Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Bidwell, and PG Online

Distributed Proofreading Team

Entered in accordance with the Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by CHARLES T. BROOKS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Rhode Island.

Perhaps an apology is due to English scholars, specifically those who don’t know German, (at least to those who aren’t aware of what Faust really is in the original text,) for presenting another translation of a poem that has already been translated, not just in a literal prose version, but also, twenty or thirty times, in verse, and sometimes with great energy, beauty, and strength.

The author of this version has no knowledge that anyone has attempted to translate this amazing poem into the exact and ever-changing meter of the original until now. To point out just one flaw, the best translations he has seen fail to capture the delicate balance of alternating male and female rhymes, i.e. rhymes that end on the last syllable and those that end on the second to last syllable. Every careful student of Faust's meter must recognize that Goethe didn’t randomly mix these types of rhymes, as those translators do; they also provide the female rhyme (which is essential for the liveliness of dialogue and description) in a very limited amount.

A similar criticism could be directed at their freedom in overlooking Goethe's approach of mixing different rhythms together.

It seems that when it comes to meter, they were more interested in how Goethe would have written or shaped this in English if that had been his native language, rather than trying to reproduce, both in spirit and in form, the free yet orderly movement of the uniquely talented and accomplished poet they set out to represent, as they should have done con amore (and con fidelità).

As for the objections that Hayward and some of his reviewers have raised in advance against the possibility of a good and faithful metrical translation of a poem like Faust, the current translator finds these arguments full of paradox and trickery. For example, consider this statement from one of the reviewers: "The sacred and mysterious union of thought with verse, born together and immortally joined from the moment of their creation, can never be understood by those who want verse translations of good poetry." If the latter part of this statement had said "by those who can be satisfied with prose translations of good poetry," it would have been more accurate. We can certainly agree that if the choice were between having a poem like Faust in a meter that's glaringly different from the original or a straightforward and strong prose version, the latter option would be what every discerning and sensitive scholar would prefer. However, for anyone who can read the original or wishes to understand how this great song sang itself (as Carlyle puts it) from Goethe's soul, a mere prose translation must be, relatively speaking, a corpus mortuum.

The translator strongly disagrees with Hayward's claim that a translator of Faust "must sacrifice either meter or meaning." At least he believes he has achieved a combination of meaning and melody, which is a crucial and essential part of a lyric poem's meaning in any proper sense. "No poetic translation," says Hayward's reviewer, already quoted, "can provide the rhythm and rhyme of the original; it can only replace the rhythm and rhyme of the translator." One might as well say "no prose translation can capture the sense and spirit of the original; it can only substitute the sense and spirit of the words and phrases in the translator's language;" and then, with these two statements balancing each other, it can be said in favor of the metrical translator that he may come as close to conveying both the letter and the spirit as the effects of the Babel dispersion will allow.

As for the original creation that he has tried to recreate here, the translator could say something, but he prefers to let readers engage with the poet directly, as expressed in the poem, and the various commentaries available, at least some of which are in English. A French translator of the poem states in his introduction: "This Faust, which he conceived in his youth and completed in his mature years, the idea of which he carried with him through all the upheavals of his life, just as Camoens carried his poem through the waves, this Faust contains him entirely. The thirst for knowledge and the struggle with doubt; didn’t these torment his early years? Where did the idea come from of seeking refuge in a supernatural realm, of appealing to unseen forces, which plunged him for a significant time into the dreams of the Illuminati and even made him create a religion? This irony of Mephistopheles, who plays such a bold game with human weakness and desires, is it not the mocking, disdainful facet of the poet's spirit—a tendency towards gloom that can be traced back to his earliest years, a bitter influence introduced into a strong soul forever by early excess? The character of Faust, especially, the man with a burning, relentless heart who can neither enjoy fortune nor live without it, who gives himself completely and watches himself with suspicion, who combines passionate enthusiasm and deep despair, is not this a vivid revelation of the most hidden and tumultuous parts of the poet's soul? And now, to complete the image of his inner life, he has added the transcendentally sweet figure of Margaret, a cherished memory of a young girl whom, at the age of fourteen, he believed loved him, whose image has always surrounded him, and has contributed traits to each of his heroines. This heavenly surrender of a simple, kind, and loving heart beautifully contrasts with the sensual and gloomy passion of the lover, who, in the midst of his dreams of love, is haunted by the phantoms of his imagination and the nightmares of thought, with the sorrows of a soul that is crushed but not extinguished, tormented by an unquenchable desire for happiness and the painful realization of how difficult it is to receive or give."

Once again, you appear dreamily before me,
Shapes that so early brightened my troubled eyes!
To hold you close still makes my heart plead with me?
Still urge me to grasp the charm that tempts and escapes?
You gather around! Come, then, hold power over me,
As from the fog and haze of thought you emerge;
The magical atmosphere, your presence wrapping,
Through my excited heart, youthful joy is flowing.

You bring with you the shapes of blissful hours,
And the shadows of loved ones rise to meet my gaze;
First Love and Friendship appear before me
Like an old story from legendary days;
Sorrow returns, in sad repetition,
It weaves through life’s confusing, winding paths;
And, with a sigh, names the good ones (who were cheated by Fortune
Out of joyful hours) that have passed before me.

These later songs of mine, unfortunately, will never
Sound in the ears of those to whom the first were sung!
Scattered like dust, the friendly crowd is gone forever!
Silent is the first echo that rang so gratefully!
To this strange crowd I sing, whose very favor
Feels like a chilling sadness on my heart;
And all that was ignited by those earlier tunes
Roams the wide world or lies asleep in its own embrace.

And now I feel a long-unfelt longing
For that calm, thoughtful spirit realm today;
Like an Aeolian lyre, (the breeze coming back,)
My soft song floats in uncertain tones;
A strange awe washes over me, tears fall like fire,
The stiff heart softens into a gentler mood!
What I have I see lying far away,
And what I lost feels real and everlasting.

Manager. Dramatic Poet. Cheerful Person.

Manager. You who in trouble and distress
Have both held onto your old loyalty,
What do you think? Here in Germany
Can our venture find success?
I’ve remained focused on pleasing the crowd,
Because they let us live and let live at least.
The posts are in place, the boards are already set,
And everyone is waiting for a feast.
They sit, brows raised, wearing composed expressions,
Anticipating something that will amaze them.
I know what the audience wants, that’s for sure;
Yet I’ve never craved a good idea so much;
True, they aren’t used to the best,
But they have read a lot, no doubt about that.
How can we create something fresh and new,
Something appealing and profitable, too?
I love to see the excitement building,
As they crowd towards our booth to find a spot,
Now moving forward, then pulling back,
Then squeezing through the tight door of opportunity:
Long before it gets dark, each one claims his hard-earned spot
In view of the box office window,
And just like people crowding around bakers' doors to escape hunger,
For tickets here, they nearly break their necks.
Only the Poet can create this wonder,
So today, my friend, let’s show it!

Poet. Oh, don’t talk to me about that chaotic ocean,
Whose roar and greed make the spirit shiver!
Hide that rolling commotion from my sight
That pulls us down the whirlpool against our will.
No, take me to that peaceful place of devotion,
Where pure joy blooms on the Muses' hill;
Where love and friendship always create and cherish,
With a divine hand, heart's joys that never fade.
Ah! what comes from the deepest well of feeling,
Barely passing from stammering lips;
Now hopeful, stepping out, now shyly clinging,
To the wild moment's cry, a victim caught.
Often when for years the mind had heard it ringing,
It finally comes in full and complete form.
What shines is born just for the moment's pleasure;
The genuine leaves a treasure for posterity.

Merry Person. Future generations! I'm tired of hearing about it;
If I think the future will benefit,
Who then will provide us with entertainment?
Because we definitely need it, fresh and lively;
The company of a charming young person,
Is uplifting, I believe, to anyone.
Whoever can communicate with joy,
Will not clash with popular opinions,
For, as the group grows larger,
The influence of their words will increase.
So come on, let’s see an example now,
Let’s have Fantasy with all her different styles,
Reason, emotion, passion, sensitivity,
But, remember, folly too! Let it inspire the scene.

Manager. But the key point is action! Everyone
comes as a spectator, and the show is the fun.
Just let the plot unfold quickly and thickly,
so that the crowd is left in wide-eyed surprise,
then you've made a big impression fast,
you’ll be the person they idolize.
The crowd can only be impressed by big things;
then each person finally finds their role.
Give a lot, and then something goes to each one,
and everyone leaves feeling happy.
If you have a piece, give it out in parts!
Such a mix will boost your fame;
it takes as little effort to perform as to create.
But what do you gain if you present it all at once?
Your audience will break it down immediately.

Poet. You have no idea how lowly a profession like that can be!
In the eyes of a true Artist, it seems so fake and empty!
Our refined hacks, I get it,
Have handed down the principles that you stick to.

Manager. These complaints pass me like a breeze;
A person with genuine work in mind
Must choose the right tools for the task.
Think about what soft wood you have for splitting,
And remember who you’re writing for!
If one person is trying to escape boredom,
Another comes full of complaints,
Or, the worst case of all to mention,
Is someone unable to think after reading the news.
Empty and dizzy, all excited for a thrill,
Like they’re on their way to a party;
The ladies give themselves and all their treasures
And help us perform for free.
What dream comes to you on your poetic heights?
What pleases a packed audience? Look,
Your audience is lined up before you!
Half are clueless, the other half bored.
One hopes to play cards after this show,
One chooses to spend a wild night with a date,
Poor fools, why do you seek approval
From such a crowd, away from the pure muses?
I tell you, give them more and more and more,
And then you’ll hardly miss your target;—
To confuse should be your goal,
To satisfy is a tough job…
What’s wrong? Are you happy or hurt? What thought——

Poet. Go ahead, and find yourself another servant!
What! And the great birthright that Nature gave,
The best talent that Heaven has given to humanity,
You tell the Poet to toss it into the ocean of foolishness?
How does he touch every deep emotion?
How does he master every element?
But through the flow of song that springs from his heart,
And draws into his soul all living beings?
When Nature’s hand, in endless repetition,
Flings the thread across the spinning wheel,
When the intricate, monotonous creation
Clashes with all its million strings:
Who, then, animates the long, dull series,
Breaking the soulless cycle into a rhythmic march?
And, dedicating each member to the law of All,
Calls forth one grand harmony to resonate?
Who commands the storm to rage with the fire of passion?
The earnest soul to glow with the colors of dusk?
Who scatters spring buds and summer flowers
Along the path where loved ones walk?
Who weaves each green leaf in the trembling wind
To create the crown that will adorn the brow of merit?
Who makes Olympus solid? The gods gather?
The power of manhood is revealed in the Poet.

Merry Person. Come on, then, unleash these noble powers,
And, Poet, let your path of flowers
Follow the twists and turns of a love adventure.
Some come and see by chance, some get burned, some stay,
And feel the slow, sweet entanglement!
The pleasure builds, then a sudden jolt,
Then ecstasy, then distress strikes like an arrow,
And before one even thinks about it, look! there is a romance.
Give us a drama like this!
Dive into the vast sea of human passion!
Everyone experiences it, but few truly grasp its meaning,
Touch wherever you want, it’s full of intrigue.
Bright shadows fleeting across a mirror,
A spark of truth and clouds of confusion,
Through means like these, a brew is made
To uplift and enlighten the masses.
The fairest flower of youth sits listening
Before your play, waiting for the reveal;
Each melancholic heart, with soft eyes shining,
Draws sweet, sad nourishment from your creation;
This passion stirs here, then there, by turns,
And each one sees what burns inside them.
Open equally to both tears and laughter,
They still admire the flights, they still enjoy the show;
For those already formed, nothing suits them afterward;
The yet unformed will always glow with thanks.

Poet. Yes, bring back those joyful times,
When I was also blossoming,
When song, like a spring, poured out its streams
Of beauty always fresh and new.
When a gentle haze shrouded the world,
Every bud was a little miracle,
And I picked a thousand flowers from their stems,
Their fragrance spreading through the valleys.
I possessed nothing and yet everything,
Longing for truth and blessed in illusion.
Give me the freedom of that time,
The tear of joy, the sweet pain,
The thrilling power of love and hate,
Oh, bring back my youth again!

Merry Person. Youth, my good friend, you definitely need
When ambushed enemies are pouncing on you,
When the loveliest maidens enchantingly
Wrap their white arms around your neck,
When the far-off garland catches your eye,
High above on the raceground’s goal suspended,
After many a dizzy dance
When the night ends in drinking and song.
But with a free and graceful spirit
To strum the old familiar lyre,
And to a self-chosen goal
Glide lightly over the trembling strings,
That’s your task today, old gentlemen;
Don’t worry, no common mistake blinds us.
Age doesn’t make us childish, as they say,
But we remain true children when it finds us.

