Brooklyn/Faust/Saturday Night

I love this, from the introduction to the rather old edition (Routledge, 1886, John Anster, trans.) on Google Books… quoting Goethe himself on Faust:

“Faust’s character, in the elevation to which latter refinement, working on the old rude tradition, has raised it, represents a man who, feeling impatient and imprisoned within the limits of mere earthly existence, regards the possession of the highest knowledge, the enjoyment of the fairest blessings, as insufficient, even in the slightest degree, to satisfy his longing: a spirit, accordingly, which struggling out on all sides, ever returns the more unhappy….”

*

Mephistopheles (as the fool):
Search the world round, and is there to be found
On earth one quiet corner that has not
A something wanting, which, are we unable
To come at it, makes life uncomfortable?
This man wants that thing, and that man wants this.
Here, our want is hard cash; and hard cash is,
When men most want it, cash hard to be got.
’Tis not a thing that from the streets you sweep;
It lies deep down, but Science lifts the deep.
In mountain veins—in walls—and underground—
Much gold in coins, or uncoined, may be found;
And, if you ask who brings this gold to light?—
The gifted man, ruling the Infinite
Of Nature, mighty in the Spirit’s might.

…

Kaiser:
These wise saws will not make our suffering less;
What you mean you by this lengthened Lent-address?
I’m weary of this endless “if” and “how;”
Get me the money—that’s what we want now.

*

I love this, from the character “Drunken Man”:
Of our host I’m still the debtor:
Plan of life I know no better.
Looks he sulkily, my boast is
Of my credit with the hostess
Does the landlady run rusty,
Still the maid is true and trusty:
She’s my sure and safe sheet-anchor;
And, when all else fail, my banker.
So I drink, and still keep drinking;
With the glasses clashing, clinking.
Clash your glasses, each, my fine boys!
Clear them off, as I clear mine, boys!

*

Oh, and this, from Knabe Lenker [Boy Charioteer]:
I am PROFUSION—I am POESY.
I am the POET who feels his true power,
And is himself, indeed, but in the hour
When he on the regardless world hath thrown,
With lavish hand, the wealth, peculiarly his own.
And I am rich—am rich immeasurably:
Plutus alone in riches equals me.
Through me his banquets charm, his dances live:
That which they could not else have had, I give.

*

Ah, and then the scene in the main…:

Marshal:
May it please your Highness, I had never thought
That it at any time could be my lot
Such joyous tidings to communicate
As fill me now with rapture—every debt
Has been paid off, the usurers’ claws are dulled,
My tortures—sharper than hell’s torments—lulled.
There cannot be in heaven a happier man.

[….]

Treasurer:
Ask these men, they will tell what they have done.

Faust:
The Chancellor will please to state the case;
It falls within the duties of his place.

Chancellor:
Who could ever have dreamed such happiness
Would come this day of my old age to bless.
Listen! and look upon the heaven-sent leaf,
That into joy hash changed a people’s grief.
“To all whom it concerneth, and so forth:—
This note of hang, that purports to be worth
A thousand crowns, subjects to such demand
The boundless treasure buried in the land
And furthermore, said treasure underground,
To pay said sum is, whensoever found,
And wheresoever, firmly pledged and bound.”

Kaiser:
Audacity unheard of!—foul deceit!
Who signed the Emperor’s name to such vile cheat?
What punishment can for such crime atone?

Treasurer:
Forget you, Sir, the writing is your own?
This last night you were in the character
Of Pan: we saw the Chancellor prefer
The suit. He said, “A few strokes of your pen
Will bless the people over whom you reign.
Do make them happy on this festal night.”
And then you did take up the pen and write.
No time was lost. A thousand artists plied,
A thousandfold the scroll was multiplied;
And that the good to every one might fall,
We stamped at once the series, one and all.
Tens—thirties—fifties—hundred off we strike!
Never was anything that men so like:
Your city, mouldering and in despair,
Has caught new life, and joy is everywhere.
Long as your name was by the world held dear,
Never did it so brightly shine as here—
The alphabet! What is it to this sign?—
To this “hoc signo vinces” note of thine?

Kaiser:
For gold, then, the Court and camp it passes,
And for good gold is taken by the masses?
I must permit it, though it does seem odd.

[….]

Mephistopheles:
Once used to them, men will have nothing but
These leaves—so easy to receive and spend;
And the realm circulates, from this hour out,
Jewels, and gold, and paper to no end.