 
 
 &
 
 342 APPENDIX. 
 
 Come round to the other window, and I have something 
 more to say to you. 
 
 Kolbel. " With all my heart, love." 
 
 There is no want of charity in supposing that this love- 
 adventure ended much in the same manner as that re- 
 corded by Goethe ; and the expressions strongly resemble 
 those, ante, p. 108. Some similarity in the soliloquies 
 was to be anticipated, as they necessarily turn upon the 
 same topics of discontent, but there is one reply made by 
 Midler's Faust to the devil, which bears so close a like- 
 ness to one placed by Goethe in his mouth {ante, p. 49), 
 that I shall quote it also as it stands : — 
 
 Fmist. " Know'st thou then all my wishes 1 
 
 Sixth Devil. " — And will leave them in the consum- 
 mation far behind. 
 
 Faust. " How ! if I required it, and thou wert to bear 
 me to the uppermost stars, — to the uppermost part of the 
 uppermost, shall I not bring a human heart along with me, 
 which in its wanton wishes will nine times surpass thy 
 flight ? Learn from me that man requires more than God 
 and Devil can give." 
 
 Previously to the publication oi Faust' sLeben dramatisirt 
 (the piece I quote from), jMiiller had published (in 1776) 
 a fragment entitled, " A Situation out of Faust's Life." It 
 presents nothing remarkable. 
 
 Among the writers who have followed Goethe in writing 
 poems, dramas, or dramatic scenes about Faust, are Lenz, 
 Schreiber, Klinger, Von Soden, Schink, Von Chamisso, 
 Voigt, Schone, Berkowitz, Klingemann, Grabbe, Holtei, 
 Harro Harring, Rosenkranz, Hofmann, l^echstein, and 
 Pfizer ; besides those who have published anonymously, 
 
 Lessing, it is well known, had drawn up two plans for 
 a drama upon Faust ; he has only left us one fragment of 
 a scene. This has been translated by Lord F. L. Egerton 
 (now Loid Ellesmere), and appended to his translation of 
 Goethe's Faust. Madame de Stael suggests that Goethe's 
 plan was Ijorrowed from it, and she is probably right as 
 regards the Prologue in Heaven. The only difference is 
 that Lessing's is a Prologue in Hell, where one of the at- 
 tendant spirits proposes to Satan the seduction of Faust,
 
 APPENDIX. 243 
 
 who assents and declares the plan a feasible one, on being 
 informed that Faust has an overweening desire of know- 
 ledge. The whole of this fragment would not more than 
 fill two of my pages. See, as to Lessing's plans, his Briefe 
 die neiieste Literatur bctrefi'end, Parti., p. 103 ; the Aria- 
 lectenfiir die Literatur, Part i., p. 110 ; and the Second 
 Part of his Theatrical Legacy {Nachlass). 
 
 Dr. Stieglitz has no less than four Operas upon his list. 
 Of those by Biiuerle and von Voss, I know nothing. That 
 by Bernard and Sptihr has been received with considerable 
 applause in Germany, but the plot is mostly made up out 
 of the old traditionary stories, and the composer seems very 
 rarely to have had Goethe's drama in his mind. An Opera 
 Seria, entitled Fausto, was also produced at Paris in March, 
 1831, the music by Mademoiselle Louise Bertin ; this I 
 never saw, nor do I know whether it succeeded or not. 
 The Ballet of Faust, imported last year (1832), must be 
 fresh in everybody's recollection ; the descent scene had a 
 fine effect in Paris, but it was completely spoiled at our 
 Italian Opera Honse by the shallowness of the stage. 
 The devils were brought so near to the spectators, that 
 the very materials of their infernal panoply were clearly 
 distinguishable. 
 
 A " Romantic Musical Drama," called first " Faustus," 
 and afterwards "the Devil and Dr. Faustus," the joint 
 production of Messrs. Soane and Terry, was brought out 
 at Drury Lane in May, 1825 ; and by the aid of Stansfield's 
 scenery and Terry's excellent acting in Mephistopheles, it 
 had a considerable run. It was afterwards published by 
 Simpkin and Marshall. 
 
 The most successful attempt to set Faust to music is that 
 of the late Prince Radzivil. His composition is spoken 
 of in the highest terms of approbation, and I understand 
 that the Princess (his widow) has printed, or is about to 
 print, the whole for circulation among her friends. Goethe's 
 approval of the attempt has been unequivocally expressed. 
 — {IVorks, vol. XXX., p. 89.) 
 