Manager. Come on, you two have exchanged enough words,
Now let’s finally see some action;
While you're busy throwing compliments,
Time for real work is slipping away.
Why talk about being in the mood?
Those who hesitate will never get there.
If you're poets (or so they say),
Then go ahead and use your poetry.
You know exactly what we need and want,
We want strong drinks in generous amounts;
Start brewing now without hesitation!
Tomorrow won’t do what needs to be done today.
Don’t waste a day just lingering,
But grab the opportunity
With courage and determination,
And march forward with fearless spirit—
Once you commit, you’re free.
On our German stage, you know,
Anyone can try whatever they want;
So don’t hold back, I ask you today,
In scenery or machinery, Poet.
Use both great and small heavenly lights freely,
Spend starlight however you wish;
You won’t lack for water, rocks, or fire,
Or birds or beasts will be a problem for you.
So, within this small wooden house's limits,
Explore the whole creation’s expanse,
And with thoughtful speed wander
From heaven, through this world, to the world below.

[THE LORD. THE HEAVENLY HOSTS afterward MEPHISTOPHELES. The three archangels, RAPHAEL, GABRIEL, and MICHAEL, come forward.]

Raphael. The sun, in ancient wisdom, is resonating,
  With celestial siblings, in competing melodies;
And, as his destined path concludes,
  With powerful motion, he rolls on.
His gaze, bringing new strength to angels,
  No being can ever fully understand;
The grand creations, beyond comprehension,
  Stand majestically, as they did on the first day of time.

Gabriel. And quick, with amazing speed fleeting,
  The splendor of the earth spins round and round,
The light of paradise shifting
  With the deep terror of midnight's gloom;
Up over the rocks, the crashing ocean
  Rises from its ancient, original bed,
And rocks and seas, in constant motion,
  Move on in the circular sweep.

Michael. And storms rage, joyful battles fought,
  From ocean to shore, from shore to ocean,
And bind everyone, in their fury,
  A chain of immense energy.
There, bright destruction, flaming,
  Precedes the crashing thunder's path:
Yet, Lord, your messengers are praising
  The gentle flow of your day.

All Three. The sight gives new strength to angels,
  For no one can fully understand your existence,
The works, no angel can grasp,
  Stand proudly as they did on the first day of time.

Mephistopheles. Since, Lord, you are approaching us once again,
And you kindly ask how we are doing,
And you used to take pleasure in seeing me,
I too venture closer among your household.
Forgive me, I can't manage lofty words,
Even if the entire court were to look at me with disdain;
My emotions would surely make you laugh,
If you hadn’t given up laughter long ago.
I have nothing to share about the sun and the worlds,
But how people torment themselves really grabs my attention.
The little God of the world keeps going the same old way
And is just as unique as he was on the first day.
It’s a shame you chose to give
The fool, to make his condition worse, a bit of light from heaven;
He calls it reason and uses it
To act more beastly than any beast ever could.
He seems to me, if you’ll forgive the expression,
Like a long-legged grasshopper in the garden,
Always flying around, hopping and singing
The same old tune as he jumps in the grass;
If only he would stay there! No; he has to stick his
Nose into every puddle.

The Lord. Do you have nothing to teach us? Are you still stuck in your old pattern of blame? Will nothing on earth ever be good enough for you?

Mephistopheles. No, my Lord! I see them just as terrible as ever. Poor souls! Their suffering seems to bring them so much pleasure, I can hardly bring myself to bother them.

The Lord. Do you know Faust?

Mephistopheles. The Doc?

The Lord. Yes, my servant!

Mephistopheles. Ha!
Seriously! He serves you in an impressive way;
No food or drink can satisfy his desire;
His insatiable greed knows no limits;
Half-aware and half-mad, he can't find peace;
Even the brightest stars in the sky must add to his wealth.
Every greatest joy on earth must lose its pleasure,
Not even the whole world—the endless sky—
Can fill the emptiness inside his longing heart.

The Lord. He serves me a bit obscurely now, I admit,
But soon he will reach the clarity of understanding.
Doesn't the gardener see, in the fresh green plant,
That flowers and fruits will adorn its next season?

Mephistopheles. What are you betting? You’re definitely going to lose your bet! If you let me take the lead from now on, I’ll guide him gently, like a pro.

The Lord. As long as he lives on earth, Do with him whatever you want. People make mistakes and stumble from the moment they’re born.

Mephistopheles. Thank you; I never wanted
To have much to do with the dead.
I find the most joy in fresh, lively faces.
You won’t catch me with a corpse in my place;
I enjoy toying like a cat does with a mouse.

The Lord. Okay, I give you full permission!
Bring this spirit down from its source,
And if you can catch him, take him to ruin
With you on your journey,
But feel ashamed if you have to admit,
That a good person, even if their emotions cloud their judgment,
Still has an awareness of the right path.

Mephistopheles. Great! But I’ll keep it brief.
I have no regrets about my bet.
And if I achieve my goal with success,
Let me celebrate with all my heart.
He'll eat dust and enjoy it,
Like my ancient aunt, the snake, who's well-known.

The Lord. Well, go ahead and try;
I've never really hated someone like you.
Out of all the spirits of denial,
You're the one I can deal with the most.
People are too often tempted to take the easy route,
They quickly become attached to unearned comfort;
And that's why a companion who pushes and works,
A true devil, always busy, is the best fit for them.
But you, true sons of God, in growing measure,
Enjoy the abundant pleasures of beauty!
The divine Word that lives and endures forever,
Wraps you in the endless embrace of love,
And what glides by in fleeting visions,
Seize it and hold it tight with lasting thoughts.

Heaven shuts, the archangels scatter.

Mephistopheles. [Alone.] Sometimes I enjoy having a chat with him,
And I make sure not to distance myself from him. It's polite
Of the old man[4] and such a powerful Lord
To speak so kindly with the actual devil.

Night. In a narrow, high-arched Gothic room,
    FAUST sitting uncomfortably at his desk.

Faust. Oh, I've really gone through it all—
Philosophy, Medicine,
Law, and oh! even Theology,
With a burning desire to find the truth!
And here I am, poor fool!
Just as wise as when I started school;
They call me Magister, Doctor, for sure,—
Ten long years I've been stuck,
Leading my students around in circles—
And what do I have to show for it?
Just nothing, it's eating at my very soul.
It's true I'm smarter than all those superficial types,
Doctors, Magisters, Authors, and clerics;
I’m not troubled by doubt, or second thoughts,
Nor fear of hell or the devil at all—
But still, all joy has fled forever;
I'm fruitlessly trying to know one thing,
There’s nothing that I could teach another person
To improve or help them as a teacher.
And besides, I have neither goods nor gold,
No fame or worldly status,—
A situation no dog could live in!
So I've turned to magic, hoping that someday,
By the power and voice of spirits,
Some mysteries might be revealed;
So teaching doesn’t have to be my fate,
Learning with bitter sweat what I need to know;
So I can understand what the world holds
In its deepest heart and finer veins,
See all its energies and seeds
And act rather than just talk.
  Oh full, round Moon, if only you would
Shine once more on this misery of mine!
You I’ve watched so many midnights,
From this desk, as you rise in the sky:
Over books and papers, a gloomy pile,
Then you, mournful friend, brought your smile!
Oh, how I wish I could walk on high mountains,
Under the noon of your blessed light,
Hover with spirits around mountain caves,
Float over meadows in your glow,
And freed from the stench of a brain stuffed with learning,
Bathe in your dew and be well again!
  Alas! and these walls still trap me?
Dull, dreary hole! cursed be you!
Where heaven's own light, with its blessed rays,
Sickly shines through painted panes!
Surrounded by all these high piles of old books,
Gnawed by worms and thick with dust,
Rising to the ceiling against a wall
Of smoke-stained paper, heavy with dust;
Among glasses and boxes, as far as the eye can see,
Filled with obsolete instruments,
Stuffed with old heirlooms of tools—
That is your world! And isn’t there a world for me?
  And still you wonder what stifles so
The fluttering heart within your chest?
By what inexplicable sorrow
The springs of life are all compressed?
Instead of living nature, where
God made and planted his sons,
Through smoke and mold, around you stare
Grim skeletons and dead men’s bones.
  Get up! Fly! Far out into the land!
And this mysterious book, look!
Written by Nostradamus’s own hand,
Is it not enough to guide you?
Then you shall navigate the starry skies,
And, taught by nature as she moves,
The spirit’s power will rise over you,
As ghost speaks with familiar ghost.
A vain hope that mere dry reason could here
Explain the sacred signs to you.
I feel you, spirits, hovering near;
Oh, if you hear me, answer me!
        [_He opens the book and sees the sign of the Macrocosm.[_6]]
Ah! as I look, what ecstasy is this,
Flowing through all my senses like a tide!
I feel a new life, a holy bliss
Mysteriously glowing through my nerves and veins.
Was it a God who wrote each sign?
Which, calming all my inner turmoil,
And filling this poor heart with joy,
Reveals to me, by divine force,
Great Nature’s energies around me thrilling?
Am I a God? It’s becoming so clear to me!
Each character on which my eye rests
Nature in action before my soul discloses.
The sage's words are true, now I finally see:
“The spirit-world, unbarred, is waiting;
Your senses are locked, your heart is dead!
Get up, scholar, bathe without hesitation,
Your earthly chest in morning-red!”
                           [He contemplates the sign.]
How everything works together as one whole,
Each in the other living and thriving!
See heavenly powers ascending and descending,
The golden buckets in a long line extending!
See them with blissful wings flying
Their way through earth and heaven—their song
Harmonious through the universe is ringing!
  Majestic sight! But ah! just a sight alone!
Nature! Where can I find you, immense, unknown?
Where are you, ye breasts? Ye springs sustaining life,
On which hang heaven and earth, and where
Men's withered hearts find their renewal—
You burst forth, ye nourish, and I’m left lamenting?
  [He opens the book with reluctance and sees the sign of the earth-spirit.]
How differently this sign affects me!
You, spirit of the earth, feel so much closer;
I already sense my powers rising, clearer,
I already feel as if I'm filled with new wine,
I feel the urge to face life’s endless clash,
To bear its frowning woes, its raptures flashing,
To join in the storm’s crashing,
And not to quiver in the wreck’s smashing;
Clouds gather over my head—
The moon hides her light—
The lamp goes out!
It smokes!—Red light is flashing, trembling
Around my head—something descends
A terror from the vaulted roof
And seizes me!
Spirit that I called, you’re near me,
Reveal yourself!
Ah! what a tearing in my heart!
Upheaved like an ocean
My senses toss with strange emotion!
I feel my heart completely given to you!
You must! And even if the price is life—maybe heaven!
  [He seizes the book and mysteriously pronounces the sign of the spirit.
   A red flame shoots out; the spirit appears in the flame.]

Spirit. Who's calling me?

Faust. [Turning away.] Terrible sight!

Spirit. I've long felt your powerful influence on my world, and now—

Faust. Go away, annoying spirit!

Spirit. You breathe a desperate plea
To hear my voice, to see my face;
Your powerful prayer reaches me,
I’m here!—what terrible turmoil
Grabs hold of this demigod! Where is the thought's outcry?
Where is the heart? that in itself created a world,
And nurtured and cherished, that with joy did shake
And fondly dreamed us spirits to reflect.
Where are you, Faust? whose voice echoed in my ear,
Whose strong desire pulled me from my realm?
Is this you? that, struck by my breath,
Through all of life's paths trembles,
A shrinking, cowering, writhing worm!

Faust. Should I fear you, creature born of flames? It's me, it's Faust, look at your equal!

Spirit. In the waves of life’s currents, in the storms of action,
Up and down, like a wave,
Like the wind I move!
Cradle and grave—
A boundless deep—
An endless weaving
Back and forth,
A restless motion
Of life and light,—
So I shape, on Destiny’s roaring loom,
The living garment of the divine, forever in bloom.

Faust. Spirit that moves across the world from start to finish, How close I feel to you right now!

Spirit. You’re like the spirit you can understand, Not me! [Vanishes.]

Faust. [Collapsing.] Not you?
  Who then?
  I, a reflection of the divine,
  And no one like you!
         [A knocking.]
Oh Death! I get it!—it's my assistant—
Goodbye, you dreams of Elysian bliss!
What a shame! That so many vibrant visions
This dried-up coward has to ruin like this!

[WAGNER, in a pajama set and sleep cap, holding a lamp.
       FAUST turns around looking irritated.]

Wagner. Excuse me! You're giving a speech;
It was definitely a Greek tragedy you read?
I would like to be initiated into this art,
Because these days it’s very beneficial.
I've often heard them brag that a preacher
Could benefit from having an actor as his teacher.

Faust. Yes, when the preacher is an actor, sure: As often happens in our modern times.

Wagner. Ah! when someone is so obsessed with studying,
And hardly notices the world on vacations,
And sorts through it with a magnifying glass,
How can anyone expect to guide them with persuasion?

Faust. What you don't feel, you'll never catch by chasing,
It has to flow out naturally from the soul,
And with fresh joy captivating
The hearts of everyone who hears. Control.
Sit there forever! Melt your glue,
Ignite your ash-heap into a flame, and cook,
With a dull fire, in your pot,
A stew made from others' leftovers!
Kids and monkeys will watch, entertained,
If their feedback can bring joy;
But never will a heart be sparked,
Unless the flame comes from the speaker's heart.

