III

'What from the world have I to gain?—Thou must renounce! renounce! refrain!Such is the everlasting songThat fills our ears our whole life long ...With horror day by day I wakeAnd weeping watch the morning breakTo think that each returning sunShall see fulfilled no wish of mine—not one.'

He vows he would rather die. 'And yet,' sarcastically remarks Mephisto, 'some one a night or two ago did not drink a certain brown liquid.' Stung by the sarcasm, Faust breaks out into curses against life, against love and hope, and faith ... and 'cursed be patience most of all!'

Here is the devil's opportunity. 'Life is yours yet, and all its pleasures. Of what's beyond you nothing know. Give up all this morbid thinking, these dreams and self-delusions! Be a man! Enjoy life! Plunge into pleasures of the senses! I will be your guide and show you the life worth living!'

In an ecstasy of embitterment and despair, though fully conscious that such a life can never bring him satisfaction and happiness, Faust exclaims: 'What wiltthou, poor devil, give me? Was the human spirit, in its aspirations, ever understood by such asthou?... And yet—hast thou the food that never satiates—hast thou red gold—hast thou love,passionate faithless love—hast thou the fruits that rot before one plucks them—hast thou the fruits of that tree of sensual pleasure which daily puts forth new blossoms—then done! I accept.' 'But if,' he adds (and, alas, I must give merely the sense of these noble verses—for all translation is so unutterably flat)—'if I ever lay myself on the bed of idle self-content, if ever thou canst fool me with these phantoms of the senses, if ever I say to the passing moment,Stay; thou art so fair!—then let my life be ended. This wager I offer thee.' 'Topp!' ('Done!') exclaims Mephistopheles; and, as you know, the compact is signed by Faust with his own blood.

You will observe that here there is no mention, as in the old legend, of any term of years—the compact isfor life. Of what may come after this life Faust makes no mention in his wager. He expressly says that all he cares about, all he can know, isthislife, and that he will hear nothing about any future life. This may be agnosticism or whatever else we like to call it, but it is not formally selling one's soul, with or without one's body, for afuturelife and for all eternity.

Moreover Faust hasnotsummoned the devil. The devil has come to him—is indeed a part of him. He doesnotleague himself with a hell-fiend for the sake of worldly power or fame or sensual enjoyment, of which he speaks with contempt. He only offers to come forward into the battle of life and of passions to test the nobler powers and the deeper beliefs and the yet dim aspirations of his better nature against the powers of evil, against what he calls the 'cold devil's-fist' of negation and cynicism and disbelief, against the brute within the man.

Thou hearest me! I do not speak of joy—I dedicate myself to passion—pleasure—pain—Enamour'd hate, and rapture of disdain.What's highest or what's lowest I will know,And heap upon my bosom weal and woe.

Footsteps are now heard approaching. It is one of Faust's scholars. Faust 'has no heart to meet him'—and no wonder. He goes; and Mephistopheles, throwing around him Faust's professorial mantle and placing the professorial cap upon his head, awaits the scholar. The scene which ensues, in which Mephisto gives the young aspirantfor knowledge his diabolic advice and his diabolic views on Science, Logic, Metaphysics, Medicine and even Theology—would offer ample material for a very long course of lectures; but as it is one which is not closely connected with the main action of the play it will have to be omitted. The scholar retires—his poor young head whirling round like a mill-wheel with the advice he has received and carrying away his album, in which the devil has inscribed his favourite text 'Ye shall be as gods, knowing good and evil.' Then Faust re-enters, Mephistopheles spreads out his silken cape, and on it the two fly away through the air on their adventures—first through the small and then the greater world—first the world of personal feelings and passions, then the greater world (is it really greater?) of art and politics and Humanity.

Faust had said, as you remember,

What wilt thou, poor devil, give me?Was the human spirit, in its aspirationsEver understood by such as thou?

This is the leading motive of all that follows. With ever-deepening disgust andcontempt Faust, in his quest for truth through the jungles and quagmires of human passions, follows his guide. If ever Faust seems to catch sight of any far-off vision of eternal truth and beauty—as he does at times in his love for Gretchen, and again in his passion for ideal beauty in Helen, and once again in that devotion to the cause of Humanity which finally allows him to express a satisfaction in life, and thus causes his life to end—if ever Faust shows any sign of real interest or satisfaction, it is justthenthat Mephistopheles displays most clearly his utter inability to understand the 'human spirit in its aspirations'; and it isthenthat he shows most plainly his own diabolic nature, pouring out his cynical contempt and gnashing his teeth at what he deems Faust's irrational disgust for all those bestialities that seem to him (Mephistopheles) the sweetest joys of existence.

His very first attempt is a dead failure. He has carried Faust off through the air to Leipzig, and here he brings him into what to the Mephisto-nature doubtless seems highly desirable and entertaining company—to the 'sing-song' (as I believe it is calledin England) of tippling brawling students. The scene is Auerbach's Cellar, a well-known Leipzig 'Kneipe'—a kind of Wine taproom or Bodega. Among these brawling comic-songsters Mephistopheles is in his element, and he treats them to a comic ditty:

Of old there lived a king,Who had a great big fleaAs dear as any thing,Or any son, could be ...

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

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

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

Amidst their drunken uproar Faust and Mephistopheles disappear.

During the whole of this scene Faustspeaks no single word, except a curt but polite greeting on entering the Cellar and an appeal to Mephistopheles to take him away from this 'scene of swinish bestiality.' How different from the part that Faust plays in the old story where he himself, not Mephistopheles, joins in the revelry and buffoonery!

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

A weird scene now ensues: the Witches' Kitchen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And where is Faust? He has fled. The avengers of blood are on his track. His selfish passion has been the cause of death to Gretchen's mother and brother and has brought ruin on her—to end in madness, infanticide and the block.

