The Faust-Legend and Goethe's 'Faust' Part 4

and so on. We need not linger over the repulsive scene--so graphically described.

Finally Mephistopheles bores holes in the table and draws wine from them.

The students come to handicuffs over it; they spill the wine, and it turns into flame.

Amidst their drunken uproar Faust and Mephistopheles disappear.

During the whole of this scene Faust _speaks no single word_, except a curt but polite greeting on entering the Cellar and an appeal to Mephistopheles to take him away from this 'scene of swinish b.e.s.t.i.a.lity.'

How different from the part that Faust plays in the old story where he himself, not Mephistopheles, joins in the revelry and buffoonery!

Auerbach's Cellar existed till lately, though the house above it had been rebuilt. It was the original 'Keller' that is mentioned in the old legend. In it were to be seen two old pictures (with the date 1525). One represented Faust sitting at table with students; in the other he is flying off through the door astride on a wine cask.

A weird scene now ensues: the Witches' Kitchen.

Faust had asked how it was possible for him, the thought-worn grey-haired professor, to care for, or take part in, what Mephistopheles looked upon as 'life.' Mephistopheles therefore takes him to a witch, from whom he is to receive a magic draught that will 'strip off some thirty years from his body,' so that he becomes a young, man of, say, about twenty-seven. This scene in the Witches' Kitchen is sometimes said to represent allegorically a long course of dissipation through which Mephistopheles takes Faust, and which of course could not be represented otherwise without extending the action of the play beyond all reasonable limits. It is true that, after the draught Faust's character seems considerably changed for the worse. He develops a recklessness and a licentiousness which scandalize even Mephistopheles himself, who tells him that he is 'almost as bad as a Frenchman.'

Whether we should understand it thus, or not, I do not feel quite sure, but anyhow we have in future--to the end of the first Part--to take into account the fact that, although loathing all such swinish sensuality as that of tippling students, and hating all forms of mean selfishness and cunning and hypocrisy, Faust is (as so often is the case with otherwise n.o.ble and lovable men) open to a.s.sault at that point where, as nowhere else, the sensuous and ideal in our human nature seem to touch and coalesce.

When they enter the Witch is not at home. In the midst of the kitchen is a large cauldron, and at its side, skimming it and seeing that it does not run over is a Meerkatze--a kind of female ape. The Meerkater, or male ape, squats by the fire, warming himself, and near by are several young apes. Mephistopheles is enraptured at the sight of the 'tender pretty beasts,' but Faust finds them more disgusting than anything he has ever seen.

The apes perform all kinds of antics and chatter a weird medley of half sense, half nonsense, in which one can dimly discern satirical allusions to various forms of the literary, political, and religious cant of Goethe's generation.

The animals enthrone Mephistopheles in a chair, give him a feather brush for a sceptre, and offer him a broken crown, which he is to glue together with 'sweat and blood.' It is like some horrid nightmare. We feel as if we were going mad; and so does Faust himself. But suddenly he catches sight of a magic mirror, in which he sees a form of ravishing beauty--not that of Gretchen or Helen, but some form of ideal loveliness. He stands there entranced.

But at this moment the cauldron boils over. A great flame shoots up the chimney. With a scream the witch comes clattering down, and launches curses at the intruders--not recognising the devil in his costume as modern roue. He abuses her roundly and tells her that his horns, tail and cloven hoof are gone out of fashion, modern culture having tabooed them; and he forbids her to address him as Satan. That name is not up-to-date: he is now 'der Herr Baron.'

With a hocus-pocus of incantations she brews the magic draught, which Faust drinks. He is then hurried away by Mephistopheles back into the world of humanity.

We have now come to the story of Margarete or Gretchen, which by many, perhaps by most, is looked upon as const.i.tuting the main subject of Goethe's _Faust_. It is doubtless the part which attracts one, which appeals to one's _heart_, more than any other, and it forms by itself a pathetic little tragedy. The story itself is merely the old sad story of pa.s.sion, weakness and misery, which has been told thousands of times in all ages and all languages.

