Goethe Faust Parts 1 & 2

1. Auflage 2019
ISBN: 978-1-78850-241-2
Verlag: Nick Hern Books
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 256 Seiten

Reihe: NHB Drama Classics

Drama Classics: The World's Great Plays at a Great Little Price A fresh, performable version by John Clifford of Goethe's 'unstageable' masterpiece. God and Mephistopheles vie for the mortal soul of Dr Faust. Signing a pact with the nihilistic spirit, Faust is privy to knowledge unbound and sensual delights of which most men can only dream. But before long, the Doctor comes to realise that you should always be very careful what you wish for. Goethe began working on Faust in about 1772-5. He published a first fragment of it in 1790, then the whole of Part One in 1808. He saw the first performance of Part One in Brunswick in 1829, and was still making minor revisions to Part Two shortly before his death in March 1832. This two-part English version by John Clifford, in the Nick Hern Books Drama Classics series, was first performed at the Royal Lyceum Theatre, Edinburgh, in February 2006.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832) was a German writer and statesman. His body of work includes epic and lyric poetry written in a variety of metres and styles. His most famous works include: Faust; The Sorrows of Young Werther; Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship; Elective Affinities and Prometheus.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Goethe, Johann Wolfgang

Weitere Mitwirkende

Clifford, John

Leseproben

ACT ONE

POET.

POET

POET.

At this moment . . .

At this moment I am always so afraid

I know I am with friends.

Or at least I try. I try to know this.

Know I am with friends.

And I also know . . . know together we will create

Something that has never been seen before

Something that will never be seen again.

The difficulty terrifies me.

I want to ask for help

From you, you the actors,

From the unconscious, from the audience,

From angels. Even from God.

Evil entered my life last year

And destroyed one person I truly loved.

I need to grieve. I need to understand.

Understand how I can begin to live again.

And I don’t know, but . . .

This strange old poem, Goethe’s , may help.

I know evil has entered your lives too,

In one form or another. And as we look around the world,

Evil seems to be stronger everywhere.

We all are suffering.

Like me you need to try to understand,

Need to find out which is the stronger:

Evil or Good. We don’t know the answer.

We need to discover. We need to enter the dark.

Help us. Help us if you can.

DIRECTOR.

Yes that’s all very well, but.

Where’s the play?

POET.

The play?

DIRECTOR.

Yes. The play! There are deadlines.

POET.

I know.

DIRECTOR.

I’m the director. I worry about these things.

POET.

I’m the poet. I worry too. I do my best.

( FAUST.)

I’m sorry. Would you mind?

It’s just the director. Getting anxious.

He often does that these days.

If you could just sit in that chair.

No. This chair. Look baffled.

No I’m not sure that’s right.

More lost and vulnerable.

Thank you.

( DIRECTOR.) There. That’s your play.

DIRECTOR.

A shabby man? In a shabby chair?

I mean, I know he’s lovely, we’re all very fond of him,

He’s a treasure, really,

But . . . He’s hardly sexy.

POET.

Why does he have to be sexy?

You’re not being fair.

DIRECTOR.

Is this business fair? Is life fair?

What if this fails? My job is on the line.

POET.

So’s my life.

DIRECTOR.

Well then.

ACTOR.

I hope your play’s got some laughs in it!

You can be awful gloomy sometimes.

I mean, look how you began.

POET.

Laughs? You want laughs?

ACTOR.

People need to laugh.

Look at them. They must have had a rotten day.

DIRECTOR.

You’re right. Gloomy as hell.

And they do insist on being entertained.

They’re such a worry.

POET.

It can’t be helped. We do our best.

What else can we do?

I’ve been working on this play for years.

It all comes from the past. It’s memories. Tremulous.

They shudder. Shudder like my heart.

Sweet friend, we went through so much together.

Who will understand me now you’re gone.

ACTOR.

Now I’m getting nervous.

POET.

Look. Here’s your .

You’ve got . And soon you’ll get .

Take him or leave him.

DIRECTOR.

Well I suppose he’ll have to do.

POET.

And there’s a prologue.

DIRECTOR.

A prologue?

POET.

In heaven.

ACTOR.

Oh hell.

DIRECTOR.

That’s all we needed.

POET.

You be God.

DIRECTOR.

Oh well in that case.

POET.

I knew he’d like that. Directors.

ACTOR.

And what about me?

POET.

You be the Devil.

Yes and I knew you’d like that too. Actors!

And we need some angels!

Where are the angels?

Angels in the courts of heaven!

