Faust

This is the Bayard Taylor translation. I found this translation easier to read than other free versions out there... BUT it is missing lines 600 to 735 where Faust goes into a deep despair and is on the verge of committing suicide.This is how it reads…FAUST (solus)That brain, alone, not loses hope, whose choice isTo stick in shallow trash forevermore,—Which digs with eager hand for buried ore,And, when it finds an angle-worm, rejoices!Dare such a human voice disturb the flow,Around me here, of spirit-presence fullest?And yet, this once my thanks I oweTo thee, of all earth’s sons the poorest, dullest!For thou hast torn me from that desperate stateWhich threatened soon to overwhelm my senses:The apparition was so giant-great,It dwarfed and withered all my soul’s pretences!I, image of the Godhead, who began—Deeming Eternal Truth secure in nearness—Ye choirs, have ye begun the sweet, consoling chant,Which, through the night of Death, the angels ministrantSang, God’s new Covenant repeating?CHORUS OF WOMENWith spices and preciousBalm, we arrayed him;Faithful and gracious,We tenderly laid him:Linen to bind himCleanlily wound we:Ah! when we would find him,Christ no more found we!This is how it should read (from Swanwick’s translation)….FAUST (alone)How him alone all hope abandons never,To empty trash who clings, with zeal untired,With greed for treasure gropes, and, joy-inspir’d,Exults if earth-worms second his endeavour.And dare a voice of merely human birth,E’en here, where shapes immortal throng’d, intrude?Yet ah! thou poorest of the sons of earth,For once, I e’en to thee feel gratitude.Despair the power of sense did well-nigh blast,And thou didst save me ere I sank dismay’d,So giant-like the vision seem’d, so vast,I felt myself shrink dwarf’d as I survey’d!I, God’s own image, from this toil of clayAlready freed, with eager joy who hail’dThe mirror of eternal truth unveil’d,Mid light effulgent and celestial day:—I, more than cherub, whose unfetter’d soulWith penetrative glance aspir’d to flowThrough nature’s veins, and, still creating, knowThe life of gods,—how am I punish’d now!One thunder-word hath hurl’d me from the goal!Spirit! I dare not lift me to thy sphere.What though my power compell’d thee to appear,My art was powerless to detain thee here.In that great moment, rapture-fraught,I felt myself so small, so great;Fiercely didst thrust me from the realm of thoughtBack on humanity’s uncertain fate!Who’ll teach me now? What ought Ito forego?Ought I that impulse to obey?Alas! our every deed, as well as every woe,Impedes the tenor of life’s onward way!E’en to the noblest by the soul conceiv’d,Some feelings cling of baser quality;And when the goods of this world are achiev’d,Each nobler aim is termed a cheat, a lie.Our aspirations, our soul’s genuine life,Grow torpid in the din of earthly strife.Though youthful phantasy, while hope inspires,Stretch o’er the infinite her wing sublime,A narrow compass limits her desires,When wreck’d our fortunes in the gulf of time.In the deep heart of man care builds her nest,O’er secret woes she broodeth there,Sleepless she rocks herself and scareth joy and rest;Still is she wont some new disguise to wear,She may as house and court, as wife and child appear,As dagger, poison, fire and flood;Imagined evils chill thy blood,And what thou ne’er shall lose, o’er that dost shed the tear.I am not like the gods! Feel it I must;I’m like the earth-worm, writhing in the dust,Which, as on dust it feeds, its native fare,Crushed ‘neath the passer’s tread, lies buried there.Is it not dust, wherewith this lofty wall,With hundred shelves, confines me round;Rubbish, in thousand shapes, may