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Justin Chen The Symbol and the Sublime The irreconcilable division between the sign and what it symbolizes in Goethe’s Faust is one of the most prominent thematic dilemmas of the entire drama. Throughout Faust’s quest for experience and power, he is confronted with visual or written symbols of the natural spiritual forces for which he so longs, but his repeated attempts to harness, or even approach these powers inevitably end in failure. Despite this discouraging pattern, however, Faust continues to pursue his ever changing and ever more challenging goals. But what basic urge governs Faust’s striving—that is, what is the incessant feeling which “ever upward, forward presses” (1093)? (i) I would contend that Faust’s goals are all linked together by essentially the same impulse which, though adopting different forms and thus appearing as a variety of symbols, is summarized by some sort of general creative desire that Goethe refers to as the “Eternal-Feminine” (12110). Beneath each of the symbols that touches Faust so deeply, there exists this constant, fundamentally creative natural force that drives him on his quest and, ultimately, leads him to his redemption. The first allusion to the difficulties associated with the short-lived nature of man’s creative process can be observed in the Prelude in the Theater scene, when the poet discusses the purpose of drama with the director. The poet declares, “What shines is for the moment born, must perish; / The genuine, posterity will cherish” (73-4). In speaking of the moment as perishable, he demonstrates one of the essential problems with creative endeavor—that is, the concept of transience or temporality—which plagues the artist’s work. Indeed, throughout Faust, noticeable influence is placed on the word Augenblick, which Arndt translates as “moment,” but which can more generally be applied to a sense of fleeting or short-lived existence. Faust’s wager with Mephistopheles hinges on that very concept: “If the swift moment I entreat: / Tarry a while! You are so fair! / Then forge the shackles on my feet” (1699-71). In fact, much of the actual direction of Faust itself can be seen as a progression from one such beautiful moment to another, none of which ever lasts. Whereas the Prelude in the Theater deals with the concept of the moment, the Prologue in Heaven concerns itself with the eternal striving associated with Faust’s struggle. On the one hand, the Lord cautions that “man all too easily grows lax and mellow” (340), but at the same time he maintains that “man ever errs the while he strives” (317). Apparently, however, it is better to strive and err than never to have striven at all, for the angels in the last scene of the drama declare, “Whoever strives in ceaseless toil, / Him we may grant redemption” (11936-7). Faust’s salvation, then, is not a reflection of the good he has done in his life, but rather the natural result of his continuous earthly struggle. We have now examined the concepts of the moment and of the endless striving exhibited by Faust, but the issue of the symbol does not appear until the drama moves from its outer framework—embodied in the two opening prologues—into the action concerning Faust himself. The first, and indeed one of the starkest, examples of Faust’s desire but ultimate inability to commune with natural power appears in the scene Night, when Faust decides to “resort to Magic’s art” (377) to “rid [himself] of learning’s fetid fume” (396). Faust states that his purpose is to “view all enactment’s seed and spring” (384, better in the original German: “Schau’ alle Wirkenskraft und Samen”), demonstrating a certain desire to understand the natural world. He also longs for the ability to turn to nature for a certain renewal of the spirit, musing, “Ah, would that on high mountain ways / I wandered by your lovely rays / …And rid of learning’s fetid fume, / Bathe whole my spirit in your spume!” (392-3, 396-7). In all of Faust’s thoughts, there is a certain longing for the creative, restorative powers of nature, especially in the use of the word “seed” in the first quote, and “bathe” in the second. This essential creative desire is a manifestation of the “Eternal-Feminine” that “draws us on high” (12110-1). Faust chooses to use the magic book of Nostradamus to accomplish his goals. He is at first confronted by the “sign of the Macrocosm,” which, though temporarily illuminating, ultimately proves not enough to satisfy him. He laments, “What glorious show! Yet but a show, alas!” (444). One interpretation of Faust’s rejection is that any static, physical manifestation necessarily fails because it is a mere sign or symbol, an attempt to represent the incomprehensible sublime which of course can never truly be represented. Thus, the sign of the Macrocosm demonstrates one of the fundamental problems associated with perception of the symbol—although it excites the imagination, it is lifeless, uncreative, and ultimately dissatisfying. Next, Faust decides to conjure