Wagner. Delivery is key to the speaker's success; I admit I'm still lagging behind in that.

Faust. Pursue genuine success, without any pretense!
Don't be a foolish show-off!
True understanding and common sense
Express themselves without much flair or rules;
And when you have something important to say,
Why search for words in such a panic?
Yes, your speeches, which are so polished
In which the remnants of humanity are twisted,
Are as uninviting as the mist and wind
That whistle through the dry leaves of autumn!

Wagner. Oh God! Well, art takes a long time!
And life is short and passes quickly.
What headaches I've had and how my heart has raced,
When the urge to create was strong.
How difficult it is to find the ways and means
To tap into each source of inspiration!
And before one has even completed half the journey,
The poor fool dies—oh, what a sad outcome!

Faust. So, is parchment the sacred source, do you think,
A drink from which your thirst is always satisfied?
You don't drink any life-giving essence,
Until the spring within your own soul flows forth.

Wagner. Excuse me! In these old pages,
We capture the spirit of days gone by,
We see what the wisest people before us have thought,
And to what glorious heights we've taken their legacies.

Faust. Oh yes, we’ve finally reached the stars!
My friend, it's to us—the buried past—
A book sealed with seven seals;
Your spirit of the times is, then,
At its core, your own spirit, gentlemen,
In which the times are clearly reflected.
And often it’s such a jumble that no one can handle it;
At the first sight of it, they run away.
A junkyard and a storage room,
At most a mock-heroic performance[8]
Filled with fine, practical maxims,
That suit the mouths of puppets perfectly!

Wagner. But then the world! The heart and mind of humanity! Who wouldn't want to pay attention to this?

Faust. To really know them, yes, just like weaklings can!
Who has the nerve to say the child's true name aloud?
The few who have learned anything about it,
Who from their overflowing hearts must ramble on,
And share their thoughts and feelings with the crowd,
Have always ended up being crucified and burned.
I ask you, friend, it's getting late,
Let's take a break for now.

Wagner. I was happy to stay until morning, This conversation with you has been so enjoyable, But tomorrow is the first day of Easter. I’ll need an hour or two to prepare. I’ve worked hard at learning, I know a lot, but I’m eager to know everything. [Exit.]

Faust. [Alone.] Look how in his head alone, hope still remains,
Always clinging to empty junk,
Grabbing for precious things with greedy hands,
And jumping for joy when he touches a poor worm!
  That such a human voice should dare to intrude,
Where everything was filled with ghostly tones and shapes!
Yet ah! this once, my gratitude
Is owed to you, most miserable of earth's beings.
You pulled me from the depths of despair
Where my senses, nearly crazed, were lost.
The apparition was so enormous,
That my soul shrank to the size of a very dwarf.
  I, godlike, who just imagined
Eternal truth's fair reflection in wondrous proximity,
Rejoiced in heavenly brightness and clarity,
Leaving the earthly man below;
I, more than a cherub, whose free spirit
Dreamed of piercing nature's veins,
To experience a divine life, like them creating,
See me now atone for this arrogance!
A word of thunder sweeps me off my path.
  I can no longer dare to measure myself against you;
If I had the power to pull you down at will;
To keep you here, I still wouldn’t have the strength.
Oh, in that blessed, ecstatic moment,
I felt both so small and so great;
You drove me back with cruel force
Into man's uncertain fate.
What should I do? What now, all alone?
Must I obey this impulse?
Alas! our very actions, not just our suffering,
How they hinder and choke life's path!
  To all that the mind conceives as great and glorious,
A strange and lesser mixture still clings;
Do we achieve victory when striving for earthly good?
The better part appears as a dream and a deceit.
The feelings that once inspired such noble life
Are quenched and trampled in passion's mire.
  Where Fantasy, once, with daring flight
Expanded her wings into the infinite,
Now only a little space is enough for her,
When hope upon hope has wrecked and stranded over time.
Worry builds her nest deep in the heart’s corners,
Brooding over dark, unspoken distress,
Restless, she sits, scaring away your joy and peace;
She puts on a new mask with each day,
Presenting herself as home, wife, and child;
As fire and water, poison and blade;
What never strikes makes you afraid,
And what is never lost keeps you mourning endlessly.
  I am not like the Gods! That truth cuts too deep!
But like the worm that wriggles through the dust;
Who, while feeling for food along the ground,
Is crushed and buried by the traveler’s feet.
  Isn’t it dust that makes this lofty wall
Groan with its hundred shelves and cases;
The rubbish and the thousand knick-knacks all
That crowd these dark, moth-filled spaces?
Here will my craving heart find rest?
Must I perhaps turn over a thousand books,
To find that men are everywhere distressed,
And here and there discover one happy soul?
Why do you grin down at me, hollow skull?
But that your brain, like mine, once trembling, hoping,
Sought the light of day, yet ever sorrowful,
Burned for the truth in vain, groping in twilight?
You, instruments, of course, are mocking me;
Each wheel, cog, band, and barrel praises itself.
I waited at the door; you were the key;
Your lock is nicely turned, yet no bolt it raises.
Unopened in the broad daylight,
Does Nature’s veil protect her from prying eyes,
And what (she chooses not to show you)
Not all your screws and levers can force her to reveal.
Old junk! Not that I ever used you, but
Because my father used you, you hang over me,
Old scroll! You have been stained with smoke and dirt
Since the lamp first dimly shone on this desk before me.
Better to have wasted, I can now clearly see,
My little all, than to melt beneath it in this hell!
That which your fathers bequeathed to you,
Earn and become its possessor!
What does not help is a weary burden;
What it produces alone can yield a moment of profit.
  Why do I stare as if under a spell
Over there? Is that flask a magnet to my eyes?
What lovely light, so suddenly, blooms around me?
As when we hail the full moon rising in the night woods.
  I greet you, rarest vial, precious potion!
As I now take you down with deep devotion,
In you, I honor man’s intelligence and art.
Quintessence of all soporific flowers,
Extract of all the finest deadly powers,
Your favor now grant to your master!
I look at you and my pain eases,
I touch you and the struggle of longing stops,
The surging tide of my spirit ebbs away.
Far out to sea, I’m drawn, sweet voices listening,
The glassy waters at my feet glistening,
A new day invites me to new shores.
  A fiery chariot floats on airy wings,
To where I sit! Willing, it carries me,
On a new path through the blue expanse,
To untested realms of pure activity.
This elevated life, this blissful existence,
Worm that you once were, do you deserve this?
Yes, turn your back resolutely now on this earthly sun, this charming vision!
Boldly come near and tear open the gates
Through which every cowering mortal gladly sneaks.
Now it’s time to prove through wondrous deeds
That manly greatness does not yield to godlike glory;
To stand fearlessly before that dark pit,
Where Fantasy lies self-damned in its own torment,
Still pressing on toward that path,
Around whose narrow opening hell-fires forever rise;
Calmly daring to take the step, serene, unflinching,
Even if this hour sees you sinking into nothingness.
  Now, come down from your old case, I command you,
Where you, forgotten, have hidden for many years,
Into your master’s hand, pure, crystal glass!
You have brightened the joyful feasts of my forefathers,
Lightened the hearts of the gravest guests,
When, pledged, they saw you pass from hand to hand.
Your sides, adorned with many curious designs,
Which each one, as he quaffed the drink,
Must read in rhyme from off the wondrous beaker,
Remind me, ah! of many a youthful night.
I shall not hand you over to any neighbor now,
Not now to show off my wit on your carvings;
Here is a juice of intoxicating power.
The rich brown flood streams down your sides,
Overflowing with my chosen ingredients;
Let this last drink, as morning is now shining,
Be drained as a high pledge to greet the festive light!
              [He puts the goblet to his lips.

Sound of bells and choir music.

Chorus of Angels. Christ has risen!
  Joy to all people!
  No longer shall vanity,
  Death and emptiness
  Keep you imprisoned!

Faust. What a hum of music, what a bright sound,
Thrills through me, as the goblet slips from my lips!
Oh, murmuring bells, are you already announcing
The first hour of Easter morning with your solemn ringing?
Sing now, you choirs, the joyful, comforting song,
That once, from angelic voices, echoed through the dark grave,
Sealing a new eternal promise?

Chorus of Women. We brought spices,
  And placed them on his chest;
  Gently buried
  The one we loved the most;

Cleanly to bind him
  We took the greatest care,
  Ah! and we find him
  Now no longer there.

Chorus of Angels. Christ has ascended!
  Reign in kindness!
  Suffering and disrespect,
  Mockery and spite,
  Their work has ended.

Faust. Why do you search for me in this desolate place,
You heavenly voices, so soft and enchanting?
Go, greet pure-hearted people on this holy morning!
I hear your message, but I lack faith;
Wonder, the most cherished child of Faith, is born.
To those higher realms, I can no longer aspire,
From where the sweet news floats down;
And yet, from my childhood, the old, familiar sound
Calls back my warm desires to life even now.
Ah! how sweetly the kiss of
Heavenly love fell on me during the quiet Sunday evening!
The bells rang out with a solemn toll;
A prayer was then the height of joy;
A blessed and mysterious longing
Drew me to wander through fields, forests, and skies;
And amid a thousand burning tears,
I felt a world within me rise.
That melody, oh, how it speaks of youth's joyful games and feelings,
The joys of spring festivals long gone;
Remembrance holds me now, with childhood's gentle pleas,
Pulling me back from the final step, the last.
Keep playing, you heavenly tunes, that restore my bliss!
Tears flow, once again the magic of the earth surrounds me.

Chorus of Disciples. Has the humble one of the grave
  Risen in victory?
  Does he, God's Holy One,
  Sit high and glorious?
  He, in this blessed new birth,
  Knows creative joy;[9]
  Ah! on the surface of the earth
  We still feel nature's pain.
  Left here to suffer
  Alone in a world like this,
  Fills us with sorrow
  Master, your joy!

Chorus of Angels. Christ has risen
  Out of the darkness of corruption.
  Break free from your chains,
  Burst open every tomb!
  Embracing him in life,
  Crowning him with love,
  Feasting together,
  Praying every day,
  Carrying his messages,
  Sharing his promises,
  Find your master close,
  Find him right here![10]

People of all kinds walk around.

Mechanics' Apprentices. Where are you planning to party?

Others. We're all heading to the Hunter's House.

The First. We're heading out to the Mill-House ourselves, brothers.

An Apprentice. I highly recommend the Fountain-House.

Second. It's not a pleasant road, my friend.

The second group. So, what are you going to do?

A Third. I'm going with the others.

Fourth. Head over to Burgdorf; you’re guaranteed to find great vibes, The prettiest girls and the best beer, And lots of top-notch water.

Fifth. You crazy wild one, does your skin Itch to try that inn again for the third time? I’ve had enough for my liking over there.

Servant-girl. No! I'm going back to town for one.

Others. We’re definitely going to run into him under those poplars.

First Girl. But that's not really fun for me;
You’re always guaranteed to have him,
He only dances with you.
Your luck doesn't do me any good!

Others. He's not by himself, I heard him say, The curly-haired one would be with him today.

Scholar. Wow! Look at how those attractive ladies are walking over there!
Hurry, brother! We need to get over there.
Cold beer, good strong tobacco, and the waist
Of a really good-looking girl, all dressed up—now that’s what I like.

Citizen's Daughter. Look at those good-looking young guys over there!
It's truly a shame;
When they could have the very best, I wonder,
Why they feel the need to compete for these girls!

Second scholar [to the first].
Hold on! not so quickly! there are two more coming up behind,
Wow! they really look sharp, don’t they?
One is my neighbor, unless I’m mistaken;
I really like her, she looks amazing.
They’re walking along quietly,
You’ll see they’ll end up pulling us along soon enough.

First. No, brother! I'm not a fan of these stiff formalities.
Hurry up! before the game gets away from us.
The hand that sweeps the floor on Saturdays
Hangs around your neck so sweetly on Sundays.

Citizen. No, I really don't like this new mayor at all!
His arrogance increases every day.
The town won't benefit from him at all!
Will things get better with him? Never!
We're more constrained than ever,
And we're paying more taxes than ever.

Beggar. [Sings.] Good gentlemen, and you, lovely ladies,
    With such rosy cheeks and great outfits,
    Consider what a sad job I have,
    And notice and feel for my struggle!
    Help the poor musician, sisters, brothers!
    Whoever loves to give is truly happy.
    Today, a holiday for everyone else,
    Make it a day of plenty for me.

Another citizen.
On Sundays and holidays, what I enjoy most is a good chat
About war and fighting, and everything that comes with it,
While back in Turkey, far away,
People are battling each other.
One stands by the window, sipping his drink,
And watches the ships with flags glide slowly down the river;
He comes home at night, just as they disappear from view,
And happily sings, "Oh, peace forever!"

Third citizen. So I say, neighbor! Let them do what they want,
Break heads and in their wild chaos
They might turn everything upside down,
But leave us here in peace and quiet.

Old Woman [to the citizen's daughter].
Wow, look at you, all dressed up! What a handsome young man!
Who wouldn't fall for you after meeting you?—
But don’t be so full of yourself! That’s all fine!
I promise I’ll get you what you want soon enough.