I not callWhat in this moth-world doth my being bound?Here, what doth fail me, shall I find?Read in a thousand tomes that, everywhere,Self-torture is the lot of human-kind,With but one mortal happy, here and there?Thou hollow skull, that grin, what should it say,But that thy brain, like mine, of old perplexed,Still yearning for the truth, hath sought the light of day.And in the twilight wandered, sorely vexed?Ye instruments, forsooth, ye mock at me,—With wheel, and cog, and ring, and cylinder;To nature’s portals ye should be the key;Cunning your wards, and yet the bolts ye fail to stir.Inscrutable in broadest light,To be unveil’d by force she doth refuse,What she reveals not to thy mental sight,Thou wilt not wrest me from her with levers and with screws.Old useless furnitures, yet stand ye here,Because my sire ye served, now dead and gone.Old scroll, the smoke of years dost wear,So long as o’er this desk the sorry lamp hath shone.Better my little means hath squandered quite away,Than burden’d by that little here to sweat and groan!Wouldst thou possess thy heritage, essay,By use to render it thine own!What we employ not, but impedes our way,That which the hour creates, that can it use alone!But wherefore to yon Spot is riveted my gaze?Is yonder flasket there a magnet to my sight?Whence this mild radiance that around me plays,As when, ‘mid forest gloom, reigneth the moon’s soft light?Hail precious phial! Thee, with reverent awe,Down from thine old receptacle I draw!Science in thee I hail and human art.Essence of deadliest powers, refin’d and sure,Of soothing anodynes abstraction pure,Now in thy master’s need thy grace impart!I gaze on thee, my pain is lull’d to rest;I grasp thee, calm’d the tumult in my breast;The flood-tide of my spirit ebbs away;Onward I’m summon’d o’er a boundless main,Calm at my feet expands the glassy plain,To shores unknown allures a brighter day.Lo, where a car of fire, on airy pinion,Comes floating towards me I I’m prepar’d to flyBy a new track through ether’s wide dominion,To distant spheres of pure activity.This life intense, this godlike ecstasy—Worm that thou art such rapture canst thou earn?Only resolve with courage stern and high,Thy visage from the radiant sun to turn!Dare with determin’d will to burst the portalsPast which in terror others fain would stealNow is the time, through deeds, to show that mortalsThe calm sublimity of gods can feel;To shudder not at yonder dark abyss,Where phantasy creates her own self-torturing brood,Right onward to the yawning gulf to press,Around whose narrow jaws rolleth hell’s fiery flood;With glad resolve to take the fatal leap,Though danger threaten thee, to sink in endless sleep!Pure crystal goblet! forth I draw thee now,From out thine antiquated case, where thouForgotten hast reposed for many a year!Oft at my father’s revels thou didst shine,To glad the earnest guests was thine,As each to other passed the generous cheer.The gorgeous brede of figures, quaintly wrought,Which he who quaff’d must first in rhyme expound,Then drain the goblet at one draught profound,Hath nights of boyhood to fond memory brought.I to my neighbour shall not reach thee now,Nor on thy rich device shall I my cunning show.Here is a juice, makes drunk without delay;Its dark brown flood thy crystal round doth fill;Let this last draught, the product of my skill,My own free choice, be quaff’d with resolute will,A solemn festive greeting, to the coming day!(He places the goblet to his mouth.)(Tue ringing of bells, and choral voices.)Chorus of ANGELSChrist is arisen!Mortal, all hail to thee,Thou whom mortality,Earth’s sad reality,Held as in prison.Bit of a difference, right?