the Earth Spirit, only to discover that he is literally unable to face this incarnation of pure natural force. He cries, “I cannot bear you! Woe!” (485) and, despite a valiant attempt to prove himself equal to the challenge, eventually collapses to the ground in defeat. Before disappearing, the Earth Spirit mocks Faust, saying, “Du gleichst dem Geist, den du begreifst, / Nicht mir!” (512-3, Arndt: “Close to the wraith you comprehend, / Not me!”). It is unmistakably clear that Faust has come upon a force that is beyond his ability to grasp. The abrupt disappearance of the spirit can be likened to a kind of explosion—that is, a violent, completely overpowering event. It appears, then, that although Faust’s ultimate goal is to be able to engage in a sort of communion with the natural powers associated with the Earth Spirit, he is simply unable to do so. At this point, Faust has reached his pinnacle of despair. As he looks hopelessly about his study, he concludes that “never/ Will Nature be defrauded of her veil” (672-3). His statement, he acknowledges the futility of any attempts to interact with the unmediated forces about which he knows so little. Faust eventually decides to end his life by drinking the poison he has stored in his study. In this way, perhaps, he hopes to use the distilled destructive power of nature to bring him to that famous “undiscover'd country from whose bourn / No traveller returns” (Hamlet III, i), which he describes as “the open sea” (699) and “new climes” (701), all euphemisms for death. Faust is saved from suicide by the music of the chorus of angels, but his newfound peace does not last for long. After exalting nature during his Easter walk, Faust eventually returns to his study only to lament, “But oh! though my resolve grows even stronger, / I feel contentment welling from my soul no longer” (1210-1). He then decides to turn to religion as a means of “revelation / Which nowhere burns so finely, so unflawed, / As in the Gospel of our Lord” (1217-9). Yet this appears once again to be an unsatisfactory solution, for Faust soon finds himself troubled by the various translations of the Greek word logos. The written words of the Bible can be likened to the sign of the Macrocosm in that they are unable to truly convey the underlying message beneath them. That is, both the written word and the sign of the Macrocosm that Faust rejects are merely representations or physical manifestations of the Truth, but at some fundamental level they are both unequal to the task of conveying their underlying power. In fact, Faust’s frustration with the Bible is even more interesting because it is analogous to his frustration with the scholarly pursuits to which he has devoted his life. Although it can be argued that Faust’s position as a professional academic is optimal for uncovering nature’s most profound and fundamental truths, the opening of the scene Nacht finds Faust cursing the various disciplines that he has mastered and concluding miserably that “there is nothing we can know!” (364). This pessimistic statement parallels his conclusion that “never/ Will Nature be defrauded of her veil” (672-3) discussed earlier. Indeed, throughout all of these examples, there is a definite sense that Faust is striving to penetrate some sort of barrier that exists between human and sublime understanding, a task that he seems to feel would result in some sort of rebirth or at least bestow on him certain powers. Just as Faust’s desires to “view all enactment’s seed and spring” and “bathe whole [his] spirit in [nature’s] spume” are linked to his striving for the Eternal-Feminine (as discussed earlier), so too are these despondent sentiments a reflection of his sadness at inability to approach that lofty goal. A little farther along into the drama, Faust’s striving spirit is revived by Mephistopheles’ intervention, and they both travel to the witch’s kitchen together. Here they come upon another important symbol, the image of Venus in the “magic mirror.” Faust immediately proceeds to fall in love with the image, despite the fact that it is “dimmed as through a haze” (2435) whenever he draws near. It can even be argued that Faust becomes erotically aroused by the goddess’s image; Mephistopheles contributes to the lewdness of the situation by commenting, “And lucky he whom fate allots the pleasure / To lodge [Venus] at his hearth in wedded bliss” (2446-7). The sexual imagery resurfaces at the end of the Witch’s Kitchen scene, when the witch says to Faust, “Here is a song to sing, and when you do, / You will perceive an added virtue” (2591-2). This song is apparently of a sexual nature, and is once again designed to arouse Faust’s erotic desire. Next, after Faust requests “just one more glance into that mirror” (2659) to catch a glimpse of the image of the beautiful goddess, Mephistopheles replies with an air of knowing forecast, “That paragon of women, sirrah, / Shall soon confront you in the flesh” (2601-2), predicting Faust’s ensuing encounter with Gretchen. More interesting for