Читать книгу The Greatest German Classics (Vol. 1-14) - Various - Страница 1410
ОглавлениеFast gather the clouds, they eclipse star on star.
Behind there, behind, from afar, from afar,
There comes he, our brother, there cometh he—
Death.
FAUST (in the palace)
Four saw I come, but only three went hence.
Of their discourse I could not catch the sense;
There fell upon mine ear a sound like breath,
Thereon a gloomy rhyme-word followed—Death;
Hollow the sound, with spectral horror fraught!
Not yet have I, in sooth, my freedom wrought;
Could I my pathway but from magic free,
And quite unlearn the spells of sorcery,
Stood I, oh nature, man alone 'fore thee,
Then were it worth the trouble man to be!
Such was I once, ere I in darkness sought,
And curses dire, through words with error fraught,
Upon myself and on the world have brought;
So teems the air with falsehood's juggling brood,
That no one knows how them he may elude!
If but one day shines clear, in reason's light—
In spectral dream envelopes us the night;
From the fresh fields, as homeward we advance—
There croaks a bird: what croaks he? some mischance!
Ensnared by superstition, soon and late;
As sign and portent, it on us doth wait—
By fear unmanned, we take our stand alone;
The portal creaks, and no one enters—none.
(Agitated)
Is some one here?
CARE
The question prompteth, yes!
FAUST
What art thou then?
CARE
Here, once for all, am I.
FAUST
Withdraw thyself!
CARE
My proper place is this.
FAUST (first angry, then appeased. Aside)
Take heed, and speak no word of sorcery.
CARE
Though by outward ear unheard,
By my moan the heart is stirred;
And in ever-changeful guise,
Cruel force I exercise;
On the shore and on the sea,
Comrade dire hath man in me
Ever found, though never sought,
Flattered, cursed, so have I wrought.
Hast thou as yet Care never known?
FAUST
I have but hurried through the world, I own.
I by the hair each pleasure seized;
Relinquished what no longer pleased,
That which escaped me I let go,
I've craved, accomplished, and then craved again;
Thus through my life I've storm'd—with might and main,
Grandly, with power, at first; but now indeed,
It goes more cautiously, with wiser heed.
I know enough of earth, enough of men;
The view beyond is barred from mortal ken;
Fool, who would yonder peer with blinking eyes,
And of his fellows dreams above the skies!
Firm let him stand, the prospect round him scan,
Not mute the world to the true-hearted man
Why need he wander through eternity?
What he can grasp, that only knoweth he.
So let him roam adown earth's fleeting day;
If spirits haunt, let him pursue his way;
In joy or torment ever onward stride,
Though every moment still unsatisfied!
CARE
To him whom I have made mine own
All profitless the world hath grown:
Eternal gloom around him lies;
For him suns neither set nor rise;
With outward senses perfect, whole,
Dwell darknesses within his soul;
Though wealth he owneth, ne'ertheless
He nothing truly can possess.
Weal, woe, become mere phantasy;
He hungers 'mid satiety;
Be it joy, or be it sorrow,
He postpones it till the morrow;
Of the future thinking ever,
Prompt for present action never.
FAUST
Forbear! Thou shalt not come near me!
I will not hear such folly. Hence!
Avaunt! This evil litany
The wisest even might bereave of sense.
CARE
Shall he come or go? He ponders;—
All resolve from him is taken;
On the beaten path he wanders,
Groping on, as if forsaken.
Deeper still himself he loses,
Everything his sight abuses,
Both himself and others hating,
Taking breath—and suffocating,
Without life—yet scarcely dying,
Not despairing—not relying.
Rolling on without remission:
Loathsome ought, and sad permission,
Now deliverance, now vexation,
Semi-sleep—poor recreation,
Nail him to his place and wear him,
And at last for hell prepare him.
FAUST
Unblessèd spectres! Ye mankind have so
Treated a thousand times, their thoughts deranging;
E'en uneventful days to mar ye know,
Into a tangled web of torment changing!