Citizen's Daughter. Come on, Agatha! I can't stand being seen in public
chatting with those old hags; don’t linger, oh, Luddy!
It's true she showed me, on St. Andrew's night,
my future sweetheart in the flesh.

The other. She showed me mine, too, in a glass,
Right soldier-like, with brave friends around him.
I look all around, I analyze everyone that passes,
But to this day I haven't found him.

Soldiers. Castles with darkening
           Walls and towers,
           Girls with intense
           Desires and strengths,
           Both will be ours!
           Taking the risk,
           Glorious the reward!

When the brass trumpet
           Calls us out boldly,
           To joy or to death,
           We march on confidently.
           That’s a rallying cry!

Life in all its glory!
           Palaces and princesses
           Both have to give in.
           Taking the chance,
           Amazing the reward.
           Here come the troops
           Marching off!

FAUST and WAGNER.

Faust. Spring's warm embrace has freed the fountains,
Brooks are bubbling with silvery movements;
Hope's bright blossoms greet the valley;
Weak and sickly, pale old Winter
Has retreated up the rough mountains.
From there he launches, out of spite,
Sleet and hail in useless showers,
Over the green lawn as he takes his leave;
But the sun won't allow any white,
Everywhere awakening the life-giving forces,
Living colors he longs to spread;
Yet, realizing it's too early for flowers,
He happily dresses the people instead.
Look from this height where we find ourselves
Back to the town we've left behind,
Where from the dark and narrow door
A colorful crowd pours out.
They bask in the sun, joyful and carefree,
Celebrating Christ's resurrection today.
Haven't they risen themselves?
From smoky huts, hovels, and stables,
From the chains of labor and the prison of traffic,
From the confines of roofs and eaves,
From many constricted streets and alleys,
From churches filled with the old world's shadows,
Everyone has come out to the day's bright light.
Look, just look! how the masses flock,
Streaming and swarming through gardens and fields,
How the wide stream washing the valley
Is filled with pleasure boats' wakes,
And that last boat, so heavily loaded,
Almost sinking, sets off in the current;
Ribbons and jewels of youth shine
From the distant paths of the mountains.
How it buzzes over the fields and clangs from the steeple!
This is the true heaven for the people,
Both young and old are joyful and bright,
I am a man too, I can enjoy it today.

Wagner. It's always an honor and a privilege to go out walking with you, Sir Doctor;
But leaving myself here alone would be shocking,
Because I can't stand anything rough or harsh.
Fiddling, bowling, and all those screams and laughter
Are the most annoying sounds in the world to me;
They scream as if Satan himself is chasing them,
And they call it music and they call it fun.

[Farmers (under the linden tree). Dance and song.]

The shepherd dressed him up for the dance,
In a colorful jacket with sparkles that chance,
And all his best stuff.
And around the linden tree, girl and boy
They spun and twirled and danced with joy.
Hooray! hooray!
Hooray! Ha, ha, ha!
And the fiddle played a lively tune.

And he jumped through the whirlwind,
And with his elbow bumped into a girl,
Hey diddle, diddle!
The lively girl turned around fast,
"Now that's what I call a sneaky move!"
Hooray! hooray!
Hooray! ha, ha, ha!
Tweedle-dee, tweedle-dee went the violin.

And petticoats and coat-tails flew
As they went up and down, through,
Across and down the middle.
They all turned red, they all got warm,
And rested, breathing hard, arm in arm,
Hurray! hurray!
Ta-ra-la!
Tweedle-dee went the fiddle!

"And don't get too comfortable there!
How many have sweet-talked their trusting girl into trouble!"
But still he flirted with her—
And from the linden tree echoed wide:
Hooray! hooray!
Hooray! hooray! ha! ha! ha!
And twiddle-dee went the fiddle.

Old Peasant. Sir Doctor, it's really nice of you,
To take the time to talk with us here,
And to walk through this crowd today
Is such a big deal for someone so smart.
So please take the best pitcher here,
Which we’ve filled with the freshest drink,
I raise it to you, saying it out loud
That, while this quenches your thirst,
May the number of days equal to the drops it holds
Fill up the life that still lies ahead for you.

Faust. I drink the life-giving potion and ask for the best blessings from heaven for everyone.

The people form a circle around him.

Old Peasant. We truly appreciate your presence with us on this joyful day!
Honestly, we've known you for a while now
As a friend in tough times!
So many people living here,
Whom, already at death's door,
Your father saved from the grip of fever,
When he held back the plague with his skills.
We saw you, a young man, every day
Going with him to the plague house,
And many bodies were carried out,
But you emerged alive each time.
You came through safely before us,
Watched over by the Helper looking out for us.

All. The experienced man, and may he live, Many years ready to lend a hand!

Faust. Bow down to Him above who sends His divine assistance and supportive friends! [He continues with WAGNER.]

Wagner. What emotions, oh great man, your heart must feel
To receive the admiration of the people!
Oh worthy of all congratulations,
Whose talents shine so brightly.
A father proudly shows you to his son,
Everyone rushes in, the crowd gathers closer,
The music stops, the dancers freeze,
You walk by—the crowd parts for you.
They toss their colorful caps in the air;
Just a little more and they would kneel
As if a sacred figure were passing through.

Faust. A few steps further, until we reach that stone;
There we will rest from our wandering.
How often in prayer and penance I sat alone there,
Fasting, lost in thought about holy mysteries.
There, full of hope, with faith still strong,
I've wept, sighed, wrung my hands, and struggled
To get this plague removed (poor thing!)
From the almighty Lord in Heaven.
Now the crowd's applause has turned scornful;
Oh, if only you could hear my conscience tell its tale,
How little either father or son
Has done to deserve such glory!
My father was a decent man, confused
And obscured by his narrow studies,
Who, with a quirky but well-meaning patience,
Reflected on Nature's sacred patterns.
Shut away in his dark laboratory,
Experimenting endlessly,
Among his followers, until he became old,
He tried to combine the opposing forces.
Thus, a red lion, a bold suitor, wed
The silver lily in the lukewarm bath,
And, from one wedding bed to another rushed,
The two were seen fleeing from the flames of wrath.
If then, with bright and splendid colors,
The glass revealed the youthful queen,
Here was the medicine, death ended the patients' suffering,
And no one asked, who then was healed?
Thus, with remedies so devilish,
Worse than the plague with all its fear,
We indulged ourselves through hill and valley;
I, with my own hands, gave the drug to thousands,
They passed away, and I am living
To hear men thank the murderers!

Wagner. Hold on! That name deserves much more!
Can a brave person do anything more or less
Than take great care
To embrace the role they were born into?
If you, as a youth, honor your father,
You will want to learn from him;
If you, as a man, have enlightened others,
Then your son can reach even greater heights.

Faust. Oh blessed one! Who hopes to find peace,
Diving deep into this vast sea of confusion!
Humans can’t fully use what they already know,
Always striving to discover the unknown.
But let not such dark thoughts cast a shadow
Over the bright joy this moment brings!
Look how the setting sun, with its fiery glow,
Ignites the lush green village!
It sinks and fades, the day has lived and passed,
Moving on to awaken new scenes of life.
Oh, for wings to lift me and carry me on,
To where its final rays call me!
Then I would see the world's calm surface
Glowing in everlasting sunset,
The mountaintops ablaze, each valley steeped in peace,
The silver brook flowing into golden rivers.
No rugged mountain climbing into the sky
Should halt the divine journey through wild abysses;
And now the sea, with its warm, sheltered coves,
Stretches out before my amazed eyes.
At last, it seems the God is sinking;
But a new drive ignites my mind,
I move forward, drinking in his endless glory,
The day ahead of me and the night behind,
The heavens above my head and the ocean beneath me.
A beautiful dream—meanwhile, he’s out of sight.
Ah! Surely, no earthly wing, even in swiftest flight,
Can match the spirit’s wings in movement.
Yet every soul has an innate feeling
Urging it to rise and soar away,
When, lost in the blue depths of heaven, the lark is singing
High above her airy song;
When over the black shadow of the mountain pine,
The eagle sweeps with outspread wings,
And, gliding over the lake and meadow,
The crane makes his journey homeward.

Wagner. I’ve spent many restless hours,
But I've never felt a passion quite like this.
You quickly get tired of fields, woods, and streams,
I don’t envy the birds their wings.
It’s far more rewarding to soar through the realms of thought,
From page to page, from book to book!
Ah! winter nights, so cherished for mind and spirit!
A warm, blissful energy runs through my body,
And when your hands open up an ancient scroll,
It feels like heaven is filling the room.

Faust. Your heart has been possessed by only one passion;
The other, my friend, never learn it!
Two souls, alas! are trapped in my restless breast,
Each striving in opposing directions,
One lives solely for the joys of the moment,
Still clinging to the world with tight grasping;
The other leaves behind this earthly dust and muck,
To rise to the fields of revered ancestors.
Oh, are there spirits in the air,
That hold power between earth’s and heaven’s realms,
Come down from your realm of golden haze,
Lift me to new, rich life on your rosy wings!
Yes! If only I had a magic cloak,
To soar over earth’s vast wilderness,
I wouldn’t trade it for the most expensive clothes,
Not even for a royal robe would I give it up.

Wagner. Oh, don’t call them, the well-known forces of the air,
That move through the middle kingdom, spinning
Their enchanting webs, with many a deadly trap
Deceiving the fragile human race.
First, the sharp spirit-tooth from the North,
Along with piercing tongues and fangs flying thick;
Then from the East, they rush forward greedily,
Sucking your breath, draining your life;
If they come from the South with a burning thirst,
They load your head with the blazing sun at noon;
The West Wind brings a swarm that refreshes at first,
Then leaves you and your world in deep stupor.
They listen eagerly, intent on causing trouble,
They draw close, seeking every weak spot,
Pretending they were sent from heaven,
Whispering like angels while they deceive.
But let’s go! The earth looks gray, my friend,
The air is getting cool, the mists are rising!
At night, we learn to value our homes.
Why do you stop and stare with wide-open eyes?
What holds your gaze so strongly in the twilight?

Faust. Do you see that black dog wandering through the weeds and stubble?

Wagner. I saw him a while ago; he didn't seem unfamiliar to me.

Faust. Look closely! What do you think the beast is?

Wagner. For some sad poodle who can't find his owner, And, like a dog, sniffs around for him.

Faust. Do you see how, ever closer, ever faster,
His spiral path spins around and around?
And if my senses aren't deceiving me,
Behind him follows a blazing light.

Wagner. It’s probably just an optical illusion; I still only see a black poodle there.

Faust. He seems to me like he's secretly drawing His magic circles around our feet to trap us.

Wagner. He feels like he’s flitting around us nervously, as if he’s wondering: is one of them my master?

Faust. The circle tightens, he’s close!

Wagner. See! We have a dog here, not a ghost! He growls and pauses, crawls on his belly, too, And wags his tail—just like all dogs do.

Faust. Come here, man! Join us, our friend!

Wagner. He has the quirky charm of a poodle.
Stand still, and he waits to see what happens;
Talk to him, and he jumps at you;
Drop something, like your cane or toss it
Into the water, he'll run and fetch it.

Faust. I think you're right; I don’t sense any spirit here, It's all just the result of training, that’s clear.

Wagner. A well-trained dog is a wonderful asset,
Wise people often take delight in that.
He deserves your approval and a collar,
He is the most skilled among the scholars.

They enter through the town gate.

Enter FAUST with the POODLE.

I leave behind the fields and meadows
Shrouded in the dusk of a sacred night,
Whose dark and dreadful shadow
Awakens the better soul to light.
The wild desires are lulled to sleep,
The hand of passion is at rest;
The love of man ignites the heart,
The love of God stirs the soul.

Be quiet, poodle! What troublesome spirit has taken over you,
Sniffing and snuffling around the door?
Go behind the stove and get some rest,
Here's my best pillow—what more do you want?
Just like on the mountain paths, playing and jumping,
You’ve tried your best to entertain us,
So now, as a favor, lie still with me,
A quiet, contented, and welcome guest.

When, in our small room, at night,
The warm lamp starts to glow,
Then deep thoughts shine brightly inside,
The heart longs to return home.
Reason tells passion to think again,
Hope blossoms and brings a smile;
He yearns to wander back to life's streams,
Ah! to the place where life started.

Stop growling, poodle! In the beautiful music
That surrounds my spirit at this sacred time,
These harsh noises really bother me.
We know that people often mock
What they cannot comprehend,
And when faced with goodness, truth, and beauty,
They’ll close their eyes and complain and bark at it;
So does the dog have to snarl and growl at it too?