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Look! seest thou not in the far distance there,Standing alone, that child, so pale and fair?She seems to move so slowly, and with pain,As if her feet were fettered by a chain.I must confess, I almost seem to traceMy poor good Gretchen in her form and face.'

Mephistopheles answers:

'Let her alone! It's dangerous to look.It's a mere lifeless ghoul, a spectre-spook.Such bogeys to encounter is not good;Their rigid stare freezes one's very blood,And one is often almost turned to stone.Medusa's head, methinks, to thee is known!'

But Faust will not be convinced. ItisGretchen—his 'poor good Gretchen' as he calls her. And what is that red bleedinggash around her neck? What terrible thought does it suggest!

'How strange that round her lovely neck,That narrow band of red is laidNo broader than a knife's keen blade!'

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

'Quite right! I plainly see it's so.Perseus cut off her head, you know.She often carries it beneath her arm.'

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

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

A gloomy day. Open country.FaustandMephistopheles.Faustis speaking.Faust. In misery! In despair! Piteously wandering day after day o'er the face of theearth,—and now imprisoned! That sweet unhappy being shut up in a dungeon, as a criminal, and exposed to horrible torments! Has it come tothis!—to this!... Treacherous, villainous spirit! andthisthou hast concealed from me!... Stand there, stand, and roll thy devilish eyes in fury! Imprisoned! In hopeless misery! Delivered over to evil spirits and the heartless verdict of mankind!... Andthoumeantime hast lulled me with loathsome dissipation ... thou hast hidden from me her ever-deepening despair, and hast suffered her to perish helplessly.Meph. She isn't the first.Faust. Dog! Abominable monster! Turn him, O Infinite Spirit, turn this reptile back into his dog-shape ... that he may crawl on his belly before me ... that I may trample the abandoned wretch underfoot. Not the first!... Woe! Woe not to be grasped by any human soul, thatmorethanoneshould sink into this abyss of misery—that thefirst, in her writhing agony before the eyes of the All-merciful, should not have made satisfaction for the guilt of all others. The misery of thisonepierces with agony my deepest soul—andthoucalmly grinnest at the fate of thousands!Meph. Here we are again, at the end of our wits!—where the common sense of you mortals loses its hold and snaps. Why dost thou make fellowship with us, if thou canst not carry it through? Wilt thou fly, and art not secure from dizziness? Did we thrust ourselves upon thee, or thou thyself upon us?Faust. Gnash not thy ravening teeth at me! Iloathe thee! Mighty, glorious Spirit—thou who didst deign to appear to me, and knowest my heart and soul, why dost thou fetter me to this satellite of shame, who revels in evil and gluts himself on destruction?Meph. Hast thou done?Faust. Save her, or woe to thee! The most terrible curse on thee for thousands of years!Meph. I cannot loose the bonds of the avenger—cannot undo his bolts.Save her!... Who was it that ruined her ... I or thou?[Faustglares wildly round him.Meph. Wilt thou grasp after a thunderbolt? 'Tis well that it was not given to you miserable mortals!...Faust. Take me to her! Sheshallbe free!... Take me to her, I say, and liberate her!Meph. I will take thee to her—and do what Icando. Listen! Have I all power in heaven and on earth?—I will becloud the jailer's senses. Then do thou get possession of the keys, and lead her forth with human hand. I will keep watch.—The magic steeds will be at hand ... I will carry you off. So much lies in my power.Night. The open country.FaustandMephistophelesgalloping past on black horses. They pass a group of witches busy round their cauldron. They reach the prison. Within is heard the voice ofGretchensinging an old plaintive ballad.Faustlistens:'She dreams not' (he says) 'that her loved oneis listening, and hears her chains rattle and the straw as it rustles.'[He unlocks the prison door and steps in.Gretchen(crouching into her bed of straw). Woe, woe—they are coming! Bitter death!Faust. Hush! hush! I am come to free thee.Gretchen(grovelling before him). If thou art a man, O pity my distress!Faust. Thou wilt awaken the watchmen with thy cries. [He seizes her chain to unlock it.Gretchen(kneeling). Who has given you, heads-man, this power over me? You have come for me already at midnight. Pity me, and let me live! Is to-morrow morning not soon enough? And I am still so young—and I must die! Fair was I too, and that was my ruin. Pity me! What harm have I ever done to thee! I never saw thee before in all my life.Faust. Can I endure this misery?Gretchen. I am wholly in your power. But let me first suckle my child. I held it in my bosom all the night. They took it from me, to vex me, andnowthey say I've killed it.... And I shall never be happy any more!Faust(kneels beside her). He that loves thee kneels before thee.Gretchen. O let us kneel and call upon the saints. But ... ah!... Look!... Under those steps, under the threshold, hell is flaming. The Evil One is raging there so furiously. Listen, how he roars and thunders!Faust. Gretchen! Gretchen!Gretchen(listening). That was the voice of my friend! Where is he? I heard him call.... Right through the howling and uproar of hell, through the horrid laughter of the devils, I recognized that sweet loving tone.Faust. It is I.Gretchen. Thou!... O say it once more! (Clasping him.) It is! it is he! Where is now all my pain? Where is the anguish of the dungeon and the chain?Faust. Come! Come with me!Gretchen. O stay!... I am so happy at thy side.... What! not one kiss!... Ah, woe, thy lips are cold. Where is all thy love? Who has stolen it from me?Faust. Come! Follow!... Be courageous, loved one! Come with me!Gretchen. Thou art loosening my chain.... Know'st thou, my friend,whomthou art releasing?Faust. Come, come! Night is already on the wane.Gretchen. My mother I have killed. I have drowned my child. Was it not given to thee and to me? Yes, to thee too.... And thou art really here! Thou! I can scarce believe it. Give me thy hand—thy dear hand!Ah, but it is wet. Wipe it, wipe it! It looks like blood upon it. O God, what hast thou done! Put up thy sword, I beg thee! Put it away!Faust. Let the past be past. Thou art killing me.Gretchen. No—thoumust live!... I will tell thee about the graves that thou must provideto-morrow. Give mother the best place, and brother close to her—and me a little on one side ... only not too far away. And lay the little one in my bosom.... No one else shall lie with me. To cling to thy side, that was once such sweet blissful joy ... but I seem no longer able ... as if I had to force myself, and as if thou didst thrust me back.... And yet itisthou, and thou look'st so kind and good.Faust. If thou feel'st that it is I, then come!Gretchen. Outthere?Faust. To freedom!Gretchen. I dare not. For me there is no hope more. What is the use to flee? They are lurking after me.... It's so wretched to have to beg, and that too with a bad conscience. It's so wretched to wander about in strange lands ... and they'll catch me all the same.Faust. I shall be with thee.Gretchen.Quick! Quick!Save it! Save my child!... Onward! Right up that path alongside the stream ... over the bridge ... there!... into the wood.... There! to the left! there, where the plank lies—in the pond! Catch hold of it! Catch it! It's rising!... It's struggling! Save it! save it!Faust. Bethink thyself! One step and thou art free!Gretchen. If only we were over that hill!... There's mother sitting there on a stone. (Ah! what was that, like an icy hand, grasping my hair?) ... She sits and wags with her head—she does notbeckon or nod to us ... her head droops so heavily. Yes, she slept so long, and she will wake no more. She slept that we might have joy. Ah, those were happy times!Faust. No entreaty avails—no words are of use. I shall have to carry thee away. [Seizes hold of her.Gretchen.Let me go!I will not suffer violence. Seize not hold of me so murderously. AllelseI did forloveof thee.Faust. The day is dawning! Dearest! dearest!Gretchen.Day?Yes—the day is coming! The last day is dawning! It was to have been my wedding day. Woe to my wreath! But what is, must be! We shall see each other again ... but not at the dance! The crowd is thronging.... One hears no word.... The square, the streets, cannot contain them.... The bell is tolling—the staff is broken.... They seize me! They bind me fast! I am being dragged already to the block! Each feels the axe at his own neck as its keen blade flashes down onmine... and the world lies dark and silent as the grave.Faust. O that I never had been born!Meph. (appears at the door). Come! or you are lost!... Foolish, useless hesitation—delaying and gossiping! My horses are shuddering and the morning twilight breaks.Gretchen(seeingMephistopheles). What is this that rises from the ground? He!He!Send him away! What doeshewant at this holy spot?Meph. (toFaust). Come! come! or I shall leave you in the lurch.Gretchen. I am thine, Father—save me! Ye angels, holy cohorts, encamp around me and defend me! (ToFaust.) Heinrich, I shrink from thee in horror.Meph. She is judged.Voice from Above. She is saved.Meph.toFaust. Here! to me![Disappears withFaust.[A Voice from Within—the voice ofGretchen—calls on the name of him she once loved—of him who has robbed her of happiness and life itself. Fainter and fainter it calls, then dies away into silence.