'Tis hard, I know, from demons to get free,
The mighty spirit-bond by force untying;
Yet Care, I never will acknowledge thee,
Thy strong in-creeping, potency defying.
CARE
Feel it then now; as thou shalt find
When with a curse from thee I've wended:
Through their whole lives are mortals blind—
So be thou, Faust, ere life be ended!
[She breathes on him.]
FAUST (blind)
Deeper and deeper night is round me sinking;
Only within me shines a radiant light.
I haste to realize, in act, my thinking;
The master's word, that only giveth might.
Up, vassals, from your couch! my project bold,
Grandly completed, now let all behold!
Seize ye your tools; your spades, your shovels ply;
The work laid down, accomplish instantly!
Strict rule, swift diligence—these twain
The richest recompense obtain.
Completion of the greatest work demands
One guiding spirit for a thousand hands.
GREAT FORE-COURT OF THE PALACE
Torches
MEPHISTOPHELES (as overseer leading the way)
This way! this way! Come on! come on!
Le Lemures, loose of tether,
Of tendon, sinew, and of bone,
Half natures, patched together!
LEMURES (in chorus)
At thy behest we're here at hand;
Thy destined aim half guessing—
It is that we a spacious land
May win for our possessing.
Sharp-pointed stakes we bring with speed,
Long chains wherewith to measure.
But we've forgotten why indeed
To call us was thy pleasure.
MEPHISTOPHELES
No artist-toil we need today:
Sufficeth your own measure here:
At his full length the tallest let him lay!
Ye others round him straight the turf uprear;
As for our sires was done of yore,
An oblong square delve ye once more.
Out of the palace to the narrow home—
So at the last the sorry end must come!
LEMURES (digging, with mocking gestures)
In youth when I did live and love,
Methought, it was very sweet!
Where frolic rang and mirth was rife,
Thither still sped my feet.
Now with his crutch hath spiteful age
Dealt me a blow full sore:
I stumbled o'er a yawning grave,
Why open stood the door!
FAUST (comes forth from the palace, groping his way by the door posts)
How doth the clang of spades delight my soul!
For me my vassals toil, the while
Earth with itself they reconcile,
The waves within their bounds control,
And gird the sea with stedfast zone—
MEPHISTOPHELES (aside)
And yet for us dost work alone,
While thou for dam and bulwark carest;
Since thus for Neptune thou preparest,
The water-fiend, a mighty fête;
Before thee naught but ruin lies;
The elements are our allies;
Onward destruction strides elate.
FAUST
Inspector!
MEPHISTOPHELES
Here.
FAUST
As many as you may,
Bring crowds on crowds to labor here;
Them by reward and rigor cheer;
Persuade, entice, give ample pay!
Each day be tidings brought me at what rate
The moat extends which here we excavate.
MEPHISTOPHELES (half aloud)
They speak, as if to me they gave
Report, not of a moat—but of a grave.[36]
FAUST
A marsh along the mountain chain
Infecteth what's already won;
Also the noisome pool to drain—
My last, best triumph then were won:
To many millions space I thus should give,
Though not secure, yet free to toil and live;
Green fields and fertile; men, with cattle blent,
Upon the newest earth would dwell content,
Settled forthwith upon the firm-based hill,
Up-lifted by a valiant people's skill;
Within, a land like Paradise; outside,
E'en to the brink, roars the impetuous tide,
And as it gnaws, striving to enter there,
All haste, combined, the damage to repair.
Yea, to this thought I cling, with virtue rife,
Wisdom's last fruit, profoundly true:
Freedom alone he earns as well as life,
Who day by day must conquer them anew.
So girt by danger, childhood bravely here,
Youth, manhood, age, shall dwell from year to year;
Such busy crowds I fain would see,
Upon free soil stand with a people free;
Then to the moment might I say;
Linger awhile, so fair thou art!