It would be worse than useless to endeavour by any dissecting process to discover how by some act of creative power Goethe has inspired this little story with such wondrous vitality that there is probably in all literature scarcely any character that lives for us, that seems so real, as Gretchen. Possibly to feel this one needs a knowledge of the original poem and an acquaintance not only with that Germany which is generally known to the English visitor, but also with just that cla.s.s of which Gretchen is typical, and with just those little ways and those forms of expression which are peculiar to that cla.s.s and to the part of Germany to which Gretchen belonged. Every single word that she utters is so absolutely true to nature that we seem to hear the voice of some real living Gretchen, and can hardly believe that she merely exists in our imagination. This may perhaps be a.s.serted of other poetic creations; but I confess that I know no other, not even in Shakespeare, that produces on me quite the same kind of illusion. Homer's Nausicaa, the Antigone and Electra of Sophocles, Rosalind, Miranda, Imogen, Portia, Cordelia--all these live for me, but not quite as Gretchen. Their presence I feel as something living, but a little visionary. Gretchen I can see, and hear and almost touch. I need not recount at length her story, for it is too well known. I need only recall to you memories of certain facts and scenes: that first meeting in the street; the mysterious presents from the unknown lover; the meeting in the neighbour's garden and Gretchen's innocent prattlings about her home life; Faust's growing pa.s.sion, and the vain battlings of his higher nature; the insidious promptings and cynical ridicule of his demonic companion; the song of Gretchen at her spinning-wheel; her loving anxiety as to Faust's religious opinions, and his celebrated confession of faith; the sleeping draught by which Gretchen causes the death of her mother; her shame, remorse and despair; Gretchen kneeling with her gift of tear-sprent flowers before the Virgin's image; the return of her brother, the young soldier, Valentin, and _his_ death--stabbed by her lover (or rather by Mephisto) at night beneath her window, and cursing her as he dies; the scene in the Cathedral; the pealing organ and the solemn tones of the Dies Irae mingling with the terrible words of the accusing spirit, till Gretchen sinks fainting to the ground.

And where is Faust? He has fled. The avengers of blood are on his track.

His selfish pa.s.sion has been the cause of death to Gretchen's mother and brother and has brought ruin on her--to end in madness, infanticide and the block.

I have often wondered whether the limitations of art might not allow the possibility of some drama on the same lines as _Faust_ in which he might be saved by the purity and n.o.bility of womanhood, as in the story of Cyprian and Justina, instead of, as here, using the ruin of a poor girl as a stepping-stone in his career of self-salvation. Or, what if he had felt such horror and remorse at her fate that he had broken his compact and freed himself from the demon? It will be said, perhaps, that this would have been undramatic and that such a view is merely sentimental and subversive of all true art. But, once more, what if he had bravely stood by Gretchen, or had even shared her fate when she refused to be saved by him?

Anyhow, Goethe did not choose any of these methods; and if he had done so we should have had no second Part of _Faust_--nor indeed our next scene, the _Walpurgisnacht_.

Pursued not only by the avengers of blood but by the avenging furies of his own conscience, Faust has plunged into a reckless life and experiences those after-dreams of intellectual and aesthetic extravagance which so often follow such riotous living. This period--that of sensual riot and aesthetic dalliance--Goethe has, I think, symbolized by two wild and curious scenes, the _Walpurgisnacht_ and Oberon's Wedding, a kind of 'after-dream' of the _Walpurgisnacht_.

The connexion of these scenes with the main action of the play has puzzled many critics, especially the curious Intermezzo which follows the _Walpurgisnacht_, the 'Golden Wedding of Oberon and t.i.tania,' a kind of dream-vision, or rather nightmare, in which besides the fairies of Shakespeare's fairyland, besides will-o'-the-wisps and weather-c.o.c.ks and shooting stars, numerous authors, philosophers and artists and other characters appear, including Goethe himself as the 'Welt-kind.' This scene was not originally written for _Faust_, but Goethe inserted it (I imagine) as an allegorical picture of over-indulgence in aestheticism and intellectualism (the 'opiate of the brain,' as Tennyson calls it)--a vice into which one is apt to be seduced by the hope of deadening pain of heart. Although not written for the play, this Intermezzo cannot be said to be superfluous, for the subject of _Faust_ is one that admits of almost any imaginative conception that is descriptive of the experiences of human nature in its quest of truth.