the discussion of the symbol, perhaps, is Mephistopheles’ next aside, in which he conspiratorially states, “No fear—with [the witch’s potion] behind your shirt / You’ll soon see Helen of Troy in every skirt!” (2603-4). This statement essentially implies that Faust’s eventual love (or lust) for Gretchen is purely incidental, and that he would in fact be similarly ensnared by any woman he were to encounter after drinking the witch’s potion. Mephistopheles’ effective universalization of Faust’s erotic desire ties in to the idea that the symbol of female beauty in the mirror is just that—a symbol. What excites the essential creative powers in Faust is the underlying force that lends the symbol its power. In other words, the creative impulse associated with the Eternal-Feminine manifests itself in an image of perfect feminine beauty in the mirror, which Faust then applies to the first actual female he meets, Gretchen. Faust himself is wordless to describe the emotions he feels for Gretchen. When Mephistopheles questions him about “that single, all-o’erpowering urge” (3057), Faust responds: “When I feel, all blinded, It is interesting to note that the same word for “eternal” is used both here and in the phrase “eternal Feminine” (in the German, “ewig”). From Faust’s words we get a sense of some sort of inexpressible emotion or immense natural power that he is at a loss to describe. In sum, the image of Venus creates in Faust a desire to sexually pursue Gretchen, a physical (and mortal) manifestation of feminine beauty. But it is his longing for the unattainable ideal of the Feminine, represented by the image in the mirror, that spurs these creative (or perhaps procreative) desires. Note that Faust is not overwhelmed here, as he was in the scene with the Earth Spirit, because the Venus in the mirror is only a symbol, rather than the actual unmediated manifestation, of a force of nature. The next symbol we see in the drama, that of the rainbow, is perhaps the most interesting and illuminating in terms of the dilemma of perception. Faust is revived from the debauchery of the Walpurgis Night’s dream sequence by the spirit Ariel, and he awakens to find his “resolve astir and seething / Toward peaks of being to be ever driven” (4684-5). His exuberance leads him to cry, “Raise up your gaze!” (4695), and apparently, to await the emergence of the rising sun. However, at the grand moment in which he is to behold Helios’ glory, he cries in dismay, “Alas, already blinded, / I turn aside, my mortal vision smarting” (4703-4). Much as in the scene with the Erdgeist, it appears that Faust is literally incapable of facing the unbridled power of nature for which he longs. Thus, the essential frustration of Faustian desire is once more observed. This time, however, Faust does not descend into despair, but rather finds himself enthralled by the “cataract that cleaves the jagged granite” (4717) nearby. With “entrancement growing” (4716) he observes the beautiful rainbow produced by diffraction of the sun’s rays in the "upflung foam” (4720) and concludes, somewhat enigmatically, “This mirrors all aspiring human action. / On this your mind for clearer insight fasten: / That life is ours by colorful refraction” (4725-7). Faust’s statement can be interpreted as a sort of summary of the human condition. When studying the idea of the symbol more carefully in this scene, it appears that Faust is relating the rainbow produced by refraction of the sun’s rays in the water droplets to the beauty of human striving. Even though our eyes are “too weak to scan” (4715) the unmediated natural powers that we seek to comprehend, the “refraction” of those same powers produces, through the prism of the daily struggle, something greater and more wonderful than either element alone. In a way, then, the beauty of the rainbow echoes the beauty of striving itself, a sentiment that is strongly reminiscent of the chorus of angels’ assertion, “Whoever strives in ceaseless toil, / Him we may grant redemption” (11936-7). Faust relates his observations of the rainbow with the essential yearning for creation when he laments, “We only meant to kindle up life’s torches, / And flame engulfs us, seas of torrid blazes!” (4710). It is interesting to consider that the phrase “kindle up life’s torches” can be seen once again as a sort of yearning for creation as embodied by the Eternal-Feminine. Another important concept touched upon by the scene with the rainbow is that of the moment, or impermanence. Faust describes the rainbow as “in variance lasting” (4732). Perhaps a more revealing description is the original German word, “Wechseldauer,” which can approximately be translated as “changing permanence.” The rainbow, then, represents the pinnacle of human endeavor in that it achieves a certain endurance unknown to other forms of human expression. In other words, although the rainbow is technically always changing due to the movement of the water droplets (which represent continual striving or action), its essential beauty remains