Faust, Part One

A New Translation with Illustrations

Johann Wolfgang van Goethe, Zsuzsanna Ozsváth, Frederick Turner

• Publisher: Deep Vellum Publishing
• Year: 2020
• ISBN:
  9781646050246
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: European Drama
• Index: Literature

The original tale of moral destruction, in a brand-new translation: Faust is a man torn between the urges of the living world and the significance of moral living. He feels nothing, he lives for nothing, and thus engages in a wager with Mephistopheles, the devil himself. Goethe's master work shares the deep complexity of a human life, rife with pain, mistakes and dynamic complexity. With Faust, the lushly lyrical and philosophically brilliant drama on which the poet spent almost his entire life, Goethe solidified himself as a major literary figure whose work would transcend time and space to create the modern world. Now, this brand-new, dynamic translation demands we ask of our world: who will win, humanity or Mephistopheles?

1. PROLOGUE

(THE DIRECTOR. THE POET. THE FUNNYMAN.)^*

THE DIRECTOR:

You two, who’ve often stood by me

In times of trial and tribulation,

What do you hope for from our mission

Here in this land of Germany?

For me, I’m eager to delight the many,

Mainly because they live and they let live.

The stage is set, the boards are polished shiny;

All expect something festive, nutritive.

Their eyebrows raised, their daily cares all banished,

They sit there and they hope to be astonished.

I know how one can please the people’s taste,

But I have never been so agitated;

Although they’re not accustomed to the best,

They’ve read an awful lot, and may be sated.

How do we keep it fresh and make it new,

Teach by delighting, please by being true?

Of course I love to see the crowd, in torrents

Drawn to our kiosk in a breakneck race,

Hurled by repeated surges of its currents

To squeeze on through the narrow gate of grace.

Before it’s four, in broad daylight, they’re shoving

To reach the box office, will break their backs

To get a ticket, just as people starving

For bread will mob the baker’s door in packs.

On such a mix of folk it takes a poet

To work the miracle; now, my friend, do it!

THE POET:

Don’t talk to me about that motley Many,

From whom the fertile spirit must take flight;

Oh screen from me the rabble’s macaroni,

Whose vortex drives us all, do what we might.

No, lead me to some quiet heaven-cranny

Where only for the poet blooms delight,

Where love and friendship, those our hearts’ pure blessings,

Are formed and nursed by heavenly caressings.

Ah, what in our heart’s core has once arisen,

What the shy lips stammer in innocence,

Now failing, now successful in its mission,

Is swallowed by a moment’s violence.

Often that thought takes years to find expression,

And so unveil itself in form and sense.

What’s born to glitter is a moment’s wages:

The Real remains undying for the ages.

THE FUNNYMAN:

Go on about “the ages,” please, without me.

Were I to preach “the ages,” do not doubt me,

Who would keep this age entertained?

That’s what they want, and they deserve it:

The present, coming from a lad of spirit,

Is something too, and not to be disdained.

One who can frankly put himself across,

Need not get bitter at the people’s fashions;

He wants to cater to the masses,

The better to arouse their passions.

On then! Be bold! Give us a masterpiece,

Let Fancy reign, with all its noble chorus—

Insight and reason, passion and release—

But still be sure to add some folly for us.

THE DIRECTOR:

Above all, give us live activity.

They come to watch, they yearn for things to see.

Roll out a spectacle, plenty of action,

The mob will gawp at something with some pace.

That way you’ll get yourself your cheering section—

The best-loved fellow in the place.

You’ll sway the many only through the many,

Each of them looking for what feels their own;

He who brings much to all brings some to any,

And each one goes home satisfied alone.

If you present a piece, give it in pieces

A smorgasbord is what most pleases!

It’s easily put on, as easily thought out;

Why put on something fully shaped? Don’t doubt:

The public rips it smartly at its creases.

THE POET:

So shoddy workmanship does not affect you, then!

A real artist would not care to visit.

A mishmash for the gentlemen—

So that is still your motto, is it?

THE DIRECTOR:

Such a reproach leaves me unscathed, for one:

A man who can get something done

Must use the best tool to achieve it.

You have soft wood, so think how you can cleave it.

Look who you write for, be aware!

This one is bored and wants hot fare,

That one is sated with too rich a supper.

And worst of all, many are there

Who’ve just come in from reading the newspaper.

One, scattered, hurries in as to a masquerade,

Inspired by only curiosity;

The ladies, done up to the nines, are on parade,

And stage their play for free.

What are you dreaming, up there on Parnassus,

What joy is a full house to you?

Look for the patrons next door, bless us!

Half of them raw, half cold ragout.

Some looking forward to a game of cards,

Some to a wild night on a who...