But oh, despite my best efforts, I already feel,
No peace will rise up in me, clear and steady.
But why must hope deceive us so quickly,
Leaving us parched and restless?
For I have gone through this completely.
And yet a remedy is provided for this lack,
To something higher than the earth, the soul is led,
We are ready and longing for revelation:
And where is its light and warmth so blended
As here in the New Testament?
Right now, I feel a strong desire
To explain, for once, the essential text of all,
The revered original
Turning it honestly into my beloved German.
        [He opens the volume and starts the task.]
"In the beginning was the Word," I read.
But I get stuck! Who will help me continue?
The Word—it's too high for me to—dare not, value it,
I must then translate it differently,
If I'm guided by the spirit the right way.
It says: "In the beginning was the thought."
But study this first line’s lesson closely,
And don't let your pen rush to mistakes!
Is it the thought that does everything from the very start?
"In the beginning," read instead, "was the power."
Yet even as I write this down, my finger
Is halted, a voice tells me not to linger.
The spirit helps! Instantly I dare to read
And write: "In the beginning was the deed."

If I have to share my room with you,
Poodle, remember,
No more howling,
No more growling!
I’d rather have a bull bellowing,
Than have such a noisy buddy around.
Stop that yelling now,
One of us needs to leave this place now!
It's tough to take back hospitality,
But the door is open, you’re free to go.
But what’s wrong with the creature?
Is this just how things are?
Is it real? Or just one of Fancy's tricks?

How long and wide my poodle has gotten!
He lifts himself off the ground;
He doesn’t look like a hound anymore!
Heaven, keep that curse away from us!
He resembles a hippopotamus,
With his fiery eyes and the awful white
Of his grinning teeth! Oh, what a scare
Have I brought into the house! Ah now,
You are no mystery!
I think for such a half-demonic breed,
The key of Solomon would be useful.

Spirits [in the passage]. Quiet! Someone's caught over there!
  Stay back, everyone, don’t follow him there!
  Like a fox trapped,
  The old hell-lynx laments his fate.
  But pay attention!
  This way linger, that way linger,
  Round and round,
  And he'll be free soon.
  Can you help him,
  Oh, don’t leave him!
  He’s done us many good deeds,
  He’s brought us many fortunes.

Faust. First, to face the creature
According to the spell of the Four, the teacher says:
    The Salamander will shine,[12]
    The Undine will flow gently,
    The Sylph will disappear vividly,
    The Kobold will listen closely.

He whom Nature
Does not reveal, as a teacher,
Every force
And hidden source,
Over the spirits
Has no power.

Vanish in glowing
    Flame, Salamander!
    Flow inward, spiraling,
    Gurgle, Undine!
    Shine in meteoric brilliance,
    Airy Queen!
    Offer your helpful hand,
    Incubus! Incubus!
    Come forth and break the spell for us!

No kingdom of Nature
Lives in the creature.
He’s lying there grinning—it’s obvious, my charm
Hasn't done the monster the slightest harm.
I'll try, for your healing,
Stronger appealing.

Are you a prisoner,
    A runaway troublemaker?
    This sign,[13] then—worship it!
    They shake in front of it
    All through the dark place.

His hair is standing on end—his body is getting bigger.

Reprobate creature!
Can you read his nature?
The Uncreated,
Ineffably Holy,
United with Deity,
Sin's victim, so humble?

Driven behind the stove by my spells,
Like an elephant, he swells;
He fills the whole room, so big he's grown,
He grows shadowy faster and faster.
Don't rise up to the ceiling—down!
Lie down at the feet of your master!
You see, there's good reason to fear my anger.
I'll scorch you with the holy fire!
Don't wait for the sight
Of the thrice-glowing light!
Don't wait to feel the power
Of the strongest spell in all my treasure!

MEPHISTOPHELES.
    [As the mist clears, he steps out from behind the stove,
    dressed as a traveling scholar.]
What’s all this noise about? How can I assist you?

Faust. So that was the poodle's true nature! A traveling clerk? Ha! Ha! This situation is just too funny.

Mephistopheles. I bow to the most knowledgeable among people! 'Honestly, you really put some pressure on me without any formalities.

Faust. What's your name?

Mephistopheles. The question feels too trivial
For someone who values the word so little,
Who, far away from all shadows,
Only seeks to deeply understand the tangible.

Faust. With guys like him around me,
The name really captures the essence,
Especially when you ask,
You discover it’s the God of flies,[14] Destroyer, Slanderer, Liar.
So now, who are you then?

Mephistopheles. A part of that force, Which wants the bad and creates the good all the time.

Faust. What meaning lies beneath your riddle?

Mephistopheles. I am the spirit that says no!
And quite rightly; for everything that time brings,
It's good for someone to wipe it out!
Better if it had never started;
And so, everything you call wrongdoing,
Destruction—all you deem as bad intentions—
Is my true nature.

Faust. You call yourself a part, yet you look whole to me.

Mephistopheles. I'm just being honest with you.
There's a world of nonsense in one small soul,
Man loves to see himself as whole;
I’m part of what was once everything, the Darkness
That gave birth to Light itself from her powerful depths,
The arrogant newcomer, who now argues with Mother Night
Over her ancient status and space and rights,
But he will never win, because no matter what he does,
He remains a slave to the physical still;
From the physical comes, makes things beautiful to see;
A physical body can hold him back,
So I hope his downfall will come soon,
With bodies merged into nothing and darkness.

Faust. Ah, now I see your great purpose! You can't really damage creation on a large scale, And so you’ve started off in a small way.

Mephistopheles. And to be honest, I haven’t accomplished much here.
What I've challenged, this name? This clumsy world,
As far as I've taken on,
I have to admit, it remains untouched
By wave, storm, earthquake, or fiery brand.
Calm, after all, remains both sea and land.
And the damned living fluff, the offspring of man and beast,
Laughs at my greatest power.
I've buried countless numbers by the hour,
And still, fresh blood circulates each hour.
It's enough to drive anyone crazy!
Earth, water, air, in constant motion,
Through wet and dry, through warm and cold,
Going forth in endless creation!
If I hadn’t reserved fire for myself,
Not one thing would I hold alone.

Faust. So, with the constant force
Of goodness, you continue to struggle,
And in useless malice, even now,
You clench your cold and wicked fist!
Go find another profession,
Unique child of Chaos, you!

Mephistopheles. We’ll think it over when we meet again! But for now, can I take my leave?

Faust. I don’t understand why you’re asking.
Now that I know you, when desire
Drives you, feel free to come see me.
The windows and door are wide open.
At least there’s still the chimney flue.

Mephistopheles. Let me admit there's one little restriction

Lies at your doorstep, blocking my way,
The wizard-foot—[15]

Faust. Does that hold you up? The Pentagram bothers you? Now, Come on, tell me, son of hell, please, If that spell traps you, then how did you get in? You should act more carefully!

Mephistopheles. Pay attention! The figure isn’t drawn right; One of the angles, the outer one, Is a bit open, do you see it?

Faust. That was a lucky shot, believe me! And I’ve caught you then? Nice work! It was just pure luck—I’m really amazed!

Mephistopheles. The poodle paid no attention, as it leaped through the door; The situation is different now; The devil can't leave the house at all.

Faust. The window allows for unrestricted flow.

Mephistopheles. Demons and spirits are restricted by this condition:

The way they came in, they have to leave. Allow
In the first part we're free, but not so in the second.

Faust. So, in hell, there are rules? I like that; so, we can actually make an official deal with you folks?

Mephistopheles. Any promise we have recorded,
We will definitely put into action.
But there’s a serious condition attached,
We’ll discuss that when we meet again;
For now, I kindly ask
For your urgent permission to leave.

Faust. Just stay for one more moment, then, Tell me something good, and I'll let you go.

Mephistopheles. Let me go now! I’ll be back soon, then you can ask me anything you want.

Faust. I didn’t set a trap for you, my friend!
You should have paid attention and protected yourself.
Whoever has the devil in their grasp
Must hold on tight; next time, he won’t be caught so easily.

Mephistopheles. Well, if it makes you happy, I'm fine with sticking around
For company, but only if you agree,
That I can use my skills, just for your entertainment.

Faust. I'm happy to agree, as long as they’re not unpleasant to me.

Mephistopheles. My friend, in this one hour
You will perceive the world with sharper clarity
Than in a year of dull routine.
The songs the gentle spirits sing to you,
The beautiful images they show you
Are not just a meaningless trick.
You will savor the finest tastes,
Then indulge in the richest flavors,
And your enchanted heart will melt away.
Come on, everyone is here, and all are well-prepared, now let's start!

Spirits. Disappear, you dark
    Vaulted depths!
    Softer, clearer,
    Friendlier, closer,
    Sky, look through!
    Oh, that the dark
    Clouds would part!
    Starlight is shining,
    Heaven is purer,
    Holier sunlight
    Softens the blue.
    Graces, embellishing
    Sons of the morning—
    Faint shadows—
    Float above;
    Yearnings and desires
    Hover after them.
    Ethereal garments,
    Aerial tresses,
    Float over the flowers,
    Float over the arbors,
    Where, with deep feeling,
    Thoughtful and tender,
    Lovers, embracing,
    Are sealing their life vows.
    Arbors upon arbors!
    Graceful and slender
    Vines intertwining!
    Purple and rosy,
    Under the heavy
    Grape-presses flowing,
    Grape juice, overflowing,
    Down over gleaming
    Precious stones streaming,
    Leaves the bright glowing
    Tops of the mountains,
    Leaves the red springs,
    Widening and rushing,
    Till it surrounds
    Green hills all glowing,
    Loaded with roses.
    Happy ones, swarming,
    Flutter their swift wings,
    Glide through the lovely
    Airy realms,
    Sunward still smiling,
    Onward, where peering
    Far over the ocean,
    Islands are swaying
    With a captivating,
    Magical motion;
    Hear them, in chorus,
    Singing high above us;
    Over the meadows
    Flit the bright shadows;
    Joyful eyes glancing,
    Tiny feet dancing.
    Up the high ridges
    Some of them climb,
    Others are skimming
    Sky-lakes of amber,
    Others are swimming
    Across the ocean;—
    All are in motion,
    All yearn towards life,
    Longingly turning
    To the far-burning
    Star-light of bliss.

Mephistopheles. He’s sleeping! You airy, gentle youths, your songs
Have lulled him into the sweetest slumber!
You’ve really put me in your debt with this.
You’re not yet the one who will hold onto the devil!
Keep deceiving his senses with your magical party,
Drown him in dreams of eternal youth;
But to level this charm-mountain on the windowsill,
I need, oh rat, your sharp tooth!
And I don’t need to conjure for long, they’re close to me,
Even now one is scampering over, who will hear me soon.

The mighty ruler of rats and mice,
Of flies and frogs and bugs and lice,
Commands you to come here right now,
And chew this threshold with great strength,
As he will smear it with oil—
Ha! You’ve arrived with a bounce!
Now, let's get to work! The thing that frightens me,
Is on the edge, the farthest point.
Just one more bite, and the job is finished.—
Now, Faust, until we meet again, keep dreaming!

Faust. [Waking.] Has witchcraft won over me again? Was it just a ghostly vision that vanished so quickly? I dreamt the devil was right in front of me—only to wake up and find a poodle missing!

Faust. A knock? Come in! Who’s back to bother me?

Mephistopheles. It's me.

Faust. Come on in!

Mephistopheles. You have to say it three times to satisfy me.

Faust. Come on in!

Mephistopheles. I like hearing that.
I hope we can tolerate each other;
To clear up your odd ideas, my friend,
I appear now as a young lord,
In a red outfit, trimmed with gold lace,
A stiff silk cloak with a fashionable touch,
A tall feather in my hat,
And a long, sharp sword for protection,
And I suggest, short and simple,
That you dress the same to join me;
If you’d like to see, without embarrassment,
What this life is really like.

Faust. In every outfit, I can really feel the pain
Of this miserable earthly life.
I'm too old to live for nonsense,
Too young to want nothing more.
Am I satisfied with everything around me?
Give up! give up! Giving up—
That’s the never-ending tune
That rings in everyone’s ears,
Singing loudly every hour, throughout our lives,
With harsh sounds that won’t disappear.
I dread each morning's light,
My eyes filling with bitter tears,
Watching the day that won’t come,
Bringing me one wish, not even one, but crushing
Every hint of excitement
With unpredictable doubt, chasing
All of life’s beautiful dreams from my heart
With a thousand cold, harsh faces.
And when I lie down on my bed at night
And darkness casts its shadow over me;
No peace comes to my tired head,
Wild dreams and ghosts dance around me.
The God who lives in my soul
Can shake its depths at any moment;
He who controls all my faculties
Has no power over the outside world;
Existence feels like a burden on my chest,
Life is a curse and death a longed-for rest.

Mephistopheles. And yet death is never a completely welcome visitor.

Faust. Oh blessed one! For whom, when the joy of victory ignites,
Death wraps a bloody laurel around his brow,
Who, exhausted from the twists of the dance,
Finds rest on a maiden's breast.
Oh that, under the influence of the elevated spirit,
I could have perished, lost in ecstasy!

Mephistopheles. And yet I knew someone, in the dead of night, Who avoided drinking a brown liquid.

Faust. It seems like you're really into eavesdropping.

Mephistopheles. I'm not all-knowing, but I do know quite a bit.