 It appears from the correspondence between Goethe and 
 Zelter, (vol. ii. pp. 424, 429), that Zelter once undertook 
 to write music for Faust by the desire of the author; nor
 
 244 APPENDIX. 
 
 must I forget to mention that Goethe's Faust has been 
 adapted to the stage by Tieck. It was first acted in its 
 altered state at Leipzig and Dresden on the 28th of August, 
 1829, the anniversary of Goethe's eightieth biithday, and 
 IS now a stock-piece at the principal theatres. A good 
 deal of discussion took place at the time as to the fitness 
 of the poem for theatrical representation at all ;* though 
 Schlegel, who considers the question in his lectures on the 
 drama (Lect. 15) and decides in the negative, appears to 
 have set the question at rest. 
 
 To make this appendix complete, I shall here recapitu- 
 late the whole of the commentaries with which I am 
 acquainted. 
 
 Ueber Goethe's Faust : Vorlesungen von Dr. Schubarth, 
 Berlin, 1830. 
 
 Ueber Goethe's Faust und dessen Fortsetzung, nebst 
 einem Anhangevon dem ewigen Juden, Leipzig, 1824. 
 
 Aesthetische Vorlesungen ueber Goethe's Faust, &c., 
 von Dr. Hinrichs, Halle, 1825. 
 
 UeberCalderon'sTragoedievom Wunderthatigen Magus; 
 Ein Beitrag zum Verstandniss der Faustischen Fabel, von 
 Karl Rosenkrantz, Halle und Leipzig, 1829. 
 
 Ueber Erklarung und Fortsetzung des Faust im Allge- 
 meinen &c., von K. Rosenkrantz, Leipzig, 1831. 
 
 Doctor Faustus, Tragodie von Marlowe &c. ; aus dem 
 Englischen iibersetzt von W. Miiller. Mit einer Vorrede 
 von Ludwig von Arnim, Berlin, 1808. 
 
 Herold's Stimme zu Goethe's Faust, von C. F. G 1, 
 
 Leipzig, 1831. 
 
 Zur Beurtheilung Goethe's, mit Beziehung auf verwandte 
 Literatur und Kunst, von Dr. Schubarth, 1820 ; a work 
 in two volumes, of which a large part is occupied with 
 Faust. 
 
 Goethe aus personlichem Umgange dargestellt, von 
 Falk ; the last 110 pages of which consist of a Commentary 
 on Faust. 
 
 Vorlesungen iiber Goethe's Faust, von Dr. Rauch, 1830. 
 
 M. von Arnim's Preface to the German translation of 
 Marlow's Faust. 
 
 * See Bechstein's Pamphlet, published at Stuttgardt, 1831.
 
 APPENDIX. 345 
 
 In Sclilegel's Lectures on Dramatic Literature, Lect. 15, 
 there are a few remarks. Faust also forms the subject of 
 some letters in the Brief icechsel between Schiller and 
 Goethe, vol. iii. pp. 129—186. 
 
 It only remains to mention the artists who have taken 
 the old tradition or the modern drama of Faust for their 
 subject-matter. Of the former class, I know but two worth 
 mentioning : one is Rembrandt, who has left a head of 
 Faust, and a sketch of him in his study, sitting just as 
 Goethe has described him, in the midst of books..and in- 
 struments, with a magic circle ready drawn and a skeleton 
 half hidden by a curtain in the room. The other is van 
 Sichem, a Dutch artist, born about 1580. He has left two 
 sketches : a scene between Faust and Mephistopheles, and 
 a scene between Wagner and an attendant spirit, Auerhain 
 by name. These are minutely described by Dr. Stieglitz, 
 and I have seen a copy of the sketch by Rembrandt. The 
 pictures in Auerbach's cellar are described, a7>te,'p. 186. 
 
 The illustrators of Faust mentioned by Dr. Stieglitz (and 
 I know of no others) are : Retzsch, with his English imi- 
 tator jVIoses, and a French imitator who modestly conceals 
 his name ; Nauwerk, Nehrlich, Nake, Ramberg, Lacroix 
 (for Stapfer's translation),* and Cornelius, whose designs 
 were engraved by Ruschweyh in Rome. Of these, the 
 most celebrated are Retzsch and Cornelius. It is quite 
 unnecessary to speak of Retzsch, whose fame is now 
 universally diffused. Cornelius was formerly at the head 
 of the school of painting at Diisseldorf, and is now 
 (1834) President of the Academy of Design at Munich. He 
 enjoys the reputation of being the first historical painter 
 in Germany, and his illustrations of Faust have great 
 merit ; but being in the largest folio, and three or four 
 pounds in price, they are comparatively little known. 
 
 * See Goethe's Post. Works, vol. vi. p. 169. 
 
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