It's about what you'd expect for a cheap reprint. There are some minor errors in the content, like repeated text or the word "FAUST" randomly interspersed. Few problems in the first half of the book; the aforementioned issues show up in the latter half.The margins around the text are good, and the scene headers are properly formatted, unlike many reprints.

Faust is a classic story about one man's deal with the devil (who is also portrayed humanistically). At the beginning Dr. Faust is frustrated at his medical impotence (he decries the fact that he's lost many patients) and wants supreme knowledge (allusion to eating of the Fruit of Knowledge in the Garden of Eden, maybe?), but ends up using his devil-given assistance for the purposes of lust (though he rationalizes it as love). Of course, because he's assisted by the devil, everything goes to hell (ha ha) in a sort of Kafkaesque manner. Sure, the story and methods are somewhat "dated" by comparison to today's literature, but the concepts and insights into human nature are just as fresh and real. And the fact that Goethe managed to bring such power and realism to the story while telling it in poetic format underscores his incredible genius. Huge kudos are also deserved by Bayard Taylor who not only faithfully translated this magnum opus but also kept the metre and rhyme. I found myself re-reading passages just because the poetry was so perfect. As others have commented, there were a few formatting glitches in the Kindle version, but for me, at least, these weren't a major distraction.

Faust is one of those stories that has been retold so many times that modern readers may not know the original source anymore. But for those interested, there are editions like this.As far as the technical aspects go, Bayard Taylor does astounding work keeping everything in meter and in rhyme, without losing the meaning from the original German. The formatting for the book can be a bit annoying because the pages don't break between chapters, but hey, it saves on storage space on my Kindle, so I'm not complaining.As for the story itself, it's good, but it could be better. It reminded me a lot of the lord of the rings, in that the main story will frequently stop so that characters can sing. But most of the songs were pretty good, so it wasn't so bad, except as a result Goethe would have a few sudden revelations that should have developed slower. But in the end, Faust, Gretchen (er, Margaret in this edition, because rhyme), and especially Mephistopheles were all good characters that kept the story interesting to the end.If your into classic literature, this book is as good a place as any to start.

Faust is a great literary classic, and it's imagery and themes have been so thoroughly sown in the public mind that we all "know" the poem, at least in parts. Nevertheless, reading Faust for oneself is essential to acquiring an educated take on the evolution of religious thought in the last century and a half of western civilization. Readers who have blissfully bypassed the religious indoctrination most suffer as children will be appalled by some of the poem's unspoken assumptions and by its apparent affirmation of a belief system absurd from postulate to conclusion. The poem, however, is much deeper than a first reading may indicate, particularly if the reader is under fifty. Be patient with yourself, and with Herr Goethe. There is much to learn from this beautiful, melodious, and intricate craftwork.Read it in German if you are able. If not, you will find this translation fully authorized by the translator's love for the work, its rhythms, and its flight. Prepare for a great journey through an amazingly accomplished classic work that will seem at once familiar and strange. Enjoy.

`My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'-Percy Bysshe Shelley, 'Ozymandias'Wer immer strebend sich bemüht,Den können wir erlösen.("Who ever strives with all his power,We are allowed to save.")-Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, FaustIn Faust, the name of the game is passion. Passion for learning, passion for love, passion for life in all its forms and facets. The deprivation of passion by the slow grind of facts and figures and hypocrisy, the boons of inheritance providing shortcuts without granting the necessary experience of true effort, and excess. When the world is at one's feet, what is there left for passion to strive for?But until then, what will you do to achieve that world?It's an almost impossible balance, especially when the rest of the world is thrown in at full tilt. The passion becomes split, and when one track is spent the next is sought, and the next, and the next, by any means to any measure. One may wish at the beginning to be good, but when the so-called custodians of morality sell it by the yard for a varying price, and all the esteem generated by the straight and narrow pales in comparison to the smallest glimpse of moonlit wraith, well. One must consider the odds when the devil comes a calling.On the one hand, your wish at the immortal's command. On the other, all the ramifications of those wishes, bound as they are in a reality of finite glory, finite justice, finite truth. To go forth enraptured in the potential, and in the end consigning everything outside of that potential to the flames.Now, who among you would proclaim yourselves worthy of judging just how far one can go?---Now, as this is Faust we're talking about, I know this first reading was nowhere near good enough to exempt me from future rereadings. Also, the German language is one that I am intent on mastering, and what better piece to work towards than one of, if not the, pillars of German literature? So, until we meet again, Mephisto, preferably on a span of stage that does full honors to your Walpurgisnacht. I'm very much looking forward to it.

I can see the merit in this work but sadly it’s definitely not for me. There were moments when the style really appealed and others where it grated and overall the plot was so erratic that I found myself disconnected with all of the characters. I’ll stick to the more modern interpretations I think.

not read yet but must comment,,this book arrived quickly and am happy with the service i recieved...for anyone thinking of buying ,it is written as a play,bit odd but likeable

Love these free books, regardless of whether I enjoy the content as it gives the world a chance to explore writers and classic texts

My daughter loves reading and this book was a very good purchase for her kindle. The classics are well priced and have already proven to be fantastic choices!!