The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries Volume I Part 41

FAUST (_turning aside_)

Dreadful shape!

SPIRIT

With might, Thou hast compell'd me to appear, Long hast been sucking at my sphere, And now--

FAUST

Woe's me! I cannot bear thy sight!

SPIRIT

To see me thou dost breathe thine invocation, My voice to hear, to gaze upon my brow; Me doth thy strong entreaty bow-- Lo! I am here!--What cowering agitation Grasps thee, the demiG.o.d! Where's now the soul's deep cry?

Where is the breast, which in its depths a world conceiv'd, And bore and cherished? which, with ecstasy, To rank itself with us, the spirits, heaved?

Where art thou, Faust? Whose voice heard I resound Who toward me press'd with energy profound?

Art thou he? Thou,--who by my breath art blighted, Who, in his spirit's depths affrighted, Trembles, a crush'd and writhing worm!

FAUST

Shall I yield, thing of flame, to thee?

Faust, and thine equal, I am he!

SPIRIT

In the currents of life, in action's storm, I float and I wave With billowy motion!

Birth and the grave, O limitless ocean, A constant weaving With change still rife, A restless heaving, A glowing life--- Thus time's whirring loom unceasing I ply, And weave the life-garment of deity.

FAUST

Thou, restless spirit, dost from end to end O'ersweep the world; how near I feel to thee!

SPIRIT

Thou'rt like the spirit, thou dost comprehend, Not me! [_Vanishes_.]

FAUST (_deeply moved_)

Not thee Whom then?

I, G.o.d's own image!

And not rank with thee! [_A knock_.]

Oh death! I know it-'tis my famulus-- My fairest fortune now escapes!

That all these visionary shapes A soulless groveller should banish thus!

[WAGNER _in his dressing gown and night-cap, a lamp in his hand_. FAUST _turns round reluctantly_.]

WAGNER

Pardon! I heard you here declaim; A Grecian tragedy you doubtless read?

Improvement in this art is now my aim, For now-a-days it much avails. Indeed An actor, oft I've heard it said, as teacher, May give instruction to a preacher.

FAUST

Ay, if your priest should be an actor too, As not improbably may come to pa.s.s.

WAGNER

When in his study pent the whole year through, Man views the world, as through an optic gla.s.s, On a chance holiday, and scarcely then, How by persuasion can he govern men?

FAUST

If feeling prompt not, if it doth not flow Fresh from the spirit's depths, with strong control Swaying to rapture every listener's soul, Idle your toil; the chase you may forego!

Brood o'er your task! Together glue, Cook from another's feast your own ragout, Still prosecute your paltry game, And fan your ash-heaps into flame!

Thus children's wonder you'll excite, And apes', if such your appet.i.te; But that which issues from the heart alone, Will bend the hearts of others to your own.

WAGNER

The speaker in delivery, will find Success alone; I still am far behind.

FAUST

A worthy object still pursue!

Be not a hollow tinkling fool!

Sound understanding, judgment true, Find utterance without art or rule; And when in earnest you are moved to speak, Then is it needful cunning words to seek?

Your fine harangues, so polish'd in their kind, Wherein the shreds of human thought ye twist, Are unrefreshing as the empty wind, Whistling through wither'd leaves and autumn mist!

WAGNER

Oh G.o.d! How long is art, Our life how short! With earnest zeal Still as I ply the critic's task, I feel A strange oppression both of head and heart.

The very means--how hardly are they won, By which we to the fountains rise!

And, haply, ere one half the course is run, Check'd in his progress, the poor devil dies.

FAUST

Parchment, is that the sacred fount whence roll Waters he thirsteth not who once hath quaffed?

Oh, if it gush not from thine inmost soul, Thou hast not won the life-restoring draught.

WAGNER

Your pardon! 'tis delightful to transport Oneself into the spirit of the past, To see in times before us how a wise man thought, And what a glorious height we have achieved at last.

FAUST

Ay, truly! even to the loftiest star!

To us, my friend, the ages that are pa.s.s'd A book with seven seals, close-fasten'd, are; And what the spirit of the times men call, Is merely their own spirit after all, Wherein, distorted oft, the times are gla.s.s'd.

Then truly, 'tis a sight to grieve the soul!

At the first glance we fly it in dismay; A very lumber-room, a rubbish-hole; At best a sort of mock-heroic play, With saws pragmatical, and maxims sage, To suit the puppets and their mimic stage.

WAGNER