Knowledge and the unknowable are the keys needed to unlock the 19th-century perception of the Faust myth. The modern idea of a deal with the devil for financial or carnal supremacy is completely irrelevant, and speaks volumes about the difference between 20th-century thought and that of its antecedents. In breaking free of the restrictions of formalism and established religion, however, the Romantics in literature incorporated some cautions of their own.

Characters who were daring enough to challenge man’s previous limits were inevitably brought up short when they ventured to go too far. Dr. Frankenstein, called the new Prometheus by his own creator, Mary Shelley, is forced to realize the evil nature of his imperfect creation. Captain Ahab causes his own death and the destruction of all but one of his crew when he dares to approach the white whale too closely. And Goethe’s magician, Faust, makes his deal with the devil in order to acquire not only youth but also the ability to aspire. His one demand of the demon is that he will leave him forever unsatisfied.

The musical Romantics were fascinated by the tale of Faust. While emphasizing the conjurer’s downfall (and some his transfiguration), they reveled in the depictions of satanic rites. Three of the most sensational works about this archetypal figure will be appearing in the next few weeks here in New York. The New York Philharmonic, as part of their “Visions of the Beyond” series, is presenting “The Damnation of Faust” by Berlioz and “A Faust Symphony” by Liszt. Soon thereafter, the Metropolitan Opera will be mounting a new production of Charles Gounod’s “Faust.” Each is a great piece, but in decidedly different ways.

One of the most charming of all of William Makepeace Thackeray’s writings is his reminiscence of visiting Johann Wolfgang von Goethe when the latter was the elder statesman of German literature. The young Englishman was enthralled with both the man and his collegial surroundings and surprisingly cognizant of the master’s place in the history of ideas. Another of Thackeray’s generation had the temerity to actually submit a fledgling work to the octogenarian: Hector Berlioz sent the score of his new “Eight Scenes From Faust” to Weimar in 1829, hoping for some nourishment from the original fountain.

Goethe, however, could not read music – a pity considering that he was such a close friend of Beethoven – and asked his longtime associate Carl Friedrich Zelter, the principal teacher of the young Mendelssohn, for his thoughts. Unluckily for Berlioz, the overly cautious Zelter could not find any merits in these pieces, even though they included the supremely haunting “King of Thule” song. He advised Goethe accordingly.

Sixteen years later, as “The Damnation of Faust,” Berlioz’s original epiphany created the proper landscape for this Jungian story by not employing the proscenium and floorboards, but rather dendrites and synapses. In the best Byronic manner, the resulting work is a closet opera and – although some recent attempts at its staging have been in themselves interesting – the ideal mise-en-scene is definitely internal. Given the current trend, largely driven by economics, of presenting opera in concert version, however, it is important to remember that this oratorio style is not an adaptation, but actually the authentic period practice.

In “Damnation” the focal point of the story is Marguerite. After her seduction, Mephistopheles, a lower-level denizen of the underworld, summons the will-o-the-wisps and bids them dance the maiden to her doom. Here Berlioz is faithful to Goethe’s concept of the good fairies actually being kin to the devil. In the Goethe play – also performed without scenery or costumes – the first gathering of the spirits is subtitled “Oberon and Titania’s Golden Wedding.” It is purportedly about the good fairies, but their gathering is seen as similar to the later Walpurgisnacht of the evil forces of the underworld.

The most exciting part of “Damnation” is the Pandemonium scene, in which Mephistopheles gathers all of the fiends to witness his ride with Faust in a violent storm down the crevices of a mountain pass. The demon describes the horses as “swift as thought,” suggesting a link between Faust’s intellectual hunger and his ultimate doom. Berlioz evens creates his own Tartarean language for the chorus. As Pandemonium increases the air is filled with dancing skeletons, shrieking phantoms, and monstrous birds. Faust and his companion fall into the Abyss.

Berlioz introduced his good friend Liszt to the story of Faust. Liszt reciprocated by suggesting the music of the Hungarian “Rakoczy March” for the beginning act of the Berlioz opera. He brought the piano part of the “Eight Scenes” to Zurich and played it for his friend and future son-in-law Richard Wagner, who was in political exile there. Wagner was moved to write an exciting overture on the tragic theme of Faust (Brahms was also inspired by the Goethe play and composed his “Tragic” Overture for a performance of it in Vienna).

Liszt, who had recently invented the symphonic poem as a way of describing in purely orchestral terms the essence of a scene or character, took the story and fashioned three colorful sketches, using the alternate name of Gretchen for the heroine, which he published as his “Faust Symphony.” (And lest we forget the hold of the cloven-hoofed myth on the general populace of the times, Liszt’s friend Niccolo Paganini sometimes seated his aged mother on the concert stage to fend off the perception of his audience that he himself, with his superhuman violinistic dexterity, was the natural son of the devil!)

“Faust” by Charles Gounod was performed in Italian translation at the old Metropolitan so often between its premiere in 1883 – the first night ever at the original 39th Street location – and the end of the century that the place became known locally as the Faustspielhaus. Like his teacher and friend Berlioz, Gounod treats only the first part of the Faust story and therefore concentrates on the ill-fated love of Faust and Marguerite. In fact, the opera bears so little resemblance to the Goethe original that in Germany it is known to this day not as “Faust” but rather as “Margarethe.”

The music is remarkably tuneful, a foreshadowing of Broadway, and the true star of the production is Mephistopheles. The great basso Edouard de Reszke made the character famous, appearing with his brother Jean in the title role. Jean was originally a baritone, and before he made his way up the operatic ladder (and up the scale) to a tenor, he himself appeared as the brother Valentin to his own sister Josephine’s Marguerite. Feodor Chaliapin’s Mephistopheles could literally disappear onstage by folding his black costume in a certain way – one of the most written-about illusions in the annals of the theater.

“Faust” at the new Met should itself be one of the most talked about events of the current season. Not only is there a new production by Andrei Serban, but the performance features three of the most exciting male voices of our own time: Roberto Alagna, Dmitri Hvorostovsky, and Rene Pape. I am reminded of the last season at the old house, when the Met, wanting to come full circle, offered at their farewell gala the final trio of “Faust,” featuring Gabriella Tucci, Nicolai Gedda, and Jerome Hines – the last music ever performed there. I might have considered a deal with the devil myself if I could have attended that performance.

“La Damnation de Faust” will be performed March 31 & April 5 at 7:30 p.m. & April 2 at 8 p.m.; “A Faust Symphony” April 14 at 7:30 p.m. & April 15 & 16 at 8 p.m. (Lincoln Center, 212-875-5900).

“Faust” will be performed April 21 & 26 & May 4, 7, 10, 14 at 8 p.m.; April 30 & May 21 at 1:30 p.m.; May 18 at 7:30 p.m. (Lincoln Center, 212-362-6000).