Hättst du ihm nicht den Schein des Himmelslichts gegeben; Er nennt's Vernunft und braucht's allein, Er scheint mir, mit Verlaub von Ew. Gnaden, Die immer fliegt und fliegend springt Und gleich im Gras ihr altes Liedchen singt; Und läg' er nur noch immer in dem Grase! 50 In jeden Quark begräbt er seine Nase. Der Herr. Hast du mir weiter nichts zu sagen? Mephistopheles. Nein, Herr! ich find' es dort, wie immer, herzlich Die Menschen dauern mich in ihren Jammertagen, Der Herr. Kennst du den Faust? Mephistopheles. Den Doctor? Der Herr. Meinen Knecht! Mephistopheles. Fürwahr! er dient euch auf besondre Weise. Nicht irdisch ist des Thoren Trank noch Speise. 60 Ihn treibt die Gährung in die Ferne; 70 Er ist sich seiner Tollheit halb bewußt: Vom Himmel fordert er die schönsten Sterne, Und alle Näh' und alle Ferne Befriedigt nicht die tiefbewegte Brust. Der Herr. Wenn er mir jegt auch nur verworren dient, Mephistopheles. 70 Was wettet ihr? den sollt ihr noch verlieren! Der Herr. So lang' er auf der Erde lebt, So lange sei dir's nicht verboten. Es irrt der Mensch, so lang' er strebt. Mephistopheles. Da dank' ich euch; denn mit den Todten Hab' ich mich niemals gern befangen. Am meisten lieb' ich mir die vollen frischen Wangen. Für einen Leichnam bin ich nicht zu Haus; 80 Mir geht es, wie der Kage mit der Maus. Der Herr. Nun gut! es sei dir überlassen ! Zieh diesen Geist von seinem Urquell ab, Und führ' ihn, kannst du ihn erfassen, Auf deinem Wege mit herab, B Und steh beschämt, wenn du bekennen mußt: Mephistopheles. Schon gut! nur dauert es nicht lange. Mir ist für meine Wette gar nicht bange. 90 Wenn ich zu meinem Zweck gelange, Erlaubt ihr mir Triumph aus voller Brust. Wie meine Muhme, die berühmte Schlange. Der Herr. Du darfst auch da nur frei erscheinen; Ist mir der Schalk am wenigsten zur Last. Des Menschen Thätigkeit kann allzuleicht erschlaffen, 100 Drum geb' ich gern ihm den Gesellen zu, Der reizt und wirkt und muß, als Teufel, schaffen. Doch ihr, die ächten Göttersöhne, Erfreut euch der lebendig reichen Schöne! (Der Himmel schließt, die Erzengel vertheilen sich.) Mephistopheles (allein.) Von Zeit zu Zeit seh' ich den Alten gern, 110 Es ist gar hübsch von einem großen Herrn, So menschlich mit dem Teufel selbst zu sprechen. Der Tragödie erster Theil. Faust, the subject of Mephistopheles' wager with the Lord in the "Prologue in Heaven," here appears in his own person for the first time. At night, poring over his desk in a narrow, vaulted chamber, and surrounded with dusty lore of medicine and the Cabala, he begins his self-avowal. In every science, every art—in all teaching as in all learning he has found only vanity and vexation of spirit. He is haunted by no terrors of Hell or of Devil; but, with the sense of fear, the sense of joy has vanished also. The last hope of relief lies in Magic and the Spirits of Magic-if, perchance, by their means, some certainty, some inner knowledge of Nature may be attained, and he may escape from the thraldom of being obliged to traffic in empty words. The moon looks wistfully through the casement-does she not call and beckon him away, from books and phials and mouldering skeletons, to the free spirit-life that teems, in her light, through wood and hill? Yes, and to the magic book that holds the secrets of the world, the lore of Nostradamus. Fling the book open-is not this the powerful sign of the Macrocosm? Yet how vain it is! What is this display of the activity of Life to him who vainly seeks her origin? Will the sign of the EarthSpirit avail him more? A plunge in the sorrows, joys, and terrors of earth—will not this satiate the hungry soul? Appear, EarthSpirit. As he utters the sign, the Spirit flashes into sight; Faust shrinks with terror, and is taunted with his cowardice, after his mighty aspirations! then, asserting his likeness and equality to spirits, all and any, he wins from the Earth-Spirit a bitter word"Thou art like the Spirit whom thou comprehendest, but not like me." The Spirit vanishes, and Faust falls on the floor of his cell, with a loud cry of disappointment and injured pride. He is recalled to himself by a tap at the door and the entrance of his Famulus, Wagner-a pedantic pupil of mature age, who has overheard Faust's despairing cry, and mistaken it for a spirited piece of declamation from some Greek Play, and comes for a hint in that or any other branch of knowledge. He is weighed down by the desire and despair of becoming an orator, an historian, a philosopher; and meekly receives Faust's weary and impatient denunciation of oratory as being usually insincere, of history as subjective, and therefore false, of philosophy as either futile or fatal to those who zealously obtrude truth upon an unwilling world. Eventually Faust dismisses him, and resumes his soliloquy. How petty seem the questions of earthly learning compared to the glow and thrill of spiritual presences! Yet how crushed are all aspirations by the "thunder-word" of the Earth-Spirit-" Thou art no peer to me!" How true it is withal-how all our high feelings, all our fancy, all our best and inmost life, are degraded and benumbed by contact with the common world, with its restless care and everchanging anxieties. Thinkers, like poets, "Begin in gladness; But thereof come in the end despondency and madness." And what avails all this dusty apparatus of learning, save to tell us that Misery hath been and must be the rule, and Happiness the exception? It cannot force Nature to reveal her secrets; it leaves us in the eternal pain of unsatisfied desire. Is there no refuge ? One spot on those musty shelves attracts the eye; there gleams the vial of subtlest poisons—and at the sight, a calm creeps over the soul -its tide of bitter emotion ebbs away, a hand beckons to a serene ocean of rest. A fiery car hovers in air, ready to waft the disembodied spirit to new spheres of pure activity-if its resolve be strong enough to tear open the dreadful portals, to face the gloomy pass where men have deemed that fires of Hell are kindled, or the doom of Nothingness awaits. Come down, then, the goblet, once the pride of familyfeasts, with its quaint carvings, its brimming draught! Once more, and for the last time, let it be filled, with a more potent draught than heretofore-and a health to the new life's dawn! As he sets the cup to his lips, the bells of Easter-morning ring out their first peal, and hymns are heard in alternate chorus. The Angels chant of Christ risen and men delivered; the women, of Christ vanished from the grave where, tenderly shrouding, they had laid Him; the Disciples, of His high throne in Heaven, and their loneliness on earth, now that He has departed from them; the Angels, once more, of His redemption and the life, joy, and duty He has bequeathed to his followers for ever. And, at the sound, all the memories of youthful faith and trust come back over the mind of Faust; he sets aside the poisoned cup-his tears flow-Earth wins him back again. Nacht. In einem hochgewölbten, engen, gothischen Zimmer Faust unruhig auf seinem Sessel am Pulte. Fauft. Habe nun, ach! Philosophie, Juristerei und Medicin, |