A gloomy day. Open country.FaustandMephistopheles.Faustis speaking.

Faust. In misery! In despair! Piteously wandering day after day o'er the face of theearth,—and now imprisoned! That sweet unhappy being shut up in a dungeon, as a criminal, and exposed to horrible torments! Has it come tothis!—to this!... Treacherous, villainous spirit! andthisthou hast concealed from me!... Stand there, stand, and roll thy devilish eyes in fury! Imprisoned! In hopeless misery! Delivered over to evil spirits and the heartless verdict of mankind!... Andthoumeantime hast lulled me with loathsome dissipation ... thou hast hidden from me her ever-deepening despair, and hast suffered her to perish helplessly.

Meph. She isn't the first.

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

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

Faust. Gnash not thy ravening teeth at me! Iloathe thee! Mighty, glorious Spirit—thou who didst deign to appear to me, and knowest my heart and soul, why dost thou fetter me to this satellite of shame, who revels in evil and gluts himself on destruction?

Meph. Hast thou done?

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

Meph. I cannot loose the bonds of the avenger—cannot undo his bolts.Save her!... Who was it that ruined her ... I or thou?

[Faustglares wildly round him.

Meph. Wilt thou grasp after a thunderbolt? 'Tis well that it was not given to you miserable mortals!...

Faust. Take me to her! Sheshallbe free!... Take me to her, I say, and liberate her!

Meph. I will take thee to her—and do what Icando. Listen! Have I all power in heaven and on earth?—I will becloud the jailer's senses. Then do thou get possession of the keys, and lead her forth with human hand. I will keep watch.—The magic steeds will be at hand ... I will carry you off. So much lies in my power.

Night. The open country.FaustandMephistophelesgalloping past on black horses. They pass a group of witches busy round their cauldron. They reach the prison. Within is heard the voice ofGretchensinging an old plaintive ballad.Faustlistens:

'She dreams not' (he says) 'that her loved oneis listening, and hears her chains rattle and the straw as it rustles.'

[He unlocks the prison door and steps in.

Gretchen(crouching into her bed of straw). Woe, woe—they are coming! Bitter death!

Faust. Hush! hush! I am come to free thee.

Gretchen(grovelling before him). If thou art a man, O pity my distress!

Faust. Thou wilt awaken the watchmen with thy cries. [He seizes her chain to unlock it.

Gretchen(kneeling). Who has given you, heads-man, this power over me? You have come for me already at midnight. Pity me, and let me live! Is to-morrow morning not soon enough? And I am still so young—and I must die! Fair was I too, and that was my ruin. Pity me! What harm have I ever done to thee! I never saw thee before in all my life.