constant—that is, it outlasts the Augenblick discussed earlier. Yet there is one fundamental shortcoming of the rainbow, which, it can be argued, causes Faust to reject it as a purpose for which to dedicate his life. First, there is the statement of the Chorus Mysticus at the end of the drama: “All that is changeable / Is but reflected” (12104-5). The rainbow, which is indeed only a reflected image, is also changeable in that its beauty is purely derivative. That is, the spectrum of colors that lends the rainbow its magnificence would be impossible without the light of the sun itself, which was incidentally the very natural force that overpowered Faust to begin with. It is the sun that possesses the creative power, while the water droplets, though ever moving, essentially serve merely as a static medium. The truth of this fact is clear when one considers that once the sun dips back beneath the horizon, the beautiful rainbow must disappear. Thus, the newfound insights into human striving gained from observing the rainbow are illuminating, but still ultimately dissatisfying for Faust. This rainbow sequence is similar to the encounter with the Earth Spirit, except somewhat inverted. Here Faust first comes upon the blinding sun, which represents an unmediated natural power that (much like the Erdgeist) immediately and completely overpowers him. The rainbow that he observes after his rejection, however, can be likened to the sign of the Macrocosm that Faust encountered first in the Nacht scene. After all, they are both symbols that represent an underlying natural power, and as such, we should not be surprised that Faust chooses to reject them both as “but a show.” Neither brings him closer to his quest for the sublime, or to his true desire to create something of lasting permanence. At this point in the drama, some of the focus is shifted away from Faust and onto Homunculus, the creature of Wagner’s creation who, it seems, embodies the Romantic ideal of spirit liberated from flesh. In many ways, the character of Homunculus can be likened to Faust; certainly he possesses the same unremitting desire to engage in a quest of some sort, although in his case it is the quest for a physical body in which to house his incorporeal spirit that drives him. The climax of Homunculus’ brief existence comes at the end of the Classical Walpurgis Night sequence, when he smashes his container on the shell of Galatea in an apparent sacrifices to create life. In order to discuss this critical moment coherently, it is important first to examine the significance of each character involved in this scene. Homunculus is a fascinating creature (if indeed creature he can be called) in that he is himself essentially a self-contained force of nature. He tells Wagner shortly after being created, “Things natural find all the world scant space, / While things synthetic want a sheltered place” (6883-4). Homunculus makes this statement to Wagner in reference to the “glass alembic” in which he is housed, but one gets the sense that it is in fact his own essence that is too expansive to be contained in such a flimsy casement. Indeed, his enormous natural powers are manifested by the brilliant light he casts, which at one point is used by Thales as a lure for Proteus. (Once Homunculus’ illumination comes into view, Proteus is compelled to ask in curiosity, “What shines so exquisitely fair?” (8237).) Galatea is essentially a pure force of nature who also happens to possess great beauty, who is however not confined to any man-made contraption. She is described by the Sirens as some sort of beautiful mixture of mortal and divinity: “Grave she seems like godly faces, / Shares immortals’ earnest worth, / Yet with all the luring graces / Of the loveliest maid of earth” (8387-8390). Indeed, Galatea’s grandiose regal entrance into the scene lends her a sort of godly air. She rides in on Aphrodite’s scallop shell attended by doves “of rare and wondrous sort” (8353), while the Sirens sing in praise of her beauty and her sisters, the Dorids, swim in the procession. The reference to Aphrodite’s shell may be intentionally reminiscent of the image of Venus who appears in the mirror of the witch’s kitchen. Perhaps the ideal feminine beauty represented by Venus is meant to be invoked in reference to Galatea as well. Another compelling force with which to associate Galatea is the natural creative force of water, the medium in which she (and all her followers) dwells, and the element traditionally associated with life. The triumphant appearance of Galatea, in combination with the vast gathering of different creatures that wish to worship her, can be viewed as a majestic celebration of the glory of nature. This sort of magnificent scene can only exist in the Classical Walpurgis Night because it is, in a sense, not real. All of the participants in the worship of Galatea are mere ideas—note that neither Faust nor Mephistopheles appears in the scene at all. What we have, then, is the interaction between two entities not constrained by the