Faust. Since that sweet tone, with its gentle appeal,
Pulled me out of the horrific maze of witchcraft,
And revived the lingering childlike feeling
With melodies of happier days;
My curse be on all the false creations
That weave their spell around the soul,
And bind it with their incantations
And wild parties to this miserable pit!
Cursed be the high opinion
Clung to by the self-important mind!
Cursed be all the dream-dominion
That blinds the dazzled senses!
Cursed be each vision that deceives us,
Of fame that lasts beyond earthly life!
Cursed all that, like possessions, controls us,
Like house and barn, like child and wife!
Cursed be wealth, when with treasure
It ignites our hearts for mighty deeds,
When, for a fantasy of idle pleasure,
It makes our pillow soft and light!
Cursed be the sweet juices of the grape-vine!
On love's high grace my curses fall!
On faith! On hope that tempts mankind,
And lastly, on patience, not least of all!

Choir of spirits. [Invisible.] Woe! Woe!
    You have ground it to dust,
    The beautiful world,
    With a mighty fist;
    It’s been hurled to ruins;
    A demi-god's blow has done this!
    For a moment we gaze upon it,
    Then we carry (sad duty!)
    The fragments into nothingness,
    With tears that don't help
    Mourning
    All the lost beauty.
    Greater
    Than all sons of men,
    More proud
    Build it again,
    Recreate it in your heart!
    Pursue a new path,
    Before you
    A clearer view,
    And, from the Empyrean,
    A new-born Paean
    Shall greet you, too!

Mephistopheles. Feel free to admire
    My youthful choir!
    Listen to how they advise with strength
    About action and enjoyment!
    Step into life,
    Its joy and struggle,
    Away from this lonely place,
    Where senses and spirit
    Decay in stillness,
    Answers their grand invitation.

Stop messing around with your sorrow
Which, like a vulture, is feeding on your heart;
Tomorrow, even in the worst company,
You'll realize that among men, you are a man too.
But I don’t exactly plan
To throw you in with the crowd.
I'm not one of those big shots, I admit;
But if you're willing, my friend,
To walk through life beside me,
Your happiness in everything will lead me,
I will commit to you,
You'll find me a friend,
And even to the grave,
You'll have me as your servant, as your slave!

Faust. So, what do you want me to do in return?

Mephistopheles. There’s plenty of time—no rush, not at all.

Faust. No, no, the devil is self-centered,
And doesn't easily offer, "For God's sake,"
What a neighbor might be willing to help with.
Just tell me the terms, come on!
It's risky to bring home such a servant.

Mephistopheles. I agree to bind myself to your service here,
To run and never rest at your call;
When over there you find me,
Then you shall do as much for me.

Faust. I don’t really care what’s out there:
When you’ve shattered this world apart,
Come what may, I’m okay with the next!
All my joys are rising from this earth,
While this sun shines down on my troubles;
If only I could stop this endless dreaming,
Then whatever comes next, I have nothing to say.
I’m done with empty amazement
If in that world they feel hate and love,
And whether in that future out there
There’s a Hell and a Heaven.

Mephistopheles. In this mood, you might as well take the plunge.
Join me, and with this agreement,
You'll savor with great pleasure
The fruits of my craft that no one has ever seen before.

Faust. And what do you have to offer, you poor devil?
Has any human mind, at its highest peak,
Ever been thought of by someone like you?
Yet you have food that fills without satisfaction,
Not true fulfillment; gold that carelessly,
Like quicksilver, slips away from
Our hands; a game where no one ever wins;
A girl who, resting on my chest,
Eyes a neighbor with her flirtatious looks;
The glorious thrill of fame,
That shines like a short-lived meteor—
Show me the fruit that, before it’s picked, will rot,
And trees from which fresh green leaves sprout every day!

Mephistopheles. That demand doesn’t frighten me;
I have such riches in my possession.
But there will also come a time, my friend,
When we can enjoy good things at our own pace.

Faust. If I ever find myself relaxed on a comfy couch of enjoyment—
Then let that be the end of me!
When you can charm me with sweet talk,
Until I’m completely satisfied,
When you can fool me with pleasure,
Let that be my final day!
I make the bet!

Mephistopheles. Finished!

Faust. And truly!
Whenever I shout out to the fleeting hour
O stay! You’re so beautiful!
I give you the power to hold me down
To the dark depths of despair!
Then let my final toll not linger,
Then you are free from my service,
Let the clock’s hand drop and linger,
Time be finished, then, for me!

Mephistopheles. Think carefully, because we will hold you to your word.

Faust. I just gave full right to that;
I didn't speak as an arrogant braggart.
From now on, I'm a slave,
What do I care who claims the prize?

Mephistopheles. Today, during the Doctor's feast,[16]
I will fulfill my obligation to you.
But one thing!—For safety's sake, please,
Give me a line or two, at least.

Faust. Cynic! Do you really think writing alone will earn your trust?
In all your life, haven't you met a single person or heard a word that you believe?
Is it not enough that I have spoken the deadly word
That determines my future days?
The world flows and surges (haven't you noticed?)
And can a promise remain unbroken?
Yet this illusion haunts the human heart,
Who can cut its roots from the soul?
Happy are those in whom pure truth finds peace.
They will never regret any sacrifice!
But from a formal, written, sealed document,
Like a ghost, all men will always shrink away.
The word and spirit perish together,
Killed by the sight of wax and leather.
What do you want from me, evil spirit?
Brass, marble, parchment, paper—what will it be?
Shall I sign with a pencil, pen, or engraving tool?
Among them all, your choice is unlimited.

Mephistopheles. Your way of speaking to me
Has a bit of an over-the-top vibe.
Any little piece of paper will do.
Your signature just needs a drop of blood.[17]

Faust. If this will put you in a good mood, I’ll go along with your request.

Mephistopheles. Blood is a really strange substance.

Faust. Don’t worry that I’ll break this bond; oh, never!
My promise, when understood correctly,
Completes my nature’s entire purpose.
I’ve puffed myself up too much, I see;
I only belong to your rank.
The Lord of Spirits looks down on me,
Nature, confined, resents the injustice.
The thread of thought has snapped apart,
All knowledge feels like a stupid mistake to me.
Let’s dive deeply into sensuality
And quench the passions burning inside us!
And, lifting the veil of magic,
Awaken each miracle from its long slumber!
Let’s plunge into the wild dance,
The rush and roll of time and chance!
Then pleasure and distress may follow,
Disappointment and success,
Chasing each other as quickly as they can;
Man’s restless activity keeps thriving still.

Mephistopheles. There are no limits or targets for you;
Wander wherever you want while sipping,
And grab a little treat while you’re skipping,
Avoid all shyness, just dig in,
And I hope you have a great digestion!

Faust. So, let’s be clear, pleasure isn’t the point.
I’m committed to the chaos of passion, the pain of joy,
The lover’s resentment, the bittersweet joy.
My heart, no longer pushed by the pride of knowledge,
Will open wide to let in every sorrow,
And all the good things given to humanity,
I’ll embrace them deeply within me,
Throughout all of life, rising and falling,
Their happiness and suffering resting on my chest,
Thus encompassing all their selves within my own,
And ending together in a shared ruin.

Mephistopheles. Oh believe me, since the first time I fell from heaven, I've been chewing on this tough stuff for thousands of years, No one can handle the old challenges, No human, from birth to death. Trust one of us—the whole creation Belongs to God alone by right; He has His home in endless day, Us He made for complete night, You for the constant mix of dark and light.

Faust. But then I will!

Mephistopheles. Now that's worth listening to!
But one thing nags at me, the old saying,
That time is fleeting and art lasts long.
You could use a bit of guidance, I think.
Find yourself a poet,
Let his expansive thoughts,
Gather all the finest qualities,
And crown them together in your name,
The lion's spirit
The deer's swiftness,
The fiery passion of Italy,
The Northman's brave heart.
Ask him to teach you the skill of blending
Greatness of spirit with artful design,
And how, with warm and youthful fervor,
To fall in love with intention and style.
If I ever come across him,
I'd call him Mr. Microcosm.

Faust. What am I then? If what my heart longs for with relentless effort, The ultimate achievement for humanity, must remain forever out of reach?

Mephistopheles. You are finally—exactly what you are.
Stack wigs on your head whose curls can't be counted,
On yard-high boots let your feet be elevated,
Yet you are still only what you are.

Faust. Yes, I won't deny it, I've searched through all the knowledge of humanity,
And when I finally sit down in peace,
There’s no new energy rising up within me;
I’m not even a bit closer,
And I’m no nearer to the Infinite.

Mephistopheles. My dear friend, you see the situation
As most people do;
But we need to learn to handle things better,
Before life's pleasures completely disappear.
Seriously! Your head and everything in it,
Hands, feet and ——— belongs to you;
What I enjoy with enthusiasm every minute,
Is surely no less mine, too?
If I have six horses in my team,
Aren’t their every strength and ability mine?
I race along like a confident man,
Covering the road on twenty-four legs.
So cheer up! Let’s not overthink,
And go out into the world together!
I tell you, my friend, a speculative miser
Is like a beast, chased by some evil spirit
Across a barren heath in a constant whirlwind,
While all around lie beautiful, green pastures.

Faust. But how do we start?

Mephistopheles. We're heading out right now.
What a struggle you're going through!
What kind of life is this to live,
Boring both yourself and the kids?
Let Neighbor Belly go that way!
Why do you care to stay here and hit straw?
The best ideas you have, you’re too scared
To tell the boys about them for all the world.
I can even hear someone in the hallway now.

Faust. I have no desire to see the young.

Mephistopheles. The poor kid stands there like a guard,
He won't get a word from me.
Come on, give me your robe and hat;
This disguise will look great on me.
           [He puts them on.]
Now for my cleverness—count on it!
It'll only take fifteen minutes, I'm sure.
In the meantime, get ready to enjoy the tour!

[Exit FAUST.]

Mephistopheles [in FAUST'S long gown].
Just look down on all human wisdom and knowledge,
The highest heights that thoughts can reach—
Let the deceiving spirit blind you,
And with his magic bind you,
Into my trap the victim creeps.—
Destiny has given him a spirit,
That freely moves ahead,
To scale the skies it has long tried,
And all of Earth’s pleasures it skips.
He will be driven through life’s wild experiences,
And through its dull meaninglessness,
I’ll make him writhe and stare and freeze,
And amidst all sensual excess,
His fevered lips, longing and torn,
Will incessantly haunt the edge of refreshment;
And even if he hadn't given his soul to Satan,
He would still have to fall into ruin!

[Enter A SCHOLAR.]

Scholar. I have just recently left my home,
And with deep respect I come,
To have a conversation
With someone whom everyone speaks of with admiration.

Mephistopheles. Your politeness really flatters me. I’m just a regular guy, like anyone else you meet. Have you looked for opportunities anywhere else?

Scholar. Please let me share your teachings!
I come with good intentions,
Full of youthful energy and some cash;
My mother hardly approved of me leaving;
But I really want to learn something valuable here.

Mephistopheles. You've arrived at just the right spot for that, then.

Scholar. Honestly, I really wish I could leave again:
My spirit has become so tired
Of these dark and gloomy walls and halls,
The tightness weighs me down.
There’s not a single green thing to see, not even a tree.
In the lecture seats, I don't know what's wrong with me,
Vision, hearing, thinking—everything feels off.

Mephistopheles. It’s all in action, we see it every day.
The child doesn’t take the mother’s breast
At first willingly,
But soon it feeds itself with enthusiasm.
So you at wisdom’s breast will find your enjoyment
Increasing day by day.

Scholar. I'll cling to her neck, totally in love, But just tell me, who will take me to her?

Mephistopheles. Before you continue, what are your thoughts on which area you want to pursue?

Scholar. I've long wanted to be truly knowledgeable,
And I've aimed to understand the natural world
Completely,
Both here and in the celestial realm.

Mephistopheles. I see you're headed in the right direction; But you'll need to focus completely.

Scholar. You’ll find my heart and soul in this work;
But, of course, it would make me happy,
When summer break comes around,
To enjoy a bit of free time for fun.

Mephistopheles. Make good use of your valuable time; it slips away so quickly,
But being organized gives you time, if I may say.
So I advise you, my dear friend,
To focus on logical breaks first.
This way, your mind will be well-trained and ready,
In tight-fitting Spanish boots,[18] all neatly laced,
So that from now on it can move forward
On the path of thought with careful steps.
And not randomly shoot and aim,
Like a zigzagging Jack-o'-lantern.
Then you'll learn many things over time
That what you once thought you could do
Like eating and drinking spontaneously,
Actually requires a method: one, two, three.
It's, of course, just like the fabric of thought,
As with the chef d'uvre created by weavers,
Where a thousand threads are moved by one treadle,
The shuttles go back and forth,
Invisibly, the threads keep flowing,
With each movement, a thousand connections are made:
Then a philosopher comes and proclaims:
I’ll show you, it can’t be any other way:
The first is this way, the second that way,
So the third and fourth must, of course, follow;
And if the first and second weren’t, you see,
The third and fourth could never be.
Scholars everywhere call this clever,
But no one has ever become a weaver.
Whoever wants to understand something living and explain it,
First kills the spirit it had when discovered,
And then he has all the parts in his possession,
Except for the spiritual connection!
Encheiresin naturæ's[19] the chemical term,
By which fools unwittingly embarrass themselves.