Faust. Can I endure this misery?

Gretchen. I am wholly in your power. But let me first suckle my child. I held it in my bosom all the night. They took it from me, to vex me, andnowthey say I've killed it.... And I shall never be happy any more!

Faust(kneels beside her). He that loves thee kneels before thee.

Gretchen. O let us kneel and call upon the saints. But ... ah!... Look!... Under those steps, under the threshold, hell is flaming. The Evil One is raging there so furiously. Listen, how he roars and thunders!

Faust. Gretchen! Gretchen!

Gretchen(listening). That was the voice of my friend! Where is he? I heard him call.... Right through the howling and uproar of hell, through the horrid laughter of the devils, I recognized that sweet loving tone.

Faust. It is I.

Gretchen. Thou!... O say it once more! (Clasping him.) It is! it is he! Where is now all my pain? Where is the anguish of the dungeon and the chain?

Faust. Come! Come with me!

Gretchen. O stay!... I am so happy at thy side.... What! not one kiss!... Ah, woe, thy lips are cold. Where is all thy love? Who has stolen it from me?

Faust. Come! Follow!... Be courageous, loved one! Come with me!

Gretchen. Thou art loosening my chain.... Know'st thou, my friend,whomthou art releasing?

Faust. Come, come! Night is already on the wane.

Gretchen. My mother I have killed. I have drowned my child. Was it not given to thee and to me? Yes, to thee too.... And thou art really here! Thou! I can scarce believe it. Give me thy hand—thy dear hand!Ah, but it is wet. Wipe it, wipe it! It looks like blood upon it. O God, what hast thou done! Put up thy sword, I beg thee! Put it away!

Faust. Let the past be past. Thou art killing me.

Gretchen. No—thoumust live!... I will tell thee about the graves that thou must provideto-morrow. Give mother the best place, and brother close to her—and me a little on one side ... only not too far away. And lay the little one in my bosom.... No one else shall lie with me. To cling to thy side, that was once such sweet blissful joy ... but I seem no longer able ... as if I had to force myself, and as if thou didst thrust me back.... And yet itisthou, and thou look'st so kind and good.

Faust. If thou feel'st that it is I, then come!

Gretchen. Outthere?

Faust. To freedom!

Gretchen. I dare not. For me there is no hope more. What is the use to flee? They are lurking after me.... It's so wretched to have to beg, and that too with a bad conscience. It's so wretched to wander about in strange lands ... and they'll catch me all the same.

Faust. I shall be with thee.

Gretchen.Quick! Quick!Save it! Save my child!... Onward! Right up that path alongside the stream ... over the bridge ... there!... into the wood.... There! to the left! there, where the plank lies—in the pond! Catch hold of it! Catch it! It's rising!... It's struggling! Save it! save it!

Faust. Bethink thyself! One step and thou art free!

Gretchen. If only we were over that hill!... There's mother sitting there on a stone. (Ah! what was that, like an icy hand, grasping my hair?) ... She sits and wags with her head—she does notbeckon or nod to us ... her head droops so heavily. Yes, she slept so long, and she will wake no more. She slept that we might have joy. Ah, those were happy times!

Faust. No entreaty avails—no words are of use. I shall have to carry thee away. [Seizes hold of her.

Gretchen.Let me go!I will not suffer violence. Seize not hold of me so murderously. AllelseI did forloveof thee.

Faust. The day is dawning! Dearest! dearest!

Gretchen.Day?Yes—the day is coming! The last day is dawning! It was to have been my wedding day. Woe to my wreath! But what is, must be! We shall see each other again ... but not at the dance! The crowd is thronging.... One hears no word.... The square, the streets, cannot contain them.... The bell is tolling—the staff is broken.... They seize me! They bind me fast! I am being dragged already to the block! Each feels the axe at his own neck as its keen blade flashes down onmine... and the world lies dark and silent as the grave.

Faust. O that I never had been born!

Meph. (appears at the door). Come! or you are lost!... Foolish, useless hesitation—delaying and gossiping! My horses are shuddering and the morning twilight breaks.

Gretchen(seeingMephistopheles). What is this that rises from the ground? He!He!Send him away! What doeshewant at this holy spot?

Meph. (toFaust). Come! come! or I shall leave you in the lurch.

Gretchen. I am thine, Father—save me! Ye angels, holy cohorts, encamp around me and defend me! (ToFaust.) Heinrich, I shrink from thee in horror.

Meph. She is judged.

Voice from Above. She is saved.

Meph.toFaust. Here! to me!

[Disappears withFaust.

[A Voice from Within—the voice ofGretchen—calls on the name of him she once loved—of him who has robbed her of happiness and life itself. Fainter and fainter it calls, then dies away into silence.

The picture which Goethe has given us inFaustis in its main outlines the picture of Goethe's own life. The Faust of Part I is the Goethe of early days—of the Sturm und Drang period—the Goethe ofWerther's Leiden, ofGötz, ofPrometheus, of Gretchen, Lotte, Annette, Friederike and Lili; the Faust of the earlier scenes of Part II is Goethe at the ducal court of Weimar; the Faust of theHelenais Goethe in Italy, Goethe at Bologna, standing in ecstatic veneration before what was then believed to be Raphael's picture of St. Agatha, or wandering through the Colosseum at Rome, or writing hisIphigenieon the shores of the Lago di Garda; and the Faust of the last act of all is Goethereconciled to life and finding a certain measure of peace and happiness in his home, in the sympathy of his good-natured but unrefined wife and of others whom he loved, as well as in his scientific and philosophical studies—until he seals up thems.of his great poem and (to use his own words) 'regards his life-work as ended and rests in the contemplation of the past,' and then, a few months later, passes away from earth, murmuring as he dies 'More light!'