limits of human flesh. One, Homunculus, is a creature possessed of an essentially Faustian will. The other, Galatea, is the embodiment of a natural spiritual force, perhaps feminine beauty, or more generally, the creative power associated with her element of water. When Homunculus sees Galatea, Thales pronounces, “He’ll crash at her glittering throne and be shattered; / It’s flaming, now flashes, already is scattered” (8472-3). His description of Homunculus’ self-sacrifice echoes the episode in which Faust is overwhelmed by the Earth Spirit. This time, however, the striving spirit is not vanquished; rather, it appears that Homunculus’ freed entity fuses with Galatea’s element of water to form an entirely new creation. The sirens sing, “Hail the sea, the ocean swelling! / Wreathed in sacred fiery torrents: / Hail the fire, the waters welling! / Hail the singular occurrence” (8480-3). This blending of elements, then, results in some sort of mystical creation or transformation, standing in stark contrast to the outcome of Faust’s interaction with the Earth Spirit, which leaves him defeated, saddened, and entirely unchanged. The Homunculus sequence can be seen as the representation of a sort of idealized version of the Faustian struggle. The fact that Homunculus was actually successful in his endeavor, however, does not imply that his essential desires and motives are not related to those of Faust. Indeed, Homunculus’ “quest for being” exactly parallels Faust’s desire to commune with the powers of the natural world and to create something that will endure. Homunculus’ motivation is certainly to create something; as Thales puts it, “Of intellectual traits he has no dearth, / But sorely lacks the solid clay of earth. / So far the glass is all that keeps him weighted, / But he would gladly soon be corporated” (8249-52). The essential difference is the fact that all the players in the Homunculus sequence in fact belong to the unknowable natural world. As described earlier, without the constraints of human flesh, Homunculus is able to achieve the perfect synthesis of desire and natural power in a positive manner. His spirit merges with, but does not dominate, the creative life-giving water of Galatea in a beautiful, climactic scene. Meanwhile, Faust has been busily engaged in bringing Helena back from the dead, and later courting her. As is to be expected by now, both of these courses of action ultimately end in failure, despite the fact that Helena is merely a legend or an idea, much like as the characters in the Walpurgis Night scene. In fact, Helena herself recognizes her surreal existence; after Mephistopheles disguised as Phorcyas claims to Helena, “They say: from out of the realm of shades / Achilles rose at last and joined you too, enflamed!” (8877-8), she replies, “I as a myth allied myself to him as myth. / It was a dream, the words themselves proclaim it so” (8879-80). Just before she falls into a swoon she states, “I fade away, becoming to myself a myth” (8881). Thus, even Helena acknowledges her own status as a spirit released from the underworld. Faust, on the other hand, repeatedly fails to grasp that same fact. His first encounter with Helena occurs when he uses the key obtained from the Mothers to conjure both Helen and Paris from the underworld. He immediately proceeds to fall in love with her and renounce the image of Venus he had seen in the mirror of the witch’s kitchen: “The pleasing shape of which I was enamored, / By magic mirroring beglamored, / Was to this form a wraith, of froth created!” (6495-7). He expresses his heartfelt ardor by declaring to Helena, “To thee I vow the stirring of all force, / All passion’s sum and source, / Desire, love, worship, adoration, frenzy!” (6498-500). His effusive praise is no doubt designed to anticipate Homunculus’ intense, almost frenzied attraction for Galatea, which Thales characterizes as “the clamorous drone of an agonized raving” (8471). Immediately after Faust pronounces his adoration of Helena, however, Mephistopheles is quick to caution (from the “prompter’s box,” according to the stage directions), “Don’t blow your part, man! Will you curb your fancy!” (6501). It thus appears that Faust, in his lust-driven eagerness, has already forgotten his role as a mere spectator at some spirit show. The fact that this is merely a show is vital to the scene, and is confirmed by Mephistopheles’ position in the prompter’s box, as in a theater. Faust’s fierce emotional involvement in events that ought to be beyond his control proves to be disastrous when the Astrologer announces the name of his play, “The Rape of Helena” (6548). Faust is outraged by this turn of events, crying, “What rape! Is it for nothing here I stand?” (6549). The Astrologer describes the ensuing chain of events: “Faust! With violence loud / He seizes [Helena], the shape begins to cloud. / He wields the key, turns it to touch upon / The youth!