Scholar. Can't fully understand you.

Mephistopheles. You'll have more success soon, Once you learn to break down everything And categorize it correctly.

Scholar. I'm just as confused by everything you've said, As if there were a mill-wheel spinning around in my head!

Mephistopheles. The next important thing to mention,
Metaphysics will grab your attention!
Make sure you can clearly explain
What doesn’t fit in the human brain:
For things that won’t fit in your head,
A fancy word will help instead.
But, at least for this half-year, keep in mind
To always stay on regular grind.
You’ll have five lectures each day;
Be there right when the bell rings, okay?
And be well-prepared in every part;
Memorize each paragraph by heart,
So that you hardly need to check
To make sure he says no more than’s in the text;
And when he dictates, be ready and keen,
As if you’re writing for the Holy Spirit, so pristine!

Scholar. That caution isn't needed!
I'm aware it's beneficial to write,
Because what you have in print,
You can safely take home with you.

Mephistopheles. But please choose a skill!

Scholar. I really don’t want to try the law school.

Mephistopheles. I can’t blame you too much, I admit.
I understand how this job is viewed today.
Laws and regulations throughout the ages
Are like a spreading illness that you can’t escape;
In every generation it still persists
And quietly moves from place to place.
Logic is absurd, and what’s right is a rude suggestion;
Poor you, for being a grandson!
Of the natural law that every person shares,
Sadly, there’s no doubt about that.

Scholar. My hatred deepens with your words. Oh, lucky is the one you will instruct! I'm almost tempted to study theology.

Mephistopheles. I must not let your passion blind you.
This is a science where
Nine out of ten will stumble down the wrong path,
And it contains so much hidden poison,
That if you mistake this for knowledge, it’s no surprise.
It’s best if you listen to just one voice
And stick to that one master’s guidance.
Overall—just pay attention to the words!
These will guide you through the temple door
Safely to the altar of certainty.

Scholar. Yet in that word, there must surely be a thought.

Mephistopheles. Okay! But don't overthink it;
Because wherever you have to go without it,
The right words will come, a helpful friend, to you.
You can argue most skillfully with words,
You can construct a solid system with words,
Your faith can remain unshaken through words,
From words, not a single iota can be removed.

Scholar. Sorry for bombarding you with questions,
But I must ask you just one more,
Will you give me, for the sake of medicine,
A few quick tips?
Three years is such a short time, oh God!
And the field is just too vast.
If only there was something right in front of me
As a clue to guide me!—

Mephistopheles [aside]. I'm really tired of this dry writing,
Must play the devil again in this empty way.
     [Aloud.]
The healing art is easy to understand;
You look around the big and small world,
And let it go, when it’s all over,
As God wills.
It’s pointless that your knowledge spans the heavens,
Everyone learns only what they can;
Those who seize the moment as it passes
They are the real ones.
Your appearance does catch the eye,
Boldness is an easy skill to find,
And if you trust yourself,
Others will trust you too.
In the women's good graces, aim to be first;
Their oh's and ah's, old as time,
So countless,
All come from a single source;
Be respectfully modest and then with ease
You can find their weak spots whenever you want.
A title must first spark their trust,
That your skill goes beyond many others,
Then, lucky you, can count on all those little things
For which someone else spends years fumbling:
Know how to touch the little pulse that dances,
And boldly, with sly and fiery looks,
Wrap your arms around the dear ones' waist
To see how tightly they are laced.

Scholar. This looks promising! One loves the How and Where to see!

Mephistopheles. Gray, my good friend, is all your theory, And green is the golden tree of life.

Scholar. I feel,
I promise you, like someone walking in a dream.
Could I once again, without intruding,
Hear you discussing the deepest insights of wisdom?

Mephistopheles. As far as I can influence, go ahead.

Scholar. I can’t pull myself away, Until I’ve shown you my album. Just give me a single line and I’m happy!

Mephistopheles. Sure thing.
     [Writes and hands it back.]

Scholar [reads]. You will be like God, knowing good and evil.
     [Shuts it reverently, and bows himself out.]

Mephistopheles.
Just let the brave old saying and my aunt, the serpent, lead you,
And, with your resemblance to God, trouble will one day come your way!

Faust [enters]. Which way should we go now?

Mephistopheles. Which way works for you.
We observe the small world and then the big one.
Oh, with what benefit, as well as joy,
Will you measure the wild journey!

Faust. I worry that an easy life and freedom
With my long beard won’t really fit me.
It’s pointless for me to think about succeeding,
I could never grasp what’s considered good manners.
In front of others, I feel so insignificant;
I can never relax at all.

Mephistopheles. Dear friend, you’re wasting your time; Once you learn to trust yourself, you’ve got the hang of living.

Faust. But how do we begin, please? Where are your servants, the carriage, and the horses?

Mephistopheles. We spread the cloak, and off we go
It carries us on our light journeys.
But, on this daring adventure, you
Can't bring a heavy suitcase now.
Just a bit of oxygen, which I'll prepare shortly,
Lifts us from the ground, quick and smoothly.
And if we're light, we'll soon rise above the world;
I'm genuinely happy for you in this new path.

Carousel of Fun Friends.

Frosch.[21] Will no one drink? Stop making those faces!
I'll show you how to really pull a face!
Laugh out loud! Today you're like damp straw,
And at other times, you burn bright like dry hay.

Brander. It's all your fault; you bring no food for enjoyment, Not a silly thing or anything bad.

Frosch [spills a glass of wine over his beard]. There you go!

Brander. You've hogged twice!

Frosch. You wanted it, what else do you want?

Siebel Out the door with those who fight! Let’s drink up; cheer, yell there, everyone! Wake up! Hurrah!

Altmayer. Oh no, I’m lost! Get me some cotton! This guy is driving me crazy.

Siebel. Just keep shouting! When all the arches are ringing and cheering, That's when the foundation really shows its true strength.

Frosch. That's right, just toss him out, who’s worried about that! A! tara! lara da!

Altmayer. A! Tara! Lara da!

Frosch. Our whistles are all wet.
           [Sings.]
    The dear old holy Roman empire,
    What keeps it together?

Brander. What a dreadful song! Ugh! A political song!
Such a boring song! Thank God every morning for that,
That you don’t have to worry about the Catholic kingdom!
At least I consider it a big win that He
Neither the emperor nor the chancellor has made me.
Even we can’t function without a leader, though;
Let’s try to choose a pope.
You know what qualification decides
The final say and reveals the true person.

Frosch [sings].
    Lady Nightingale, rise high,
    Greet me, my love, a thousand times again.

Siebel. No greetings to that girl! If anyone does, I won't tolerate it!

Frog. A hello and a kiss! And you can't stop it!
         [Sings.]
    Open the bolts! the night is clear.
    Open the bolts! Love is close by.
    Close the bolts! the dawn has arrived.

Siebel. Ah, sing and celebrate your beloved!
Soon I'll have my chance to laugh.
The jade has betrayed me, and you'll probably do the same;
May Kobold bring her good luck in love!
At night, may he meet her at the crossroads;
Or coming back from the Blocksberg, some old guy
Might, as he rides by, wish her goodnight!
A guy who's truly real and alive
Is way too good for that girl.
She'll get only one token of my love,
And that will be her window smashed!

Brander [slamming his hand on the table]. Listen up! Listen up! Give me your attention!
I know what life is like, guys, admit it:
We’ve got love-struck people sitting nearby,
And it’s only fair they should hear
A good-night tune as best as I can make it.
Pay attention! And hear a brand-new song!
Join in the chorus, loud and strong!
            [He sings.]
    A rat in the cellar had built its nest,
    It grew slicker and smoother every day,
    It stuffed its belly from the pantry and chest,
    And was plump like Doctor Luther.
    The cook set a trap with poison one day;
    From that point on, it withered away
    As if it had love in its heart.

Chorus [flouting]. As if he actually had love in him.

Brander. He ran around in a crazy mess,
    Splashing through all the puddles,
    He chewed and scratched all over the place,
    His pain was unbearable;
    He jumped many times in distress,
    And soon the poor creature had had enough, I suppose,
    As if he were filled with love.

Chorus. As if he had love in him.

Brander. In agony, he ran, in broad daylight,
    Straight into the kitchen;
    He collapsed on the hearth and there he lay
    Gasping, moaning, and twitching.
    Then the poisoner laughed: "Ha! ha! ha!
    He's hitting the last note," she said,
    "Like he had love in him."

Chorus. As if he had love inside him.

Siebel. Just listen to those fools giggle! That's what I call real talent, To make poor rats squirm with poison!

Brander. You really care about their situation that much?

Altmayer. The bald head and the round belly!
The sad story makes him gentle and soft;
He sees in the bloated rat, poor guy!
His own true image captured in a frame.

FAUST and MEPHISTOPHELES.

Mephistopheles. First of all, it's important
To show you people having a good time,
So you can see how easily life can flow.
For these little folks, every day is a party;
Not too clever, but satisfied,
They dance around in circles,
Like young kittens chasing their tails.
As long as they’re not bothered by headaches,
Or chased by the landlord for payment,
They’re carefree, relaxed, and happy.

Brander. They just got back from traveling, you can tell, Their vibe and attitude make it pretty clear; They arrived here less than an hour ago.

Frosch. You are absolutely right! I know my Leipzig well! It's basically a smaller version of Paris, and it helps to develop its people.

Siebel. What do the strangers look like to you?

Frosch. Just let me go! When wine makes our friendship warm,
It will be as easy as pulling a child’s tooth
To get their secrets out of these two guys.
They come from a noble family, I swear,
They have a proud and unhappy vibe.

Brander. They're frauds, I’ll bet a dollar!

Altmayer. Maybe.

Frog. I'll take care of them, just so you know!

Mephistopheles [to Faust]. These people never notice the dirty trick, Even when he's got them by the collar.

Faust. Hello, gentlemen!

Siebel. The same, and thanks to the boots. [In a low tone, glancing sideways at MEPHISTOPHELES.] Why does the rude one have a limp?

Mephistopheles. If it's alright with you, should we have a gathering? Instead of a nice drink, which no one can get here, Good company should lift our spirits.

Altmayer. You seem like a very particular person.

Frosch. I believe you spent some time at Rippach recently? You had dinner with Mister Hans not too long ago, I assume?

Mephistopheles. We saw him on the road today! Great guy! It really saddened us to say goodbye to him. He had a lot to share with us about his relatives, And he sent his regards to each of them through us by the dozen. [He bows to FROSCH.]

Altmayer [softly]. You've got it! He takes it!

Siebel. That guy is really sharp!

Frosch. I'll get him next time, just wait!

Mephistopheles. If I'm not mistaken, didn't we just hear
Some skilled voices singing in harmony?
Honestly, the music must be beautiful here.
From all these resonating arches echoing!

Frosch. Are you maybe a connoisseur?

Mephistopheles. Oh no! My abilities are limited; I'm just a beginner.

Altmayer. Sing us a song!

Mephistopheles. As many as you want.

Siebel. But let it be a brand-new strain!

Mephistopheles. No worries about that! We just got back from Spain,
The beautiful land of wine and music.
          [Sings.]
    There was a king, really grand,
    Who had a huge flea,—

Frosch. Listen to him! A flea! Do you hear that, guys? A flea! I consider that fancy company.

Mephistopheles [resumes]. There was a king, quite regal,
     Who had a huge flea,
     And adored him dearly,
     As if he were his own son.
     He summoned the seamstress;
     The tailor arrived right away:
     Hey! measure the little guy for pants,
     And make him a coat today!

Brander. But don't forget to pay the tailor well,
Take care to measure it right,
And, since he values his fine work,
Make sure there are no wrinkles in the pants.

Mephistopheles. Dressed in luxurious silk and velvet
     The creature now looked fine,
     With ribbons attached to his coat,
     And a cross displayed on his chest.
     He sported a large star on his collar,
     In short, he was a minister;
     And his family, both high and low,
     Became important figures at court.

The nobles of high status
     Were worse off than if they were hanged,
     The queen had them all around her,
     And everyone was bitten and stung,
     And didn't dare to fight back,
     Or scratch, but just let them cling.
     We choke them and we crush them
     The moment we feel a sting.

Chorus [loud]. We take them down and we break them The second we feel one jab.

Frosch. Awesome! Awesome! That was great!

Siebel. So will each flea give up its life!

Brander. Point your fingers and pinch them perfectly!

Altmayer. Hooray for Freedom! Hooray for Wine!

Mephistopheles. I'd toast to the goddess too, to prove how much I value her, Really happily, if your wines were just a little better.

Siebel. Don't say that again, you worrywart!

Mephistopheles. If I weren't afraid of upsetting the landlord, I'd show these respectable guests right now What kind of quality we really have.

Siebel. Just bring it! I'll handle the impact.

Frosch. Pour us a full glass, and we'll sing your praises,
But don’t give us just a tiny taste;
Because if I’m going to judge and critique,
I need a solid sip to gain some insight.

Altmayer [softly]. They’re from the Rhine, as far as I can tell.

Mephistopheles. Bring us a gimlet, please!