It will be remembered that at the end of Part I Faust is dragged away by Mephistopheles and leaves poor Gretchen to her doom. The fatal axe has now fallen. Gretchen is dead.

In the opening scene of Part II we find him 'lying on a grassy bank, worn out and attempting to sleep.' A considerable time has evidently elapsed—a time doubtless of bitter grief and of the fiercest accusation against his evil counsellor, that part of his human nature which is represented by Mephistopheles and from which even in the last hour of his life (as we shall see) he confesses it to be impossible wholly to free himself:

Dämonen, weiss ich, wird man schwerlich los.Das geistig-strenge Band is nicht zu trennen.

'From demons it is, I know, scarce possible to free oneself. The spiritual bond is too strong to break.'

But it is not from grief or self-accusation that Faust is to gain new inspiration. It is from the healing power of Nature—in which Goethe believed far more than in remorse.

The scene amidst which Faust is now lying reminds one of some Swiss valley. The rising sun is pouring a flood of golden light over the snow-fields of the distant mountains and down from the edge of an overhanging precipice is falling a splendid cataract, such as the Reichenbach or the Staub-bach, amidst whose spray gradually forms itself, as the sunshine touches it, an iridescent bow, brightening and fading, but hanging there immovable. Through this scene are flitting elfin forms—Ariel and his fays—singing to the liquid tones of Aeolian harps and lapping Faust's world-worn senses in the sweet harmonies of Nature, tenderly effacing the memories of the past and inspiring him with new hopes and new strength to face once more the battle of life.

He watches the rising sun, but blinded by excess of light he turns away, unable to gaze upon the flaming source of life, as erst he had turned from the apparition of the Earth-spirit. He seeks to rest his dazzled eyes in reflected light (a metaphor used, as you may remember, also by Socrates in the parable of the Cave)—in the sun-lit mountain slopes, the pine-woods and the glittering walls of rock, and in the colours of the foam-bow suspended amidst the spray of the swift down-thundering cataract. In the ever-changing colours but motionless form of this bow hanging over the downward rush of the torrent Faust finds a symbol of human life suspended with its ever-varying hues above the stream of time.

It is one of the truest and the most beautiful of all similitudes, this of pure sunlight refracted and broken into colours, symbolizing the One and the Many, the perfect and the imperfect, the eternal and the temporal. Doubtless you are already thinking of Shelley's magnificent lines:

The One remains, the Many change and pass;Heaven's light for ever shines, Earth's shadows fly,Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass,Stains the white radiance of eternity.

Into such variegated scene of reflected and refracted light Faust is now entering. He has passed through the 'little world' of personal feeling—the world of the One, of the heart, and he is entering what Mephistopheles calls the 'greater world' (for greater it appears to be from the Mephistophelean standpoint)—the world of the 'many,' of politics and ethics and art and literature and society—the world whose highest ideal is success, or, at the best, the 'greatest good of the greatest number' and the evolution of that terrible ghoul the so-called Super-man.

It is at the court of a German Kaiser that Faust first makes trial of this so-called greater world. The young monarch has lately returned from Italy, where, as was once customary, he had been crowned by the Pope with the iron Lombard crown. By his extravagances he has already emptied the imperial coffers. His Chancellor, his Treasurers, his Paymasters are all at the verge of despair, and the Empire is on the brink of bankruptcy. To add to these misfortunes (perhaps the greatest of them in the opinion of the young Kaiser) the court-fool has tumbled downstairs andhas broken his neck; so at least it is believed; but cats and fools have a way of falling on their feet, and this fool turns up again later. Meanwhile however Mephistopheles presents himself and is accepted as alocum tenens. To him the Kaiser turns for advice, and Mephistopheles proposes a clever expedient—meant as a satire on modern systems of finance and State security. He suggests that, as the land belongs to the Kaiser, and as in the ground there are doubtless great quantities of hidden treasures, buried in olden times, the Kaiser should, on the security of these hidden and as yet undiscovered treasures, issue 'promises to pay'—in other words paper money. This is done, and suddenly the imperial court, in spite of its empty coffers, finds itself in affluence. The young Kaiser, delighted at the opportunity of indulging his taste for display and extravagance, decides on holding a masquerade, such as he had lately witnessed at the Roman Carneval.