Where are the fucking angels?

No, not really fucking. At least not yet!

Angels praising God.

Yes. Now. Praise him. Praise him!

Praise the old God of earth and heaven!

RAFAEL.

The sun revolves around the earth

In a sphere of incomprehensible beauty

GABRIEL.

Fearful dark night alternates

The amazing beauty of the sunlit day

GOD.

Yes. Yes, the world is beautiful!

I did a fantastic job!

RAFAEL.

The beautiful world inspires us angels

GABRIEL.

And fills us with awe at the perfection of your work.

DEVIL.

I hope you don’t mind me butting in. Being the Devil,

I tend to have a rather different view of things.

GOD.

Well. What have you to say.

How are things on the beautiful planet?

DEVIL.

The beautiful planet?

GOD.

Earth.

DEVIL.

Full of shit.

Do forgive me, your high excellence, I know your works are perfection itself but ever since you gave those humans that tiny spark of celestial fire, that they call reason, things have got worse than ever.

GOD.

And that’s all you have to say? Do you do nothing but complain?

DEVIL.

Well the thing is, celestial magnificence, that down there everything’s going quite wonderfully wrong. I’m sure it would give you such a marvellous laugh, if you hadn’t forgotten how to. How to laugh. Sometimes I feel so sorry for the little worms I haven’t even the heart to torment them.

GOD.

Do you know Faust?

DEVIL.

Him?

GOD.

My servant.

DEVIL.

He’s got a very odd way of serving you.

GOD.

He studies my creation and celebrates its complexity. It’s true that now and then he serves me in an occasionally erroneous way, but I will soon conduct him down the paths of truth. The wise gardener knows which plants will flower and give him the sweetest fruit.

DEVIL.

Do you want to bet?

GOD.

To bet?

DEVIL.

I want to see if I can destroy him.

GOD.

You won’t. You can’t.

DEVIL.

Are you sure?

GOD.

Of course. And so. You’re on. He’s yours. Do your worst.

I know you won’t succeed.

DEVIL.

I thank you. These days hell’s so dull.

The earth is far more interesting.

GOD.

You’ll need to work hard.

DEVIL.

I’ll be in no hurry. I’ve all the time in the world.

GOD.

Remember that the human kind

Even in their darkest impulse

Have an obscure calling

To the world of light.

DEVIL.

I like to see the old man from time to time.

It’s civil of the creature to speak on equal terms with the Devil.

POET.

And God has gone.

POET DEVIL FAUST.

FAUST.

I shit on Theology!

Philosophy’s just a foetid fart!

And not just Theology! Psychology! Theosophy! Biology!

Topology! Psychofuckinglinguistics!

Physics! Chemistry! Mathematics! Podiatry!

Theatre Studies! Classics! Medicine! Art!

Neurology oncology geography!

I know them all! And they’re all valueless!

POET.

Faust’s study. Night.

FAUST.

They call me Professor.

And it’s true I’ve studied for years!

Yet I’m as pig ignorant as I was before I began.

It’s true I’m not quite as stupid as other learned men

I have no scruples no fear of God or the Devil

And no illusions. No sense I can teach anyone anything useful

Or through my knowledge better the state of the world.

All I know is that we can know nothing.

And this breaks my heart.

POET.

Silence.

FAUST.

I’m not even making any money!

I’m as poor as a dog. I live in squalor.

In dirt and filth surrounded by the books

Of the dead. Decaying corpses’ excrement!

And all the while my life just slips away

And death comes closer. I smell her foetid breath.

I can not do this any more! I cannot bear it!

And so I practice magic.

Rationality is useless.

Practising magic insults it fittingly.

Magic. The oldest science. The most despised.

But also, now, the very strongest of them all!

POET.

The light of the moon.

FAUST.

How often has she watched me like a melancholy friend

Watched me torturing myself in senseless studies

Here where I sat tormenting myself with problems

A stranger to my own lost self.

I want to end this detachment from the world

I want to finish this estrangement

I want to leave this charnel house of dead knowledge

And walk under your light on the bare mountainside

I open Paracelsus. I observe the microcosmic sign.

The union of humanity with nature.

Of the universe and its constituent parts.

I am the wind on the hill.

I am the leaves on the tree.

So. I. I evoke the spirit of the earth.

I. I. I draw the pentagram.

I feel its energy fire my bones.

It fuels my longing and my desire.

Come. Clouds gather. Come.

The moon hides. Come. Earth spirit

Come. I long for you. Come.

With all my being. Come!

Even if...