Brander. What are we going to do about that? I assume you don't have the barrels outside, right?

Altmayer. It's easy to access the landlord's tool chest there.

Mephistopheles [takes the gimlet] (to Frosch). What do you want? It only costs a conversation.

Frosch. What do you mean? Do you have that many kinds?

Mephistopheles. Plenty to satisfy all kinds of thinkers.

Altmayer. Aha! Old drunk, your lips are already smacking!

Frosch. Well, then! If I have to choose, let Rhine wine fill my cup, Our homeland provides the finest drink.

MEPHISTOPHELES
   [boring a hole in the edge of the table near where FROSCH sits].
Get us some wax right away to make the stoppers!

Altmayer. Ah, these are just tricks and nonsense!

And you?

Brander. Champagne is the wine for me, But it has to be really sparkling!

[MEPHISTOPHELES is bored; meanwhile one of them has made
      the wax stoppers and plugged the holes.]

Brander. Yearnings for things from abroad can sometimes linger with you,
The good stuff you often find;
A true German man might dislike the French, I admit,
Yet he'll happily enjoy their wines.

Siebel [as Mephistopheles comes closer to his seat]. I don’t like sour; it makes my mouth twist, Give me something with real sweetness instead!

Mephistopheles [yawns]. Alright, you'll get some Tokay right now.

Altmayer. No, gentlemen, just look me in the eye! I see right through this; it’s what people nowadays call smoking.

Mephistopheles. Come on! That would be a serious joke,
To be so disrespectful to good men.
But hurry up! Speak up again!
How can I help you with my words?

Altmayer. Don't wait to ask; just do it with anyone, then.

[After all the holes are drilled and sealed.]

Mephistopheles [with unique gestures].
From the grapevines we pick the fruit;
Horns sprout on the buck;
Wine is rich, and the wooden table,
Like wooden vines, can provide wine.
Open your eyes to nature's wonders!
This is a miracle, just believe!
Now pull the corks and drink as much as you like!

ALL
    [pulling the stoppers and pouring each into his glass
     the wine he wanted].
Sweet spring, that gives us what we want!

Mephistopheles. Just make sure not to spill a single drop!
    [They drink multiple times.]

All [sing]. We're all happy like cannibals,
     Five hundred pigs together.

Mephistopheles. Look at them now, they're as happy as can be!

Faust. I want to leave.

Mephistopheles. But first, pay attention; their brutality will make for a remarkable display.

SIEBEL
     [drinks thoughtlessly; the wine spills on the ground
      and ignites].
Help! Fire! Hey! Help! The flames of hell!

_Mephistopheles [conjuring the flame]. Calm down, friendly element, be quiet! [To the Toper.] This time it was just a drop of fire from purgatory._

Siebel. What does this mean? Hold on, or you'll regret it! It seems you don't know us very well.

Frosch. It won't work to joke with us like that again!

Altmayer. I say we let him stay here, hardly able to leave.

Siebel. What, sir! How dare you continue your old tricks here?

Mephistopheles. Be quiet, old wine barrel!

Siebel. Broomstick, take that! Adding insult to injury, huh? You’ve got to be kidding me!

Brander. Stop right there! Or you'll be hit with a flurry of blows!

ALTMAYER
      [pulls a stopper out of the table; fire shoots at him].
I'm on fire! I'm on fire!

Siebel. Dark magic! What a disgrace! Go ahead! This scoundrel is an easy target!

[They pull out their knives and charge at MEPHISTOPHELES.]

Mephistopheles [with a serious look].
Word and form of air!
Change location, take on new meaning!
Be here—and there!

[They stand amazed and look at each other.]

Altmayer. Where am I? What a beautiful place!

Frosch. Vine hills! My eyes! Is it true?

Siebel. And grapes, too, right nearby!

Brander. Look at this green stem growing!
Check out this bunch of grapes shining!
       [He grabs SIEBEL by the nose. The others do the same to each
        other and raise their knives.]

Mephistopheles [as above]. Loosen up, Error, from their eyes, the crew!
You don't need me to explain how Satan pulls his tricks now.
       [He disappears with FAUST, the companions recoil from each
        other.]

Siebel. What's wrong with me?

Altmayer. How so?

Frosch. Was that your nose, my friend, that I grabbed?

Brander [to Siebel]. And I have yours, too, in my hand!

Altmayer. Oh, what a shock! It’s crawling through my whole body! Get me a chair, hurry, I’m about to fall!

Frosch. No, what was actually going on?

Siebel. O show me where the jerk is hiding! Alive he should not leave the place!

Altmayer. I saw him riding out through the cellar door— On a cask—he was in hot pursuit.— My feet are getting heavy as lead.

[Facing the table.]

Wow! If the wine is still flowing.

Siebel. It was all lies and illusions.

Frosch. Yet I was certain I drank wine.

Brander. But what about the bunches, bro?

Altmayer. After seeing such miracles, I won't doubt anything else!

[On a low hearth, a large kettle sits over the fire. Various shapes emerge from the smoke that billows up from it. A female monkey is beside the kettle, skimming the surface and making sure it doesn't boil over. The male monkey, along with the young ones, sits nearby, keeping warm. The walls and ceiling are decorated with the most unusual witchy household items.]

Faust. I wish this disgusting witch business would be over already!
Do you promise me I’ll get better
In this chaotic mess?
Do I really need advice from an old hag?
And will this nasty concoction
Bring my youth back by thirty years?
Oh no, if that’s the best you have!
Hope is already gone from my heart.
Hasn't a noble soul long ago
Discovered a remedy to bring back lost youth?

Mephistopheles. My friend, you're speaking wisely again!
I have a natural way to make you young—nothing better!
But you'll have to look for it in another book,
And it's a very specific chapter.

Faust. I would like to know.

Mephistopheles. Well! here’s one that doesn’t need any pay,
No help from doctors, and no magic tricks.
Get out to the fields right away,
And start working, digging, and planting;
Do the same thing day after day,
Living a simple life, content and happy,
With basic food feeding both your mind and body,
Live alongside nature as one with it, and it’s not stealing
If you work the field you harvest;
Follow this path and trust me,
For eighty years you’ll keep your youth!

Faust. I’m not used to that; I could never bring myself to do it, To work with a spade, I just can't manage it. A narrow life doesn’t suit me at all.

Mephistopheles. Then we must summon the witch.

Faust. But why that old hag? Can't you brew the needed potion yourself?

Mephistopheles. That would be a fun activity right now.
I could build about a thousand bridges faster.
Science and art alone won't cut it,
The work will need patience too;
It takes a calm spirit years of dedication:
Only time strengthens the quality of the work.
To explain each element involved
Would sound to you like the craziest story!
The devil has indeed mastered the craft;
To create something beyond the devil's reach.
      [Spotting the animals.]
Look, what a classy group we have here!
This is the houseboy! That's the maid!
      [To the animals.]
Where’s the old lady gone off to catch mice?

The animals. Partying; Out she went Through the chimney vent!

Mephistopheles. How much time does she waste running around and causing a scene?

The animals. While we are warming up our paws.

Mephistopheles [to Faust]. What do you think of these lovely beings?

Faust. It was the most disgusting thing I've ever seen!

Mephistopheles. No! A conversation like this really is one of life's greatest joys; [To the animals.] Hey, you miserable dolls, working hard over there! What are you stirring with that spoon?

Animals. A typical soup for beggars that we're cooking up.

Mephistopheles. You'll soon have a steady stream of customers.

THE HE-MONKEY
    [Comes along and fawns on MEPHISTOPHELES].
        Oh throw up the dice,
        Make me rich in an instant,
        Spin fortune's wheel!
        My luck is really bad,
        If I had money,
        I’d get my wits back.

Mephistopheles. The monkey would be as happy as can be, If someone would just give him a lottery ticket!

Meanwhile, the young monkeys have been playing with a big
     ball that they roll back and forth.]

The monkey. 'The world's like a ball;
        Watch it rise and fall,
        Follow its roll;
        It rings like glass:
        Both are fragile things!
        Inside, it's empty.
        It shines brightly here,
        And even more over there,—
        I live—by 'Pollo!—
        Dear son, I ask,
        Keep your hands back!
        You will fall so!
        It's made of clay,
        Just like pots are too.

Mephistopheles. What does the sieve mean?

The monkey [takes it down]. If you were a thief,
        It would expose the thief and embarrass him.
    [Runs to his mate and makes her look through.]
        Look through the sieve!
        Can you see the thief,
        And won’t dare to name him?

Mephistopheles [walking up to the fire]. What's in this pot?

The monkeys. What an idiot! I'm going to lose it! He doesn’t know the pot, He doesn’t know the kettle!

Mephistopheles. Rudeness! Quiet!

The monkey. Here, take the brush,
        And sit on the bench!
     [He makes MEPHISTOPHELES sit down.]

FAUST
    [who has been standing in front of a mirror all this time,
     now getting closer and now stepping back from it].

What do I see? What divine face
In this magic mirror captivates me!
Oh love, please, grant me your swiftest wings!
And take me to her realm!
Ah, if I try to get closer to what haunts me,
If I dare to move from this spot,
Faintly, like through a fog, I look at her!—
The most beautiful vision of a woman!
Is there any woman as lovely as this?
Must I, in these relaxing limbs, see nothing human?
But rather the purest essence of all heaven?
Has such a thing ever been seen on earth?

Mephistopheles. Why, when you see a God working hard for six days,
And then cheer at the end,
Of course you're expecting something impressive.
Take a good look; I have exactly what you need,
And I'll guide you to her;
And blessed is the one, whose luck it will be,
To bring her home, a successful suitor!

[FAUST keeps looking in the mirror. MEPHISTOPHELES
stretches out on the couch and plays with the brush,
continuing to speak.]
Here I sit like a king on his throne,
The scepter in my hand—I just need the crown.

THE ANIMALS
   [who until now have been acting all sorts of strange ways
    with each other, bring MEPHISTOPHELES a crown with a loud shout].
        Oh, please—
        With sweat and with blood,
        Take it and seal it;
   [They clumsily carry the crown and break it into two pieces,
    with which they jump around.]
        It's done now! We're free!
        We speak and we see,
        We hear and we rhyme it;

Faust [facing the mirror]. Oh no! I've nearly lost my mind.

Mephistopheles [pointing to the animals] I have to admit, my head is also about to start spinning.

The animals. And then if it connects And everything aligns, We've ideas for our success.

Faust [as before]. The flame is rising up to my heart! Let's get out of here—there's trouble close by!

Mephistopheles [in the former position]. Well, at least, there's no denying that we have honest poets here.

[The kettle, which the she-monkey has until now left untouched, starts to boil over; a huge flame erupts, roaring up the chimney. The WITCH comes riding down through the flames with a terrifying scream.]

Witch. Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!
      That cursed beast! That damn pig!
      Ignored the pot, burned the lady!
      The damned crew!
        [Seeing FAUST and MEPHISTOPHELES.]
      Who are you?
      What are you doing?
      What do you want?
      Who slipped in?
      The fire-plague's wrath
      Will strike him
      In every limb!

[_She lunges at the kettle with the skimmer and splashes flames
      at FAUST, MEPHISTOPHELES, and the creatures. The latter whimper_.]

MEPHISTOPHELES
     [turning the brush he's holding upside down and knocking
      over the glasses and pots].

In two! In two!
      There’s the drink!
      There’s the glass!
      This joke must go;
      For time is up, fool!
      To your tune, it’ll work.
    [While the WITCH _steps back, filled with anger and fear.]
Skeleton! Scarecrow! Ghost! Do you know me,
Your lord and master? What stops me from jumping
Right into your cursed crowd,
Smashing you and all your monkey spirits?
Does the red waistcoat no longer earn your respect?
Has the cock’s feather escaped your notice, too?
Have you never seen this face before?
Should I perhaps mention my name?

The witch. Excuse my rudeness, sir! But I definitely don't see a cloven foot. And I can't find your two ravens either.

Mephistopheles. I'll let you off this time;
It’s been a long while since we last met.
The culture that shapes the world,
Even the devil can’t avoid it;
The ghost of what the Northern men have left behind,
Horns, tail, and claws—where can you find them now?
And as for the foot, which I can’t use at all,
Using it would ruin my reputation;
So I’ve worn, for years now, like many fine young men,
Fake calves to make me look more impressive.

The witch [dancing]. Oh, I’m afraid I’m about to lose my mind, Do I really see Squire Satan here again!

Mephistopheles. Woman, that name bothers me!

The witch. Why is that? What has it done to you?

Mephistopheles. It's been kicked out of fairy tales for a long time;
But that hasn't made people any better; true,
The evil one, but not the evil ones, is gone.
You call me Herr Baron, so everything is good;
I'm a gentleman, just like everyone else. Do you doubt me?
Doubt my noble lineage for even a second?
Just look at the family crest I carry with me!
     [_He makes an indecent gesture.]

The witch [laughs loudly]. Ha! ha! I know you well, sir!
You're still the same old trickster you always were!

Mephistopheles [to Faust] I ask you to pay close attention, This is how you handle witches, my friend.

The witch. Now, everyone, what should I create?