The description of this great court masquerade occupies a considerable space in Goethe's drama, and is generally looked upon by the commentators as one of the leastsuccessful parts ofFaust. The question is, how are we to estimatesuccessin such a matter? For myself I confess that I find this masquerade scene tedious and irksome, and can with difficulty read it through; but is not this just the effect that Goethe wished to produce? Is not this just the effect that society, with all its masquerades and mummeries, inevitably produces on any one who, like Faust and with Faust's ideals and aspirations, is making trial of life in order to discover under what conditions it is worth living? Instead of telling us in so many words that Faust makes trial of all the pomps and vanities of fashionable society and finds them utterly empty and ridiculous, fatal to all true life and disgusting to all true manliness, Goethe gives us a picture of this tiresome foolish scene, with all its absurdities and falsities and trumpery grandeurs, amidst which our friend Mephistopheles is so entirely in his element, and where Faust, with evident self-contempt and disgust, forces himself for a moment to play a part. The various elements of fashionable society—and, as a contrast, certain very unfashionable elements—are introduced under thedisguise of these masked figures. Marketable belles and heiresses in the guise of flower-girls offer their charms and their fortunes in the form of flowers and fruits to the highest bidder. The anxious mother is there with her daughters, hoping that among so many foolsonemay be at last secured. Idlers, parasites, toadies, club-frequenters and diners-out are there in the masks of court-fools, and buffoons. The working man, the trade-unionist and the striker, comes marching amidst this scene of revelry, forcing his way through the ranks of consternated society, roughly asserting the sole nobility of labour and demanding the overthrow of the aristocrat and the capitalist—no new cry, as you see! Indeed it is as old as Rome and Athens and Babylon—as old, almost, as humanity itself. Then appear the Graces, symbols of the refinements and elegancies of life, and the Fates, symbolizing the powers of Order and Law, and the Furies, the types of revolution and war, and a huge elephant, the incorporation of the unwieldy State or Public, reminding one of the 'Leviathan' of the philosopher Hobbes, and Thersites (that evil-tongued mischief-makerdescribed by Homer) representing society-scandal and calumny. Then comes a chariot whose charioteer is a beautiful boy, representing art or poetry. He is the same Euphorion whom we shall meet later as the son of Faust and Helen, and identical with Byron. On the chariot is enthroned Faust as Plutus the God of Money, and behind him as groom or armour-bearer sits Mephisto, an emaciated hollow-eyed apparition denoting Avarice. Nymphs, Fauns, Satyrs and Gnomes—types of the powers of Nature—attend the car and do homage to the God of Money. The gnomes offer to show their master Plutus a subterranean treasure-horde of molten gold. He approaches too close and his beard catches fire. In a few moments an immense conflagration spreads through the crowds of revellers, which would have ended in a terrible catastrophe (such as had actually happened at the French court shortly before Goethe wrote this scene, and such as happened some fifteen years ago in Paris at some bazaar) had not Faust with the help of Mephistopheles extinguished the flames by the aid of magic.

The young Kaiser now demands fromFaust that he shall give the court a display of his magic arts. He commands him to raise the shades of Paris and Helen. Faust applies to Mephisto, but he professes himself unable to raise the shades of classical heroes and heroines. 'This heathen Greek folk,' he says, 'have their own hell and their own devils.Ihave no power over them. Still—thereisa means.' He then tells Faust that he will have to descend to the 'Mothers,' 'die Mütter,' mysterious deities (mentioned by Greek authors) as worshipped in Sicily and dwelling in the inmost depths of the universe, at the very heart of Nature, beyond the conditions of Time and Space. He who will raise the shade of Helen, or ideal beauty, must descend first to the 'Mothers'—must enter the realm of the spiritual, the unconditioned, the ideal, to which there is no defined road, and to which eventhoughtcannot guide him. He must surrender himself incontemplationand sink to the very centre of the world of appearances. Mephistopheles gives Faust a key, which glows and emits flames as he grasps it. Holding this key he will sink down to the realm of the Mothers, wherehe will find a glowing tripod (the symbol of that Triad or Trinity which plays so large a part in the old Pythagorean philosophy and in more than one religion). This tripod he is to touch with the key, and it will rise with him to the surface of the earth.

The imperial court is assembled. A stage has been erected. The court astrologer announces the play and Mephistopheles is installed in the prompter's box. All is in expectation and excitement. Then on the stage is seen rising from the ground the form of Faust attended by the tripod. He touches the tripod with the glowing key. A dense mist of incense arises, and as it clears away is seen—Paris. His appearance is greeted by the enthusiastic comments of the court ladies, young and old, and criticized by the men courtiers—with evident jealousy. Helen then appears, and the comments and criticisms are reversed, female jealousy now having its turn. Faust stands entranced at the loveliness of Helen. In spite of the angry protests of Mephistopheles from the prompter's box, who tells him to keep to his rôle and not to be taken in by a mere phantom of his own raising. Faust, unable any longer to controlhimself when Paris attempts to carry off Helen, rushes forward to rescue her. A great explosion takes place and all is darkness. Faust has fallen senseless to the ground. Mephistopheles picks him up and carries him away—with contemptuous remarks.

At the beginning of the next act we find Faust lying, still insensible, on his bed in his old room, where we first met him—his professor's study. His daring attempt to grasp ideal beauty has ended, as it often does end, and as it ended in Goethe's own case, in failure of a sudden and explosive nature. He is now to have an experience of a different nature. During the years while he has been making his first trial of the outer world, his old Famulus, Wagner, now professor in Faust's place, has been devotinghiswhole time and energies to realising that dream of science—the chemical production of life.

It is, says Professor Romanes, 'the dream of modern science that a machinemayfinally be constructed so elaborate in its multiple play of forces that it would begin to show evidences of consciousness and mind'—mind and motion being, according to certain modern scientists, identical. Curiouslyenough a scientist of the same name—Wagner—who lived in the last century, did, like Faust's Famulus Wagner, in the same way devote his life to the production of a living organism—a 'homunculus'—in the conviction, as he asserted, that 'in course of time chemistry is bound to succeed in producing organic bodies and in creating a human being by means of crystallization'—an assertion not very different from that of a still more trustworthy scientist, for Professor Huxley himself has told us that he lived in 'the hope and the faith that in course of time we shall see our way from the constituents of the protoplasm to its properties,'i.e.from carbonic acid, water, and ammonia to that mysterious thing which we call vitality or life—from the molecular motion of the brain to Socratic wisdom, Shakespearean genius, and Christian faith, hope and charity.