But let us return to the _Walpurgisnacht_. On the 1st of May a great festival was held by the ancient Druids, who on the preceding night used to perform on the mountains their terrible sacrifices, setting ablaze huge wickerwork figures filled with human beings. Hence in later times the superst.i.tion arose that on this night witches ghouls and fiends held their revels on the Brocken, or Blocksberg, in the Harz mountains. The name of Saint Walpurga (an English nun, who came to Germany in the eighth century) became a.s.sociated with this Witches' Sabbath, as the 1st of May was sacred to her. To this midnight orgy of the _Walpurgisnacht_ Mephistopheles takes Faust.... They are lighted on their toilsome ascent of the Blocksberg by a will-o'-the-wisp. A vast mult.i.tude of witches and goblins are flocking to the summit; the midnight air resounds with their shrieks and jabberings; weird lights flash from every quarter, revealing thronging swarms of ghoulish shapes and dancing Hexen. The trees themselves are dancing. The mountains nod. The crags jut forth long snouts which snort and blow. Amid the crush and confusion Faust has to cling fast to his guide. Once the two get parted, and Mephistopheles is in anxiety lest he should lose Faust entirely, the idea being, I suppose, that sometimes a human being outruns the devil himself in the orgies of sensuality. At last they reach the dancers. Mephistopheles is here in his element and joins in the dances with eagerness, bandying jokes with the old hags and flirting with the younger witches. Nor does Faust seem at all disinclined to follow suit. He however desists dismayed when, as he is dancing with a witch of seductive loveliness, a red mouse jumps out of her mouth.

At length, when Mephisto, who finds it getting too hot even for him, comes again to Faust, he discovers him silently gazing at a weird sight--one that might well have sobered him. 'Look!' says Faust:

'Look! seest thou not in the far distance there, Standing alone, that child, so pale and fair?

She seems to move so slowly, and with pain, As if her feet were fettered by a chain.

I must confess, I almost seem to trace My poor good Gretchen in her form and face.'

Mephistopheles answers:

'Let her alone! It's dangerous to look.

It's a mere lifeless ghoul, a spectre-spook.

Such bogeys to encounter is not good; Their rigid stare freezes one's very blood, And one is often almost turned to stone.

Medusa's head, methinks, to thee is known!'

But Faust will not be convinced. It _is_ Gretchen--his 'poor good Gretchen' as he calls her. And what is that red bleeding gash around her neck? What terrible thought does it suggest!

'How strange that round her lovely neck, That narrow band of red is laid No broader than a knife's keen blade!'

'Quite right!' answers Mephistopheles with a ghastly joke--

'Quite right! I plainly see it's so.

Perseus cut off her head, you know.

She often carries it beneath her arm.'

He hurries Faust away. But soon these terrible presentiments are realized. Faust learns--how we are not told--that Gretchen is in prison, and condemned to death on the scaffold; for in her madness--yes, surely in madness--she has drowned her own child.

Instead of attempting to describe what follows, I shall offer a literal prose translation of some parts of the concluding scene, asking you to supply by your imagination, as best you may, the power and harmony of Goethe's wonderful verse.

_A gloomy day. Open country._

_FAUST and MEPHISTOPHELES. FAUST is speaking._

FAUST. In misery! In despair! Piteously wandering day after day o'er the face of the earth,--and now imprisoned! That sweet unhappy being shut up in a dungeon, as a criminal, and exposed to horrible torments! Has it come to _this_!--to this!... Treacherous, villainous spirit! and _this_ thou hast concealed from me!... Stand there, stand, and roll thy devilish eyes in fury! Imprisoned! In hopeless misery!

Delivered over to evil spirits and the heartless verdict of mankind!... And _thou_ meantime hast lulled me with loathsome dissipation ... thou hast hidden from me her ever-deepening despair, and hast suffered her to perish helplessly.

MEPH. She isn't the first.

FAUST. Dog! Abominable monster! Turn him, O Infinite Spirit, turn this reptile back into his dog-shape ... that he may crawl on his belly before me ... that I may trample the abandoned wretch underfoot. Not the first!... Woe! Woe not to be grasped by any human soul, that _more_ than _one_ should sink into this abyss of misery--that the _first_, in her writhing agony before the eyes of the All-merciful, should not have made satisfaction for the guilt of all others. The misery of this _one_ pierces with agony my deepest soul--and _thou_ calmly grinnest at the fate of thousands!

MEPH. Here we are again, at the end of our wits!--where the common sense of you mortals loses its hold and snaps. Why dost thou make fellowship with us, if thou canst not carry it through? Wilt thou fly, and art not secure from dizziness? Did we thrust ourselves upon thee, or thou thyself upon us?

FAUST. Gnash not thy ravening teeth at me! I loathe thee!

Mighty, glorious Spirit--thou who didst deign to appear to me, and knowest my heart and soul, why dost thou fetter me to this satellite of shame, who revels in evil and gluts himself on destruction?

MEPH. Hast thou done?

FAUST. Save her, or woe to thee! The most terrible curse on thee for thousands of years!

MEPH. I cannot loose the bonds of the avenger--cannot undo his bolts. _Save her!_... Who was it that ruined her ... I or thou?

[_FAUST glares wildly round him._