— Woe to us, woe! All vanished! Gone!” (6560-3). This is followed in the stage directions by an explosion that knocks Faust to the ground and cause the spirits to “dissolve into mist.” The significance of this scene is that it closely resembles the crucial encounter with the Earth Spirit during the opening pages of the drama. In fact, this is the only other example in which Faust’s attempt to grasp the unreachable results in such a violent rejection. Perhaps it is valid to wonder, though, whether Helena represents the same awesome force embodied by the Earth Spirit. Lynceus’ description of Helena’s beauty sheds some light on the matter: “Vapors shifting, vapors lifting, Lynceus seems to view Helena as some sort of sun goddess—it is difficult not to notice the imagery of light involved, or the image of “vapors lifting,” which can be associated with the driving away of early morning fog by the sun’s rays. Further, the fact that Helena is not a human, but rather a mere idea, immediately suggests that her role may be similar to Galatea’s—that is, a representation of some sort of feminine ideal or procreative force. At any event, we can certainly accept that she is the manifestation of some sort of natural power, which Faust cannot directly grasp. Yet Faust is eventually seemingly successful in communing with Helena, despite her mystical nature. Their poetic, lilting exchange during the Inner Courtyard of a Castle scene is reminiscent of the extremely musical exchange between Proteus and Homunculus earlier in the Helena Act. It is interesting to note that in Faust and Helena’s lyrical courtship, their two distinct worlds appear to merge; Helena states, “I feel so far away and yet so near, / And all too gladly say: Here am I! Here!” (9411-2). Faust, on the other hand, declares, “This is a dream, and place and day have waned” (9415). Thus, Helena seems to affirm her existence despite the fact that she has already acknowledged her status as a reincarnated myth, while Faust’s existence seems to be fading away, such that they can merge as one being. Despite Phorcyas’ various attempts to intercede, Faust is apparently successful in communing with the natural forces represented by Helena, for she later gives birth to a son, Euphorion. Their child seems to be the embodiment of the Faustian will itself, making statements such as this recapitulation of Faust’s striving spirit: “Ever upward am I heading, / Ever farther must I gaze” (9821-2). He attempts to garner as much experience in as short a time as possible, going so far as to forcefully kidnap a “young girl” and stating boldly, “Her reluctant breast I press / In delightful forced caress, / Her resisting lips I kiss, / Proving strength and willfulness” (9796-9). He progresses at a frenetic pace from one pursuit to the next, until eventually reaching a cliff and deciding that he has the power to fly. He intones, “Pinions unfold! / Thither! I must! I must! / Grant me the flight!” (9898-9900), at which point he leaps off the edge and falls to his death. Euphorion’s existence alone cannot be used as a vindication of the Faustian will’s ability to succeed, because his existence is short-lived. The concept of the moment discussed earlier is central to this discussion; although Faust succeeds in the act of creation, he fails to produce something that endures, which I have argued is one of the central motivations embodied by the Eternal-Feminine. In fact, we soon see that Faust has not been successful at creating anything at all, but rather has only transferred his striving spirit into another form which, though energetic and equally ambitious, is doomed to the same failure that continually frustrates Faust himself. Just as the rainbow’s beauty cannot last into the night, so can Euphorion exist for just one fleeting “Augenblick” before eventually being extinguished. Taken together, all the examples discussed above might paint a grim portrait of the Faustian—that is, essentially human—will. Yet the sentiment of the Chorus of Angels remains unchanged: “Whoever strives in ceaseless toil, / Him we may grant redemption” (11936-7). Although all of Faust’s endeavors end in failure, he is drawn “ever upward, forward” by a very real, compelling desire to create something that will endure. Faust may not always be cognizant that this creative impulse is at the heart of all his actions, but time and again it is evident that the various images that attract (and indeed move) him so deeply do so precisely because they are symbols for that same sublimely natural, generative power that Goethe brands the Eternal-Feminine. To quote Joyce, “He would create proudly out of the freedom and power of his soul…a living thing, new and soaring and beautiful, impalpable, imperishable." (ii)
i) Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von. Faust. Ed: Cyrus Hamlin, Trans: Walter Arndt. W.W. Norton & Company, Inc., New York, NY: 2001. Citations are line numbers. ii) Joyce, James. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. Penguin Books Ltd., New York, NY: 1976. Forgive me for the indulgence of citing Joyce again, but I am always seeing parallels between the two works! |