In the background of the stage we see Faust still lying insensible on his bed. Mephistopheles comes forward muttering sarcastic comments on Faust's foolish infatuation. 'He whom Helen paralyzes,' he says, 'doesn't come to his wits again so soon.' He then pulls the bell. The windows rattle and the walls shake, as with earthquake.Wagner's terrified Famulus appears. He says that his master, the Herr Professor, has locked himself up for days and nights together in his laboratory; that he is engaged in a most delicate and important operation, namely that of manufacturing a human being, and he really cannot be disturbed. Mephistopheles however sends him back to demand admittance. Meanwhile he dons Faust's professorial costume, which he finds hanging in its old place but infested with legions of moths, which buzz around him piping welcome to their old mate. Then he takes his seat in Faust's professorial chair, and the same scholar enters to whom as a timid 'Fuchs,' or freshman, Mephistopheles had in the first Part of the play given his diabolic advice as to the choice of a profession. The scholar isnow, after a course of University education, a match for the devil himself. He flouts poor Mephisto as a dried-up old pedant, not up to date with the new generation's æsthetic and literary self-conceits, or with its contempt for its elders—and for everything else except its own precious self. 'Youth and its genius,' he exclaims, 'are the only things of value; as soon as one is thirty years of age he's just as good asdead ... and it would be far better if all people at thirty were knocked on the head'; and he storms out of the room. Mephistopheles consoles himself with the fact that the devil is old enough to have seen a good many such new generations, with all their absurdities, their up-to-date fads and follies, pass away and give place to other forms of still more up-to-date and self-conceited absurdity.

Mephisto now enters the laboratory, where Wagner is intently engaged in watching his chemical compound gradually crystallizing within a huge glass retort. As he watches, the outlines of a diminutive human being—a mannikin or 'homunculus'—become visible and rapidly gain distinct form. A tiny voice is heard issuing from the glass retort and addressing Wagner as 'Daddy' and Mephistopheles as 'Cousin'; and it is to the presence of this 'Cousin,' we may infer, rather than to his scientific 'Daddy' that the Homunculus really owes his existence. With the connivance of Mephistopheles, the Mannikin, still in his glass retort, slips from the enamoured paternal grasp of Wagner, and floats through the air into the adjacent room, hovering above Faust, who is still asleep on his couch.

As it hovers above the sleeper it begins to sing—to describe ravishing dreamland scenery—inspiring Faust with visions of sensuous loveliness. It then bids Mephistopheles wrap Faust in his magic mantle and prepare for an aerial flight.... 'Whither?' asks Mephistopheles. 'To Greece!' is the answer: to the Pharsalian plain in Thessaly; and in spite of the protests of Mephistopheles (who has no taste for the land of classic art) he is forced to obey. The sleeping form of Faust is borne aloft, the Mannikin leading the way like a will-o'-the-wisp, gleaming within his glass retort. 'Und ich?' exclaims poor old Wagner in piteous accents. 'Ach, du!' says Homunculus, 'Du bleibst zu Hause—!' 'You just stop at home, and grub away among your musty manuscripts, and work away at your protoplasms and your elixirs of life.' Thus, guided by the Homunculus, Faust and Mephistopheles set forth on their aerial journey to ancient Greece—to the land where the ideals of art have found their highest realization—in quest of Helen, the supreme type of all that the human mind has conceived as beautiful.

It is often asked, and I thinkwemay fairly ask, what Goethe meant to symbolizeby his Homunculus. You will have noticed that his material components (as the carbonic acid and ammonia of Professor Huxley's protoplasm) are supplied by his scientific 'Daddy,' but that the 'tertia vis,' that third power or 'spiritual bond' which combines his material components, is supplied by the supernatural presence of Mephistopheles. I believe this Homunculus to be a symbol of poetic genius or imagination, which uses the material supplied by plodding pedantry—by critical research, antiquarianism, scholarship, and science—slips from the hands of its poor enamoured Daddy, and flies off to the land of idealism. Here, as we shall see, the Mannikin breaks free from his glass retort and is poured out like phosphorescent light on the waves of the great ocean.

But the quest for Helen, for ideal beauty, leads through scenes haunted by forms of weird and terrible nature—those forms in which the human imagination, as it gradually gains a sense of the supernatural and a sense of art, first incorporated its conceptions—forms, first, of hideous and terrific character: monstrous idols of Eastern and Egyptian superstition, Griffins, and Sphinxes, and bull-headedMolochs, and horned Astartes, and many-breasted Cybeles, till in the Hellenic race it rose to the recognition of the beautiful and bodied forth divinity in the human form divine, and found its highest ideal of beauty in Helen, divinely fair of women. This phase in Faust's development—this stage in his quest for beauty and truth—this delirium of his 'divine madness,' as Plato calls our ecstasy of yearning after ideal beauty, is symbolized by the classicalWalpurgisnacht. (You remember the otherWalpurgisnacht—that on the Blocksberg—which I described before.)

Guided by the Mannikin, Faust and Mephistopheles arrive at the Pharsalian fields—the great plain of Thessaly, renowned for the battle of Pharsalus, in which Caesar conquered Pompey—renowned too as the classic ground of witches and wizards. Griffins, Sphinxes and Sirens meet them. They can tell Faust nothing about Helen, but they direct him to Cheiron the Centaur (a link, as it were, between the monstrous forms of barbarous oriental imagination and Hellenic art). Cheiron the Centaur has himself borne Helen on his back, and excites Faust's passion by thedescription of her beauty. He takes Faust to the prophetess Manto, daughter of the old blind Theban prophet Teiresias, and she conducts him to a dark fissure—a Bocca dell' Inferno—at the foot of Mount Olympus, such as that which you may have seen in the Sibyl's cave on Lake Avernus; and here (as once Orpheus did in search of Eurydice) he descends to the realms of the dead to seek the help of Persephone, Queen of Hades, in his quest for Helen. Meanwhile Mephisto has found that in spite of his distaste for classic art and beauty there are elements in the classical witches' sabbath not less congenial to him than those of the Blocksberg with its northern and more modern types of devilry and bestiality. He is enchanted with the ghoulish vampire Empusa and the monster Lamia, half-snake half-woman, and at length findshisideal of beauty in the loathsome and terrible Phorkyads, daughters of Phorkys, an old god of the sea. The Phorkyads are sometimes described as identical with, sometimes as sisters of, the Gorgons, and represent the climax of all that Greek imagination has created of the horrible. The three sisters are pictured in Greek mythology as possessingbetween them only one eye and one tooth, which they pass round for use. They dwelt in outer darkness, being too terrible for sun or moon to look upon. Even Mephistopheles is at first a little staggered by the sight, but he soon finds himself on familiar terms with them and ends by borrowing the form of one of them (she becoming for the time absorbed into her two sisters)—for as medieval devil he has no right of entrée into that classical scene in which he and Faust are now to play their parts. It is therefore in the form of a Phorkyad or Gorgon that Mephisto will appear when we next meet him.