Nor can the traces of my earthly day
Through ages from the world depart!
In the presentiment of such high bliss,
The highest moment I enjoy—'tis this.
(FAUST sinks back, the LEMURES lay hold of him and lay him upon the ground.)
* * * * *
[Footnote 1: For lack of space, scientists and historians have been excluded.]
[Footnote 2: The chief original sources for the life of Goethe are his own autobiographic writings, his letters, his diaries, and his conversations. Of the autobiographic writings the most important are (1) Poetry and Truth from my Life, which ends with the year 1775; (2) Italian Journey, covering the period from September, 1786, to June, 1788; (3) Campaign in France and Siege of Antwerp, dealing with episodes of the years 1792 and 1793; (4) Annals (Tag- und Jahreshefte), which are useful for his later years down to 1823. His letters, forty-nine volumes in all, and his diaries, thirteen volumes, are included in the great Weimar edition of Goethe's works. His conversations, so far as they were recorded, have been well edited by W. von Biedermann, ten volumes, Leipzig, 1889–1896.]
[Footnote 3: This earlier version was long supposed to be lost, but in 1910 a copy of the original manuscript was discovered at Zürich and published. Its six books correspond very nearly to the first four of the final version.]
[Footnote 4: Translator: Charles Wharton Stork.]
[Footnote 5: Adapted from E.A. Bowring.]
[Footnote 6: Translator: E.A. Bowring. (All poems in this section translated by E.A. Bowring, W.E. Aytoun and Theodore Martin appear by permission of Thomas Y. Crowell & Co.)]
[Footnote 7: Translator: E.A. Bowring.]
[Footnote 8: Adapted from E. A. Bowring.]
[Footnote 9: Translator: E. A. Bowring.]
[Footnote 10: Translator: E.A. Bowring.]
[Footnote 11: Translator: E. A. Bowring.]
[Footnote 12: Translator: E. A. Bowring.]
[Footnote 13: Translator: E. A. Bowring.]
[Footnote 14: Translator: E.A. Bowring.]
[Footnote 15: Translator: E. A. Bowring.]
[Footnote 16: Translator: E.A. Bowring.]
[Footnote 17: W.E. Aytoun and Theodore Martin.]
[Footnote 18: Translator: A.I. du P. Coleman.]
[Footnote 19: Translators: W.E. Aytoun and Theodore Martin.]
[Footnote 20: Translators: W. E. Aytoun and Theodore Martin.]
[Footnote 21: The title of a lyric piece composed by Schiller in honor of the marriage of the hereditary prince of Weimar to the Princess Maria of Russia, and performed in 1804.]
[Footnote 22: Translator: E. A. Bowring.]
[Footnote 23: Translation: E. A. Bowring.]
[Footnote 24: Translator: E. A. Bowring.]
[Footnote 25: Translator: A. I. du P. Coleman.]
[Footnote 26: Translator: A. I. du P. Coleman.]
[Footnote 27: Translator: E. A. Bowring.]
[Footnote 28: Translator: A. I. du P. Coleman.]
[Footnote 29: Translator: E.A. Bowring.]
[Footnote 30: Translator: A. L. du P. Coleman.]
[Footnote 31: Harvard Classics (Copyright P. F. Collier & Son).]
[Footnote 32: Harvard Classics (Copyright P. F. Collier & Son).]
[Footnote 33: Permission The Macmillan Co., New York, and G. Bell &
Sons, Ltd., London.]
[Footnote 34: Permission The Macmillan Co., New York, and G. Bell and
Sons, Ltd., London.]
[Footnote 35: Not and Tod, the German equivalents for Need and Death, form a rhyme. As this cannot be rendered in English, I have introduced a slight alteration into my translation.]
[Footnote 36: The play of words contained in the original cannot be reproduced in translation, the German for Moat being Graben, and for grave Grab.]