Meanwhile the Homunculus has found congenial spirits among the sea-nymphs and sirens on the shores of the Aegean. He longs to gain freedom from his glass, in which he is still imprisoned. Nereus the sea-god is unable to help him, but sends him to his father Proteus, the great ocean prophet, who bears him out into the midst of the ocean. Here Galatea the sea-goddess (identical with Aphrodite, the sea-born symbol of the beauty of the natural-world) passes by in her chariot drawn by dolphins and surrounded by Nereids. The Homunculusin an ecstasy of love dashes himself against her chariot. The glass is shattered and he is poured forth in a stream of phosphorescent light over the waves—thus being once more made one with Nature.

The theory thatwaterwas the prime element, a theory advocated especially by the old Ionic philosopher Thales, was held by Goethe, who was a 'sedimentarist' in geological matters, and in this classicalWalpurgisnachthe has introduced, much to the annoyance of many critics, a dispute between Thales and other sages on the question whether the formation of the world was due to fire or water.

We have now reached that part ofFaustwhich is known as theHelena. It was written before the rest of Part II, though doubtless when he wrote it Goethe had already conceived the general outline of the whole poem. Of the wonderful versatility of Goethe's genius no more striking example can be given than the sudden and complete change of scene, and not only scene but ideas and feelings, by which we are transported from the age of Luther and the court of a German Kaiser and the laboratory of a modern scientist back—some 3500 years or so—to the age of the Trojan war.

Instead of extravagance and grotesqueness, instead of the diversity, the rich ornamentation, the heaven-soaring pinnacles and spires of Gothic imagination—we have in theHelenasculpturesque repose, simplicity, dignity and proportion. It is as if we had been suddenly transported from some Gothic cathedral to the Parthenon, or to Paestum.

I know no poet who in any modern language has reproduced as Goethe has done in hisIphigenieand in theHelenanot only the external form but also the spirit of Hellenic literature. While reading theHelenawe feel ourselves under the cloudless Grecian sky; we breathe the Grecian air with Helen herself.

The scene is laid before the palace of Menelaus at Sparta. Helen, accompanied by a band of captive Trojan maidens, has been disembarked at the mouth of the river Eurotas by Menelaus, on his return from Troy, and has been sent forward to Sparta to make preparation for the arrival of her husband and his warriors. Once more after those long eventful years since she hadfled to Troy with Paris she stands as in a dream before her own palace-home, dazed and wearied, her mind distraught with anxious thoughts; for during the long wearisome return across the Aegean sea her husband Menelaus has addressed no friendly word to her, but seemed gloomily revolving in his heart some deed of vengeance. She knows not if she is returning as queen, or as captive, doomed perhaps to the fate of a slave.

She enters the palace alone. After a few moments she reappears, horror-struck and scarce able to tell what she has seen. Crouching beside the central hearth she has found a terrible shape—a ghastly haggard thing, like some phantom of hell. It has followed her. It stands there before her on the threshold of her palace. In terrible accents this Gorgon-like monster denounces her, recounting all the ruin that by her fatal beauty she had wrought, interweaving into the story the various legends connected with her past life—those mysterious legends that connect Helen not only with Paris and Menelaus but with Theseus and Achilles and with Egypt—legends of a second phantom-Helen, the 'double' of that Helenwhom Menelaus has carried home from Troy—until alarmed and distracted, doubting her own identity, overwhelmed by anxiety about the future and by terror at the grisly apparition, she seems herself to be in truth fading away into a mere phantom, and sinks senseless to the ground. After a fierce altercation between the chorus of captive maidens and the Gorgon-shape (in whom you will have recognized our old friend Mephistopheles) Helen returns to consciousness. Then the Phorkyad-Mephistopheles tells her that the preparations which she has been ordered to make are in view of a sacrifice to be performed on the arrival of Menelaus and that she herself (Helen) is the destined victim.

In despair Helen appeals to the Gorgon for advice, who bids her take refuge in the neighbouring mountains of Arcadia, where a robber chieftain has his stronghold. Under the guidance of Mephisto, who raises a thick mist, she and her maidens escape. They climb the mountain; the mists rise and they find themselves before the castle of a medieval bandit-prince, and it is Faust himself who comes forth to greet her and to welcome her as his queen and mistress.Faust, the symbol of the Renaissance and modern art, welcomes to his castle the ideal of Greek art and beauty.

The stately Greek measures now give way to the love-songs of Chivalry and Romance—to the measures of the Minnesinger and the Troubadour. Faust kneels in homage before the impersonation of ideal beauty, and Helen feels that she isnowno longer a mere ideal, a mere phantom. She clings to her new, unknown lover, as to one who will make her realize her own existence. It is an allegory of modern art—the art of Dante, Giotto, Raphael, Shakespeare and Goethe—receiving as its queen the ideal of Greek imagination and inspiring, as it were, the cold statue with the warm vitality of a higher conception of chivalrous love and perfect womanhood.

I have mentioned how the stately Greek measures in theHelenagive way to the metres of Romance and Chivalry. Perhaps it may be well to explain some of these various metres.

The scene opens, as you know, with Helen's dignified and beautiful speech:

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